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In concluding the Third Volume of the Mirror^ it becomes a 
pleasine duty to return thanks to the public for the increased and 
increasing patronage with which it is honoured^ — a circumstance not 
less gratifying to the Editor than it is indicative of that spirit of 
inquiryj, and love of literature, which are now so rapidly extending 
in this country. So numerous are our public institutions connected 
with education, and so ready is the open hand of British benevolence^ 
that there is not a child in the empire that may not learn to read and 
write ^ this first great step towards improving the manners and 
morals of society being achieved, it next became necessary to provide 
suitable works to be read ; and it must be confessed that in this 
respect the present age has much the advantage of any preceding 
one, and that the elementary treatises now in use in the several 
branches of education and science are truly excellent. 

Other stimulants to a love of reading have however been found 
necessary even among the highest classes of society ; and literary jour- 
nals, which a century ago were.u];\)^owo, uo^^ appear ip almost every 
possible shape, and on every f ^k3tyV>C«Abj^tr .Thjewp'rice, however, 
of these was still a bar to their gen9ral**circixlati6ir,aA^ it became not 
only necessary, but due to the e3ttj^ded*oducaU6n of the country, to 
give to the public at large a jcmrnoi *^ch; >vhile it embraced the 
most ample range over the vast,doj[]pajn«of £n^^h*literature, should 
be published at a price that wo0ld:pl^[2f lCWitliSif.the reach of all. 

To supply this desideratum in* periodical li{erature, the Mirror 
was commenced 5 how far it has achieved the avowed object for 
which it was commenced, the public will decide, but if the Editor 
may be allowed to judge from the extensive circulation it has ob- 
tained, the favourable notice it has elicited from the critical world, 
the valuable support with which it has been honoured by many 
writers, whose names will one day stand high in the literary annals 
of their country j and, above all, by that undesigned but unequivocal 
homage, imitation, the Mirror has done much to fill up that void in 
periodical literature which existed until it was commenced. 

It would ill become the Editor to be the eulogist of his own work, 
and yet he trusts he may refer to the present Volume of the Mirror, 
as a proof that, like good wine, it improves with age, without sub- 
jecting himself to a charge of egotism. On one point at least be 
may speak without any fear of such an imputation — that is, on the de- 
cided improvement in the printing of the Mirror with a new type 
and ot^iBUperior paper *, and the public may rest assured that the Pro- 
prietors are determined that, in point of typography, the Mirror 
shall equal the most expensive periodical of the day. In Original 
Correspondence, though not ostentatiously displayed, the Third 
Volume of the Mirror will be found peculiarly rich, and here it 

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becomes the duty of the Editor to return his most grat^l thanks 
to his many kind and valuable Correspondents, by whose liberal 
and excellent contributions he has been enabled to boast of this 
feature of his work. 

A new, and the Editor believes, very acceptable improvement has 
been made in the Mibror by introducing the Selector, in which 
the essence of new works, however expensive, is given as soon as 
they are published, unmixed with the cant of criticism, which is 
often found so contradictory as rather to bewilder than guide the 
reader in his choice of books. Other improvements are also in 
contemplation ; but the Editor had rather rest his claim to the 
confidence of the public for his future exertions on his past labours^ 
than on any pledges that he could give, since 

" A promise may be broke ; 
Nay, start not at it — Tis an bourly prafctice." 

Unless, however, the Editor of the Mirror neglects both his 
interests and his duty, he will spare no exertions to retain that 
good opinion with the public it was his first ambition to obtain, and 
shall be his constant endeavour to deserve. 

London, June 21, 1894. 

' M ^" >*». ■ 

, • • • • •• 

Lii^ '.Of xbb. engravings, 

•• •«• • • •»• ••• • • 

• •• >• •• • • 

• • • INAnOL:III. 


1. Lofukm Stone. 18. Town Hall, Bath. 

5. Dartford Nunnery. 19. The Ancient Cross, in Cheapside. 

3. The Ruins of Athens. 20. Clock at Strasbnrg. 

4. St. Winifred's Well. 21. Sandal Castle, Yorkshire. , 

6, Sliakspeare's Cliff. 32. Melville Castle. 

6. Newstead Abbey. 23. The Car of Juggernaut. 

7. Bje House. 24. Cromxivell lying in State. 

5. Porcelain Tower in China. 25. The Cathedral of Troyes. 

9. Cathedral of Antwerp. 26. Cromwell's House in Whitehall. 

10. Westminster Hall. 27. Tunnel under the Thames, 

il. The Kremlin at Moscow. 28. Milford Haven. 

IS. Grey Friars' Monastery, Dunrwicli. 29. Whitby Abbey. 

18. Bums's Mausoleum at Dumfries SO. Chapel and House of Mr. Smi(h, at 

14. Southampton Bargate. Demerara. 

15. St. Alban's Church. SI. View in Sierra L^one. 

1^ Manual Alphabet for the Deaf and 32. Autograph Of Mr. Smith, the Mission- 
Dumb, ary. 
17. Dean Wotton's Monument. 

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[Price 2d. 

9Uusitxationsi of J^tiaftspcarr. 

No. J. 

It is one of the distinguishing characte- 
ristics of 8hakspeaxe and places him 
far above all other writers, mat he not 
only poisesied the most coireet know, 
ledge of the human diaracter, but 
his mind was so richly stored with 
historical facts and local traditions, that 
the most trifling incident or circumstance 
that could bear on any subject he had in 
hand, never escaped his notice. Not that 
««ur inmiortal Biurd was a mere matter of 
fact writer; no man ever possessed a 
more fertile, or a more lively imagina- 
tion ; with him to create was as easy 
as to revive, and as Dr. Johnson weU 
observes, " Existence saw him spurn 
her bounded reign," for he *■* exhausted 
worlds and then imagined new.*' 

LoKDOM Stone, which may be 
Justly considered as one of the most 

Vol. III. B 

interesting relics of antiquity in the me- 
tropolis, is noticed by Shakspeaie in the 
Second Part of the play of Henry VI., 
which embraces an account of the formid- 
able insurrection headed by Jack Cade, 
at the instigation of Richard, Duke oi 
York, .who aspired to the crown. Jack 
'}ade, in the sixth scene of the fourth 
act, is described as entering Cannon- 
street with his followers, and striking 
" his staff on London Stone," exclaiming, 
•* Now is Mortimer Lord of this City. 
And here sitting upon London Stone, I 
charge and command, that the City^s 
conduit run nothing but claret wine 
this first year of our reign. And now, 
henceforward, it shall be treason for ar.y 
that calls me other, than Lord Mortimer. 

The very stone which Jack Cade so 
triumphantly struck niore than three 

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•enturifls and a half ago is ttiU nn. the walla— biU k waa not plaeed fai the 

■erred, and that nearly on the J^t where centre which overtoms this theory. Others 

it formerlv stood, it is now nedueed conceiTed it must have heea placed for 

considerably in size; and not as Stowe the lending and paying of debts at ap- 

described it in his time, ^' fixed in the pointed times, before St. Paul^ Church 

ground very deep, fisstened with bars of and the Royal Exchange had been fixed 

von, and otherwise so strongly set, that upon for such purpose : but the most im» 

if cartes do runne against it through 
negligence, the wheeles be broken and 
the stone itself unshaken." 

All that now remains of this once 
formidable stone — this proud emblem of 
sovereignty, is a mere fragment which 
has been placed in a niche prepared for 
it in the South Wall of St. Swithin's 
Church, Cannon^treet. It was formerly 
of very c;reat dimensions, and stood on 
the South side of the same street; until 
the year 1742, when it was removed to 
the edge oi the kirb stone on the north 

Men of business are not generally very 
remarkable for their attachment to me- 
morials of antiquity, particularly if they 
consider them an obstruction, and we are. 

probable of all conjectures is, that it i 
erected by a person of the name of Lon- 
donstone--for at this time, men nfher 
took names from places than gave them. 

The most rational inference is that of 
Str}rpe, who considers it to have been ori- 
ginally a Roman miliary of the same 
kind, though less splendid than the Mi- 
liarium Aureum, a gilded pillar, erected, 
by Augustus Caesar, in me forum at 
Rome. Here all the highways of Italy 
met, and were concluded ; and from this 
spot they counted their miles, setting up 
a stone at the end of every nule, whoiee 
came the phrase of Primtis ab urbe 
lapis, &c. 

As Cannon Street was anciently the 
principally street of London, it is more 

therefore, not surprised that when the than probable, that this Stone was the 

diurchof St. Swithm was repaired in 1798, 
some of the parishioners should declare 
this relic a nuisance, which ought to 
t|e removed. Fortunately, however, one 
gentleman was found to interfere, and 
rescue fame^ ' Lqpdon lStope*,from M9V< 

place where proclamations were read, and 
notices given to the people, as was after- 
wards the case at the Cross in Cheapside, 
St. Paul's Cross, and other places. It 
seems to have been the first point where 
Jack Cade rested, on entering the city 

hilation: the*nm^o^^'^<^^^2^ iSlWbrthf 2 ftom. Soutfawark, and where he promised 
of being ha||d^ 4ov3> to j>ost€t|tj^ if .tt •'itis followers, that the city conduit should 

was the only ^' gr^t fnd goq4 dec^**. fit 
his life. To Mr.* ^md&%]Vf^deB«)>f 
Sherborne Lane, a«Q**^e,ii^ll^t^for the 
preservation of thi» singular ^^c^ •yhich 

flow with claret for the first year of hi 

London Stone appears to have been held 
in superstitious veneration by the citizens, 

ne caused to hep Wieijijiit&p'^l^Silua^ from some circumstance which is unre- 

tion. I • * • * • I** I * corded. They considered it as connected 

The origin of London Stone has de- with the safety of their city, and it is 

feated all me researches of Antiquaries, probable that mere was a popular tradi- 

who are still compelled to acknowledge tion among the English on ^e subject, 

with Stowe, that "the cause why this similar to that which the Scots have. 

stone was there set, the very time when, 
or other memory hereof is there none; 
but that the same hath long continued 
there is manifest, namely, since or rather 
before the time of the conquest.*' 

The earliest record in which this vene- 
rable monument of forgotten ages is 
mentioned, is in a Gospel Book which 
was given to Christ Church, Canterbury, 
by Ethelstan, ELing of the West Saxons, 
where a pared of L^nd is described '^ to 
ly neare unto London Stone." It is 
again noticed in an account of a fire which 
in the year 113t5, is said to have ^^ began 
in the house of one Ailwarde, neare unto 
London Stone," and consumed all the 
city eastward to Aldgate. 

Stowe has collected the opinions and 
conjectures of his day on the subject. 
Some conceived it to have been a mark to 
designate the middle of the city within 

respecting the marble chair on which their 
kii^ were crowned. 

^^ Ni fdUat fatwm^ ScoH quofiunqtte 

Invement lapidem, reffnare tenentur 

Which may be thus translated : 
<' Where'er this stone is found, or Fate's 

decree is vain, 
The Scots the same shall hold, an^ there 

supremely reign." 
If there were really any such tradition 
respecting London Stone, and we are far 
from thinking it improbable, th^ have 
we sufficient reason why Jack Cade should 
strike it ^umphantly, and exclaim, "NoW; 
is Mortimer Lord of this city !" A few- 
days, however, proved the fallacy of his. 
boast, for his whole army i^s routed, 
and he was killed. 

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{Trmuiaied from the Spaniih for the 

On inetmoHon in Singing, considered as 
one of the most essential objects towards 
the perfection of primary and general 
The moral influence of music conse- 
crsted by the legiiJation and public in- 
stitutions of many nations oi antiquity, 
and especially the Greeks, has been id- 
most endxely unknown, or Ul-diiected in 
modem times. In some German states 
they have began to restore that empire, 
onee exercised in the amelioration of 
mankind, by singing and music, by unit- 
ing them both to the jdan of general edu- 
cation ; not as an act of mere luxury, 
or amusement, solely reserved for the 
better dasses of society, but as a part, if 
we may so speak, of the common patri- 
mony of humanity, which education 
ought to cultivate, and render productive. 
For this reason the greater part of those, 
who, in the states bmre mentioned, have 
the direction of the establishments for 
the primary instruction of youth, are 
obliged to exercise their pupils in sing. 
ing music, essentially contributes towards 
the improvement of man ; by its power it « 
embraces, at one and the same time, phy. t 
sical and gymnastic education, since it 
unfolds the organs of speech, and adds 
vigour to the chest and lungs ; and moral 
ma intellectual education, as it awakens 
in the human heart sentiments of bene. 
ficence and love, and gives to the under, 
standing a superior degree of emotion and 
vivaci^. Music, by producing in the 
soul pleasant, profound, and varied im- 
pressions, is calculated to soften the man. 
ners, and to render the existence of man 
more delightfuL It gives'additional ele. 
YiUion to religious rites, awakens valour 
in battle, and enlivens joy on occasions 
of festivity ; it causes itsr beneficial influ- 
ence to be felt in the bosom of feunilies, 
contributes to fill the leisure hours of the 
learned, by agreeably diverting him from 
his graver occupations, renewing the vi- 
gour of his mind, inspiring his imagina. 
tion with new ideas, and animating him 
to the renewal of bis labours. It banishes 
frivolity, and gives solidity to the charac- 
t^ of li^ who is addicted to the noisy 
pleasures of the world, by recalling hhn 
from time to time to himself. It consoles 
the unfcnrtunate, increases the delights of 
prosperity, and!, in short, difluses in the 
soul an oblivion of the ills of this life, 
accompanied by presentiments of another . 
existence no^ only free from them, but at 
the same time, pure, grateful, heavenly, 

and purged from the cloudy atmosphere, 
by whidi our most joyous days are 
obscured on earth. 

It is of the greatest importance, that 
music should be emulously taught to 
even the humbler classes of socie^ : its 
study merits particular attention, siaA. the 
results which it produces are so' impor- 
tant, that we cannot too highly estimate 
the necessity of teaching its rudiments, 
in primary schools, in coniunction with 
reading, writing, arithmetic, geometry^ 
and drawing. 

Society, comparatively speaking, con- 
tains but few individuaJs adequately fiu 
voured by fortune, to be able to procure 
a musical instrument, and incur the ex- 
pense which the acquisition of its use re- 
quires. But nature, ever liberal in her 
gifts, has bestowed on man the richest 
and most agreeable instrument in hii 
voice, and in song, capable of producing 
an endless variety of sounds. The hu- 
man voice is, in fact, superior to all in- 
vented instruments : beyond any of them 
it penetrates the soul, electrifies its most 
secret and delicate fibres, and submits 
them to its controul : it is, in short, alone 
able of itself to form as many tones as axe 
produced by all instruments. Among 
thoaPapjerson^who have acknowledged the 
n^cessit^ ^pf ' co1][ipst8ing «w$tmction in 
bii^iag, jbtjfrocal fxamo, ^ tl|e^umber of 
obJQK^ ^belonging to nrimary education, 
the iatc CJiftrkff^DaJtMjrg, Grand Duke of 
FrahidbrV '4cs(^^ particular notice, as 
one eqvifJlly x^Tom^n^Me, for the noble- 
n&s anHi^^Ytttion.ofjHS'x^lind, as for the 
raire 4ua]it2es3 df hiS ^es^rt. Like what 
the cmef man of a .state should always 
be, he was the friend of humanity, and 
directed his thoughts to the happiness of 
the people, over whom he was called to 

This excellent prince, who honoured 
Mr. JuUien with his friendship, and fre- 
quently explained to him his ideas on the 
improvement of elementary instruction, 
and the intimate connection of this im- 
provement with public prosperity, de- 
signed by means of instruction in singing, 
to render the condition of the woricing 
classes better and more agreeable, by 
procuring them pleasures, both pure and 
simple, and of easy acquisition. To this 
end he proposed to awaken and nourish 
in their minds two of the sublimest senti. 
ments which most honour and dignify 
man in his own eyes ; namely, gentle and 
consoling piety, which raises him up to' 
the author of his being, and the love of 
country, which extends and enlarges his 
existence, by associating his fate with 
that of a great number of his fellow-crea- 
tures* In the celebrated scholastic esta- . 


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blkhinent, formed at Iverdun, on the 
plan of Pestalozzi, and in the two hand- 
some colleges which belong to the agri- 
cultural society of Hofwil, the teaching 
of vocal music has been introduced horn. 
the commencement, as an essential part 
of education. Mr. Pictet, speaking of 
Mr. Fellenberg, (the director of the col. 
leges already mentioned,) assures us, that 
this great man was persuaded of the 
utility of singing to the improvement of 
education, by softening the character of 
the young, rectifying their passions, 
weakening or repressins their vicious in- 
clinations, and establishing an harmoni- 
ous concord between the heart and the 
understanding; unfolding the love of 
order and the beautiful, awakening that 
of country, engraven on our hearts by 
nature herself, and exciting a religious 
Teneration which leads them to direct 
their imagination and their sentiments 
towards heaven. In those scholastic es- 
tablishmenU, all the students are taught 
the theory of music, and the Sundays are 
devoted to this study, as well as reading 
and other objects, at which time they are 
exercised in tuning and modulating sacred 
canticles and national marches. 

In Switzerland, there are many element- 
ary schools, in which the system of mdsU 
cal instruction juA becif«r^u(^to.*JMC4 
tice, aa laidil2>Whiby ]^es!brs. ^^Ulbr AV^; 
NaegaH, of Zdrith!* DAiroutfof gifiJ% 
a greater degree o&^pulasigrtQ t$e>^ 
and of generalizing it;a| m^cfl a^^ssnfle, 
diese two gentlemAi 1iAv£ ffta«!tved ihe 
principles of F^estaMi^iV m^tbo^^ Jout. 
returning to its*4>ri^t&ry eleACsa^, Ihe^ 
have succeeded In sim^plifyih^ !heift in 
such a manner, that children cannot fail 
to comprehend them with ease. The 
principles of this method are not, how- 
ever, new, but consist solely in fixing 
with precision, the bases of the science 
and the art ; in giving very little to be 
learned at once ; in separating and sim- 
plifying the elements, familiarizing chil- 
dren with diem, by presenting them one 
after the other, advancing them by insen- 
sible degrees, above all, in accustoming 
them not to mix or confound things of a 
distinct nature, and so conducting them 
as to be imbued by little and little with 
Hie science, in order that this may take 
deep root, and be, as it were, inseparable 
from their minds. The object of this 
meUiod is, that the pupils, on concluding 
their course of education, may execute 
with promptitude, precision, and firm- 
ness, the most difficult pieces. The sys- 
tem, in idiort, turns out to be no otner 
thing than an application, directed to 
n^usical science, of the analytical and 
^ilosophical path, traced out by Bacon, 

Locke, J. J. Rousseau, Condillac. I>e8. 
tutt, Tracy, Cabanis, &c ; the^ same * 
which is now so successfully adopted in 
all arts and sciences to facilitate their , 
study, and accelerate their progress. 

The society established in Paris, for ^ 
the improvement of elementary instruc- 
tion, which has already done so much 
good for the poor and industrious classes, 
and so powerfully contributed towards 
the perfection of primary education, (too 
long neglected in France, where it was 
imperfect, and even pernicious,) has pow- 
erfully exerted itseu in introducing les- 
ions m singing into the schools for mu- 
tual instruction. This happy reforma- 
tion has produced the most excellent 
effects ; the moral results are, above all, 
palpably evident. 

Mr. Amoros, a Spaniard, naturalized 
in France, and a member of the socie^ 
alluded to, to whom that country is 
indebted for the formation of a civil and 
military gymnasium, in which youth 
are taught, under able masters, the vari- 
ous exercises calculated to unfold their 
powers, and give them dexterity, has 
added music to those exercises, being 
convinced of the efficacy of this art, in 
contributing to strengthen the lungs and 
the organs of speech, as well as of its salu- 
tary moral influence. In a work he has 
Mtten, he says, '^ Now that music has 
lost so much of its primitive dignity, and 
of its power over man, since it ceased to 
be popular or general, and has taken re- 
fuge m die cloisters, or been confined to 
the theatre, what reason is there why we 
should not restore to it its ancient splen- 
dour, by appl3ring it to the improvement 
of our maimers, our character, our OT^m- 
ization even, and temperament ?** What 
obstacle is there whidi can be placed in 
opposition to such happy ideas ? — Ootdut. 

BtMr8.Corkw£ll BabokWilsok* 

(For the Mirror.) 
The Summer skies no more are blue. 

The Birds sit tuneless on the tree ; 
The fields have lost their verdant hue. 

And all looks sad, and drear to me ;— • 
Stem Winter has began his reign, 

And chill and murky is the air ; 
And though I rove the hill and plain. 

No blooming floweret meets me thcare ! 
A few brief months, — and Winter fliea^ 

And Nature clad in gayest hue. 
With milder gales, and brighter skies. 

The Summer*s glory shall renew ; — , 
But for the lone, and blighted hearty 

What future Summer can remain ?—. 
Can nature*s cluurms one joy impart. 

Or bid it hope, and \iiloom fpda ? 

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' Ah ! no ; — ^though Summer suni will rise, 

And Birds wilf8ing,and flow'rets bloom ; 
Once chillM, — ^the Morfs lost energies^ 

No future season can relume ; — 
The smiling Sun, the verdant grove. 

But mock the tortured bosom^s pain ; 
They ne'er can Sorrow's sting remove, 

Or bring lost hopes, — lost peace again ! 

No. XIV 



Some men delight in the study of plants, 
in the dissection of a leaf, or die contour 
and complexion of a tulip; others are 
charmed with the beauties of the feathered 
race, or the varied hues of the insect tribe. 
A naturalist wlU spend hours in the 
fatiguing pursuit of a butterfly; and a 
man of the town will waste whole years in 
the chase of a fine lady. I feel a respect 
for their avocations, for my own are some- 
what similar. I love to open the great 
volume of human character: to me the 
examination of a beau is more interesting 
than that of a daffodil or narcissus ; and 
I feel a thousand times more pleasure in 
catching a new view of human nature, 
than in kidnapping the most gorgeous 
butterfly— even an Emperor of Morocco 

In my present situation I have ample 
room for tne indulgence of this taste; for 
perhaps there is not a house in this city 
more fertile in subjects for the anatomists 
of human character, than my cousin 
Cockloft's. Honest Christopher, as I 
have before mentioned, is one of those 
hearty old cavaliers who pride themselves 
upon keeping up the good, honest, unce- 
remonious hospitality of old times. He 
is never so happy as when he has drawn 
about him a xnot of sterling hearted 
associates, and sits at the head of his 
table, dispensing a warm, cheering wel- 
come to all. His countenance expands at 
every glass, and beams forth emanations 
of hilarity, benevolence, and good fellow- 
ship, that inspire and gladden every guest 
around him. It is no wonder, therefore, 
that such excellent social qualities should 
attract a host of quests ; in fact, my cousin 
is almost overwhelmed with them; and 
they all, uniformly, pronounce old Cock- 
loft to be one of the finest old fellows in 
the world. His wine also always comes 
in for a good shar* of their approbation; 
nor ^0 iSej ior^ to do hcmour to Mrs. 

Cockloft's cookery, pronoundng it to be 
modelled after the most approved recipes 
of Heliogabolus and Mrs. Glasse. The 
variety of company thus attracted is par- 
ticularly pleasmg to me ; for being con- 
considered a privileged person in the 
family, I can sit in a comer, indulge im 
my favourite amusement of observation, 
and retreat to my elbow-chair, like a bee 
to his hive, whenever I have collected 
sufficient food for meditation. 

Will Wizard is particularly eflficient in 
adding to the stock of originals which 
frequent our house ; for he is one of the 
most inveterate huuters of oddities I ever 
knew; and his first care, on making a 
new acouaintanoe, is to gallant him to 
old Cockloft's, where he never fails to 
receive the freedom of the house in a pinch 
from his gold box. Will has, without 
exception, the queerest, most eccentric, 
and indescribable set of intimates that 
ever man possessed ; how he became 
acquainted with them I cannot conceive, 
except by supposing there is a secret 
attraction or unintelligible sympathy that 
unconsciously draws together oddities of 
everv soiL 

Will's great crony for some time waa 
Tom Straddle, to whom he really took a 
great liking. Straddle had just arrived 
in an importation of hardware, fresh from 
the city of Birmingham, or rather as the 
most learned English would call it, 
Brummagem, so famous for its manufac- 
factories of gimblets, pen-knives, and 
pepper-boxes, and where they make but- 
tons and beaux enough to mundate our 
whole country. He was a young man of 
considerable standing in the manufactory 
at , Birmingham ; sometimes had thie 
honour to hand his master's daughter 
into a tim-whiskey, was the oracle of the 
tavern he frequented on Sundays, and 
could beat all his associates, if you would 
take his word for it, in boxing, beer- 
drinking, jumping over chairs, and imi- 
tating cats in a gutter and opera singers. 
Straodle was, moreover, a member of a 
Catch-dub, and was a great hand at 
ringing bob-majors; he was, of course* 
a complete connoisseur in music, and 
entitled to assume that character at aU 
performances in the art. He was like- 
wise a member of a Spouting-dub ; had 
seen a company of stroUing actors porform 
in a bam, and had even, like Abel 
Drugger, " enacted" the pwt of Major 
Sturgeon with considerable applause ; he 
was consequently a profound critic, and 
fully authorised to turn up his nose at 
any American performances. He had 
twice partaken of annual dinners, given 
to the head manufacturers of Binning- 
ham, where he had the good fortune to 

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get a taste o£ turtle and twrbot, and a 
smack of champaign and burgundy; and 
he had heard a vast deal of the roast beef of 
Old England; — he was, therefore, epicure 
milficient to d — ^n every dish and every 
glass of wine he tasted in America, thougn 
at the same time he was as voracious an 
animal as ever crossed the Atlantic. 
Straddle had been splashed half a dozen 
times by the carriages of nobility, and 
had once the superlative felicity of being 
kicked out of doors by the footman of a 
noble Buke; he could, therefore, talk of 
nobility and despise the untitled pie- 
beians of America. In short, Straddle 
was one of those dapper, bustling, florid, 
round, self-important " gemmen^"* who 
bounce upon us half beau half button- 
maker; undertake to give us the true 
polish of the boih-ton^ and endeavour to 
mspire us with a proper and dignified 
contempt of our native country. 

Straddle was quite in raptures when 
his employers determined to send him to 
America as an agent. He considered 
himself as going among a nation of bar- 
barians, where he would be received as a 
prodigy; he anticipated, with a proud 
satisfaction, the bustle and confusion his 
arrival would occasion; the crowd that 
would throng to gaze at him as he passed 
through the streets ; and had little doubt 
but that he should excite as much curi- 
osity as an Indian chief or a Turk in the 
streets of Birmingham. He had heard 
of the beauty of our women, and chuckled 
at the thought of how completely he 
should eclipse their unpolished beaux, 
and the number of despairing lovers that 
would mourn the hour of his arrival. I 
am even informed by Will Wizard that 
he put good store of beads, spike-nails, 
and looking-glasses in his trunk, to win 
the affections of the fair ones as they 
paddled about in their bark canoes. The 
reason Will gave for this error of Strad- 
die's respecting our ladies was, that he 
had read in Outhrie's Geography that the 
aborigines of America were all savages ; 
and not exactly understanding the word 
aborigines he applied to one of his fellow 
apprentices, who assured him that it was 
the Latin word for inhabitants. 

Wizard used to tell another anecdote 
of Straddle, which always put him in a 
passion : Will swore that the captain of 
the ship told him, that when Straddle 
heard they were off the Banks of New- 
foundland, he insisted upon going on 
shore there to gather some good cabbages, 
of which he was excessively fond. Strad- 
dle, however, denied all this, and declared 
it to be a mischievous quiz of Will 
Wizard, who indeed often made himself 
menry at his expense. HowBver this may 

be, certain it is he kept his tailor and 
shoemaker constantly employed for ft 
month before his departure; equipped 
himself with a smart crooked stick alH>ut 
eighteen inches long, a pair of breeches 
of most unheard-of length, a little short 
pair of Hoby*s white-topped boots, that 
seemed to stand on tip-toe to readi his 
breeches, and his hat had the true trans- 
atlantic declination towards his right ear. 
The fact was — ^nor did he make any secret 
of it — he was determined to astonish (he 
natives a few! 

Straddle was not a little disappointed 
on his arrival, to find the Americans 
were rather more civilized than he had 
imagined; — ^he was suffered to walk to 
his lodgings unmolested by a crowd, and 
even unnoticed by a single individual }-.. 
no love-letters came pouring in upon 
him ; — ^no rivals lay in wait to assassinate 
him; — ^his very dress excited no atten- 
tion, for there were many fools dressed 
equally ridiculous with himself. This 
was mortif3ring indeed to an aspiring 
youth, who had come out with the idea 
of astonishing and captivating. He was 
equally unfortunate in his pretensions^ to 
the character of critic, connoisseur and 
boxer : he condenmed our whole dramatic 
corps, and every thing appertaining to 
the theatre ; but his critical abilities were 
ridiculed ; — he found fault with old Cock- 
loft's dinner, not even sparing his wine, 
and was never invited to the house after- 
wards ; — ^he scoured the streets at night, 
and was cudgelled by a sturdy watchman ; 
— he hoaxed an honest mechanic, and 
was soundly kicked. Thus disappoiiibd 
in all his attempts at notoriety. Straddle 
hit on the expedient which was resorted 
to by the Giblets ; he determined to take 
the town by storm. He accordingly bought 
horses and equipages,and forthwith made a 
furious dash at style in a gig and tandem. 

As Straddle's miances were but limited, 
it may easily be supposed that his fashion, 
able career infringed a little upon his 
consignments, which was indeed the 
case — ^for to use a true cockney phrase, 
Brummagem suffered. But this was- a 
circumstance that made little impression 
upon Straddle, who was now a lad of 
spirit — and lads of spirit always despise 
tne sordid cares of keeping anoUier man's 
money. Suspecting this circumstance, I 
never could witness any of his exhibitions 
of style, without some whimsical associa- 
tion of ideas. Did he give an entertain- 
ment to a host of gimling friends, I 
immediately fancied them gormandizing 
heartily at the expense of poor Birming- 
ham, and swallowing a consignment of 
hand-saws and razors. Did I behold him 
daflhing thxou|^ Broadway in his gig, I 

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■aw him, " in my mind*8 eye," driving 
tandem on a nest of tea-boards; nor 
could I ever contemplate his cockney 
exhibitions of horsemanship, but my 
mischievous imagination would picture 
him spurring a cask of hardware, like 
rosy Bacchus bestriding a beer barrel, or 
the little gentleman who be-straddles the 
world in the front of Hutching's Alma, 

Straddle was equally successful with 
the Giblets, as may well be supposed ; 
for though pedestrian merit may strive in 
vain to become fashionable in Gqtham, 
yet a candidate in an equipage is always 
recognised, and like Pnilip^s ass. laden 
with gold, will gain admittance every- 
where. Mounted in his curricle or his 
gig, the candidate is like a statue ele- 
vated on a high pedestal; his merits are 
discernible from afar, and strike the 
dulkist optics. Oh ! Gotham, Gotham ! 
most enlightened of cities ! how does my 
heart swell with delight when I behold 
your sapient inhabitants lavishing their 
attention with such wonderful £scem. 

Thus Straddle became quite a man of 
the town, and was caressed, and courted, 
and invited to dinners and balls. Whatever 
was absurd or ridiculous in him before, 
was now declared to be the style. — He 
criticised our theatre, and was listened 
to with reverence. He pronounced our 
musical entertainments barbarous; and 
the judgment of Apollo himself would 
not have been more decisive. He abused 
our dinners ; and the god of eating, if 
there be any such deity, seemed to speak 
througli his organs. — He became at once 
a man of taste— for he put his maledic- 
tion on every thing; and his arguments 
were conclusive — for he supports every 
assertion with a bet. He was likewise 
^onounced by the learned in the fashion- 
able world, a young man of great research 
and deep observation — for ne had soit 
home as natural curiosities, an ear of 
Indian com, a pair of moccasins, a belt 
of wampum, and a four-leaved clover. 
He had taken great pains to enrich this 
curious collection with an Indian, and a 
cataract, but without success. In fine, 
the people talked of Straddle and his 
equipage, and Straddle talked of his 
horses, until it was impossible for the 
most critical ^server to pronounce 
whether Straddle or his horses were most 
admired, or whether Straddle admired 
himself or his horses most. 

Staraddle was now in the zenith of his 
glory. — He swaggered about parlours 
«Bd drawing-rooms with ihe same unce- 
remonious confidence he used to display 
in the tavcocns. at Birmingham. Ue 

accosted a lady aa h« would a bar-maid ; 
and this was pronounced a certain proof 
that he had been used to better company 
in Birmingham. He became the great 
man of aU the taverns between New- 
York and Haerlem; and no one stood 
a chance of being accommodated until 
Straddle and liis horses were perfectly 
satisfied. He d — d the landlords and 
waiters with the best air in the world, 
and accosted them with true gentlemanly 
familiarity. He staggered from the din- 
ner table to the play, entered the box 
like a tempest, and staid long enough to 
be bored to death, and to bore all those 
who had the misfortune to be near him. 
From thence he dashed off to a ball, time 
enough to flounder through a cotilli<m, 
tear half a dozen gowns, commit a number 
of other depredaticms, and make the whole 
company sensible of his infinite conde- 
scension in coming amongst them. The 
people of Gotham thought him a prodi- 
digious fine fellow; the young buckg 
cultivated his acquaintance with the most 
persevering assiduity, and his retainers 
were sometimes complimented with a 
seat in his curricle, or a ride on one of 
his fine horses. The belles were delighted 
with the attention of such a fashionable 
gentleman, and struck with astonish- 
ment at his learned distinctions between 
wrought scissors and those of cast-steel; 
togemer with his profound dissertations 
on buttons and horse flesh. The rich 
merchants courted his acquaintance be- 
cause he was an Englishman, and their 
wives treated him with great deference, 
because he had come fr(An beyond seas. 
I cannot help here observing that your 
salt water is a marvellous great sharpener 
of men*s wits, and I intend to recommend 
it to some of my acquaintance in a 
particular essay. 

Straddle continued his brilliant careen^ 
for only a short time. His prosperous 
journey over the turnpike of fashion, was 
diecked by some of those stumbling- 
blocks in the way of aspiring youth, 
called creditors — or duns: — a race of 
people who, as a celebrated writer ob-* 
serves,' " are hated by gods and men." 
Consignments slackened, whispers of 
distant suspicion floated in the dark, and 
those pests of society, the tailors and 
shoemakers, rose in rebellion against 
Straddle. In vain were all his remon- 
strances, in vain did he prove to them 
that though he had given them no money, 
yet he had given them more custom, and 
as many promises as any young man in 
the city. They were inflexible, and the 
signal of danger being given, a host of 
o£er prosecutors pounced upon his back. 
Stndalo saw there was but one way fai 

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it; he detcnnined to do the thing gen* 
tecUy, to go to sma^ lilce a hero, and 
daslied into the limits in high style, 
heing the fifteenth gentleman I have 
known to drive tan£m to the — ne plus 
ultra — ^the d — L 

Unfortunate Straddle ! may thy fate 
he a warning to allyoune gentlemen who 
come out from Birmingnam to astonish 
the natives ! I should never have taken 
the trouble to delineate his character, had 
he not been a genuine Cockney, and 
worthy to be the representative of his 
numerous tribe. Perhaps my simple 
countrymen may hereafter be able to dis- 
tinguish between the real English gen- 
tleman, and individuals of the cast I have 
heretofore spoken of, as mere mongrels, 
springing at one bound from contemptible 
obscurity at home, to day light and 
splendour in this good natur^ land. 
The true bom, and tpe bred English gen- 
tleman, is a character I hold in great 
respect ; and I love to look back to the 
period when our forefathers flourished in 
the same generous soil, and hailed each 
other as brothers. But the Cockney ! — 
too when I ccmtemplate him as springing 
from the same source, I feel ashamS ot 
the relationship, and am tempted to deny 
my origin. — In the character of Straddle 
is traced the complete outline of a true 
Cockney, of Engush growth, and a de- 
scendant of that individual facetious 
character mentioned by Shakespeare, 
>' wAo, in pure kindnees to his horsey 
luUered his hay,** 


On Monday myself was politely invited 

To go to a Ball on the top of Blackheath : 
I was told that with beauty I'd there be delighted. 
And must tumble in love, in spite of my teeth; 
So I dress'd by my glass, till I look'd like 
And put on a smile that was perfectly 
Made sure that a dozen of conquests 
would follow. 
And then, heigHol for the eooing Md 

Ti loura, ti loura, dum dee. 

Obi the dear little creatures were daintily drest 
To choose which was loveliest only was puu 

Not an elderly lady but look'd like a vestal. 
Nor a younir one that was not an angel in 
I felt myself lost in a crowd of Divinities, 
I found that my heart was beginning to 
tingle : 
Thinks I to myself, my dear ladies, what 
sin it is 
That one of the party should ever be 

Ti tovra, ti lonra, dam dee. 

So I made up my mind, ere the evening was otwr. 
To some pretty partner to make my advances, 
A waltz or quadrille has Hx'd many a lover. 
And Cupid is famous for flirting at dances. 
Then I gave my fair partner a look like a 
love letter. 
And verily thought the expression had 
caught her. 
But my friend wish'd me joy, said my next 

hit might prove brtter. 
For the lady was blest with six sons and 
a daughter! 

Ti loura, ti loura, dum dee. 

As soon as I heard it my heart was my own again. 
For I couldn't maintain a whole set of qwul' 
But, in the next dance, oh I the wanton was gone 
For the Ball-room was full of these pretty 
The Spanish dance tempted to cast a fond 
look again. 
My precautions again were beginning 
to vanish. 
But my friend spied my meaning, and 
brought me to book again. 
For my partner he told me, had none of 
the Spanish. 

Ti loura, ti loura, dum dee. 

Oh I Emily, Anna, Kate, Fanny and Mary, 

Amelia, and Lucy, and Bessy, and Catherine- 
Not one of you present but look'd like a fairy. 
And set a fond Irishman's heart a wool- 
'Twas Oberon's Court, at the Green Maa 
And ye were the sprites that his lady 
Queen Mab sent ; 
With affection I glow'd, and with reve- 
rence trembled. 
For all who were present, and one who 
was absent. 

Ti loura, tlloui-a, dum dee^ 

Then the music, so sweet, kept my ears in the 
The fiddles were all of them genuine Cre- 
Weregentle as J unos, and brave as Bellonas ; 
When all the quadrilles in the world had 
been given us. 
Then the kind-hearted folks, lest the 
dance might fatigue us. 
Gave us plenty of tea and new rolls to 
enliven us, 
For the ladies all vote it far better than 
negus. ' 

Ti loura, ti loura, dum dee. 

Now, long live the ladies who visit the Green 
Wives, widows, and maidens, long life to thenl- 
And if ever you're seized with a fit of the spleen, 
Pray post to Blackheath, and make one at the 
Blackheath, Dec. 24. 1823. J. B. 


4. word by grammarians used in oiur 
Of such a construction is seen, 
Thatif from five syllables you take aw»v 
No iyllia>Ie then will icmaiiu 

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IBartrorii jeunnerg, Witnt. 

^* Revenge ! Revenge !" in accents hoarse, 

The Saxon Offa cried, 
As he pursued his anxious couise, 

Along the Darent^s side. 

♦* Betray'd by friendship and by love. 
While blood bounds thro* my veins, 

I vow *fore all the poiirers above, 
Fierce vengeance on the Danes. 

*^ Revenge ! Revenge ! my soul inspi res 

To loved £ditha*s manes, 
I vow till fleeting breath expires. 

Fell vengeance on the Danes." 

The idea upon which this little ihap- 
tody is founded, though arising from an 
historical source, is merely legendary. 
It is stated, that the Danea^ in theii 
piratical excursions, frequently ravaged 
the coast of Keni. and sometimes carried 
their inroads, and pursued their depre- 
dations up the country. Dartford where 
there was a seminary of noble virgins, 
which probably miffht have been founded 
by EUhelbert^ under the auspices of 
Austin, was ravaged, and burnt, and, 
says tradition, the holy inmates, among 
whom was Editha, the daughter of a 
Saxon king, treacherously violated and 
barbarously murdered. This, whether 
true or fabulous, is merely stated to show 
its antiquity, because we know that few of 
tile Fables of early ages either floated on 
the pinions of local tradUion^ or were 
thamed to the desks of monasHc libraries^ 
except they were in some degree, how- 
ever small, supported by facts. 

In the age to which we allude, the 
Konneiy of Daitfotd, <^ the remains of 

which we frimish an engraving from an 
original design, was founded by that 
gaUant and magnificent monarch, Edward 
III., and it is curious enough to observe, 
that in this instance, war and religioa 
took their turns like day and night. 

In the year 1331, the king held a 
Tournament at Dartford, — ^Tournaments 
were in those times not only scenes of 
unbounded splendour and luxury, but we 
fear, sometimes of pleasure that degene* 
rated into licentiousness. Be this as it 
may, whether the ladies, in process of 
time, found any reason to repent, or the 
monarch deemed such an establishment 
oommemoratory, he, in the year 1355, 
founded a Nunnery, which, it will be 
observed by the plate, was built in the 
plainest monastic style. Yet it seems, 
either from its extent, interior decorations, 
or lands appended to it, to have been a 
place of very considerable unportance: 
for it was at the time of the Rcf onnation 
^ued at d6380. per annum. This build- 
ing the historian liombardy, says, Henry 
y in. converted it into a house for himsefr 
and successors. Of the structure, once 
sovemed by Bridget of York, the fourdi 
daughter of Edwurd IV. only a sateway, 
the south wing adjoining, and £e stone 
walls in the gurden, remain. These ves- 
tiges are, however, sufficient to urge the 
inind to a contemplation of that system 
once so prevalent, under which numbers 
of both sexes were taken out of sodetv, 
at a time of life when their talents would 
have rendered then^ useful, and whenever 
dieir conduct, if we may presume that 
they in seclusion, encountered rather 

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than aroidod temptaiioii, would probably 
have been more exemplary. 

The town of Dartford which contains 
2,406 inhabitants, has an air of great anti- 
quity. In it was solemnized the marriage 
Oay proxy) of Frederick II. Emperor of 
Germany, with IsabeUa, sister of Henry 
IIL, ana hospitals and alms*-houses were 
here built in the reign of Henry IV. 
And this town is illso memorable for that 
great rebellion headed by Wat Tyler, 
which was occasioned by ue indecent be- 
haviour of one of the Collectors of the 
Poll-Tax. Rapin erroneously says, that 
Wat Tyler resided at Deptford; this 
error, excusable in a foreign historian, 
has. been suffered to pass uncorreoied hj 
his DBditon A. M. 


Although slavery is a bitter cup, how- 
ever it may be disguised, yet the situation 
of the negroes in the West India Islands 
has been considerably ameliorated of late 
years. They have neither bc^n worked 
so hard, or treated with so much severity 
as formerly. They have also been allowed 
« few days of uncontrolled passtime to 
lighten die weary chain of slavery. 
Christmas shines a holiday to the sable 
son of woe as well as to his fairer task- 
master, as will be seen by the following 
•account of the Christmas racket of the 
negroes, whidi is communicated in a 
letter f^m Jamaica, written some years 
ago I 

Falmouth^ JamatcOy 
3rrf Map, 1810. 

My dear C. — About a fortnight be- 
fore Christmas last, I was awakened one 
morning before day, with a very unusual 
• sound of mirth. 1 heard a drum beating, 
and, as near as I could conjecture, about 
three or four do2en of voices singing, La, 
la, la, in great style. On inquiry, I found 
that it was a parcel of black women, 
marching up and down, beginning the 
-Christmas racket. Now, you must know, 
that at that merry season, the Negroes 
have four days entirely to themselves, 
namely, Christmas day, the day before, 
&e day after, and New Year's day ; duiu 
ing thiat time they axe free, and a pretty 
sort of freedom they make of it. 

To prepare for this momentous period 
is the nu^ess of the whole year ; every 
penny is sqraped together, by begging, 
borrowing, and stealing. In Falmouth, 
there are two parties, the blues and the 
reds, and the whole of the business is, 
which of these shall excel in dress, num- 
bers, beauty, and fine singing; their 
mMten and miatieM^f aro also brovgU 

mto die scrape ; for example, Mr. -...*s 
is a Blue house, that is, all our Negroes 
are of the Blue party, and we must, of 
course, be of the same colour. The Ne- 
noes of our next neighbour may be 
Keds ; that again is called a Red house : 
with die Whites it is merely a nominal 
distinction, but with the JBrowns and 
Blacks, it is a serious affair. 

About a fortnight before Christmas, 
then, the negro women begin to prepare. 
They get up long before day, snoulder 
their water-buckets, and off to die tank 
for water. The tank is a reservoir, which 
stands in the middle of the town, where 
every body gets their water, like your 
public wells in Edinburgh; but, instead 
of minding their business, down go the 
buckets. The Blues collect in one cor- 
ner; the Reds' in another; and there ther 
begin. Some stout negro man joins each 
party, who can beat, and ratdes away at 
their head on an old drum, keeping tune 
to their voices ; this continues till after 
day-break, when they are obliged to mus- 
ter up their scattered utens^ and tru^ 
home. This is what I call icbe rdiearsal, 
and the nearer it draws to Christmas, tibe 
xnore assemble, and the longer the said 
rehearsal lasts. 

The much wished for moming'dawns 
at last, to the great joy of the whole 
black race, and to the great annoyance of all 
lovers of peace and good order. Buckra's 
(white person) house is left to take care 
of itself ; out set die n^roes, one and all, 
to die jubilee, and about day-light die 
uproar begins ; drums, fifes, tambourines, 
fiddles, and voices, la, la, la. I pulled 
on my clothes last Christmas morning, and 
set out determined to see the dusL 1 fol- 
lowed the sound of die hurricane that was 
nearest me, and met the Blues plump in 
the face. Lord have mercy on us, such 
a sight ! They were dressed exacdy 
alike : first and foremost, a white muslin 
turban, spangled widi silver, was twisted 
roimd their curly locks; in the front <Mf 
which stuck something like a feaiher, and 
beneath peeped their round and black 
faces as '^ Fan: as the star of the mom- 
ing.*' Their necks were uncovered ; and 
to mark their colour, they each wores 
shott spencer of light blue silk, or Per* 
sian, tasteftiUy trimmed with white, and 
bound at the bottom with an orange* 
coloured sash, tied in a large Imot behind, 
with the ends hanging down to their heels, 
likewise adorned with spangles. A ^ort 
white muslin petticoat, with a wrou^t 
border, white stockings, and fancy shoes 
and gloves, made up the dress. In the 
front marched the drummer; on each 
side of him a standard bearer (men) car. 
yjriDgt one a silk flsg of light blue, and 

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■the other a white, famously decorated* 
Round these were collected all the idlers, 
or mobili^, some playing on one thing, 
some another, all keeping good time. 
Close following came the Queen, (each 
party has a King and Queen,) supported 
on ^ch side by a maid of honour^ glit- 
tering in finery ; after her followed the 
principal ladies, two and two, arm and 
arm ; betwixt Uiem, again marched the 
rest, in regular succession, two and two, 
according to their size, the smallest bring- 
ing up the rear. The drums beat and the 
ladies sing. The glittering colours wave 
in the sun-beams, and the multitude re- 
joice. The Reds follow the same order, 
.only red is their predominant colour. 

You will naturally ask where do slaves 
get all this ? Ill tell you ^ the Mulattos 
take a principal part in the fray. The 
elderly brown women in Falmouth, many 
of whom are well to do, head the different 
parties in private, regulate the ceremonies, 
{md purchase the dresses out of their own 

Surse, while the young brown girls make 
lem ; and to such a height is the spirit 
of emulation carried, t^t the brown 
Woman who headed tne Reds last year, 
said publicly, that, " before the Blues 
should gain the day, she would sell a 
negro, and spend every farthing of the 
money." In this order, then, and widi 
the greatest glee imaginable, do the two 
parties parade up and down, from one 
comer of the town to the other, all day. 
The first day of the year is the last and 
grandest exhibition, and it is then that the 
great trial of strength takes place, and 
the King makes his appearance. In the 
forenoon it is not known who will gain 
the day, for many additions take place on 
both sides. About five in the evening 
both parties make their appearance com- 
plete. The music comes first; then 
comes the King, superbly dressed in blue 
or red, covered with gold or silver lace, a 
sword at his side, and a cocked hat. On 
his right walks her Majesty ; on his left 
the chief maid of hour. Lmmediately 
behind comes his Majesty's chief office, 
with other two principal dames on each 
ann ; and so on in succession, a gentle- 
man being now placed between each two 
ladies, all attired in court dresses. The 
Kins and his retinue are generally the 
handsomest young negroes in the town. 
The King himself is always a free black. 
Immediately at dusk, a thousand candles 
are lighted up, and the procession moves 
by candle l&ht. About seven of each 
party takes their station before the prin- 
cipal house of their colour. The Blues 
last year encamped before our door, and 
the King made the piazza the hsJl of 
mdienoe. The Reds werc almost oppo- 

site at another house. In our piaazs, a 
table was set forth covered. On it stood 
a cake six stories high, round each ttorj 
smaller as it drew towards the top, pow^ 
dered over with sugar, and on each side 
of it stood half a dozen of Madeira, glasses, 
&c &C. At this table sat their Majesite 
attended, and the piazza was perfectly fall 
of people of all descriptions. Mr. and 

Mrs. , and some company which we 

had that day at dinner, came all down te 
pay their respects. They drank a g]ass of 
wine with the sovereigns, and marched up 
stairs again. The rest at this time had 
formed a circle at the door, and there 
they dance, surrounded by the candle 
holders and an immense mob. At ten the 
procession moves off in order ; the King 
and Queen are escorted to their abode ; he 
bows, and she curtsies to their subjects ) 
the subjects bow in return. Three loud 
diners are given; the drums beat, and the 
colours wave. Their Majesties retire. 
The candles are put out, and I conclude 
my letter. 

(Bfi thf IlliutrijLtor ofO$Hqkn'» Poems.) 

(For the Mirror.) 

Shall freedom's agents, forc'd by slavery, fly 
From climes unworthy, to their native sky — 
Fill up the measure of a bigot's pride 
Whom every scoundrel monk is free to chide 
And British pens be still — not — 'twere a sham« 
•-Freedom shall make slaves blush at Riego's 

Benighted fools, in bigotry's dark gloom 
Ye gave the generous Riego glorys tomb. 
But knew it not.— your priests now vaunt and ) 

teU f 

And preach the j ustice of their actions fell C 
And trom your toils their bloated bodies swelL J 
Yet he shall live ! — ere long the day will come 
That o'er his dust will see a patriot's tomb. 
Which time shall save from his destroying b.aa^ 
To prove that virtuous deeds will evf r last. 
And paint the follies of your seamster's rei^ \ 
Whom every virtuous monarch must disdain, f 
Ah, superstitious slaves-ah, Moort,offfothic r 

Spaail J 



A certain priest had'hoarded up^ 

A mass of secret gold ; 
And where he might bestow it safe. 

He knew not to oehold. 
At last it came into his thoughts 

To lock it in a chest. 
Within the chancel ; and he wrote 

Thereon, Hie Deus est. 
A merry grig, whose greedy mind 

Did long for such a prey, 
Respecting not the sacred words 

That on the casket lay. 
Took out the gold ; and blotting oot 

The priest's inseript thereon, 
Wrote, Remrrexit, non est hie ; 

Your god h rose aivt fone. 

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(For the Mirror,) 

Sib. — ^In reading that much admired 
novel of the great unknown ^ Kenilworth,' 
I waa struck with the following passages, 
which seem directly to contrailict one 
another, they are in the 6th chapter, 
▼oL iL " But his eye-hrows were as 
ilark as the keen and piercing hlack eyes 
which they shaded ;** and in a few pages 
fiffther, he says, ** while an ohserving 
glance of the most shrewd penetration 
shot from under the penthouse of liis 
shaggy white eye-brows." You will 
plainly perceive the error in these na»- 
sages, and that there are frequently blun- 
ders among beauties ; but if this great 
unknown (»lls black white he should not 
tell us so, when describing any thing 
otherwise beautifuL I am, yours, 

Dec 27. Peter Tomkiks. 



That in Mr. Irving we have disco- 
vered our imaginary preacher, we can by 
Ao means admit ; we have read his volume 
with bitter and painful disappointment : 
bitter, because the work falls so far short 
otthe expectation which his fame had ex- 
cited; painful, because it is an ungra- 
cious and unwelcome office to depreciate, 
in the least, the labours of a zealous man, 
which appear to have produced so striking 
an effect on so great a concourse of 
hearers ; to have startled so many of the 
thoughtless and dissipated; and omti. 
vated so many undisciplined, but ardent 
and enthusiastic minds. But Mr. Irving 
would despise us if we were not as fearless 
in performing our duty, as he is in his. 
We consider popularity, in London espe- 
ciaUy, so imceitain a criterion oi excel- 
lence, that its verdict can neither awe nor 
control our opinions. From the tone of 
our former observations, the author will 
perceive that we are not blindly wedded 
to our own system of preaching ; and as 
to the charitable insinuation of *' illiberal 
jealousy,' wiUi which we find that Mr. 
Irving*s admirers attempt to beat down 
every one who will not bow to their idol, 
that we can only treat with disregard, — 
as we do the wanton falsehood, so indus- 
triously circulated, that our ministers, in 
whom the inseparable interests of the 
churd) and state are vested by the crown, 

have followed the prevailing fiMhioli of 
descnrting their pariah churches, and hui^ 
ried, day after day, to what, by the law 
of England, (we sneak without intended, 
and, we hope, witnout suspected dispa« 
ragement to the Scottish church,) is no 
more than a licensed conventide. Had 
the orator attained or approximated to the 
lofty station assigned to him by popular 
report, we may have felt a blameless re- 
eret Uiat our own church had not pro- 
duced the consummate preacher ; that the 
crowds which flowed to Hatton Ghirden 
had not rather thronged to one of our 

?>lendid new churches, at Mary-le-bone, 
aneras, or Chelsea ; but still, we should 
have hailed the doquent advocate of 
Christianity with pride and satisfaction, 
as an ornament to our common literature, 
and a support, to be valued as much as it 
is wanted in our capriciousness and un- 
certain days, to our common religion. 
But we cannot recognise as the champion 
<^ our faith, a reasoner so vague and 
inconsistent, a dedaimer so turgid and 
imintelligible, a writer so coarse and in- 
correct. We deprecate the introduction 
of a system of preaching which must 
eventually be dangerous to the interests 
of Christianity, and which is equaUy 
objectionable in its design and execution. 
However imperfect our rules of pulpit 
eloquence may be, we are convinced of 
their substantial truth ; against all and 
each of those of Mr. Irving offends ; nor 
do we think that his own merits, which, 
better regulated, would be considerable, 
counterbiuance the violation of every prin- 
dple : for we must be excused in saying 
that his is not the brave neglect of a 
transcendent genius, but an effected and 
elaborate outrage against nature, sim- 
plidty, and truth. Even that primary 
and indispensable excellence, which arises 
from the jfios^ (we studiously adopt the 
Greek word,) as far as it is displayed in 
the work itself, is wanting in Mr. Irving. 
Far from creating a favourable impression 
of himself, his £x>k commences, and we 
lament to toy, proceeds, in a tone of self 
sufficiency, we had almost written arro 
ganceu which not all the pie^ of Taylo^ 
nor tne theologic depth of Barrow, not 
the conscious strengtn of Horsley could 
excuse ; but here with nothing to vindi- 
cate it beyond the erudition of a school 
boy, and a theology so indistinct and ii:« 
consistent, as to appear to take refuse 
from the detection of its unsoundness in 
its redundant and confused language ; it 
is not merdy in itself offensive, but de- 
stroys the effect of that boldness, which 
otherwise all would admire, with which 
many fashionable foUes and vices are as« 

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Mr. Irrliig^s system teems t0 be, not to 
eonfine religious advice to topics of rdision 
alone, but to introduce every subject which 
may occur, either literary or political, in 
the vay of digression and illustration. The 
sermon is to be made as amusing as pos- 
sible ; no longer to restrict itself to the 
exposition of Scripture, the unfolding of 
points of doctrine, or exhortation to 
Christian duty, but the preacher is to add 
to his office those of pamphleteer, journal- 
ist, and reviewer. But has not Mr. Irving 
the good sense to perceive, that to admit 
matters of taste and opinion into the pul- 
pit, however attractive at first, must in- 
validate its authority, and detract from 
that religious reverence, which the sanc- 
tity of the place and the priestly character 
ought to ensure ? It is dangerous for a 
prncher to give his audience an opportu- 
nity of differing from him with justice 
ana propriety. If they question the trudi 
of his discourses on these points, they 
will suspect his authority on those which 
are more important. If he is a bad critic 
in their estimation, they will naturally 
doubt his being a good divine. There 
is, however, a more serious charge. We 
cannot endure the liberty of the old Ore- 
dan comedy beine assumed in the pulpit. 
Mr. Irving introduces personal allusions 
to the auth<»s of the day, and even attacks 
them by name. We must reprobate a 
practice so irreconcilable with the charity, 
and which may lead to consequences diet 
grading to the dignity of the pulpit 

Mr. Irving*s manner of distributing 
and arranging his subjects by no means 
fails in comprehensiveness ; out it is so 
perplexed with digressions, and encum- 
bered by intermingling the separate 
heads, sometimes anticipating what is to 
come, or reverting to what he has ex- 
hausted, that we find it difficult to dis- 
cover with what part of the plan we are 
occupied; and after all the care with 
whidi our journey has been laid down 
and mapped, we find ourselves wander- 
ing in an inextricable wilderness. His 
style and diction are still more perversely 
inconsistent and contradictory. His 
prose is elaborate, and at the same time 
singularly deficient in rhythm; a sen- 
tence cast in the prolix mould of the an- 
cient pulpit is succeeded by a smart epi- 
gram; the frill and turgid flow of his 
great model. Dr. Chalmers, is suddenly 
broken up into short quaint clauses. 
Fjot the singularity of his language we 
cannot permit him to plead his country. 
It would be the very insolence of pe- 
dantry, should we affect to make allow- 
ances to the countrymen of Hume, Ro- 
bertson and Dugala Stewart, for national 
peculiarity and for incorrectness of writ* 

ing. Bttt the dialect of Mr. living 19 . , 
neither Scotch nor English, neither an- , 
cient nor modem; it is sometimes so 
forced and strained as to be unintelligible, 
strange words used in still more strange 
senses ; sometimes it is familiar even to 
vulgarity : one moment inflated to the 
highest poetry, the next sinking to the 
language of the streets. We are almost 
ashamed of our perpetual antithesis ; but, 
in fact, the faults and merits of Mr. Ir- 
ving are so strangely balanced and con- 
trasted, so much in opposite extremes, 
that we know no other way of expressing 
our opinion with perspicuity and decision. 

Is then Mr. Irving eloquent ? If he 
is, the prize of eloquence must be awarded 
with greater frequency, and may be ob- 
tained with greater facility, than such . 
writers as Aristotle, Cicero, and Quin- 
tilian supposed. Who may not be elo- , 
quent, that is endowed with an imagina- 
tion in the least ardent and creative, il 
he has boldness enough to disdain what- 
ever impedes the fluency, and restrains 
the copiousness of more modest and cor- 
rect speakers? If it is eloquence, to 
pour forth every thought in metapiion 
incongruous, incomplete and clashing 
with each other ; to seize every illustra- 
tion which occurs from the sacred volume 
or the meanest occupation of life; if 
every third sentence may ' mean not but 
blunder round about a meaning ;* if the 
language may disdain not merely purity 
and precision, but even grammar ; if the 
expressions are to be confined by no re- 
gard, we will not say, to propriety but to 
decency, Tfor there are terms, favourite 
terms witn Mr. Lrving, which we dare 
not quote,) then indeed our orator is wor- 
thy of the name. But if abundance 
without selection, fluency without cor- 
rectness, perpetual repetition without per- 
spicuity ; in short, a total want of judg- 
ment in the application of extraorcunary 
fertility and exuberance, are imperfec- 
tions, much is still wanting, bemre we 
can accede to the high pretensions of this 
celebrated preacher. 

Finally, we intreat Mr. Irving, for his 
sake as tat our own, in the name of that 
cause which he is pledged to advocate, 
not to waste his extraordinary powers ; 
not to sacrifice a permanent and extensive 
influence to a transient, theatrical success. 
His usefrilness must depend upon his real 
and lasting excellence ; let him therefore 
despise the poor pride of sending forth 
his works, crude, disjointed, and uncon- 
nected; let him lower his pretensions, 
without in the least compromising the 
boldness of a minister of divine truth ; 
let him be more cautious in his assertions, 
and the subjects which he introduces into 

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Tii£ lirtRRdiL 

the pubkit, witfiont being restndned dr 
timid ; let him set us an example of that 
solemn sequestration of the mind,' of 
whic^ he speaks, for the great conception 
and perfect execution of some enduring 
work in favour of Christianity, and we 
assure him that none of his rondest ad- 
mirers, or more eager followers, will hail 
his appearance more proudly, gladly, or 

Quarterly Review^ No, 58 

No. I. 


William Edward Parry, the fourth son 
of Dr. Parry, was bom at Bath, on the 
10th of December, 1790, and received the 
rudiments of his education at the gram- 
mar school of that city, under the care of 
diie Rev. Nathaniel Morgan. Here he 
continued till he was about twelve, pur- 
suing his studies with diligence, and 
uniformly maintaining that deportment 
which gained him the regard of the mas- 
ters and the esteem of his school-fellows. 
At that time Admiral Comwallis com- 
manded the Channel fleet, to whom young 
Parry was recommended by a near relative 
of the Admiral, and was permitted to 
make trial of the naval service, under the 
immediate auspices of that gallant officer. 
He, therefore, joined the Ville de Paris, 
in 1803; and, during his probationary 
year in this active scene, his conduct was 
such as secured the high opinion of both 
the officers and the crew. His intrepidity 
of character was often displayed, and his 
deference to his superiors, and his amiable 
attention to his equals, were constantly 
manifested. His dassical and other at- 
tainments, which had been so assiduously 
acquired while at school, were by no 
means neglected in his new situation. 
Admiral Comwallis had provided for the 
improvement of the youneer members of 
the provision, and especially for those on 
board of his own ship. The Rev. William 
Morgan (afterwards Chaplain of the Royal 
Navy Asylmn, Greenwich), was, at that 
time. Chaplain of the Ville de Paris, and 
was particularly attentive to the younger 
branches of his charge; so that, under 
these circumstances, the first year of 
i?arry*s professional career not only de- 
veloped several valuable qualities of his 
character, but increased his store of know- 
ledge, and seemed to have rivetted more 
finmy these principles of virtue and reli- 
gion, which nad been deeply impressed 
on his mind by the care and attention of 
his parents. — ^It showed, too, that his 
taste and disposition were suited to the 

uHibfito which he had been intrdAieed. 
In reference to this period, ^e testimony' 
of Admiral Comwallis is decisive. On 
the 4th of August, 1804, he writes, «< I 
never knew any one so generally approved 
of. He will experience civility and Und- 
ness from all whilst he continues to con- 
duct himself as he has done, which, I 
dare believe, will be as long as he lives.'* 
The first diree years he spent on board 
the Admiral's riiro, in the tedious and 
unprofitable task ofblockading the I^nch 
fleet in the harbour of Brest; a service 
in which he had great opportunities <^ 
acquuing a knowledge of good discipline 
and practical seamanship. He still -con 
tinned equally attentive to his duty, and 
assiduous in improving his mind, and 
extending his knowle^, under tibe su- 
perintendence of the I^v. Mr. Morgan, 
for whose care he always manifested a 
strong sense of obligation. 

In May 1806, Parry jdned the Tri^ ' 
bune, 36 guns, then commanded by Capt. 
Baker, and employed off' L'Orient. In 
the following year, and a part of 1808, 
this vessel cmised off the west coast of 
France and the Peninsula, from RocM>rt 
to Lisbon. The acts of service iriiich 
presented themselves at this period were 
reoonnoitering,and others, which belonged 
to the blockading party, into all oi which 
young Parry enter^ with hh usual spirit 
and promptitude. In April, 1808, Capt. 
Baker was a^^inted to the Vanguard, of 
74 guns, then in the Baltic, and which : 
Parry also joined in the following mondi. 
Early in the next year, great preparations ^ 
were made for an active summer in that 
sea, against the Danes, in which service 
Parry was again employed. On ihe Odi 
of January, 1810, he was promoted to the 
rank of Lieutenant, and on the 9th of 
Febraary, joined the Alexandria, com- 
manded by Capt. QuiUiam. Soon after 
this, the subject of Uiis memoir began to 
study the situation of the principal fixed 
stars in our hemisphere, with a view of 
applving them to ie purpose of finding 
the latitude and longitude at night; he 
was also, at the same period, employed 
in preparing charts of the northern navi- 
gation. During the two following years, 
die Alexandria remained on the Leith 
station, protecting the northern whale 
fishery, and Lieut. Parry still continued 
to observe the stars. He also employed 
himself in making a survey of the Baltic 
Sound and the Voe, in Shetland, a har- 
bour which was very little known, though 
the only one capable of sheltering men of 
war in the north-eastern part of these 
islands. This chart was transmittted to 
the Lords of the Admiralty in 1813, who 
were pleased to aa^pufy their approbation: 

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•fhytadta oonsldBr k M faigihlT aeoepl- 
aUe. Mz. Paxry also, about &• Mmo 
time, presented other charts, of the coasts 
between Denmark and Sweden, to the 
hydiographer of the admiralty. While 
engaged in this service, in 1812, die 
Akxandria^ was ordered to proceed as hi 
a876deg.ofnorthlatitude,and return with 
the last of the whalers; but she was pre- 
▼ented from reaching that parallel by 
large masses of floating ice, and made the 
Ncrai Cape. The following January, 
Parry was discharged from the Alexan^ 
dria^ and ordered to proceed to Halifax, 
in which station the years 1813 and 1814 
were spent; and where he distributed, 
among the junior officers, several copies 
of his practical rules for observing the 
fixed stars, a corrected copy of which was 
afterwards printed. In May, 1816, Pany^ 
was at the top of the Admiralty list for 
promotion; and, in June, was appointed 
first Lieutenant of his Majesty's shTp 
Niger^ on the Hali£EUC station, com- 
manded by. Capt Jackson, where he still 
secured the same esteem and confidence 
he had obtained on board other vessels. 
In consequence of a severe affliction ex- 
perimced by his father. Lieutenant Parry 
obtained leave to return to England, and 
he arrived in May, 1817* He snent the 
summer in the vicinity of Bath, where his 
parent then resided ; and in the autumn of 
that year, when the first of the late expe- 
ditions in search of the north west passage 
to the Pacific Ocean, was contemplated. 
Lieutenant Parry was strongly recom- 
mended to the liords of the Admiralty; 
in consequence of which, he was appointed 
to the command of the Alexandery the 
second ship destined to explore that pas- 
sage, under the orders of Capt. Itoss. 
The particulars of this voyage are too 
well Imown to require repetition; and the 
lesolt of the discussions which followed 
was the appointment of a new expedition 
to the same quarter, to sail in the followinff 
nuing. Sucn was the high opinion which 
l(t I^irds of the Admiralty entertained 
m Parry^s conduct on the former occasion, 
that the second attempt was entrusted to 
his sole care and direction ; as he not only 
received the command, but was consulted 
in the choice of the ships and officers of 
the expedition. The two ships (Lieut. 
Pany m the Hecla, and Lieut Liddon in 
the Griper)y left England in May, 1819, 
under the extreme degree of public in- 
terest and anxiety. In November of the 
following year, both vessels almost unex- 
pectedly returned; and, though the object 
of the expedition had not been fully rea- 
lized, the most .sanguine anticipations as 
to the safety of the crews had been sur- 
passed; as not a single man was lost, 

exeept one who was vaweQ when tfie. 
expedition left England. 

Such was the satis&eC&on wtdcK the 
conduct of the commander, under these 
new and trying drcnmstances, rendered 
to all concerned, that he was immediatelT 
promoted, and a third expedUum planned, 
under the vigilance and care of the same 
experienced and intrepid navigator; and 
such was the confidence inspired by his 
former deportment, that the offi ;er8 and 
men, who volunteered to accompany him, 
were treble the number that could be 
accepted. Capt Parry, therefore, once 
more left his native country for these 
hyperborean regions, as already stated 
in May, 1821. — Timei Telescope, 

In eate of danger arinngfrom having 
ihrmtik water uhen wa/rm, — ^Take half an 
ounce of camnhw in a gill of brandy, 
prc^rly dissolved, at intervals of three 

Meltonian Recipe fifr Cleaning Booi~ 
TV^J— .Wash oflF the dirt with a soft 
sponge and dean water, and if any stains 
remain, rub them o£P with a piece of 
flannel, using Bath brick finely powdered, 
mixed with water — ^then appl^ the fol- 
lowing mixture to the tops, viz. 1 oz. of 
Oxalic acid dissolved in aquartofftoi^T^ 

The brick powder is only necessary 
when the tops are very dirt^. And the 
grit should always be caremlly washed* 

N. B. The Oxalic mixtures must be 
applied cold^ and always whilst the tops are 
wet, and then dried in the sun if possible, 
but never before the fire. 

Best wag of taking Castor Oil — Take 
the yelk of an egg, beat it well up with 
a little white sugar, then pour in the oil, 
and thin the mixture by adding boiling 

Jameses Powder, — An analysis lately 
made by Mr. Phillips, of some of James*s 
Powder, bought from Messrs. Newberys, 
St PauPs Church-yard, yielded 

Peroxide of Antimmiy^.,.,,..^ 56*0 

Phosphate of Lune 42*2 

Oxide of Antimony, impu- 
rity and loss .» 1*6 

The quanti^ of protoxide of antimony, 
contained in the powder, *^ was so small 
that it would have been nearly impossible 
to have ascertained its weight'* 

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Dr. Mao. CvOochU Recipe for Pasie.^ 
To be made with flour in the usual way, 
but rather thick with a Droportion of 
brown sugar, and a small quantity of 
Conrosive Sublimate. The sugar keeps 
it flexible, and prevents it scaling off 
from smooth surfaces, and the corrosive 
sublimate, independently of preserving it 
ftom insects, is an effectual oieck against 
its fermentation. This salt, however, 
does not prevent the formation of moul- 
diness; butadrop or too of the Essential 
Oil of Lavender, Pqipermint, Anise, or 
Ber^imot, is a complete security agahist 
it. Paste made in this manner and ex- 
posed to the air, dries without change to 
a state resembling horn, so that it may 
at any time be wetted again and applied 
to use. And if kept in a dose coveied 
pot, may be preserved in a state for use 
at all times. 

handsome in Honsieur de Voltabe to 
speak so well of Monsieur Ilaller inas- 
much as he, the said Monsieur Haller 
was by no means so liberal to Monsieur 
de Voltaire, " Alas !" (said Voltaire with 
an air of philosophic indulgence) ^^ I dare 
to say we are bodi of us very much mis- 
taken !" 

AeeHe Acid, a remedy for Wartt and 
Corns. — ^According to Mr. A. T. Thom- 
son, ^^ Acetic acid is stimulant and rube- 
facient. It is principally employed as a 
leficediing scent in syncope, asphyxia, 
and nervous head-aches ; and for obviat- 
ing the unpleasant smell of ^bt confined 
air of crowded assemblies and of the 
sick-room. It is also an excellent ap- 
plication to warts and corns, which it 
sddom fails to remove ; but in applying 
it, care must be taken to avoid eroding 
the surrounding skin." 

**! am but a Gafherer and disposer of other 
men's stuff. — fVootton. 

A Rabbinical Story. — In one of 
the Rabbinical stories in the Talmud, a 
bird is represented as spreading its wings 
and blotting out the sun. An egg from 
another fell out of its nest, and the white 
thereof overflowed a whole village. One 
of these birds is said to have stood up to 
the fewer joint of its leg in a river, and 
some mariners imagining, that the water 
was not deep, were hastening to bathe, 
when a voice from heaven said, " step 
not in there, for seven years ago a car- 
penter drop*t his axe, ana it hath not yet 
reached the bottom. 

The Customs. £. «w d 

The Annual produce of 
the Customs in the year 
1208, was Ifiai3 10 

The gross produce of the 
Customs in the year 
ending the fiUi of Ja- 
nuary, 1821, was 14,440,881 5 11^ 

And the Net produce 
was ^10,743, 189 13 IJ 


Joe hates a hypocrite: which shewa 
Self'tjoce is not a fiuilt of Joe*s ! 

BoK Mot or Voltaire. — One of 
the happiest repartees of Voltaire is said 
to have been made to an Englishman, 
who had previously been on a visit to the 
cdebrated Haller, in whose praise Vol- 
taire enlarged with great warmth, extolling 
h^ as a great Poet, a great Naturalist, 
and a man of universal attainments. — The 
Englishman answered that it was veiy 

A good tMle, — As concise as a Idng^t 
Dedication of Love. 

Supesstition is the spleen of the souL 


Our Correspondents are requested to address 
all cominunications for the " Editor/' to 143, 
Strand, where the Mirror will henceforth be 

Lbisurs Houks, No.I., in oar next, when 
we shall insert " The Amateur Music Party," 
** Lent, or a visit to my Catholic Friends," ** The 
Mistletoe," ** The Princess Charlotte to Prince 
Leopold," and communication of T. Z. -' 

Rob Rot's Letter, Mas. (wtio we more than 
suspect to DO in error, in the last paragraph of 
his letter,) Francisca, Edric, Ignatius, and se- 
veral articles from some of our early corres- 
pondents, shall appear forthwith. 

O. F. in some half dozen or dozen lines adviset' 
people not to iro to law. We at least shall en- 
deavour to follow his advice. 

The Ode of Bonas is written in a good feel- 
inff, and is by no means destitute of merit, but 
it is not quite bonua enough for the Miaaoa. 

Jacobus is one among some thirty who have 
ser.t us New Year Odes so equal in merit, that 
we are like the Royal Society of Literature, 
unable to decide, to which we shall ffire the 

Iireference, and therefore respectfully beg 
eave to decline inserting them. 

We thank Leonidas, but we would not wish 
to perpetuate the memory of a young officer 
who could desert his ovm colours to fight under 
those of the enemy of his country. 

We will endeavour to find room for Mr. Hales. 

We are still in arrear even in acknowledging 
a host of communications, but we intend to 
decide on the whole of them in the course of a 
few days, when, to use a parliamentary phrase, 
we shsiU " report progress, and ask leave to sit 

PHnted and Published by J. LIMBIRD, 
143, Strandt (near Somerset House^) and sold 
by all Newemen and Booksellers, 

Digitized by VjOOQIC 

Cjie Mirror 



No. LXV.] 


[Peicb 2ii. 

E^t ViUiM of att)eu0. 

Athens, the once proud city of (Greece, 
the nurse and pride of arts and arms, is 
great even in her ruins, and exhibits a 
striking picture of fallen grandeur. The 
approach to it by the sea is one of the 
most superb spectacles in the world — the 
Acropolis can be seen at a distance of 
fifteen miles. As we drew near to the 
walls (says that celebrated traveller, Dr. 
CJlarke) we beheld the vast Cecropiam 
Citadel crowned with temples, originated 
m the veneration once paid to the memory 
of the illustrious dead, surrounded by 
objects telling the same theme of sepul- 
chral grandeur, and now monuments oi 
departed greatness, gradually mouldering 
in all the solenmity of ruin. In other 
respects the city exnibits nearly the ap. 
pearanoe so briefly described by Strabo 
eighteen centuries before our coming; 
and, perhaps, it wears a more magnificent 
aspect, owing to the splendid remains of 
Adrian^s.' Temple of Olympian Jove, 
which did not exist when Athens was 
^ited by the Disciple of Xenarchus. 
The prodigious columns belonging to 
this temple appeared full in view between 
the Citadel and the bed of the lUuai; 
Vol. III. C 

high upon our left roft th^ Acropolis, 
in the most impressive grandeur; an 
advanced part of the rock upon the western 
side of it is the Hill of die Areopagus, 
where St^ Paul preached to the Athe- 
nians, and where their most solemn tri- 
bunal was held. Bevond all, appeared 
the beautiful plain of Athens, bounded 
Mount Hymettus. We rode towards the 
craggy rock of the Citadel, passing some 
tiers of circular arches at the foot of it; 
these are the remains of the Odeum of 
Herodes Atticus, built in memory of his 
wife Regilla. Thence continuing to skirt 
the base of the Acropolis, the road wind- 
ing rather towards the north, we saw also, 
upon our left, scooped in the solid rock, 
the circular sweep on which the Athe« 
^nians were wont to assemble to hear the 
plays of ^schylus, and where the The- 
atre of Bacchus was afterwards constructed. 
The best view of Athens is from Mount 
Anchesmus, and presents in one panora- 
mic scene, all the antiquities and natural 
beauties in the Athenian plain. 
, The lofty rocks of the Acropolis* 
crowned with its majestic temples, the 
Parthenon, Erectheum, &c. constitute 

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the «entnl object In the fonground is 
displayed the whole of the modem city 
of Athens, with its gardens, ruins, 
mosques, and walls, spreading into the 
plain beneath the citadeL On the right, 
or norUi-west wing, is the temple of 
Theseus ; and on the left, or south-west 
wing, the temple of Jupiter Olympius. 
Proceeding from the west to the south 
and east, we view beyond the citadel dis- 
plays the Areopagus, the Pnyx, Ilissus, 
the site of the temple of Ceres in Agr«, 
the fountain Callirhoe, the Stadium Fan- 
thenaiaum, the site of the Lyceum, &c. 
In a parallel circuit, with a more extended 
radius, are seen the hills and defile of 
Daphne, or Via Sacra, the Piraeeus, Mu- 
nycma and Phalerum, Salamis, ^gina, 
the more distant Isles, and Hjnnettus. 
A sinulai circuit, but still more extended, 
embraces Pames, the mountains beyond 
Elusis and Megajra, the Acropolis of 
Ckirinth, the Pdoponnessian moimtains, 
and the JEgean and distant islands. And 
lastly, immediately beneath the eye, lies 
the plain of Athens. 

In a future number we shall present 
our readers with views and detailed de- 
scriptions of some of the most remarkable 
monuments of antiquity in this celebrated 

Athens, became, in a very few years, 
ftom the capital of a small province, the 
head of an empire, exhibiting a new and 
singular phenomenon in politics, a sovc 
reign people; a people, not, as in many 
other Orecian democracies, sovereign 
merely of that state which themselves 
composed, but supreme over other people 
in subordinate republics, acknowledging 
a degree of subjection, and yet claiming 
to be free. Under this extraordinary po- 
litical omstitution, philosophy and the 
arts were begimiine to make A^ens their 
principal resort. Migrating from Egypt 
■nd the east, they had been long fostered 
•B the western coast of Asia. In Greece 
itself they had receifed some temporary 
cacouragement, but their efforts were de- 
sultory and comparatively feeble, till the 
communication with the Asian Greeks, 
diecked and interrupted by their subjec- 
tion to Persia, was restored, and Athens, 
the head ot the glorious confederacy by 
whose arms the deliverance had been ef- 
^wted, began to draw every thing toward 
itself as a common centre, the capital of 
an empire. Already science and fine 
taste were so far perfected, ttiat -ffischylus 
had exhibited tragedy in ks utmost dig- 
nity, and Sophocles and Euripides were 
giving it the highest polish, when Chnon 
returned in triumph to his country. 
Together with tr^^hies, such as Greece 
Minerer before won in so distant a field, 

he brought wealth to a large amount, the 
fruit of his victories ; part of which en- 
ridied the public treasury, part rewarded 
the individuals who had fought under 
him, and a large proportion, which l|e 
had had the virtue and the good fortune 
to acquire without incurring any charge 
ik rapaciousness, became an addition to 
the large property inherited from his 

It was the peculiar felicity of Athens 
in this period, that, of the constellation 
of great men which arose there, each was 
singularly fitted for the situation in 
which the circumstances of the time, re- 
quired him to act; and none filled. his 
place more advantageously than Cimon. 
But the fate of all those great men, and 1 
the resources employed, mostly in vain, 
to avert it, sumciently mark, in this 
splendid era of Athens, a defective con- 
stitution, and law and justice Ul assured. 
Aristides, we are told, though it is not 
undisputed, had founded his security 
upon extreme poverty; Cimon endea- 
voured to build his upon a splendid and 
almost unbounded, yet politic liberality. 
In going about the city he was com- 
moidy attended by a laree retinue, hand- 
somely cloathed ; and if he met an elderly 
citizen ill-clad, he directed one of his 
attendants to change cloaks with him. 
To the indigent of higher rank he was 
equally attentive, lending or givingmoney, 
as he found their circumstances required, 
and always manaffing his bounty witlL 
the utmost care that the object of it 
should not be put to shame. His con- 
duct, in short, was a continual prepara- 
tion for an election ; not however, as in 
England, to decide whether the candidate 
should or should not be a member of the 
legislature; but whether he should be 
head of the commonwealth or an exile. 
In his youth, Cimon had effected a rough- 
ness of*^ manners, and a contempt for the 
el^ancies of life. In his riper years, he 
discovered that virtue and grossness have 
no natural connection : he became himself 
a model of politeness, patronized every 
liberal art, and studied to procure elegant 
as well as useful indulgencies for the 
people. By him were raised the first of 
those edifices, which, for want of a more 
pn^er name, we call porticoes, under 
whose magnificent shelter it became the 
delight of the Athenians to assemble, and 
pass their leisure in prcnniscuous con- 
versation. The widely celebrated groves 
of Academus acknowledged him as ihe 
founder of then: fame. In the wood, 
befbre rude and without water, he form- 
ed commodious and elegant walks, and 
adorned them with nmning fountains, 
for Ae benefit of the Athenians. 

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N<i. I. 

l>t>«ciiimr, si qald vacai sub ombra 
LoiiAOi teettm, qaod et haoc in annum 
Virat «t pinres. Uoft. 

(To the Editor of the Mirrw.) 

Sim, — I know not how you find it, but 
it hai, befoi« this time, been my case, 
that what are commonly called ^ leisure 
houn,'* have frequently proved the most 
tiresome part of my life, just on the same 
principle that your genuine ^^ light 
reading" is, decidedly, the heaviest and 
most indigestible of all others. What 
those worthy gentlemen, east of Temple 
Bar, who consume six days out of the seven 
In vending lamp-oil, tobacco, and hucka- 
back, may thmk oi the matter, while 
boxed up, from Saturday night to Sun- 
day morning, in their various rural 
retreats, I cannot pretend positively to 
say ; but I may venture to guess, that, 
in nine cases out of ten, perhaps in ninety- 
nine out of a hundred, they would give 
half their week's profits to be at the 
momtnt, behind theur respective counters. 
Indeed I recollect somewhere to have 
read of a respectable old citizen, who, 
being over-persuaded by his daughter to 
fetire from business, actually died 6t 
ennui before the year was out, owing to 
the loss of his usual employment. With 
■ndi fodividuals vacation becomes va- 
cuity, and leisure inertness. It is upon 
this ground that the merchant in Horace^ 
however anxious for the leisure <^ his 
country villa, while overtaken in a tem- 
peat, BO sooner reaches home, than he 
prepares again to abandcm his ^' otium e( 
ruim,** and to enoonnter fresh perils. 

«* Mox reficit rates 

<2aa8sa«,indocilivpant>eriem pati." 

But the truth is, that it is not the 
love of wealth only, as the poet would 
here insinuate, but the tendency of our 
nature to some active employment, that 
m&kes one's '' leisure hours" generally 
so cumbersome. I can easily imagine, 
titerefore, that to a man of industrious 
habits there cannot be a greater punish- 
ment thim solitary imprisonment, which 
is to deprive him of his customary occu. 
pations. There have, indeed, been some 
noble instances of the profitable account, 
to which even the loneliness of a dungeon 
has been converted in the case of a fine 
and vigorous imagination. Such are the 
tkm. Q^ixotte of Cervantes, the Pilgrim's 
l*rogre8s of Bunyan, and Dr. Dodd's 
Prison Thoughts. But there are excep- 
tions to the general rule ; we are not all 

of the tame mould as Cervantea or 
Bunyan. Such choice spirits are the 

-— — •• rari nantes in gurgite vasto" 

of human society, and aie no more to be 
taken as examples of their f^lIow4B«n, 
than a comet is to be regarded as a spe- 
dmen of the reat of the solar system. 
There are some, however, who, although 
they may not have diverted thenasclves 
by composing an Iliad in theit captivity, 
have proved, in other wajrs, the irksome- 
ness of unqualified leisure. Such was 
that unfortunate inmate of the Bas^, 
who, to amuse the taedium of his reflec- 
tions during an imprisonm^it, I believe, 
of twenty ^ears, employed himself in 
arranging pins, in various forms, on the 
floor of his cell. All this seems to me, 
to prove inoontestibly, that sheer unadul. 
terated leisure (if I may so call it) is one 
oi the greatest bores imaginable, and not 
to be tolerated by any man of the least 
spirit. It must have been for this reason, 
that Publius Scipio was accustomed to 
say, as we learn from Cicero, that he never 
had less actual leisure than when he was, 
as the world calls it, at leisure, — ^' nun- 
quam miniks se otioaum esse quam cam 

O^tOMM." I 

Now, Mr. Editor, I have oo wish 
whatever to place myself in comparison 
with the aforesaid Publius Scipio; but 
I must be permitted to say, that literally 
to be ^' at leisure" would be to me an 
insupportable torment. I should, infal- 
libly, be haunted by a whole legion of 
blue devils more annoying than all the 
plagues of Eflprpt, even although old 
M^rim himscau', 

** Black as ten furies, terrible as Hell," 

were not to take a fancy to my sensorium 
for his head quarters. On this account, 
whenever *^ a consummation so devoutly 
to be" dreaded, is, of all, likely to take 
place, I " cast about," as our old writers 
say, for some specific against the ap. 
proaching evil. Now, my good Sir, what 
would you think of doing in such a 
critical extremity ? Observe, in the first 
place, there is no time to be lost — ^the 
enemy is at the gate, and whatever you 
determine upon doing must, like a rump 
steak, be " done quickly." Would you 
hop upon one leg, or jump upon two ? 
Would you take up the poker, and, 
transforming it in your '^ mind's eye" 
into a truncheon, strut around your room, 
like the ghost in Hamlet, to the manifest 
terror or all frangibles in your reach? 
Would you dance, sing, take snuff, or 
play at " patience," or would you, in 
mutation of Lmcian's orators, harangue 
your posts and pillanf , your chairs, tablety 

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and book-shelves ? In a word, what 
would you do in an emergencj so import- 
ant, so trying? 
« Die et eris mihi magnus Apollo."^ 

But, before you answer my question, 
I will tdl you what I do; and this, 
according to the most approyed sjrstem 
of communication, shall first be by 
negatiTes. I neither dance a hornpipe, 
nor poke the fire. I neither write love- 
letters, nor smoke my pipe. I neither 
walk a minuet, nor go to sleep. I neither 
hum a tune (for I Imow ncme), nor do I 
count my money, and that for the best of 
all possible reasons, inasmuch as I have 
none to count. In fine, it would take a 
fiill calendar month to tell you what I do 
not do during my ^^ leisure hours ;** but, 
as to what is my actual occupation, you 
shall know it in a few words. 

What I have now said, Mr. Editor, 
brii^ me, at length, to the sole purpose 
of this, my introductory epistle, which is 
to apprise you, that I have, for divers 
years, devoted my *^ leisure hours" to the 
eoUection of sundry morceaux of litera- 
ture under the various delect&ble titles of 
** Adversaria, Annotationes Collectanea, 
Loci Memorabiles, Miscellanea, Facetiae, 
Excerpta, Spicilegia, Scrapiana, Bonmo- 
tiane, and Quiziana,** with all the other 
anat in the vocabulary. And this valu- 
able collection it is my wish, non invUd 
Mmervdy to appropriate occasionally to 
your use, not doubting that you will 
accept, with becoming benignity, the 
o£Per I make. 

It has, indeed, long been my anxious de- 
tire, that these my erudite labours should, 
in some way or other, be devoted to the 
improvement of my fellow-creatures, as 
weU of generations to come, as of the 
present Many plans for accomplishing 
this desideralum have occurred to me. 
I once bought of publishing on my own 
account, and had actually begun to cal- 
culate the cost of paper, printing, adver- 
tisements, and the ei casteras of the 
occasion, when a respectable printer's 
devil of my acquaintance accidentally 
called on me, and by many cogent argu- 
ments, dissuaded me from an enterprise, 
which, I soon found from his represeta- 
tions would be a planum opus alea^ to 
say the least of the matter. " All the 
people in the Row," he assured me, as 
weU as elsewhere, would set their faces 
against the work, however witty and 
learned (as he did not doubt) it might be. 
In a word, he affirmed, like a knowing 
devil as he is, that I ought to have some- 
body's luck besides my own to succeed 
agamst so many odds. As I was in no 
humour to '' kick against the pricks," I 

let my scheme drop, and next thought of 
placing my bantlmg under the care of 
one of the fashionable publishers of the 
day, to whose obstetric offices the modem 
muses, are so deeply indebted. Fine 
paper, a new type, and hot-pressing, with 
Murray's name in the title page, might 
operate, I thought, like the glass of Lao,* 
to exhibit the beauty of my work, at 
once, in body and mind, both without 
and within. But, upon a little reflec- 
tion, I disdained to resort to so daring a 
piece of quackery, and, being wary of 
discussing the other projects that had 
presented themselves, I determined, with- 
out more ado, Mr. Editor, to make 
application to you, not doubting that 
you would oblige me by your kmd of- 
fices in occasionally introducing my pro- 
geny at your Satiurday's levy, where, I 
know, they will always be sure of seeing 
the best company. In this hope, I am 
yours, Otiosus. 

• See " thfi Citizen of the World." 


Through the kindness of a coxre- 
spondent we are able to fiayour our 
readers with the following authentic copy 
of a letter addressed by Robert Mac 
Gregor, cUias Campbell, conmionly called 
Rob Roy, to General Wade. 

Sir, — " The great humanity with 
which you have constantly acted in dis- 
charge of the trust reposed in you, and 
your ever having made use of the gi^eat 
power with which you are invested, as the 
means of doing good and charitable offices 
to such as ye find proper objects of com- 
passion, will, I hope, excuse my impor- 
tunity in endeavouring to approve myself 
not absolutely unworthy of that mercy 
and favour your Excellency has so gene- 
rally procured from His Majesty for 
others, in my unfortunate circumstances. 
I am very sensible nothing can be al- 
l^;ed sufficient to excuse so great a 
crime as I have been guilty of, that .of 
rebellion ; but I humbly beg leave to lay 
before your Excellency some particulars 
in the circumstances of my guilt, which, 
I hope will extenuate it in some mea- 
sure. It was my misfortune at the time 
the rebellion broke out, to be liable to 
legal diligence and caption at the Duke 
of Montrose's instance, for debt alleged 
due to him. To avoid being flung into 
prison, as I must certainly have been, 
had I followed my own inclination in 
joining the King's troops in Stirling, I 
was forced to take party with the adher- 
ents of the Pretender, for the country 
being all in arms, it was neither safe nor 

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indeed possible, ibr rae to stand neuter. 
I should not, however, plead my being 
forced into that unnatural' rebellion 
against bis Majesty, King Oeorge, if I 
could not, at the same time, assure your 
Excellenqr, that I not only avoided 
acting ofiensively against his Majesty's 
forces upon all occasions, but on the con- 
trary, sent the Buke of Argyle all the 
intelligence I could, from time to time, 
of the strength and situation of the rebels, 
which, I hope his Grace will do me the 
justice to acknowledge. As to the debt 
to the Duke of Montrose, I have dis- 
diarged it to the utmost farthing. I beg 
your Excellency will be persuuied, that 
had it been in my power, as it was in my 
inclination, I should always have acted 
for the service of his Majesty, King 
George, and that one reason for my 
b^gin^ the favour of your intercession 
with his Majesty for the pardon of my 
life, is the earnest desire I have to em- 
ploy it in his service, whose justice, 
goodness, and humanity are so conspi- 
cuous to all mankind. 

I am, with all duty and respect, 
Your Excellency's 

Most humble servant. 
Unto Robert Campbell. 

His Excellency, 
Gen. G. Wade. 


(To the Editor qfthe Mirror,) 

Sir, — The following simple lines were 
suggested by occasionally visiting the 
church, and diurch-yard, of Stoke, during 
the summer of 1822, as it was here that 
Gray wrote his Elegy, and the place 
where he is buried. Mr. Pom, the 
gentleman whose name is mentioned, 
appears to have been a great lover of 
poetry, as many quotations from Gray, 
and other poets appear in a small indo- 
sure near the chunju He is a descendant 
of Uie great founder of Pennsylvania. 

T. Z. 

Or trace the pathway round the modest 
Which meekly i^ses, midst suRoonding 

For on Ae spot perchance, where Pve 
Thou hast been seated, or the pathway 
Which I so lately pac*d, with pious mind 
To praise my maker, glorify my God ! 
And mudi, oh, noble Penn, I thee revere ; 
Wliose taste could raise yon monu« 
mental stone,:^ 
'Midst the wild sooies, to Gray, so truly 
And make his modest worth, and vir- 
tues known. 
To such as I, who wandering near the 

; forthj 

But ror that stone, had never known^ 
that he 
Whose sweetest lays can never be fbrgo^ 
Rested so near in calm obscurity. 

f He wrote his Elegy in Stoke Church-yard. 

t Mr. Penn has caused a neat monument to 
be erected in his grounds, very near the ehurck. 
to the memory of Gray. 

I love to lean upon thy tomb, oh. Gray, 
Altho* not raised, in memory of thee,* 

In ruminating mood, at dose of day. 
And muse upon thy worth and piety. 

I love to sit within the antique porch. 
And listen to the murmuring of the 

* Gray is buried in a tomb he piously raised 
to the memory of his mother and aunt« but it 
bears pn ■Mution of hit own naiae. 



C To the Editor qf the Mirror.) 

Sir, — Strolling along one oi our pub- 
lic streets a short time ago, I acciden- 
tally cast my eye on a picture shop, and 
being no despiser of the Fine Arts, or in 
other terms, a bit of an admirer of such 
matters, I amused myself for an hour or 
so, in admirinff beauties, and looking 
after defects ; for a man is thought no- 
thing of now, unless he can do the latter;, 
and as for Ihe former, why any body's 
opinion is as good as one's own, uid 
second-hand judgment ^which is idways 
the safest) may be mistaken for good 
sense, in the present dav, when to think 
and judge for one's self has degenerated 
into ennui. To proceed — all of a sudden 
my attention was attracted to a jHcture by 
Cox : how inimitable ! said I to myself : 
how rural ! — ^what would I give to be so 
near to the spot — ^this is a mere represen- 
tation o^ as to see the trees agitated by 
the gentle breeze of heaven— to inhale 
the breath of flowers, and brush the 
morning dew away ; when it suddenly 
struck me, that I had had frequent invi- 
tations from the country, and as frequently 
had promised myself an airing. I posted 
home — got ready, muffled on my roque- 
laure — ^was on the coach (for I always 
prefered an outside birth, having a mor- 
tal antipathy, in case of vehicles over- 
turning ^to being crushed by a stout 

inaideK— whena tots from the roof mifl^t 

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poi be met with io'ouuiy (Ejections: 
and before I was baidly awar^ of the 
thing, wa« actually on Ae lawn in ^nt 
of my fifiend's cottage. I was received 
with a serious welcome, I say serious, 
because my friend's fare had a sombre 
cast, while his shake ot the hand im. 
plied — ^I am rejoiced to see you. 

It was a fine fresh morning, and I «8 
hungry as a ploughman, and fain would 
haye done more than looked at some 
^* roast ot boiled." The dock struck 
eight (m my arrival, eleven, and break- 
fast was served up in due form. I looked 
about — n6 butter — a few dry biscuits and 
salt fish ! I made no remarks, expecting 
every moment to see the servant with 
butter and ^ggs, for both of which my 
friends were ninied, and of which I antl- 
cipated a qtMfUum svfficit ; at last I 
made bold to ask for both : my friends 
were shocked, the elder looking at me 
Willi surprise, exdaimed, ^' Ejiow you 
hot it is Jjsat ? It immediately struck 
me that I was among Catholics, and I 
had already formed the resolution of 
quitting this house of fasting, when one 
of the younger hinted to the father that I 
was a traveller. Now travellers I find 
are allowed to gormandize, and so might 
I have done, but this would have dis- 
arranged the fiunily regularity, and I, 
desirous of giving as Httle trouble as 
possible, was content to fare as they did. 
I)inne!r time — (guess, my surprise !) the 
table actually groaned under the weight 
of good things. Fish of every sort in 
seasoiw-pies, tarts, custards, and every 
delicacy, to surfeit, in the fruit way. 
(here's fasting with a vengeance thought 
I.) I naturally asked, what made the 
crusts so rich ? '' only butter'^* was the 
reply, " Bless me !" I exdaimed, " I 
thought butter was prohibited in I^nt." 
^^ Aye, in its unpunfied state ; but that 
which has been heated in the furnace 
is purified." Very feasable, thought 
I, so that it satisfy the conscience. Thus 
fared we through Lent, but not to the 
sajtisfaction of w parties, for many a 
sigh was heard, and many a wish that 
I^t were past, moved over the lip of 
each in turn, as the vision of more sub- 
stantial viands dawned in the perspective. 
Observing this, I thought to myself of 
the girl who became a convert, that after- 
wards wished she had not been reformed 
till the fair was over : a fine proof truly 
of her reformation. 

I do not mean to say there never was 
an exception to the above, for I verily 
believe mere are as many good Catholics 
as Protestants, but whore abstinence is 
10 partake •f every kt^ury, to do penance 
$a iriuome task, instead or pleasant duty, 

abd ^ heart i a4 dfm whm ii should be 
joyous, as the hour ofUatrng approaches. 
1 say, that reUgion ii Uttk better than 
a mockery. Yours, Nim. 


The following lines were written by the 
late lamented Princess Charlotte as an in- 
scription fot&papiermachee snufi'box, in* 
tended as a presoit to Prince Iieopold. 
The box had on the lid a portrait of 
Her Royal Highness, from Hayter*a 
excellent likeness. The inscription waa 
written on white satin, and insert^HJ in the 
inside of the lid. 
To Claiemont's tcsrac*d heights and 

Esher's groves. 
Where in the sweetest solitude embraced, 
By the soft windings of the silent mole. 
From courts and cities, Charlotte finds 

Enchanting vale ! beyond whatever the 

Has of Achaia or Hesperia sung; 
A vale of bliss ! O softly swelling hilk. 
On which the power of cultivation lies. 
And joys to see the wonder of his toiL 

CFor the Mirror.) 
The misletoe is a remarable plant, as 
not growing in the earth, or soil, but 
upon the trunks or branches of other 
plants, mostly on those of the soft-wooded 
tree scnrts, very often found in woods and 
orchards, in the ash, the hazel, the maple, 
the crab, and the apple tree. It is of 
the porasitic kind. It has a woody 
brandiy growth and yellowish-green ap- 
pearance, producing white transparent 
berries of a considerable size, which 
ripen themselves in the winter. It is for 
the most part increased by the seeds which 
are accidentally dispersed and deposited 
upon some parts of tne trees by means of 
buds, commonly taking root and fixing 
themselves on the under sides of the 
boughs or branches, to which parts they 
have been washed by the rains or in other 
ways, being kept in such situations until 
they strike root, or plant their radical 
fibres in the bark between it and the 
wood, by their soft glutinous quality; 
the young phiAts growing downwards in 
^ penduloivi manner. The plants may 
also be propagated iQ garden or orchard 
plantations, by procuring some fiilly 
ripened berries or seeds in the winter, and 
sticking or rubbing them on the smooth 
parts of the under sides of the branches 
of some of the above kinds of trees, where 
they will grew as already noticafL They 

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are MtAy gfown for coiioftity ; but some- 
tfanes for medicinal purposes* It is found 
thiougfaout Euiope, and Aowen in Spring. 
A sort of bird-lime is made of the riscid 
pulp of the berries. It is supposed to be 
the golden bough of Virgil, which was 
^neas's passport to the ii:femal regions, 
and the sacred plant of ihe Drui£ still 
xetains scnne respect in our churches and 
Idtdiens at Christmas, intermixed with 
bollj.* The misletoe in Botany belongs 
to Viaoum^-Y and is called Vucum aibvm. 
The oaks of the Arcadian mountains 
contain the true ancient misletoe, called 
JLtOranthtu europmu ; which still serves 
to make bird-lime ; whilst our misletoe, 
In Greece grows only on the silver fir — 
perhaps this circumstance accounts for the 
old preference of such misletoe as grows 
on the oak, among the ancient Britons, 
and consequently help us to trace the 
origin of their superstition to Greece. 

P. T. W 

• So called by Pliny. 

f Some suppose this it Virgil's Acanthus, 
mentioned in his Kclogues or Georgics. 


r To the Editor of the Mirror.) 

Sir, — The task of gibbetting myself on 
paper is irksome at tul seasons, neverthe- 
less for the benefit of mankind, in the 
hope that similar illusions may thereby 
he dissipated, and that it will stipulate 
many to realize seasonably the solid hap- 
piness of Uie connubial state which I, alas,, 
^braced too late in the day, I magnani- 
Ktkously present you with this sincere self- 

And valorously subscribe myself, 
JIummums, Nov, 5. Ramfoozle. 

jEtatis 30. Looked back through a 
tista of 10 years— remembered that at 20 
1 looked upon a man of 30 as a middle 
aged man — ^wondered at my error and 
protracted the middle age to 40 — said to 
myself "40 is the age of wisdom" — re- 
flected generally upon my past life— wished 
myself 20 again, and exclaimed " if I 
were but 20 what a scholar I could be by 
30! but it's too late now"-4ooked in 
the glass — still youthful but getting 
rather fat — Smellfungus says " A fool at 
40 is a fool indeed" — 40 therefore must 
be the age of wisdom. 

31. Read in the Morning Chronicle 
that a watchmaker in Paris aged 31 l^fid 
shot himself for love! more fool the 
watchmaker — agreed lliat nobodyfell in 
love after 20u-Quoted Sterne— The ex- 
piesuon fall in love, evMently showe love 

(e be beneath a nian — ^w^nt io Drary 
Lane — saw Miss Incumpips in a side boK 
—idl in love with her—deceived her ulti- 
matum — ^was three months making up my 
mind (a long time for makine up so smaU 
a parcel^ wh^ I kamt that she had 
eloped with a title — ^pretended to be devil- 
ish glad — took three turns up and dk>wn 
the Ubiary and looked in glass — getting 
rather fat and florid — ^Met a friend in 
Gray's Inn who said I was evidoitly in 
rude health — thought the compliment 
much ruder. 

32. Passion for dancing rather on th 
decline — ^voted sitting out jIbj and farce, 
one of the impossibUities — still in stage 
box three nights per week^— sympadiized 
with the public in their vexation at my 
non attendance the other three — can*t 
please every bod^ — began to wondet at 
thej^easure of kicking one's heels on a 
chalked floor 'till four in the morning — 
sold bay mare who reared at three carri- 
ages and shook me out of the saddle-*, 
thought saddle making rather worse than 
formerly — hair growing thin, bou^t a 
bottle of tricosian fluid-lmem. * a &tter*. 
ing unction.' 

33. Hair thinner — serious thoughts of 
a wig — met an old collegian who wean 
one — devil in a buslu-serious thoughts 
of letting it alone — met a feUow Etonian 
in the Mall, who told me I wore well I 
wondered what he could mean — gave up 
cricket club on account of the bad atf 
about Paddington — could not run in with- 
out being out of breath. 

34. Measured for a new coat — ^tailor 
proposed &esh measure, hinted somediing 
about bulk — old measure too short — 
parchment shrinks— shortened my morn- 
ing ride to Hampstead and Highgate, and 
wondered what people could see at Hen- 
don~.^determined never to marry — means 
dubious and expensive— 4X>unted eightem 
/bald heads in the pit at the opera— so 
much the better — ^the more the merrier. 

35. Tried on an old great coat, and 
found it an old little one— cloth shrinks 
as weU as parchment — red face in putting 
on shoes, bought a shoe honu^Remembef 
auiizing uncle George for usii^ one^- 
uien young and foolish — bro&er Charles's 
wife lay-in of her eighth child ! — served 
him right for marrying so young as 2L-« 
age of diso^tion too ! — hunting belts teat 
ffentlemen hung up in glovers' windows — 
liinged to buy one but saw two ladles in 
shop cheapening elastic ties — three grey 
hairs in eye-brows. 

36.' Several grey naurs in whiskers — all 
owing to carelessness in manufacturing 
shaving soap — remember thinking father 
an old man at 36 — settled the point — men 
aged sooner in former daya-Jjaid blame 

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on flapped waiiftcoato and tie wigf_ 
tkaited on Serpentine— gout — rerj foolish 
exeicise, onlv it for boya— gare tkaits to 
Charles's eldest boy. 

37. Fell in love again— rather pleased 
to &id myself not too old for the passion 
.—Emma only 19 — ^what then? women 
require protectors— day settled— 4eTilish. 
ly frightened^—too late to get off— luckily 
juted, Emma married cousin James one 
day before me — Sjgain determined never to 
marry — ^turned on old tailor, and took to 
a new one in Bond-street — some of those 
fellows make a man look ten years 
younger — not that that was the reason. 

38. Stuck ratiber more to dinner par- 
ties — gave up country dandng— money 
musk certainly more fatiguing than for- 
merly— iiddlers play too quick — quad, 
rilles stealing hither over the channel — 
thoughts of adding to '' erown gentlemen 
taught to dance *^— a friend dubbed me 
one of the over-gipwn&— very impertinent 
and utterly untrue^ 

39. Quadrilles rishig — ^wondered sober 
mistresses of families would allow theii 
carpets to be beat after that fashion. 
Dinner parties increasing — found myself 
gradually tontineing it towards the top of 
Uie table— 4readed ulHtna thule of Host- 
esses elbow — good place for cutting tur- 
kies — ^bad for cutting jokes— wondered 
why I was always desixed to walk up — 
met two school.fellows at Pimlico — ^both 
fat and red-faced — used to say at school 
they were both of my age — ^what lies 
boys tell ! 

40. Looked back ten years-^remember 
at thirty thinking forty a middle aged 
man — must have meant fifty. Fifty cer- 
tainly the age of wisdom — determined to 
be wise in ten years — wished to learn 
music and Italian. Tried logics — ^'twould 
not do — no defect in capacity — but those 
things should be learnt in childhood. 

41. New furnished chambers — looked 
in new flass— ^in still double — art of 

Slass mtucing on the decline — sold my 
orse, and wondered people could find 
any pleasure in being bumped — ^what 
were' legs made for ? 

42. Gout again — ^that disease certainly 
attacks young people more than formerly 
—.caught myself at a rubber of whist, 
and blushed— tried my hand at original 
composition, and found a hankering after 
epigram and satire — ^wondered I could 
never write love sonnets — imitated Ho- 
race's Ode, Ne Hi AnuUa — did'nt mean 
any thing serious — thought Susan cer- 
tainly ciidl and attentive. 

43. Bought a hunting belt-^braced 

myself 'till ready to burst — eorpuleocy 
not to be trifled with— threw it aside- 
young men, now a day, is much too small 
in the waist — read in the Morning Post — 
^^ A never failing specific — bought it — 
never the thinner though much the 

44. Met Fanny Stapylton, (now Mrs. 
Meadows,) at Bullock's Museum — twen- 
ty-five years ago wanted to marry her — 
what an escape! — ^women certainly age 
much sooner Uian men — Charles's eldest 
son besan to think himself a m an ■ 
starched cravat and a cane ! — ^what pre- 
8umpti<Hi — at his years I was a child — 
suppose he will soon be thinking of a 
wile— hinted my apprehension to Inothier 
Charles, but did'nt like his knowing look 
when he asked what benefit I had derived 
from prudent delay — ^diought of his eight 
children, but spared his feelings. 

45. A few wrinkles about the eyes, 
commonly termed crows' feet — ^must have 
caueht cold — ^began to talk* politics, and 
shirk the drawing room— ^uu^ized Gar- 
rick — saw nothing in Kean — ^talked of 
Lord North — ^wondered at the licentious- 
ness of the modem press— .why can't 
neople be civil, like Jimius and John 
^Vilkes, in the good old times ? 

46. Rather on the decline, but still 
handsome and interesting — growing dis- 
like to the company of young men — all 
of them talk too much or too little- 
began to call chambemuuds at inns ^^ my 
dear " — listened to a homily from a mar- 
ried friend, about fiunily expenses — ^price 
of bread, and butcher's meat— 4id'nt care 
a jot if bread was a shilling a roU, and 
meat fifty pounds a calf—hugged myself 
in " single blessedness " — and wished 
him good morning. 

47. Top of h^ quite bald — ^pleaded 
Lord Grey in justification — shook it on 
reflecting I was but three years removed 
from the ace of wisdom — ^teeth sounds 
but not so white as heretofore — something 
the matter with the dentifrice — ^began to 

be cautious in chronology ^bad thing to 

remember too hx bacK — had serious 
thoughts of not remembering Miss Farrer. 

48. Quite settled not to remember Miss 
Farrer— told Laura Willis that Pahner, 
(who died when I was nineteen), cer- 
tainly did not look forty-three. 

49. Resolved never to marry for any 
thing but money or rank. 

50. Age of wisdom — married my cook! 
It would be tedious to pursue them be- 
yond this critical period. May this brief 
chionicle of my dear bought ezperienot 
prove abundantly usefuL 

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Ik the second volume of the Mirkor, 
p. 298, we gave a legendary history of 
the far-famed St. Winifired*s Well, of 
which we now present an engraving, with 
some additional particulars of a more 
topographical description. 

St. Winifred's Well in Flintshire, is 
one of the finest springs in the world, and 
gives the name to the town. The well 
pours out each minute, twenty-one tons 
of water, which runs tlirough the middle 
of the town, is made use of hy every 
house as it passes, after which it turns 
several mills, and is employed in various 
manufactures, which greatly increase the 
population of the place, and its neigh- 
bourhood. Over the spring, where a 
handsome bath has been erected, is a neat 
chapel, supported by pillars, and on the 
windows are painted the chief events of 
St. Winifred's, or, as it was anciently 
written, Wenefrede's life. About the 
well grows moss, which the ignorant and 
superstitious devotees most stupidly ima- 
gine to be St. Winifred's hair. This 
saint is reported to have been a virgin 
martyr, who lived in the seventh century, 
and, as the legend says, was ravished and 
beheaded in this place by a pagan ty- 
rant: the« spring havixig miraculously 
risen from her blood. Hence this bath 
was much frequented by Popish pilgrims, 
out of devotion, as well as by tnose who 
came to bathe in it for medicinal purposes. 
Mr. Pennant says, ^^ the custom of visit- 
ing this well in pilgrimage, and offering 
up devotions there, is not yet entirely 
uM aside : in the summer a few are stiU 
to be seeo in the water, in de^ devotion^ 

up to their chins for hours, sending up 
their prayers, or performing a number of 
evolutions round the polygonal welL" 

It might have been supposed that the 
present enlightened age would have been 
secure asainst a repetition of impostures 
of this kind ; but Doctor Milner, a Ca- 
tholic bishop, of Wolvcrhamptcnu hat 
taken much pains to persuade me world 
that an ignorant proselyte, of the name 
of Winefred "White, was there cured of 
various chronic diseases so late ai the 
year 1804, by a mirade. 



Be merry all, be merry all. 
With holly dress the festive hall ; 
Prepare the song, the feast, the ball. 
To welcome merry Christmas. 

And, oh ! remember, jgentles gay. 
For you who bask in rartune^s ray, 
The year is aU a holiday, 

The poor have only Christmas. 

When you with velveU mantl'd o'er, 
Ddy December's tempest's roar. 
Oh ! spare one garment from your store, 
To clothe me poor at Clttistmas. 

From blazing loads of fuel, while 
Your homes with in-door sununer smile ; 
Oh ! spare one fiiggot from the pile. 
To warm the poor at Christmas. 

When you the costly banquet deal 
To guests who never fiunine feel ; 
Oh ! spare one morsel horn your meal. 
To feed the poor at Chrietmas. 

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When gen*roui wine your caie oontnmli, 
And gives new joy to happiest souls ; 
Oh ! spare one gc^let from your howls. 
To cheer the poor at Christmas. 

So shall each note of mirth appear 
More sweet to Heav*n tlum praise or 

And angels in their carols there 

Sh^ bless the rich at Christmas. 

spirit of the 

It is well for man that his mental amuse- 
ments are frequently calculated for re- 
storing his intellectual faculties when 
they are wearied with exertion ; and not 
a little singular that this renovation should 
be sometimes effected by the exercise of 
those functions which have been most 
recently in use. The mind, perhaps, 
never really tires ; it is only the corporeal 
organs, through which impressions are 
receiv^, that suffer fatigue, and require 
intervals of rest. Suppose we are ex- 
hausted ever so much by thinking on an 
abstruse subject for a long time together : 
let us lay it by and commence building 
castles in the air, we at once forget our 
exhauation, lucid forms come before us, 
a fairy region opens to our view glitter- 
ing with unrivalled splendours, bright 
suns scatter with their golden rays the 
lassitude that oppressed us, we make for 
ourselves a little heaven, and enjoy its 
glories,— all nature and art, the worlds 
of truth and fiction, lay their wealth be- 
fore us, and the mind recovers itself in 
the enjoyment of its own air-woven para- 
dise, and finds relaxation from what ap- 
pears to be almost the cause of its suffering. 
I am fond of castle-building ; and who is 
not ? It is delightful to lay one's head 
on the pillow at night, and rear these airy 
edifices, which, thouj^ flimsy fabrics, it 
must be granted, amuse and restore the 
mind at the time we are at work upon 
them. Those who cannot thus indulge, 
may be very safely put down for dull un- 
imaginative beings, having no buoyancy, 
mere ponderous clods — ^ leaden souls 
that love the ground.*' The castle-builder's 
is a region 

of calm and serene air 

Above the smoke and stir of this dim spot 
Wliich men call earth. 

lie may visit the '^ sphery chime," com- 
mand time, and subdue space. He may 
surmount physical impossibility, and with 
inexhaustible ardour follow nis object 
over every impediment. Neither dun- 
geons Bor bars, situation nor climate, can 

idb him of his recreation. — Castle-build- 
ing, to be brief, is an enjoyment less 
liable to be disturbed by exteanal uoli- 
ances than any other. It is essentially a 
thing of mind, an intellectual banquet. 
On retiring to rest when sleep flies from 
us, during a morning walk, or in an after- 
dinner chair, it is delightfol to give place 
to this bc^iler of mental ennui. The 
subject wUl necessarily always prove an 
agreeable one. Ijast night, after a series 
of complicated operations, and begging a 
questi(m or two, I cut an excellent caiul, 
from the Nicaragua lake into the Pacific 
ocean, comnmnieating with the gulf^ of 
Nicoya. I calculated all probable obsta- 
cles, and soon overcame them. I enteied 
into a treaty with the local government. 
I took levels, built my locks, and finally, 
in an hour or twb, rendered the naviga- 
tion a matter of small dlfiSculty for ves- 
sels of six or seven hundred tons. I drew 
for money to carry on my work imon the 
sums allotted and expended for Northern 
expeditions, which I again collected into 
masses for my purpose, and found that I 
was possessed of ample funds ; that Capt. 
Parry need labour no more among uie 
Polar ice, that our merchants might ship 
goods to Panama via the gulph of Florida, 
and receive their returns in little more 
than the short space of time required for 
a Jamaica voyage, and that the East 
India Company might trade to China, 
and import teas and mandarins by the 
route of Cape Blanco. I had at last the 
satisfaction of seeing a British squadron, 
consisting of three-deckers, pass through 
my canal into the Pacific 

It is not a week ago since I purchased 
Fonthill, and having turned Farquhar 
and Phillips, and the buyers and jobbers, 
out of the temple, I completed the edifice 
on its original model. Here, within a 
day's journey of the metropolis, and with 
a property in nuUbvs not equal to what 
some of our rich ones possess, I deter- 
mined to fix mj earthly rest, ajid to la- 
bour for posterity. A gallery, as long as 
any conducting to the halls of Eblis, I 
devoted to sculpture, and to exact models 
of the antique. I visited Rome to obtain 
the casts of ancient works, and those of 
Michael Angelo and Canova. Another 
gallery I filled with a noble collection of 
paintings as numerous as select. Every 
thing was severely and tastefully arranged^ 
and I suffered no gewgaws and toys of 
vvriu to enter my apartments. No Chi- 
nese nor Eamschatkan saloons made even 
the day-light hideous, but a severe sim* 
pUcity governed every thing. The great 
hall I fitted up as a library to contain 
books of every nation, tongue, and peoplei 
The tower was my observi rto fy, andl 

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CQD8tru0ted * g^eat telescope, to which 
Henchel'8 at Slough, might serye as an 
eye-glass. I established a school ixxt a 
hunored boys, taking good care to pro- 
vide that the master should not have it 
in his power to subvert the founder's in- 
tention, and add to his profits by reducing 
his scholars to some half-a-dozen, a thing 
not uncommon in similar institutions— 
thanks to Mr. Brougham for the disclo- 
sure. I then made my will, and devised 
the whole to the Nation as a great semi- 
nary for public instiuction without dis- 
tinction of creed. I drew up a code of 
laws for its government, and provided 
that the studc^ should learn something 
more than to be tolerable classics and ma- 
thematicians—something adapted to fit 
them for the active purposes of life, ac- 
cording to their respective prospects. In 
short, not to be t^ous, I regulated my 
university agreeably to die state of mo- 
dem discoveries and the present enlight- 
ened ora, and rejected what smacked of 
monkish times, past superstitions, and 
all that in the present day is worse than 
useless. But I must not waste time in 
enumerating the kingdoms set free from 
despotism^-public works constructed— 
triumphs of art achieved, and labours for 
the general benefit without number, which 
I have thus brought to perfection. 

But I shall be told, perhaps, that all 
castle-building is ^' blear illusion,** ano 
that though every instance of it may not 
be followed by the consequences which 
overtook the unlucky castle-builder Al- 
naschar,. the glass-seller, in the Arabian 
Nights, it is equally empty and unsub- 
stantial. But I contend that it is better 
to build castles than not to employ the 
mind at all — than to lie down like the 
boor and steep both body and soul in ob- 
livion, or to sit in one's after-dinner chair 
a very corpse with respect to intellectual 
action. The first hint thus casually af- 
forded to the mind has been sometimes 
brought within the limits of possibility, 
shajped and fashioned for practical use, 
and ultimately proved of important ser- 
vice to society. Castle-building differs 
essentially from what students call 
*'*' thinking ;" in the latter case the mind 
is employed in one particular way upon a 
given subject with the greatest degree of 
intensity. No play is allowed to the 
imagination; but the mental fibre, if I 
may so express myself, the vibrations of 
which belong to that one subject, becomes 
overstretched and overworked, and is in* 
iured by being kept a long time acting 
m the same direction. CMtle-building, 
on the contrary, adapts itself to all the 
different frmctions <^ the mind, and to 
these i^ a peculiar mannar whidi are 

agraeabk to us at Ae muimmt. it may 
thus be styled a sort ai spiritBal gam«, 
invigorating while it alKnds ddight, and 
enabling us to return with fresh energy 
to dose study. There is something 
highly agreeable in the quiescence we 
experience when we are rearinsr these 
shadowy edifices: fancy has fiiU.plAy, 
and we invent the most graceful images 
^-our thoughts reflect '^ colours dipt in 
heaven** — an interval of that happiness 
is felt, which consists in aa absence from 
every disagreeable sensation and the en- 
joyment of a delightfrd illusion. Thus 
in the midst of the turmoil of life, in the 
very jaws of care and sorrow, we mateh a 
momentary respite frtnn the troubles thai 
oiviron us. Our enjoyment is not like 
dreaming, defective in its essentials, the 
judgmentat onetime being asleep with the 
body, and at another time the memory, 
so that the images which appear before ut 
are incongruous and doective. The 
castle-builder is awake in the full pleni- 
tude £/i his mental functions; he may 
ride, or walk, or sit, or lie, and enjoy hie 

But it is obvious that the architeetuze 
of the edifices so constructed will partake 
of the leading ch&racter of the individual 
that plans them, and be coloured with 
the hue of the habits and manners to 
which he has been accustomed. What 
an infinite variety of these schemes must 
be eternally at work, and how amusing a 
couple c^ hundred dose-printed fohoa 
would be, descriptive oS the better part 
of them, especially of those that aie be. 
gotten by genius, and that 
•* Float in light visions round the poet's head." 

Different nations also have their diarac* 
teristics, agreeably to the peculiar im* 
pressions of each. The East is the centre 
of magnificent sensual castle-building, if 
we may judge from the fictions of tbe 
people. Incited by opium, the disciple 
of Mahomet sits stately and speechless 
upon his rich carpets for hours together, 
building palaces of topazes and emeralds, 
stocking his harems with the beauties of 
Paradise, and guarding them with the most 
faithful eunudis of .^ica, now lulled to 
repose by soft music in the midst of the 
luscious dances of the most beautiful 
Circassian slaves ; quafiing rich wine for 
sherbet, slyly, out of ruby cups, in spite 
of the commands of the Koran ; inflicting 
the bastinado even upon grand viziers ; 
cutting off the heads of Christian dogsf 
impaling Israelites ; exploring enchanted 
islands, and supping with Mahomet and 
Cajira in the third heaven. At a lest 
magnificent extreme of caaile-building, 
but eouaJlly ddightAil to thfe archileet 

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is die sober lx>ndoii citizen. Hit harem 
contains but one plump cameous fair-one, 
the emblem of plethoric vacuity, in whose 
presence he rears his more humble edi« 
lice over a pipe and brown stout after a 
calorific supper. The fabric which his 
less ezcursiye and more humble fancy 
erects, will be limited by the possession 
of a brick house of two or three stories in 
^e City-road, or in the purlieus of Hack- 
ney, a one-horse chaise, a hot joint every 
day, with added pudding to ^* solemnize 
the lord*s," in a state ox retirement from 
his shop in Cripplegate. His utmost, 
stretch of mind never grasps a coach-and- 
four, nor does his notion of space extend 
mudi beyond Finchlev in one direction, 
and Norwood in another^ a steam-boat 
line to Margate, perhaps, excepted. Be- 
yond this, the world, save through the spe- 
culum of a newspaper, is a terra incognita^ 
and never enters into his fancies. Yet 
while contemplating the Ultima ThtUe 
of his desires, he is equally satisfied with 
the Turbaned Mussulman in the pomp of 
his paradisaical meditations. How infi- 
nite the variety between the before-men- 
tioned extremes— the merchant gazing on 
his visionary plums, and aping the nobi- 
lity at the West-end ; tlfe parson contem- 
plating accumulated tithes, pluralities, 
mitres, and translations; lawyers daz- 
zling themselves with the glitter of gold 
gathered from litigations, bankruptcies, 
and felonies, amid a harvest of human 
misery; statesmen enjoying premier- 
ships with submissive parliaments and 
easy, sovereigns ; painters with cartoons 
out-Raphaellmg Raphael, and imagining 
themselves wimout* rivals ; book^Uers, 
each with an army of Scotch novelists ; 
courtiers with toy-shops, ribbons, and 
baubles; princes with newly usurped 
powers and uncontrolled authority ; and 
authors with literary leisure and literary 
glory. — [ To be concluded in our nejft,] 


The Songs of every nation must always 
be the most familiar and truly popular 
part of its poetry. They are uniformly 
the &r8t fruits of the fancy and feeling of 
rude societies ; and, even in the most 
civilized times, are ^ onlp poetry of the 
great body of the people. Their influ- 
ence, therefore, upon the character of a 
country, has been universally felt and 
acknowledged. Among rude tribes, it is 
evident that their songs must, at first, 
take their tone from the prevailing cha- 
racter of the people. But, even among 
them, it is to be observed, that, though 
generally expressive of the fiercest }>as- 
sions, they yet represent them with some 
tinetuie of generality and good feeling, 

and may be regarded as the first lessons 
and memorials of savage virtue. An 
Indian warrior, at the stake of torture, 
exults, in wild numbers, over the enemies 
who have fallen by his tomahawk, and 
rejoices in the anticipated veng«mce of 
his tribe : but it is chiefly by giving ex- 
pression to the loftiest sentiments of in- 
vincible courage and fortitude, that he 
seeks to support himself in the midst of 
his torments. * I am brave and intrepid !* 
he exclaims, — ^ I do not fear death, nor 
any kind of torture ! He who fears them 
is a coward — he is less than a woman. 
Death is nothing to him who has cou- 
rage !' As it is thus the very best parts 
of their actual character that are dwelt 
upon even in the barbarous songs of 
savages, these songs must contribute es- 
sentially to the progress of refinement, 
by fostering and dierishing every germ of 
good feeling that is successively aevdm>ed 
during the advancement of society. When 
selfishness begins to give way to gene- 
rosity, — ^when mere animal courage is in 
some degree ennobled by feelings of pa- 
triotic self-devotion, — and, above all, 
when sensual appetite begins to be purl- 
fied into love, — it is then 3iat the popular 
songs, by acquiring a higher character 
themselves, come to produce a still more 
powerful reaction upon the character of 
the people. These songs, produced by 
the most highly gifted of the tribe, — by 
those who feel most strongly, and express 
their feelings most happily, — convey ideas 
of greater elevation and refinement than 
are as yet familiar, but not so for removed 
from me ordinary habits of thinking as 
to be unintelligible. The hero, who de- 
votes himself to death for the safety of 
his country, with a firmness as yet al- 
most without example in the actual his- 
tory of the race, and the lover, who 
follows his mistress through every danger, 
and perhaps dies for her sake, — ^become 
objects on which every one delights to 
dwell, and models which the braver and 
nobler spirits are thus incited to emulate. 
The songs of rude nations, accordingly, 
and those in which they take most plea- 
sure, are filled with the most romantic 
instances of courage, fidelity, and gene- 
rosity ; and it cannot be supposed, that 
such delightful and elevating pictures of 
human nature can be constantly befort 
the eyes of any people, without producing 
a great effect on their character. 

The same considerations are applicabk 
to the effects of popular ballads upon ibit 
most numerous classes of society, even in- 
civilized nations. They, like the inha- 
bitants of rude countries, have little but 
their songs to carry their fancy or their 
feelings beyoiid the dull realities of liit ; 

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and these stxains thui occupy much of 
their attention, and have a proportionate 
effect upon their minds. They constitute, 
therefore, a powerful engine either for 
good or ilL We can still remember their 
effect, at the beginning of the French 
Revolution, in working up the passions 
^ the populace to phrouy and madness. 
Il^hile indulging in the most horrible 
excesses, they rent the air with the ^ Ca 
tra,' or the ^ Carmagnole ,*' — and there 
cannot be a doubt, that the bloody and 
ferocious strain of the songs that were 
put into their mouths, had no inconsider- 
able share in the most strange and sudden 
transformation in the character of a whole 
nation, that ever was heard of in the his- 
tory of the world. A very opposite in- 
stance of the effect of song-writing is to 
be found in the works of Dibdin, whose 
inimitable sea-songs have become, as it 
were, naturalized in the British Navy. 
By seizing, with exquisite skill, the finest 
parts of what we may call the national 
character of our sailors^— their courage, 
generosity, and simpUd^ of heart, — and 
embodying these in songs, wonderfully 
adapted, both to their tastes and those of 
more r^ned auditors, he succeeded in 
impressing on their minds such an ad- 
mirable beau ideal of a British seaman, 
that it became, in no small degree, their 
endeavour to attain a resemblance to it. 
Dibdin was the Tyrtieus of modem times, 
and, like the Chrecian Bard, well deserved 
the gratitude of his country. — Edin. Rev. 


There is no Ood, the fool in secret 
said — 
There is no God that rules on earth or 

Tear off the band that folds the wretch's 

That Ood may burst upon his faithless 
Is there no God ? — the stars in m3^riads 
If he look up, the blasphemy deny, 
Whilst his own features in the mirror read, 
Reflect the image of Divinity. 
Is there no God ? — ^the stream that sil- 
ver flows, 
The air he breadies, the ground he treads, 

the trees, 
The flowers, the grass, the sands, each 
wind that blows, 
AU speak of God ; throughout one 
voice agrees. 
And eloquent his cbread existence shows : 
Blind to thyself, ah, see him, fool, in these. 
Lwidon Magazine, 



January, — Dr. Doyle, a Roman Ca- 
tholic Bishop, in his pastoral charse, 
recommends Orangemen to be eiml; 
Orangemen and Papists not to be bigoted ; 
nothing new under the sun. The Duke 
of Sussex swallows an embrocation at 
Bognor ; Royal Dukes at public dinners, 
have swallowed stranger things, and no 
danger apprehended ; Canonictd clergy of 
Dunuun, convivially defended by the 
Reverend Dr. Phil-pots ; to the best of 
his knowledge and belief, not a stall in 
the diocese wat does not contain an ani. 
mal overworked and under fed. 

Febrtiary. — Several wild swantf seen 
flying over Brighton, to the no small 
amazement of several tame geese, who 
happened to be waddling along the Steine ; 
the bills of the former said to be three 
inches long; those of the latter much 
longer. Two Englishmen, by mistake, 
confined all night in the Catecombs at 
Paris, let out next morning, by means 
ci a skeleton key. Valentine's day Mr. 
Freeliug applies to the Postmasser gene- 
ral for two waggons, to convey the extra 
letters, and for permissicm to get them 
drawn by the asinine inditers, yoked in 

March. — Lord Manners refuses to 
dine with the Lord Lieutenant. Q^erffJ 
Title in abeyance when the note was 
transmitted? Action brought by Mr. 
Cruikshank against the proprietor of a 
stage coach, for breaking his leg ; most 
ungrateful return for an intended ben^t. 
April. — ^Old woman taken for a witch 
at Taunton ; and Mr. Ex. Sheriff Parkins 
for the Goddess Justice in London, owixu^ 
to his skill in holding a balance in hand. 
Mrs. M^Eonnon executed for murder at 
Edinburgh. General averment in all the 
Scottish Journals that the fiunily of 
M^Kinnon is originally Irish, and not 
Scotch. Cork mail runs one day with- 
out being fired at from behind a hedge* 
— " Then is dooms-day near." 

May, — Easter hunt; droves of un- 
horsed Londoners find their way as diey 
can, from Epping Forest to Bishopi^te- 
street—" all on foot he fights." Lady 
Mayoresses Easter Ball ; great scrambling 
after ices in the Egyptian HalL Query 

June ^An old soldier advertises to 

queU' the Irish rebellion fat 10,000^. 
Query which of them ? 

July. — The proprietors of Vauxhall 
Gardens inform the public, that " no- 
thing can damp their ardour ;" certainly, 
if the present weather cannot, nothing 
can. By a fatal accident, (and it may be 

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added, an unaccountable one,) ^e per- 
yeiual curate of Sawley loses his li£e. 
Much money taken at a door m Fleet- 
street by a speculator, who exhibited, at 
a sliilling a head, a live man who haditol 
been to Fonthill Abbey. 

August, — ^The ghost of John Knox 
makes its appearance in Cross-atzeet, Hat- 
ton Garden, arrayed in black whiskers, 
and a dandy shirt collar. Prince Hohen- 
loe miraculously cures ^' a lady of res- 
pectability, who had been for many years 
one of the religious conmiuni^ of Rone- 
hgh;** the oiief part of the miracle 
being the oonversion of a fiishionable 
community into a religious one. 

September, — A London Gazette is pub- 
lished without a single tahereoi : in the 
tvening the sevefal traidesmen illuminated 
their louses. Fall of the Trocadero an- 
nounced upon the Royal Exchange ; be- 
nerolent l^pe expressed by an Alderman 
that it did not hurt any body. 

Ootober^-^Jn consequence of the mo- 
jected improyements in St. James's Pa- 
Mioe, sereral old women have received 
notice to quit — Memorial of a murdered 
gentleman inserted in the Dublin papers^ 

JSrot>0mder.— Mr. Sinclair the singer 
desires tiie temposture of his sitting 
room, not wishing to be '^ thought a 
oreater fool than he is," Mr. Maberky't 
horse baiaar is removed to the winter 
tlicatraB. The Author of Wavcrley said 
to have a curious mode of acquainting 
his domestics c^ his wants, by having 
Ae words ^breakfast, lunch, dinner, 
topper," painted upon a board. N.B. The 
only poet on record who can call for four 
meals a day. A 50^ bill said to be swal- 
lowed by a donkey at Liveipool, and the 
printed statement of it swallowed by se- 
nral of the species in London. 

J)eoember.~-J}tea/Afui storm of wind 
Uowt over the metropolis: an eddy of 
the remorseless gale carries divers school- 
beys prematurely to town for the Christ- 
Baas holida3rs ; numerous caitifis in white 
sreat coats are blown from their own 
houses into those of other people, mutter- 
ing something about the compliments of 
the season, and dinner-caids, whisk 
throu^ the ah: bringing heterogeneous 
relations together on Cnristma^day.-.^ 
New Monthly Magazine. 


GmiXiXDi gone! — ^we scarcely know 
where we are ; we scarcely know how to 
write ! He was so entirely rich ! There 

* Grinntldi, to long the favourite clown at 
Coveni-Chtrden Theatre, does not appear in the 
Pantomime thU season on account of ill health. 
He i» •neceeded by hit son Mr. J. S. Grimaldi« 
** a worthy son of sach aiii'e."— Ed. 

was liis first distorted escape out of his 
disguise. .. hit cavern of a month— his 
thievidi ev&— his supple limb^— and most 
undoubtea laugh — ^what decay on earth 
can have mastCTed all these ? — Go to!—. 
HeiBnot retired 1 — We will not bdieve 
it. Yet, alack ! his name is not in the 
bills—" Clown, Mr. J. a GrimaldL" 
Oh, villanous J. S. ! It should be 
•'Clown, Mr. Grimaldi," — or Pantomime 
should betake itself to its weeds — and 
pine in perfect widowhood. W^e will 
say, without a fear of contradiction, that 
there not only never was such a clown, 
but that there never will be such another ! 
GrimaMi requires rest ; — ^that must be 
all, — and that we can imagine to be pos- 
sible. No doubt, instead of pulling on 
his motley inexpressibles, — and preparing 
his large lucky bag of a pocket, he is now 
sitting by a oozey fire, with a spoonful of 
Madeira in his eye, and J. S, (good in 
his way, but no Joe) listening to the 
clownish reminiscences of his immitable 
papa : perhaps he speakcth thus— but one 
should see him speak ! — 

Adieu to Mother Goose ! — adieu — adieu 
To spangles, tufted heads, and dancing 
limbs, — 
Adieu to Pantomime— to all — that threw 
O'er Christmas' shoulders a rich robe 
of whims ! 

Never shall old Bologna— old, alack !— . 
Once he was young and diamonded all 
Take his particular Joseph on his back 
And dance the matchless fling, so loved 
of yore. 

Ne'er shall I build the wondrous verdant 
Tall, turnip-headed, — carrot-finger'd, 
— lean; — 
Ne'er shall I, on the very newest plan. 
Cabbage a body;— old Joe Franken- 

Nor make a fire, nor eke compose a coach. 
Of saucepans, trumpets, cheese, and 
such sweet fare ; 
Sorrow hath ta'en my number :".^I en« 
No more upon the chariot, — but the 
€k>ne is the stride, four steps, across the 
Gone is the light vault o'er a turnpike 
Sloth puts my legs into its tiresome cage. 
And stops me for a toll, — I find, too 
How Ware would quiver his mad bow 
His rosin'd tight ropes— when I flapp'd 
a dance: 

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How would I twitch the Panttloofi*s good 
And help his* fall-^^and all his fears 
enhance ! 
How children shrieked to see me eat ! — 
Stole the broad laugh firom aged sober 
Boys pick*d their plumbs out of ny 
Christmas pie, — 
And people took my vices for a joke. 

Be wise, — ^that's foolish) — tumblesome ! 
And oh, J. S. to every fancy stoop ! 
Carry a ponderous pocket at tny breech, 
And roll thine eyes, as thou wouldst 
roll a hoop. 

Hand Columbine about with nimble hand, 
Covet thy neighbour'sriches as thy own ; 

Dance on the water, swim upon the land. 
Let thy legs prove themselves bone of 
my bone. 

Cuff Pantaloon, be sure — ^forget not this : 

As thou beats him, thou'rt poor, J. S. 

or funny! 

And wear a d^ of paint upon thy phiz, 

It doth boys good, and mraws m gid- 

lery money. 

Lastly, be jolly ! be alive! be light! 

Twitch, flirt, and caper, tumble, fall, 
and throw ! 
Grow up right ugly in thy father's sight ! 
And be an " absolute Joseph," like 
old Joe ! 



Tho' Fontenelle with pleasing toil. 
Had taught his cook to dress with oil. 
Asparagus, and made a splutter 
If e V he saw drest with butter ; 
Yet when he kindly asked to dine. 
To crack his walnuts, sip his wine, 
A £st and buttei4oving priest. 
He ordered half the di^ at least. 
Should, in compliance with this whim. 
With butter be prq>ared for Lim. 
In vain, alas ! was this intended, 
Bv sudden death his days were ended. 
The Abbe sunk to rise no more ; 
His friend rushed quickly to the door. 
And loudly his commands exprest. 
Let all, let all with oil be drest. 

" I am but a Gatherer and disposer of othei 
men's stuff." — fFotton. 

I SHOULD like much to know, how to 

manage a house ! 
Why, then, take itx nuunjAt the good 

Mrs. Douce ! 

She's certainly laving, for she's nearly 

fourscore ! 
And has ever, as yet, kept the wolf from 

die door. — 
She certainly has, yon are right Sb^ 

If he peep'd, he would never stay 

Stomachs, much less than his, should 

they there make a stay, 
Most certain, would soon diie of hun. 



At a tinoe of general scarcity, the great 
Emperor Acbar went to visit the tomb of 
a Saint, buried at Corrub, near DelhL 
On his return, he alighted at a house on 
the road to rest himself; while convers- 
ing there with his vizier, he perceived at 
his foot a grain of com ; the monarch, 
whose mind was constantly occupied with 
the sufferings of his people, took it up, 
gave it to his vizier, desired him to sow 
it, and to render him an account every 
year of its produce. At the end of ten 
years it had so multiplied, that after 
making large distributions among the 
poor, the surplus, sold by order of the 
Empennr, was sufficient to defray the ex. 
pense of building a mosque. Acbar 
erected it on the spot where he had found 
the grain of c(»n, wishing thus to render 
thanks to the goodness of we Omnipotent, 
and leave to posterity a monument of the 
fruits of industry and perseverance. 


A singular custom prevails at West 
Wickham, in Kent, and its neighbour, 
bood, which seems worth recording. In 
Rogation week, a troop of young men 
run about the orchards, with a sreat noise 
and tumult, bawling out these lines : — . 

Stand fast, root ; bear well top ; 
God send us a jouling sop ; 
Every twig, apple big, 
Every bough, apples enow. 

For this they expect m(mey or liquor, 
or both ; and if disappointed, leave the 
place with a curse, expressed in some 
such doggerel rhimes. The meaning of 
the word jouling may puzzle more pro- 
found antiquaries than we profess to be. 
Hasted's idea, that it comes from Eolus, 
god of the winds, is ridiculous enough ; 
uiere is much more probably some affinity 
between the jouling of the Kent 3rouths, 
and Ule or Jule games, so frequent in the 
northern parts of this kingdom. Dr. 
Hammona has an opinion that it comes 
immediately from the Latin word jtifri^% 
which meens a time of festivity. 

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Norfolk^ June^ 1819 — Two young 
men, in company at a public-house at 
L]rnn, in Norfolk, engaged, for a pot of 
beer, to try which could swear the most 
diabolical oaths ; when one of them, after, 
using the most abominable expressions,- 
became exhausted, and could not utter a 
syUable, and has remained speechless ever. 
lince ; a living example to those who take- 
Ood's name in vain. 


The Lord Mayor of London, at the 
time of the riots in 1780, being asked by 
Lord North why he did not call upon the 
noue ewnitatusf Answered, ^^ I would 
nave done so, but deuce take the feUow, 
I don't know where he lives." 

Who, on the Author complaining of 
heat, oommenoed fiuming him. 

Cease, Lovely Mira, cease thy care ; 

Thy gentle efforts are in vain. 
The undulations of the air : 

Alas they but increase the pain. 
Eadi sparUe of thine eyes commands, 

With fire a thousand atoms blaze ; 
And wafted by thy lily hand, 

My breast receives uie burning r^s. 

Ejetreme$ meet — A man of sober habits 
when drunk, has the same kind of stu- 
pidity about him, that an habitual drunk- 
ard has when he chances to be sober. 


CBy Dr. H, CampbeU,) 

Oh, could'st thou think I ever lov*d, 
Or thought of other maid. 
Since first thy pleasing smiles I prov'd 
On which my soul deSiy'd ? 

. No, never Mary, could this heart, 
Another's sembhmce wear ; 
Thine still shall be its dearest pant 
By Love, dear maid, I swear. 

Then why upbraid me thus with scorn 
That " others share thy power — 
*^ That I for them may Uve and mourn 
And curse my natal hour.'* 

'Tis cruel Mary thus to wring 

An heart that beats for thee — 

Oh, eease and smile, and Hope will spring 

Again with joys iot me. 

aisefttl SomtjStU fl^fius» 

The following is a Recipe, given in an 
American Paper, to make a very beauti- 
ful paint for the walls of staircases and 
lobbies, the cost of which is less than 
one-fourth of that of oil colour, and the 
beauty far superior : — 

Take four pounds of Roman vitriol, 
and pour on it a tea-kettle full of boiling 
water ; when dissolved, add two pounds 
of pearl ash, and stir the mixture weU 
with a stick, until the effervescence ceases, 
then add a quarter of a pound of pulve- 
rised yellow arsenic, and stir the whole 
together ; let it be laid on with a paint or 
wMte-wash brush, and if the wall has 
not been painted before, two, or even 
three coats will be requisite. To paint a 
oonmion sized room with this colour, will 
not cost more than five or six dollan. If 
a pea-green is required put in less, and if 
an apple-green, more of the yellow arsenic j 

To improve Water for Drinkinff,^^ 
The following plan mav be adopted for 
this purpose: — Let the water, when 
boiled, be put into a common barrel- 
chum, where it may be agitated to any 
degree that may be wi^ed for. In the 
course of its being thus agitated, it will 
absorb atmospheric air, and other elastic 
fluids with which it may come in contact. 
It will thus become a liquor, safe, pa- 
latable, and wholesome; to be obtained 
with little trouble and expense; and ac- 
cessible in its utmost perfection, to the 
poorest individuaL 

To render Water peculiar Wholesome 
and Paiatable. — Those who wish to drink 
this wholesome beverage in its utmost 
nerfection, should, after havingvit boiled 
and filtrated, cause it to be diumed as 
above directed, then bottled, with a couple 
of dried raisins in each bo£tle; this will 
give it a sufficient quantity of fixed air. 
If then used, it becomes truly delicious. 


We are unavoidably compelled to defeFour 
decision on the communicationB we have re- 
ceived from numerous Correspondents, ontil 
our next. 

Otiofut. P. T. W. Tim Tobykin, and ff, 
will find letters at our office, directed for them, 
on Wednesday next, for which they are re- 
quested to send. 

Printed and Published by J. LIMBIRD, 
143, Strand, (near Somerset HoueeJ mnd 90l4 
by all^ewemen and Bookeellert, 

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[Price 5U. 

mimtxHtim% of fttiafispear^ 

No. II. 

Navigators give their names to the 
countries, islands, creeks and bays they 
discover, and warri(»8 receive titles from 
the scenes of their triumphs. Shakspeare 
has done more — since his name has been 
given to a promontory from the circum- 
stance of ms having so beautifully de- 
scribed it in his '^ immortal verse." N<^ 
person who has visited Dover and seen 

•* Cliff whose bigli and bending bead 
Looks fearfully on the confused deep,'* 

but must have felt the force aud correct- 
ness of the following description (^ it, in 
the tragedy of King Lear. 

. _, ^. ^, " How fearftal 

And dixxj *t\» to cast one's eyex so lowl 
The crows and cbongbs, that wing the midway air 
Shew scarce so fross as beetles ; balf way down, 
Hanfs one tbat gathers samphire; dreadful 

Methinks be seems no bigger than bis head ; 
The llsbermen, that walk upon the beach, 
Appear like mice: and yon tall anchoring bark. 
Jliminish'd to her cock : her cock, a buoy. 

Vol. III. D 

Almost too small for sight ; the mumnirtatf 


That on the unn umber 'd idle pebbles ehafesi 
Cannot be heard so high : — I'll look no mor< 
Lest my brain turn, and the deficient sight 

Topnle down headlong." 

Snakspeare^s CBfF is, indeed, a plac* 
from whose dread summit 
* Look up a-height:-..The shrill-gorged lark 

so far, 
Cannot be seen or heard." 

This bold and lofty Cliff, which bears, 
the name of our great dramatic poet, 
breasts the surge on the south-west side 
of Dover harbour. Samphire is still 
gathered from it, as described by Shaks* 
peare, and the whole preserves the reality 
which the poet has embodied in his 
inimitable description. So fearful indeed 
does the lofty cliff appear in the poet's 
verse, that one of his commentators de« 
dares that he never transported himsdf 
even in imagination to the brink of the 
precipice, without feeling a degree of gid« 
diness as he measured the frightful depth 


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Of this ClifT, 80 consecrated by the 
muse and the name of Shakspeare, the 
engraving copied from a sketch drawn on 
the spot, presents a good and picturesque 
likeness. The ClifFhas, within the last few 
weekb, heGEL somewhat dUapidated by 
the fall of a large body of the chalk of 
which it is formed^ but it still exhibits a 
scene terrific, yet grand. 

Of all the immortal works of our great 
bard, there is none more calculated to 
excite our concern, or to engage our sym- 
pathies, than ^e tragedy of ^ng Lear — 
none in which the mighty resources of 
l^iakspeare^s transcendant genius are more 
Eminently displayed ; whether we regard 
its variety of character, its contrasted and 
conflicting passions^ or the rapid succes- 
sion of the mteresting ev^ts which form 
this play. 

Shakspeare*s commentators have almost 
universally agreed in ascribing the story 
of King Lear to Oeofirey of Monmouth, 
^om whom, or from some old legends 
borrowed from his book, they conclude 
that our great poet derived his informa- 
tion. It is true that the story is to be 
fbimd in the works of this histindan, but 
it there i^M>ears under the disadvantage 
of a slovenhr translation into Latin from 
an ancient Welsh history, entitled, Brut 
y Brenhi^^ddy on Chronicle of the Kings, 
writtai by Tysilio, a Welsh bishop, at 
the dose of the seventh century, and so 
called because it gives a history of all the 
kings of Britain, from Brutus down to 
Oadwaladr, the last nominal sovereign, 
who abdicated the throne in the year ۤ6. 
Although there are several MS. copies of 
this Chronide in existence, one of which 
is preserved in Sir Robert Cotton's col- 
lection in the British Museum ; yet not 
one of the English commentators on 
Sliakspeare seems to have been aware even 
of the existence of such a document. 

l*he tragedy of Shakspeare varies in 
several particulars from die Chronicle of 
Tysilio : the names have also been mo- 
demized or Anglicised; thus Llyr has 
been altered into Lear. The names of 
his three daughters, which, in the Wdsh 
Ghvonicle, are Goronilla, Regan, and Cor- 
deilla, arc softened by the poet into Uiese 
of Obneril, Regan, and Cordelia. The 
Welsh name for Scodand used in the 
original MS. is Alban, whence came the 
AlbaBT of l^akspeare. In the original 
story there are many points not preserved 
In the tragedy, and the poet has also 
engraft many incidents on the Wdsh • 
story, particularly the ^isode of (Houces- 
ter ssA his sons, taken from S3^ey's 
Arcadia ; and the character of the Stewara, 
iKRrowed from ^ ^^ Miirour of Magis- 
trates" Not has ho adhered to ike 

original story in killing Cordelia as be 
has done during the life of her fiither ; 
which, as Dr. «^hiaon observes, is not so 
consonant with our ideas of justice. 

In the Welsh storv the auction ef 
CordeiUa is strongly depicted ; die is re- 
presented as having retired to Pariii, 
whither Uyr repaired when he had ex- 
perienced the ingratitude of €k>neril and 
Regan. On hearing of her father's ap- 
proach, attended by a single knight only, 
she sent him the means of providing a 
retinue more worthy of a Rritiui monaidi. 
He has an interview with the King of 
France (Aganippus), whose aid to recover 
his kingdom he im^dores. The French 
Monar<£ determines on restoring Llyr, 
and gives him the government of France 
while he raises a powerful army. When 
this army was assembled, ^' it was agreed 
in council to send CordeiUa with Llyr, 
lest the French should not be obedient to 
him; and Aganippus commanded tlie 
Fr^ich, as they valued their souls and at 
their peril, to be as obedient to Llyr and 
to his daughter as they would be to him- 
self. When they had taken leave, they 
set off towards the Ide of Britain, and 
against them came Atla^on, Prince of 
Scotland, and Henwjm, Prince of C!om- 
wall, with all their power, and fou^t 
gallantly and severdy with them; but 
owing to the French bdng so numerous, 
it did not avail them, for they were put 
to fli^ and pursued, and a multitude of 
them slain. And Lfyr and his daughter 
subdued tilie island b^ore the end of the 
year, from one sea to another, and chased 
his two scms-in-law away wit of the 

After they had reduced the island, 
they governed it for a l^g time in peao^ 
a2id quietness, until the death 4j£ Llyr, 
when ^ Cordelia took the government 
of the Ide of Britara, and sne managed 
it for five years in peace and tranquil, 
lity; and in the dxth year rose her 
two n^hews, sons of her sisters, who 
were young men (^ great feme, mundy, 
Morgan, ttie son of Miwlon, Prince of 
Scotknd, and Cunedda, the son of Hen- 
wyn. Prince of Cornwall ; and they as- 
sembled an army, and made war on 
Cordelia ; and after frequent conflicts, be- 
tween them, they subdued the isl^id and 
took her and confined her in prison. And 
when she thought of her former grandeur, 
which she had lost, and that there re- 
mained no hopes that she should be t^ain 
restored, out of excesdve anguish she 
kilkd herself^ which was done by stabbing 
herself with a knife under her breast, so 
that she lost her souL And thereupon it 
was adjudged, that it was the foukat 
death <i any fin a person to kill himself.*' 

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No. II. 

Foseimnr, ti c|ttid vacui sub umbra 
LuBMnus tecum, quod et hunc in annum 
Vivat et plures. Hob. 

The first spednien of my Leisure 
Hours will craiprise a few singular 
cufiton^, which may not, perhaps, be 
generally known. The reader shall have 
ihem without furdier pre&ce. 


The dianges of habits and mannas 
are, in no case, nmre apparent or more 
carious than in the difiecence of depwt- 
ment at meals between the ancients and 
modems. The Greeks and Romans al- 
ways employed servants to read to them 
on these oocasi<m8 : by the ^wmer they 
were called anmgnostes^ and by the latter 
iectoresf and it appears from Seryius, 
that women were occasionally employed 
in this office, as he describes one as lec» 
trix. The Emperor Severus was accus. 
tomed to read himsdf at table; and 
Cornelius Nq»os relates of Atticus, that 
be never supped without doing so, that 
"his mind," quoth the historian, " might 
Bot be less delighted than his stomach." 
Jn Greece it was cusUmiary to have the 
praises of great men sung during meal 
time; and these effusions were called 
ttoroeanata. The general practice, how- 
ever, like all others, was, in time, exposed 
to abuse ; and, accordingly, we learn from 
Martial, tliat a c^tain poetaster, called 
LigurinHs, was wont to recite his own 
poems at table to the great disgust of his 
guests. It would be well, perhaps, if 
certain reciters of our times were to take 
a hint ftom this anecdote. But, to re- 
turn, the same custom is mentioned by 
Eginhard to have been kept up by Char- 
lemagne, who had the lives and exploits 
of ancient princes read to him while at 
table ; and St. Augustin ascribes a simi- 
lar practice to the clergy and monks of 
his day. Of a nature coiresponding with 
the readera above.«aentioned are the story. 
tellersrf^ the East, of whom persons of 
rank generally employ two or three, male 
or female, to amuse them with tales when 
melancholy or indisposed, and often to 
lull them adeep. Sir William Temple, 
in his Essays, notices a similar custom 
amongst the Irish, who had formerly their 
story-tellers, descended, as he thinks, 
from the old Irish bards. The duty of 
the Pomestic Bard at the court of the 
Welsh princes was also, according to the 
Laws (» Howdl, neaily the same ; histead 
of reciting tales, he was to sing songs. 


With reference to that part of Daniel*8 
interpretation of the hand-writing at Bel- 
bhazzar's feast, in which he sa3rs, *'' thou 
art weighed in the balance and found 
wanting," it is curious to find, that a 
custom of actually weighing kings is re- 
lated in Sir Thomas Roe*s Visage to 
India. From this it may be infened, 
that the foregoing scriptural passage m&y 
be taken in a more literal sense than it is 
gmerally supposed to bear. 


This custom, so conunon in the sister 
island, seems to have been both ancient 
and generaL It was called by the Greeks 
Stemaiupia^ and was in use amone several 
nations of okL Br. (Sarke, in his Tra- 
vels in Asia, describes it as v^ general 
amongst the Arabs ; and we find, from 
die Narrative of the Congo Euiedition, 
published in 1818, that it is or common 
use at Embomma in Africa. The Ro- 
mans had their prefica^ whose particular 
duty it was to superintend the mode of 
lamentation at funerals. 


The papal chair, it is well known, is 
thought to have been once fille^ by a 
woman. This was Pope Joan, as she is 
generally called, or John VII., who was 

Sope during the ninth century. She is 
escribed to hav« been of very dissolute 
manners, and, consequently, to have 
brought great disgrace on the pontifical 
digmty. On this account, measures were 
taken to prevent the recurrence of such 
an opprobrium ; and Sabellicus tells us, 
^' it was decreed no one should thereafter 
be admitted into St. Peter^s chair, pHus^ 
quam perforatam sedem futuri Pontifici* 
genitcUia ab vMimo diacono cardinale 
aUrectarentury Such is his account, 
which, fer special reasons, I prefer givinj^ 
in the original. Sabellicus adds, that this 
porphjrry chair was to be seen, in his 
time, in tibe Pope's palace ; but Platina 
is of opinion, that it was designed for 
anotlier use. 

" Noa noatnm taigas conaponere Utei.** 
But, be all this as it may, iti^pean that, 
in consequence of Pope Joan's inoonti- 
nent life, the popes, until of late times, 
were aecustomed, in their processions, 
when 4^ey reached the ^aoe <» her private 
residence, to turn out of the road into a bye 
way, and, having passed the obnoxioms 
spot, to return to the original route. The 
mode of electing the popes, above noticed, 
is thought, Xny soiile, to be a mere fiction ; 
but, whether it be so or not, it gave birth 
to an epigram on the election (n Innotient 

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VIII., wnich I rfiaU here transcribe. 
The author is Michael MaruUus : 
Qnid quwristeate*. sit mas an faemlna Cibo? 
Resnice natorum, pignora cesta, gregero. 
Octo noceiiH pueios genuit.totedemque puellas ; 
Hunc merlto poterit dicere Roma Patretn. 


It has been very plausibly surmised. 

tions with regard to the beard. The 
Tartars once waged a long and bloody 
war with the Persians, and declared them 
infidels, though, in other respects, of the 
same faith with themselves, merely be- 
cause they would not cut their whiskers 
after the mode or rite of the Tartars. 
The Spartans, from the age of twenty 

fco^XtM;,e;«yrini;'fi«tcha?S yean, suffered their h«irjnd be«dsto 

TSeLds, respecting the Hebrew Nuc- g™w ' ^"^ h»»>»|°8/««°'ed .n ornament 

<Ajm«-o« (" Md thi evening and the which becwne the freeman and wamor. 

mSTwere the first day"), that it be- A Spartan bemg once ad«d why he wore 

Z^^ the evening. Ani it may cor- so long a beard, rephed, « Since .t » 

Kte this hypoth«l8 to notice, thatthe grown white it mcessandy remmda me 

wicient Britons^d Saxons seem to have not to dishonour my old age. 'The As- 

^kwed time in the same way. C««r Syrians had long beard. , and Chrysostom 

Sutarly alludes to the custin a. ex- observes, Aat the fangs of Per8» had 

Srinr»niong the GauU, who are known then: be^ds woven « matted togedier 

'to hive been' of kindred' de«=ent with the wUh gold Are^s^ ,!»?»°i *!„?!? 

Britons ; and it may be inferred from our 
ordinary expressions of " fortnight" and 
" se'nnight," that it was also prevalent 
amongst the Saxons. 


Archbishop Tillotson supposes the cus- 

kings of France had, in the same manner, 
their beards matted and knotted with gold. 
The Africans wore long beards, as may 
be seen on the medals of Juba. The 
Greeks always wor^ their beards till the 
time of Alexander, when he commanded 
the Macedonians to be shaven, lest the 

tom of embalming so common amongst length oi their beards should give a 

the ancient Egyptians, to be alluded to in handle to their enemies. The Romans 

that verse of Ecclesiastes, where Solomon fo^ ^ long time wore beards and long hair. 

»ays, " a good name is better than pre- piiny says the Romans did not begin to 

eious ointment," chap. vii. verse 1. The ghave till the year of Rome 454. Scipio 

meaning of this expression Tillotson con- Africanus was the first who introduced 

tiders to be, Uiat " a good name" after the mode of shaving every day.* (To 

death is better than the preservation or 
embahning of the body by " precious 


It was a custom amongst the Romans 
to mourn ten months after the death of 
any near relative ; and during this period 
they considered it inauspicious to attempt 
any enterprise of importance. Bossu, the 
French critic, aiding from this practice. 

whose memory the cutlers of Shemeld 
ought to erect a statue of steel.) The 
philosophers, however, retained the beard; 
and the military men wore it short aid 
frizzled, as we see it upon the triumphal 
arches and other monuments. In the 
time of grief and affliction they suffered 
their beara and hair to grow, as was the 
case with M. Livius in his retirement 
from Rome, and with Augustus after the 
defeat of Varus. The Greeks, on the 

in his attempt to "^'"^^J^l^^^lilnot ^^^^^^ '^ '^"^^ ^^ 8^^^^' ^' ^^^ ^^^ 

?»«^Sf'?'P'^«TSl*^ «^^>i Xi and shaVed their l5ards (see Seneca); 

W Sicily unU alK>ut ten i?o«^^» '^^ which was also the custom among somi 

Ae death of ^"„^*^f^;.^"^ ^^ ^^^^'^ nations. The first fourteen 

founder of the ^'^ ^1^%"^ Z!^^J^^^ Roman emperors shaved tiU the time of 

duty to give an ^^^^.fj^l^^^^^ the Emperor Adrian, who retained the 

and ntes to be used by his posterity, and, ^^de oFwearing thi beard. Plutarch 

'^^^flitl:k^:t^'^^ ^^^ - ^« ^^ '^^^ ^'^^ the scars in hi. 

to have undertaken tiiie descent upon Italy 

during the time of mourning for the 

death of Anchises. But is not Bossu 

arguing from a fact in support of a fiction ? 

Let the learned decide. Otiosus. 


(Fwr the Mirror.) 
VAEXOtTS have been and still are the 
ceicmdniet and customs of different na« 

face. Among the Catti, (a nation of 
Germany, a young roan was not allowed 
to shave or cut his hair till he had slaiti 
an enemy (see Tacitus). Among tho 
Jews it was reckoned ignominious to shave 
a person's beard, (2 &im. x. 4). The dav 
on which the young men, among the 
Greeks and Romans, first shaved the 
beard, was a festival ; visits of ceremony 
were paid them ; and they received prr^ 

• It It ealeulated that a person (shavinc every 
day) makes in one yoar 43^ strokes with tha 

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cents from Aek friends (see Juvenal). 
Augustus did not shave bobre the age of 
twenty-five. Slaves among the Romans 
wore their beards and hurlong; when 
manumitted they shaved the he^ on the 
Temple of Feronia, and put on a cap or 
'' peleus** as a badse of liberty. Those 
who escaped from uiipwreck shaved their 
heads ; and persons acquitted of a capital 
crime cut meir hair and shaved, and 
went to the capitol to return thanks to 

lie Comte observes, that the Chinese 
affect long beards extravagantly ; but na- 
ture has balked them, and only given 
them very little ones, which, however, 
they cultivate with great care. The 
Europeans are strangely envied by them 
on this account. 

Upon the death of Henry IV. of France, 
who was succeeded by a beardless youdi, 
the beard was proscribed. Louis XIII. 
ascended the throne of his glorious ances- 
tors without a beard ; and his courtiers 
immediately reduced their beards to whis- 
kers, whicn continued in fashion at the 
commencement of the reign of Louis 
XIV., who, as well as his courtiers, were 
proud of wearing them, so that they 
wore the ornament of Turenne, Cond6, 
Colbert, Comeille, Moliere, &c 

In Spain, Philip V. ascended the throne 
with a shaved chin ; the courtiers imi- 
tated the prince, and dieir example was 
followed by the people. The change, 
however, produced lamentations and mur- 
murs. Hence arose the Spanish proverb, 
denoting, ^* Since we have lost our beards, 
we have lost our souls." The Portu- 
guese have imitated them in this respect. 
In the reign of Catherine Queen of For- 
tugal, when the brave John de Castro 
had taken the castle of Diu in India, he 
was under the necessity of borrowing from 
the inhabitants of Goa a thousand pistoles 
for the maintenance of his fleet ; and as 
a security for the loan, he sent ihem one 
of his wliiskers, telling them, << all the 
gold in the world cannot equal the value 
of this national ornament of my valour ; 
and I deposit it in your hands as a secu- 
rity for tie money." The inhabitants of 
Ooa, it is said, generously returned both 
the money and his ^hiskec The ancient 
Britons shaved the body, except the head 
and the upper lip, as well as the Oauls. 
The Normans had a great aversion to 
beards. Among them, to allow the beard 
to grow was an indication of the deepest 
Stress and misery. William the Con- 

aueror compelled the English to shave 
leir upper lips and beards, so that some 
choose rather to abandon , their country 
than to resign their whiskers. Xn the 
fourteenth eentury long beards were in 
D 3 

fashion ; those of Bishop Gardiner and 
Cardinal Pole appear in their portraits of 
an uncommon size. The lawyers had a 
regulation imposed upon this important 
feature. Among the Turks and Persians 
the beard is a mark of authority and li- 
berty. The Moors of Africa hold by 
their beards while they take an oath. 
The Turkish wives kiss their husbands* 
beards, and children their father^s, as often 
as they come to salute them. The Jews 
wear a beard on the chin, but not on the 
upper lip or cheeks. It is the practice of 
the Indians of North America to pluck 
out the beard by the roots from its earliest 
appearance ; and hence their faces appear 
smooth. Anointing the beard was prac- 
tised by the Jews and Romans, and still 
continues in use among the Turks. The 
latter, when they comb their beards, hold 
a handkerchief on their knees, and gather 
very carefully the hairs that fall ; and 
when they get together a certain quantity, 
they fold them up in a paper, and carry 
them to the place where tney bury the 
dead. Plucking the beard was practised 
to cynics by way of contempt. Touching 
the beard was an action anciently used by 

Pliny says, that the ancient Greeks 
had a custom of touching the chin of a 
person, whose compassion they wished to 
excite : the chin being substituted for the 
beard. Among the ancient French, the 
beard was the most sacred pledge of pro- 
tection and confidence. For along time, 
all letters issuing from the sovereign, 
had, for greater satisfaction, three haLrs 
of his b^urd in the seaL For which a 
charter was made in the year 1121. The 
Russian nobility formerly nourished 
their beards, which continued amongst 
them till the Czar, Peter the Great, com. 
pelled them to part with these ornaments^ 
sometimes by laying a swinging tax 
upon them; and, at others, bv ordering 
those he found with beards, to have them 
pulled up by the roots, or shaved with a 
blunt razor,* which drew the skin after 
it, and by these means, scarce a beard was 
left in the kingdom at his death: but, 
such a veneration had this people for 
those ensigns of gravity, that many of 
them carerally preserv^ them in tneir 
cabinets, to be buried with them; im- 
agining, perhaps, they should make but 
an odd figure in the grave with their 
naked chins. So much for beards — in our 
next we shall give an account of the 
operators thereon. 

To be concluded in our neat. 

* Hudibras says, 
" And cut square by the Riusian standard, 
A torn beard's like a tatter'd ensign, • 
That's bravest which there are most rents ia.* 
8ee part U. Canto i. fiAs 17i^ 

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If^eniouB thought! old Nature to invert. 
And make the feet do duty— for the hands!— 
The hand* have work'd for many thousand 

For many thoutaitd yean now work the feet I 
Behold the human squirrels ! round and round. 
Treading the never-ending cylinder ; 
The incorrigible rogues! that wise man send 
To Hotues of Correction, there to learn. 
That labour is indeed a curse : 
With pains and perils, there to " Mill the Air," 
With strains and achings, therefrom to depart, 
Lesson'd to work at, — nothing! — 
To learn this wond'rous lesson, and unleftrn 
The other habits of industrious years: 
Lo I woman, stretch'd, disfigur'd, on the wheel! 
8tung with a sense of shame, a dread of ill, 
Twere infamy, for other eyes to see ; 
Ali nttle remnant of that self respect. 
Strong to reclaim, extinguish'd in the feeling 
Of utter, and o'erwhelming degradation — 
Fie on these manias, that o'erdo all good 
To perfect evil, these precipitate jumps 
At excellence, which hurl it to the giound : 
These plant concerted without proper planninj^ : 
These quackish nostrums ; let the Tread Mill 

For just prevention of the thefts of mice : 
Or comfort of young ladies who delight 
To seethe captive squirrel wind his cage- 
But let not fiature be abu»'d, nor man 
Converted to a sorry turnspit, tramp 
A profitless, debasing, cruel rotind 
O/toU — nor woman be expos'd 
To an that man can suffer, and thrice more 1 ! 

No. XLIV. 


Some thirty yean ago, a gentleman-like 
person, between the age of twenty-five 
and thirty, arrived at the little village of 
St. Ronan, situated on the southern side 
of the Forth, about thirty miles from the 
English border. This village, now sunk 
into decay, had been once me residence 
of the Mowbrays, a powerful family, con- 
nected with the Douglases. Only two 
houses of any consequence now remained ; 
the Mause, or clergymen^s rectory, and an 
Snn kept by Mrs. Meg Dods, the daughter 
of an old retainer of the Mowbray^s 
family, who had saved money while the 
master was rpined. 

Mrs. Meg Dods was a brisk landlady, 
who kept a good cellar, and charged 
moderately. She had few or no personal 
charms. Her hair was of a brindled oo* 
lour, betwixt black and grey, which was 
apt to escape in elf-locks from under 
her mutch when she was thrown into 
violent agitation — long skinny hands, 
terminated by stout talons — grey eyes, 
thin lips, a robust person, a broad, though 
flat chest, capital wind, and a voice that 
could match a choir of fish-women. She 

was accustomed to MiyDi ttend^ in hit- 
mote gentle moods, that her hatk wm 
worse llian her bite; but what teeth 
could have matched a tongue, whieh, 
when in full career, vouched to have been 
heard from the Kirk, to the Castle of St. 

To this inn coaae Francis Tyrrel, the 
the hero of the story; he was the 
son of the fifth Earl of Etherington, 
^ho had known Meg in former years, 
and did not care for her eccentricitiei. 
They, howev^, had no charms for the 
travellers of these light and giddy-paced 
times, and Meg's inn became less and 
less frequented. What carried the evil 
to the uttermost was, that a fisncifrd lady 
of rank in the neighbourhood, chanced to 
recover of some imaginary coihplfunt by 
the use of a mineral Well, about a mile 
and a half from the village ; a fiishion.- 
able doctor was found to write an analysis 
of the healing stream, with a list of sun- 
dry cures; a speculative builder took 
land in feu^ and erected lodging-houses, 
shops, and even streets. At lei^th a 
tontine subscription was obtained to erect 
an inn, which, for the more grace, was 
called an hotel ; and so the description of 
M^ Dods became general. 

At the Well — ^the rival house — ^was a 
large party — to wit. Lady Penelope Pen- 
fei^er, a lady of fashion, whose beauty- 
had passed the meridian; Sir Bingo 
Sinks, a sapient Fkiglish baronet, who 
had been entrapped into a Scotch mar- 
riage with Miss Kadiael Bonnirigs, and 
was so ashamed of the union as not to 
return to England, and who, for a car- 
riage, kept, and drove himself, a regular- 
built maU coach ; and Mr. Blowbray, of 
St. Ronan's, a young sporting gentleman. 
The affairs of the Well were consigned 
to a managing committee, to arbitrate all 
matters relative to the good government 
of the community. 

Each of its members appeared to be 
selected, as Fortunio, in the fwry tale, 
chose his followers, (ot their peculiar 
gifts. First on on the list stood the man of 
medicine, Dr. Quinbus Quackleben, who 
claimed right to regulate medical matters 
at the spring, upon the principle which, 
of old, assigned the property of a newly 
discovered country, to the first Imccaneer 
who committed pbacy on its shores. The 
acknowledgment of the doctor's merit, as 
having been first to proclaim and vindi- 
cate the merits of these healing fountains, 
had occasioned his being universally in. 
stalled first physician and man of science, 
which last qualification he could apply 
to all purposes, from the boiling of an 
egg, to the giving a lecture. 

First ifi place, though p^haps seoond 

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to the doctor, &i real authority, was Mr. 
Winterblosflom ; a civil sort of j^erson, 
who was nicely precise in his address, 
wore his hair cued, and dressed with 
powder, had knee-bucMes set with Bristol 
stones, and a seal-ring as large as Sir 
John FahtafTs. In his hey-dey he had 
a small estate, whidi he had spent like a 
gentleman, by mixing with the gay 
world. He was, in short, one of those 
respectable links which connect the cox- 
combs of the present day with those of 
the last age, said could compare, in his 
own experience, ihe follies of both. In 
latter days, he had sense enough to ex- 
tricate himself from his course of dissipa- 
tion, though with impaired health and 
unpoverished fortune. 

Mr. Winterblossom was also distin- 
guished for possessing a few curious 
engravings, and other specimens of art, 
with the exhibition of which he occasion- 
ally beguiled a wet morning at the public 
room. They were coUe^ed, " viis et 
modis^*^ said the man of law, another 
distinguished member of the committee, 
with a knowing cock of his eye, to his 
next neighbour. 

Of this person little need be Sfdd. He 
was a large-boned, loud-voiced, red-faced 
old man, named Micklewham ; a country 
writer, or attorney, who managed the 
matters of the 'Squire much to the profit 
of one or other,--df not both. His nose 
projected from the front of his broad 
vulgar face, like the stile of an old sun- 
dial, twisted all of one side. He was as 
great a bully in his profession, as if he 
had been military instead of civil. 

After the man of law comes Captain 
Muneo Mac Turk, a Highland lieutenant 
on h^f-pay, and that of ancient standing ; 
one who preferred toddy of the strongest 
to wine, and in that fashion and cold 
drams finished about a bottle of whiskey 
per eUeniy whenever he could come by it. 
He was a general referee in all quarrels, 
an occupation which procured Captain 
Mac Turk a good deal of respect at the 
Well ; for he was precisely tnat sort of 
person who is ready to fight with any one 
—whom no one could find an apology for 
declining to fight with — in fighting with 
whom considerable danger was incurred, 
for he was ever and anon showing that he 
could snuff a candle with a pistol ball. 

Still remains to be mentioned the man 
of religion — the gentle Mr. Simon Chat- 
terley, who had strayed to St. Ronan's 
Well from the banks o£ Cam, or Isis, 
and who piqued himself, first on his 
Greek, and, secondly, on his politeness 
to the ladies. 

There was yet another member of this 
tdlect committee, Mr. Michael Aleredith, 

who mi^t be termed the man of mirth, 
or, if you j^ease, the Jack-pudding to 
the company, whose business it was to 
crack the best joke, and sing the best 
sone he could. 

The curiosity of this august assembly 
having been excited by me singularly 
retired haUts of Mr. Francis Tyml, tfaie 
stranger guest at the oripinal hostelrie of 
Mrs. Mee Dods, an invitation was sent 
him in the names oi the whole party to 
favour them with his company on aa 
early day. During his visit, be had an 
opportunity of meeting with Clara Mow« 
bray, and of renewing for a moment an 
acquaintance with her of long -standing. 
The father of Francis Tyird, the fifUi 
Earl of Etherington, had, during hit 
travels on the continent in tatty youth, 
married a certain beautifril orphan, Marie 
de Martiffny, the mother of our hero.— 
This nobleman taking advantage of the 
irrq^larity, and as m then deraied ille- 
gality, of diis ipion of the heart, found 
' it to suit his convenience to marry agaitf 
from interested motives, and accordingly 
wedded a Miss Buhner, by whom hehad 
another son, Valentine Buhner, who, on 
his father's death, took possession of hit 
titles and estates, on the plea of his elder 
brother's illegitimacy. The young men 
had nevertheless been educated together, 
and up to a certain period had be^ con- 
stant associates. They had met several 
years before in the neighbourhood of St. 
ilonan's Well, the l^utiiul sister ot 
Mowbray, and Francis T]rrrel, and she 
had then formed the tender connection 
already alluded to. As at this time the 
fother of the young men shewed an evi- 
dent desire to do justice to his elder son, 
and admit the legitimacy of his birth, 
the efforts of the younger brother were 
devoted unremittingly to vilify and mis- 
represent him. In an unlucky hour 
Francis Tyrrel made his brother his con- 
fidant, and the latter conjecturing that 
the connection would, on no account, be 
approved of by the father, used every 
possible exertion to promote it, and was 
unwearied in his endeavours to focilitate 
the intercourse of the lovers. 

Their interviews having been termi- 
nated by the harsh command of Clara's 
father, Valentine volunteered his services 
as the medium of communication, and 
finally advised Francis to propose a secret 
marriage. In a hapless hour he con- 
sented, and all the preliminaries arranged, 
the -pasUx of the parish agreed to per- 
form the ceremony, on a supposition 
hinted by the treacherous Valentine, that 
the object of the lover was to do justice 
to the betrayed maiden. It was finally 
settled that the lovers should mtet at th* 

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Old Kirk when the twilight hecame deep, 
and set off in a chaise for England im- 
mediately after the ceremony. About 
this juncture, however, the younger bro- 
ther became acquainted with a circum- 
stance which completely altered all his 
Tiews GD. the subject of this marriage. It 
appears that his grand unde by his 
mother's side was rdated to the Mowbray 
£smily, and had left a singular will, be- 
queathing an immense estate to the eldest 
son of the Earl of Etherington, provided 
he formed a matrimonial connection with 
a lady of the house of St. Ronan. After 
some consideration, he meditated a deep 
scheme to crown his ambitious views, and 
under circumstances which remove in 
some measure the improbability that may 
appear from a naked statement of the 
facts to attach to it, personated his brother 
(to whom he bore a strong resemblande) on 
the evening appointed for the ren^ezvous^ 

He sucoeeded so far in imposing on 
Clara. " We got into the carriage," 
^ys he in a confession he afterwards 
made, " and were a mile from the church, 
when my unlucky or lucky brother stopped 
the cha^ by force — ^through what means 
he had obtained knowledge of my little 
trick, I never have been able to learn. 
Solmes has been faithful to me in too 
many instances, that I should suspect 
him in this important crisis. I jumped 
out of the carriage, pitched fraternity to 
the devil, and, betwixt desperation and 
something very like shame, began to cut 
away with a couteau de chcuse, which I 
had provided in case of necessity. All 
was in vain — ^I was hustled down under 
the wheel of the carriage, and, the horses 
taking fright, it went over my body." . 

Clara Mowbray was reduoed to a state 
of mind bordering on distraction, and her 
lover only consented to a suspension of 
his revenge on an arrangement, that Va- 
lentine should give up all idea of seeing 
his betrothed again, or even of returning 
to the neighbourhood of which she re. 
sided, jy^anwhile, during his eldest 
son's absence in foreign climes, the father 
dies, and Valentine Buhner (as he was 
named after his mother) took possession 
of the title and estates of the Earl of 
£therington. It was only on hearing 
that his perfidious brother was, in defiance 
of his stipulation, about to return to St. 
Ronan's Well, that Francis repaired 
thither to watch his motions. At this 
time, however, he became possessed of 
documents which required only a legal 
process in order to enable him to vindi- 
cate to himself his birthright. 

The titular Earl assiduously cultivates 
the acquaintance of Mowbray, the brother 
ct CUia, to whom he makes formal pro- 

posals for her iiand, and is warmljr 
seconded by him, ignorant as he was ot 
her connection with Francis. They are, 
however, received with disgust and even 
horror by Clara. The Earl fleeces Mow- 
bray, the Laird of St. Ronan's, as he was 
called, of the whole of his property, as 
well as that of his sister, at the gaming 

In a state of desperation arising from 
his losses and a report that has reached 
him injurious to the honour of his sister 
(a report originating in the foul aspersion 
whicn had been cast upon her by tho 
traitor Valentine, in order to induce the 
dergjrman to consent to marry them clan- 
destinely), Mowbrav returns home deter- 
mined to seek a mil explanation with 
Clara, and to compel her marriage with 
the Earl of Etherington. 

In the violence ot his passion he even 
meditates her death; but her meekness 
and her tears subdue him, and he quits 
her saying, " Clara, you should to-night 
thank Ooid that saved you from a great 
da^er, and me from a deadly sin." 

I^irough the intervention of a very 
worthy old gentleman of the name oi 
Touchwood, one of those excellent but 
eccentric persons, who, having amassed a 
large fortune, are on Uie look-out for an 
heir, the intrigues of the titular Earl of 
Etherington ends in his own discomfiture. 
Clara Mowbray, in the agony of fear and 
desperation, fled from her brother's house 
within an hour of her interview with him» 
and after wandering about the greater 
part of a November night, is attracted by 
a light from the Manse of the clergyman. 
To this dwelling had been removed a few 
days before a wretched woman who had 
been one of the wicked instruments of the 
Earl of Etherington, and under the same 
roof does Clara also meet with her un . 
happy lover. 

We have no means of knowing whether 
she actually sought Tyrrel, or whether it 
was, as in the former case, the circum- 
stance of a light still burning where all 
around was dark, that attract^ her ; but 
her next apparition was close by the side 
of her unfortunate lover, then deeply en- 
gaged in writing, when something sud- 
denly gleamed on a large, old-fa^ioned 
mirror, which hung on me wall opposite. 
He looked up, and saw the figure of 
Clara, holding a light (which 3ie had 
taken from the passage) in her extended 
hand. He stood for an instant with his 
eyes fixed on this fearful shadow, ere he 
dared turn round on the substance which 
was thus reflected. When he did so, the 
fixed and pallid countenance almost im- 
pressed him with the belief that he saw f 
vision, and he shuddered when, stooping 

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befiidehim, ih« took his band. '^Come 
Rway!*' she said, in a hurried voice—- 
*^ come away, my brother follows to kill 
&s both. Come, Tyrrel, let us fly — we 
shall easily escape him. — Hannah Irwin 
is on before — ^but, if we are overtaken, I 
will have no more fighting — ^you shall 
promise me we shall not — ^we have had 
but too much of that — but you will be 
wise in future." 

" Clara Mowbray !'* exclaimed TjrrreL 
'^ Alas ! is it thus ! — Stay — do not go,** 
for she turned to make her escape— ^^ stay 
— Btav — sit down." 

" I must go," she replied, " I must go 
— ^I am called—Hannah Irwin is gone 
before to tell all, and I must follow. Will 
vou not let me go ? — Nay, if you will 
nold me by force, I know I must sit 
down — but you will not be able to keep 
me for all that." 

A convulsive fit followed, and seemed, 
by its violence, to explain that she was 
indeed bound for the last and darksome 
jonmey. The maid, who at length an- 
swered Tyrrel*s earnest and repeat^ sum- 
mons, fled terrifled at the scene she 
witnessed, and carried to the Manse the 

. The old landlady was compelled to ex- 
change one scene of sorrow for another, 
wondering within herself what fatality 
could have marked this single night with 
so much misery. When she arrived at 
home, what was her astonishment to find 
there the daughter of the house, which, 
even in their alienation, she had never 
ceased to love, in a state little short of 
distraction, and attended by Tyrrel, whose 
state of nund seemed scarce more com- 
posed than that of the unhappy patient. 
The oddities of Mrs. Dods were merely 
the rust which had accumulated upon her 
character, but without impairing its na- 
tive strength and energy ; and her sjon- 
pathies were not of a kind acute enough 
to disable her from thinking and acting as 
decisively as circumstances required. 

" Mr. Tyrrel," she said, " this is nae 
sight for men folk — ^ye maun rise and 
gang to another room." 

" I wiU not stir from her," said Tyrrel 
— ^^ I will not remove from her either 
now, or as long as she or I may live.*' 

^^ That will be nae lang space. Master 
Tyrrel, if ye winna be nUed by common 

Tyrrel started up, as if half compre- 
nenoing what she said, but remained 

*'*' Come, come,** said the compassionate 
landlady ; ^^ do no stand looking on a 
sight sair enough to break a harder heart 
tluin yours, hhmy — ^your ain sense tells 
ye, ye oanna stay here— Miss Claifc shall 

be wdl cared for, and 1*11 bring word to 
your room-door frme half-hour to half- 
hour how she is.** 

The necessity of the case was undeni- 
able, and Tyrrel suflfered himself to be 
led to another apartment, leaving Miss 
Mowbray to the care of the hostess and 
her female assistants. He counted the 
hours in an agony less by the watch than 
by the visits whidi Mrs. Dods, faithful 
to her promise, made from interval to in- 
terval, to tell him that Clara was not bet- 
ter — ^diat she was worse — and, at last, 
that she did not think that she could live 
over morning. It required all the depre- 
catory influence of the good landlady to 
restrain Tyrrel, who, aim and cold on 
common occasions, was proportionably 
fierce and impetuous when his passions 
were afloat, from bursting into the room, 
and ascertaining, with ms own eyes, the 
state of the beloved patient. At lencth, 
there was a long interval — an intervu of 
hours — so long, indeed, that Tyrrel cau^t 
fix>m it the agreeable hope that Clara 
slept, and that ^eep might bring refresh, 
ment both to mind and body. Mrs. Dods, 
he concluded, was prevented frcnn moving 
for fear oi disturbing her patient*8 slum- 
her ; and, as if actuated by the same feel- 
ing which he imputed to her, he ceased 
to traverse his apartment, as his agitation 
had hitherto dictated, and throwing him- 
self into a chair, forbore to move even a 
finger, and withheld his respiration as 
much as possible, just as if he had been 
seated by the pillow of the patient. 
Morning was far advanced, when his 
landlady appeared in his room with a 
grave and anxious countenance. 

" Mr. Tyrrel,*' she said, " ye arc a 
Christian man.** 

" Hush, hush, for Heaven*s sake 1*' 
he replied; ^^you will disturb Miss 

^^ Naething will disturb her, puir 
thing,** answered Mrs. Dods; ^^ they 
have mickle to answer for that brought 
her to this.** 

*•*• They have — ^they have, indeed," says 
Tyrrel, striking his forehead ; ^' and I 
wOl see her aveneed on every one of 
them !_Can I see her ?" 

" Better not — ^better not," said the 
good woman ; but he burst from her and 
rushed into the apartment. 

" Is life gone ? — Is every spark ex- 
tinct ?** he exclaimed eagerly to a country 
surgeon, a sensible man, who had been 
summoned from Marchthom in the course 
of the night. The medical man shook 
his head — He rushed to the bedside, an/l 
was convinced by his own eyes that the 
being whose sorrows he had both caused 
and shared, was now insensible to aV 

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mrdilf cfUamity. Uc raised almost a 
shnek of demir, as he threw hkaself on 
the pale hand of the corpse, wet it with 
tflu»9 ddronred it wi^ kiaies, and played 
for a short time the part of a distracted 
person. At length, on ihe repeated ez- 
pottulatieD of all present, he suffered 
himself to be again conducted to another 
i^artmettt, the snrgeon following, anxious 
to giv« such sad consolation as ^ case 
admitted of. 

^ He ntid, ^' horn the symptoms, that if 
life had been i^pared, reason would, in all 
probability, nerer have returned. Li such 
a case, sir, the most affectionate relation 
Bmst own, that death, in comparison to 
life, is a mercy." 

"Mercy?" answered Tyircl; "but 
wlnr, ^n, b it denied to me ? — I know 
—X know ! — My life is spared till I re- 
venge her." 

Hie started from his seat, and ruriied 
cageriy down stairs. But, as he was 
about to rush from the door of the inn, 
he was stopped by Touchwood, who 
had just alighted from his carriage, with 
an ail of stem anxiety' imprint^ on his 
features, very different from their usual 
expression. *' Whither would ye? 
Wiither would ye?" he said, laying 
bold of Tyrrel, and stopping him by 

" For revenge — for revenge!" said 
Tjmrel. " Give way, I charge you on 
your peril !" 

" Vengeance belongs to God," replied 
iLe old man, ^^ and his bolt has already 
fellen. — This way — this way," he con. 
tinned, dragging Tyrrel into the house. 
'^ Know," he said, so soon as he had led 
or forced him into a chamber, " that 
Mowbray, of St. Ronan*s, has met Buhner 
within this half-hour, and has killed him 

" Killed whom ?" answered the bewil 

" Valentine Buhner, the titular Earl 
of £therington.' 

^* You bring tidings of death to the 
house ef death," ans^^red Tjrrrel ; " and 
thrare is nothing in this wOTld left that I 
should live for." 

There remains little more to be told. 
Mr. Touchwood is stiU alive, forming 
plans which have no object, and accumu- 
lating a fortune, for which he has appa- 
rently no heir. The old man had 
endeavoured to fix this character, as well 
as his general patronage, upon T3rrrel ; 
but the attempt only determined the latter 
to leave the country ; nor has he since 
been heard of, although the title and 
estates of Etherington lie vacant for his 
a gee ptau ce. It is the opinion of many, 
tlwt he hat enteied into a Moravian mis» 

sion, for the use of which he had prevU 
ously drawn considerable sums. 

Alowbray enters the army, and re- 
forms feom the early follies which disfi- 
gured his early life. He re-purchases the 
poperty he had feued out for the new 
hotel, lodging-houses, &.c, and sends or- 
ders fScv the ^molition of the whole ; nor 
would he permit the existence of any 
house of entertainment on his estate, ex- 
cept that kept by Mrs. Meg Dods. 



** I like not the humour of bread and cheese." 

From the days of Job, downwards. 
Comforters (to me) have always 
seemed the most impertinent set of peo- 
ple upon earth. For you may see, nine 
times in ten, that they actually gratify 
themselves in what thev call ^'consoling" 
their neighbours; and go away in an 
improved satisfaction with their own con- 
dition, after philosophizing for an hour 
and a half upon me diiwdvantages of 

There are several different families of 
these benevolent characters abroad ; and 
each set rubs sore places in a manner 
peculiar to itself. 

First and foremost, there are those who 
go, in detail, through the history of your 
calamity, shewing (as the case may be) 
either how completely you have been 
outwitted, or how exceedingly ill or ab- 
surdly you have conducted yourself — and 
so leave you with " their good wishes," 
and an invitation to '^ come and dine, 
when your troubles are over." 

Next, there are those, a set, I think, 
still more intolerable, who press the 
necessity of your resolving immediately 
upon "something;" and forthwith de- 
clare in favour of that particular measure, 
which, of all the jot* allers of your estate 
is the most perfectly detestable. 

Thirdly come the " whoreson cater- 
pillars," who are what people call *' well 
to do" in the world ; and especially those 
who have become so (as they believe) by 
their own good conduct. These are very 
particularly vile dogs indeed ! I recollect 
one such-— (he was an opulent cheese- 
monger,) who had been porter in the same 
shop which he afterwards kept, and had 
come to town, as he used to boast, with- 
out cash enough to buy a night's lodging 
on his arriviU* 

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This man had neither love nor 'pitj 
for any human being. He met eyery 
complaint of distress with a history of 
his own fortunes. No liring creature, as 
he took it, could reasonably be poor, so 
long as there were birch brooms or water- 
ing.pots in the world. He would tell 
diose who asked for work, that ^ idleness 
was the root of all evil ;" proye to peof^ 
M that a penny was the seed of a gumea,** 
who wa« without a farthing in the 
world ; and argue all day, wim a man 
who had nothing, to shew that ** out of a 
little, a little might be put by.** 

Fourthly, and in the rear, march those 
most provoking ruffians of all, who up- 
hold tne prudence of always ^' putting the 
best face'* (as they term it) upon an iSair. 
And these will cure your broken leg by 
setting it off against somebody else's 
hump back, and so soundly demonstrate 
that you have nothing to complain of; or 
admit, perhajM, (for the sake of varietyj 
the fact that you are naked ; and proceecl 
to devise stratagems how you shall be 
contented to remain so. 

And it is amazing what a number of 
(mad upon that particular point,) but 
otherwise reasonable and respectable per- 
sons, have amused themselves by proving, 
that The Poor have an enviable condi- 
tion. The poor '* Poor !" They seem 
really to have been set up as a sort of 
tarffet for ingenuity to try its hand upon; 
and, from Papin, the Bone Digester, 
down to Cobbett, the Bone Grubber, — 
from Wesley, who made cheap physic, 
and added to every prescription " a quart 
of cold water," to Hunt who sells roasted 
wheat (vice coffee) five hundred per cent 
above its cost — an absolute army of pro. 
jectors, and old women has, from time to 
time, been popping at them. High 
among these philosophers, indeed I mi^t 
almost say at tne head of them, stands 
the author of a tract called, " A Way to 
save Wealth ;" which was published (I 
think) about the year 1640, to shew how 
a man might thrive upon an allowance of 
TWO-PENCE per day. 

The observations prefatory to the pro- 
mulgation of this inestimable secret, are 
wormy of everybody's— that is, every 
poor body's — attention. 

First, the writer touches, generally, 
upon the advantage of ^^ thin, spare diet ;" 
— exposing how aU beyond is " mere 
pitiable luxury ;" — enumerating the dis- 
eases consequent upon high livmg ; and 
pointing out the CTiminaf acts and pas- 
sfotts to which it leads ; — evidently de- 
monstrating, indeed, to the meanest 
capacity, mat no man can possibly eat 
goose, and go to Heaven. 
Shortly after, he takes the queetion up 

upon m broader groniid ; and exanflnes it 
at one of mere wotdly policy, and of mere 
convenience. — ^*' The man who e&ttjlesky 
has need of other things (vegetables) to 
tat with it ; but that necessity is not felt 
by him who eats vegeables oii/y."— If 
Leadenhall market could stand againtt 
that, I am mittaken. 

The recipes for cheap duhet will no 
doubt (when known,) come into general 
practice; so they shall be given in the 
Saver of Wealth's own words.—Here is 
one— (probably) for a Christmas dinner. 
^^ Take two spoonfuls of oatmeal ; put 
it into two quarU of cold water, then stir 
it over the me until it boils, and put in a 
little salt and an onion. And this," con- 
tinues our Economist, — ^^^this does not 
cost above a ferthing ; and is a noble^ 
exhilarating meal !"-J'or drink, he af- 
terwards recommends the tame dish, 
(imboiled ; V-and no form of regimen, it 
must be admitted, can be more simple, 
or convenient 

Now this man was, certainly, (as the 
phrase is,) " something like" a projector 
in his way. And it seems probable that 
he met with encouragement ; for, passing 
the necessities, he goet on to treat upon 
the elegancies of life. 

Take his recipe for instance, next,— 
" Fot dressing (cleaning a hat") 

"Smear a little soap on the pkces of 
your hat which are felthy, and rub it with 
tome hot water and a hard brush. Then 
scrape it with the back of a knife, what 
felth sticks ; and it will bring both grease 
and soap out"— The book of this author 
is scarce ; — I suspect the hatters bought 
it up to prevent this secret from being 

Only one more recipe — and really it is 
one worthy to be written in letters of 
gold ; — ^worthy to stand beside that never- 
to-be-forgotten suggestion of Mrs. Run- 
dell's-^she who now in the kitchen oi 
Ae gods roasts !— that " roasts," in a 
proper sense, not is roasted^y-^et im- 
mortal direction to prevent the creaking 
of a door, — " Rub a bit of soap on the 
hinges !"— This it is. 
" To make pour teeth white,'* • 
" Take a little brick dust on a towel, 
and rub them." — The mechanical action, 
(the reader sees) not the chemical ; but 
potent notwithstanding. 

But Mrs. Rundell deserves better than 
to be quoted, in aid, on an occasion like 
this ; nay, merits herself to take rank, 
and high rank, among our public bene- 
factors. Marry, I say, that the thing is 
so, and shall be so : for, even amidst all 
the press and crowd of her moral and 
culinary precepts, — even while she stands 
already, as a man may say, " in double 

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trust," teaching us good life in one 
and good living in another ; here, hoi 
up her ladle against ^^ excessive luxury, 
such as " Essence of Ham" — (praised be 
her thick duodecimo, but for which the 
world had never known that there was 
such a perfume ;) and, presently, pointing 
out the importance, and weeping over the 
rarity of such ^' creature comforts" as 
strong cofifee, and smooth melted butter ; 
— ever and anon, even amid all these 
complicated interests, the kind lady finds 
room to edge in a thought or two about 
the poor. 

Pour echantillon. 

" The cook should be charged," says 
Mrs. R.. " to «ave the boiling of every 
piece of meat or ham, however salt ; the 
pieces of meat which come from the table 
on the plates ; and the bones made by 
the femUy." " What a reUef," adds she, 
'^ to the labouring husband, to have a 
warm^ comfortable meal !" — The rind of 
a ham, for instance, after Mrs. R. had 
extracted the ^^ Essence ?" 

And again she goes on. — ^^ Did the 
cook really enter into this, (the love of 
her fellow creatures; she would never 
wash away as useless the peas, or groats, 
of which soup, or gruel, have been made ; 
^-broken potatoes ; — ^the outer leaves of 
a lettuce ; — ^the necks sad. feet of fowls," 
&c ; ^' which make a delicious meat 
soup, especially for the sick,'*'* — (Sure, 
people would be falling sick, on purpose 
to eat it !) 

The sick soup essay concluded with a 
farther direction to the cook, not to take 
the /a/ off the broth, " as the poor like ity 
and are nourished by it !" and with a 
calculation which, if we know any thing 
of the mathematics, might make Demoivre 
himself look to his laurels ; — ^' Ten gal- 
lons of this soup," concludes Mrs. R., 
*' from ten houses, would be a hundred 
gallons ; and that, divided amongst /or/y 
fiunilies, would be two gallons and a half 
to each family." 

Tarn Marti qtiom Mercurio! And 
done with chalk upon a milk tally, ten 
to one else ! — Tarn Cocker quam Kitch- 
ener ! And this lady is dead ! It almost 
makes us waver in our faith !— « 

Turn sour ye casks of table beer. 

Ye steaks, forget to fry ; 
Why is it you are let stav here, 

And Mrs. Rundell die ? 

But whims, (if they happen to take 
hold at all,) take the strongest hold com* 
monly upon strong understandings. 

Count Rumford, though an ingenious 
man, had a touch of this bon chere a peu 
d*argent disease ; and his Essays afford 
some pleasant illustrations of the slashing 
style in which men construct theories, 

when the practice is to faU upon their 

After exhausting himself upon the 
smoky chimnies of the world, the Count 
strips to the next of its nuisances, — ^the 

;e was to feed the poor ; (encore the 
Poor !) and the point was, of course, how 
to feed them at the cheapest rate. 

" Water," then, he begins — (the cun- 
ning rogue I) " Water, I am inclined to 
suspect, acts a much more important part 
in nutrition, than has been generally 
supposed." This was a good active 
hobby to start upon; and, truly, his 
Countship, in the sequel, does outride all 
the field. 

First, he sets out an admirable table, 
at whidi he dines twelve hundred 
persons, all expenses included, for the 
very reasonable cost of one pound fifteen 
shillings English. 

But this (which was three dinners for 
a penny) was nothing ; and, in a trice, 
the Count, going on with his reductions, 
brings down the meal for twelve hundred, 
to one pound seven shillings. And, here, 
he beats our Saver to Wealth (the con- 
tractor at two-pence a day) hollow ; be- 
cause, with his dinner found for a far- 
thing, a man must be an example of 
debauchery — a mere rascal^-to think of 
getting through such a sum as two-pence 
a day ; out of which, indeed, he might 
well put by a provision for himself and 
his wife, in old age; and fortunes for 
two ot three of his younger children. 

The Count's running commentary 
upon these evolutions, too, is a chef 
d'ceuvre in the art of reasoning. At one 
time, it seems, he dieted his flock, partly 
upon bread begged publicly in chiu-ity, 
and partly upon meat which was the 
remnant of the markets. Even out of 
evil the wise man shall bring good. The 
charity bread was found extremely dry 
and hard ; " but, therefore," says the 
Count, " we found it answer better than 
any odier ; because it made mastication 
necessary, and so prolonged the enjoy- 
ment of eating." As for the meat, ne 
soon finds that an article quite unneces- 
sary, and actually omits it altogether in 
the people's soup, without the fact being 

But the crowning feature of all, (and 
there I leave Count Rumford,) is the 
experiment which he makes in eating (to 
be quite certain) upon himself; arguing 
upon the nutritious and stomach-satisfying 
qualities of a particular " cheap" dish, 
he puts the thing to issue ^thus : 

" I took my coffee and cream, with 
nay dry UMst, one morning" (hour not 
given) '^ at breakfast, and ate nothing 

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between tha^ aiid four o*clock. I then 
ate," (the particular dish,^ I believe, 
however, it was a three farthing one, 
" and* found raja^ perfectly refreshedJ'* 
And so the Count finishes his dissertation 
upon food, by declaring the Chinese ! to 
be the best cooks in the world. 

Now, I confess that (at first sight) 
there would seem to, be something accom- 
plished here. No doubt, if our labourers 
would eat farthing dinners, and get rid of 
that villanous propensity which they 
have to beaf-steaks, their " savings," 
and consequent acquisition of property, 
would be immense. But does the Count 
not perceive, and did it never strike his 
coadjutors, that, if this system were acted 
upon, all the poor would become rich ? 
when they would be an incomparably 
greater nuisance than they are in their 
present condition. I grant the existing 
evil, but do not let us exchange it for a 
greater. The question is a difficult one, 
but there be minds that can cope with it. 
Such a turmoil as to what the poor shall 
eat ! I say, there are plenty of them — let 
them eat one another. 

People must not be startled by the 
apparent novelty of this plan ; — ^those 
who can swallow Count Rumford*s din- 
ners, may, I am sure, swallow any thing. 
I have examined the scheme, which I 
propose narrowly, and (prejudice apart) 
Ccin see no possible objection to it. It is 
well known, that rats and mice take the 
same mode which I hint at, to thin their 
superabundant population ; and what are 
the poor, but mice in the cheese of society ? 
Let the public listen only to this sugges- 
tion, and they will find that it ends all 
difiSculty at once. I grant that there 
might be some who would be ravenous, 
at first, upon their new diet ;* especially 
any who had been living upon Mrs. 
Rundell*s soup; but that is an evil 
which would correct itself ; because, so 
admirably operative and perfect is the 
principle, the mouths would diminish in 
exact proportion with the meat. Upon 
my system, (and, I repeat, I can see no 
objection to it), the poor might go on 
pleasantly, reducing their numbers at 
their leisure, until one individual only, 
in a state of necessity, should be left ; 
and if it were worth while to go on to 
niceties, I could provide even for him 
under my arrangement, by having him 
taught to jump down his own throat, like 
the down, in " Harlequin Conjurer." 
Certain ilnis, we hear, on every side, tliat, 
if the poor go on increasing, they will 
soon eat up tne rich ; and, surely, if any 

* Compere Matthieu, I think, makes this re- 
mark somewhere, in a general defence of can- 
nibalism. But my project does not f o so far 

body is to be eaten by them, it ought, in 
fairness, to be themselves. And, more- 
over, as it is shrewdly suspected ^at too 
many of them are already eaten up with 
laziness, why, hang it, if they are to be 
eaten at all, let them be eaten to tome 
purpose. — Blackwood' M Maga»ine. 


( Concluded from our last Mirror.) 

Certain great geniuses have been noto- 
rious for castle-building. Fontenelle, the 
centenarian, was so accustomed to indulge 
in erecting these airy fabrics, that he may 
be said, fau-ly enough, to have lived as 
much out of tlie world as in it, and by 
this means there can be no doubt he pro- 
longed his life. His perfect indifference 
to all those matters that commonly raise 
a great interest among mankind in gene- 
ral, made his temper even and placid, and 
his love of castle-building contributed to 
his long good health. Deaths, marriages, 
earthquakes, murders, calamities of all 
kinds, scarcely affected him at alL He 
built castles by day and by night, in so- 
ciety and out of it. His body was a 
machine with a moving power, and went 
through its actions mechanically; but his 
mind was generally in some r^on far 
remote from the situation it occupied. 
He got at one time among the stars, found 
them peopled, and began to study the 
laws, manners, and dispositions of the in- 
habitants of worlds many million thnes 
farther from the earth than thrice to 
" th* utmost pole." Going one day to 
Versailles early in the morning, to pay a 
visit to the court, he was observed to step 
under a tree, against which he placed his 
back, and beginning to castle-build, he 
was found pursuiiig his architectural la- 
bours in the evening upon the self-same 
spot. Kings, courtiers, and such ^^ small 
gear," were unable to abstract him from 
following his favourite amusement, when 
the temptation of enjoying it was strong. 
Perhaps Fontenelle and Newton may il- 
lustrate the difference between the pro- 
found thinking of the scholar, and the 
amusement of which we are treating. 
Newton directed all his faculties into one 
focus upon a single object, proceeding by 
line apd rule to develope the mystery 
which it was his desire to unraveL No 
play was allowed to the fancy, nor opera- 
tion to more than one faculty of the soul 
at once ; it is this which is so wearying 
to the frame, that gives pallor to the stu- 
dent*s complexion, and frequently abridges 
life. Your castle-builder, on the con. 
trary, may be a ruddy, florid, and health j 
personage. He quaffs an eliair vitm $ 
his abstractions' arising only from a plea* 

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sunble pursuit in following his waywaxd 
fancies, and not fiom painful attention to 
a single subject. Sanbho Pansa was 
something of a castle-builder, joXLy'^ook^ 
ing as he was. I mention him merely to 
show its elfect on the parson. When he 
appeared asleep, and his master demanded 
what he was ooing, he replied, '' I go- 
vern," being at that vei^ instant busy in 
regulating the internal anairs of the island 
of Barrataria, of which the worthy Don 
had promised him the government when 
he had conquered it himself. ]>oa 
Quixote, on the other hand, was not a 
castle-builder of the higher class. He 
called in the str^igth of his arm to aid 
his delusions, believing to be matter of 
fact those airy nothings which the true 
castle-builder regards as recreative illu- 
sions, and which cease to be harmless, if 
he attempt to realize them. The Knight 
of Cervantes took shadows for substances, 
and this leads me to denominate the style 
of castle-building, which I contend is so 
agreeable, refreshing, and innoxious — the 
j^etic, in contradistinction to what may 
be called the Prose order. The last spe- 
cies is a delusion respecting something, 
the attainment of which is possible, thou^ 
it is extremely difficult and improbable. 
Li furtherance of the actual realization of 
our schemes, we lay under contribution 
«very moral and physical aid. Pyrrhus, 
King of Epirus, was an adept in tms kind 
of castle-building, as his conversation 
with Cineas proves. When we have taken 
Italy, what do you design next? said 
Cineas; Pyrrhus answered, to go and 
conquer Sicily. And what next ? — then 
Libya and Gurth^e. And what next ? 
—why then to try and reconquer Mace- 
don, when, his l^itimatesh^ said, they 
might sit down, eat, drink, and be merry, 
&r the rest of their days. Cineas drily 
advised the kin^ to do that which was 
alone certainly m his power — the last 
thing first. In like manner, a German 
author has recently constructed a castle : 
he has undertaken a wmrk, which for bulk 
and labour will leave Lopez de Vega and 
"Voltaire sadly in the lurch. It is to in- 
clude the history, legislation, manners 
and customs, literature, state of arts, and 
langui^, of every nation in the world, 
from the beginning of time; and this, 
which he proposes to complete himself, 
will occupy him laboriously for half-a- 
eentunr, and carry his own i^e several 
years beyond the hundred. The French 
are clever at this style of castle-building: 
they plan admirably well, commence their 
labours with enthusiasm, but leave off in 
the middle of them* Canals, harbours, 
triumphal arches, constitutions, and Uto. 
plan plans of polity, abandantly attest 

this. Who but a Ffenehman would bwn 
written to Franklin, ofeing, with a pn- 
liminary apology Ua hiscendesceBsafaii, to 
be kii^ of AiiMgica, and actually expe^ 
pecuniary remuBarationfbrhumblwgnim- 
self to sudi a purpose ! Poor Falsti^was 
one of this latter class of castle-buildecs, 
though it must be confessed he had some- 
thing of a foundation upon which to eveot 
his edifice, idien he heard the E^rinoe of 
Wales was king, and exdaimed, ^' Aw^, 
Bardcdph, saddle my horse — Master 
Robert Shallow, choose what office thou 
wilt in the land, 'tis thine — Pistol, I wifl 
double charge thee with dignities.'* So 
are lovers who cherish extravagant hopes, 
and imagine their mistresses to be some- 
thing between a very woman and an angel 
— like fish, neither flesh nor fowl. The 
supporters of a balance of power in 
Europe, for which England has entailed 
on herself and upon her posterity such an 
enormous debt, is like Falstaff's interest 
with the new king, and, together widi 
the pa3naaent of the said debt, a piece of 
castle-buildinff worthy of king Pyrrhua. 

But poeticsu castle-building alone is a 
pleasant and harmless amusement of the 
fancy, which we must lay by when w^ 
pursue our eveiy-day avocations, without 
suffering it to interfere with the realitieB 
of existence. It is the mixing these up 
with its air-buik pleasures that produces 
mischievous effects. An example of this 
may be found in the worthy country di- 
vine, who, having preached a sa»e or two 
of orthodox sermons, thought, therefore, 
in the simplicity of his heart, that he had 
some claim for patronage upon all good 
statute Christians, whom he determined 
to edify by publishing his labours in 
their benefit. He little suessed, green- 
horn that he was, the real hold of rdigion 
upon his supposed patrons, and the true 
state of the market in respe<^ to such 
commodities. His guilelessness of saal 
made him suppose that where there was 
a church-establishment, thoemustneoes- 
sarity be among its numerous memhers a 
high value for religious discourses such 
as his were — an error he fell into for want 
of knowledge of the world. He calcu- 
lated every thing, not forgetting the ex- 
penses or the profits of his undertakins ^ 
and that he might keep within the bounds 
of modesty, and show nothing like sdf. 
presumption in respect to the worth of 
Ids lucubrations, he determined to limit 
the impression of his volume to one copy 
for every parish. He printed|these£aMv 
fearlessly, eleven thousand c(^s. The 
sequel may be gathered by inquiring 
about the i^air in the Row. 

** The wisest sehemsi of mice and ram 
Gang aft awry," 

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says Burns. la these nutters, therefore, 
caatlc-MUi&ff tami give jfia/ce to dry 
evidence and we matter-of-ract testimony 
of the senses. Those who act otherwise 
in these affairs waste their years in run- 
ning round a circle, and find themselves 
in the end at the point from which they 
set out. Among these materializers of 
the airy nothings of the mind, are the 
perpetual-motion-hunters, who astound 
society with theur discoveries, and are at 
last Obliged to creep off, as the sporting 
people say, " like dogs with their tails 
between theur legs.** The credulous ex- 
perimenters after the discovery of the 
philosopher*s stone ; of an universal re- 
medy, the elixir of life, hy which man is 
to defy sickness and defer death for a 
thousand vears ; the gambler's martingale 
foi subdumg chance ; and the navigators 
to the moon — afford examples enough of 
the folly of endeavouring to reaKxe the 
fantasies of imagination, and of trying to 
build with sunbeams and prismatic colours 
the coarse and ponderous edifices of man*s 

These objections, however, do not affect 
castIe4Miilding of the right kind : the 
enjoyer of which truly believes his visions 
too subtle for the common worid, from 
which he must withdraw himself to see 
them. He sets out with the perfect con- 
sciousness that the feast of which he is 
going to partake belongs not to tangible 
eyi«fr/»nce, that it consists of ethereal ali- 
ment laid out in the universe of spirit, 
and that consequently it is an intellectual 
entertainment upon " aml»rosial food," 
which, while he tastes, must receive from 
him no alloy of corpore^ substances. He 
knows that this pleasure is an illusion, 
like all others, even those that consist of 
better things; but he, nevertheless, de- 
rives a temporary satisfiaction from it 
Pleasant to nim is the short interval of 
rest in his arm-chair after dinner, for, 
when the foolish world thinks him taking 
his nod, he is in an elysium— pleasant 
are his silent devotions to Baleigh*s 
soothing weed, to the solace of his segar 
or hookah— pleasant is the still hour of 
night when sleep is deferred a little only 
to be sounder when it comes, and the un- 
slnmbering fancy revds in unwearied 
luxury, and rears the noblest edifices in 
her mattfrVff* r^ion — ^pleasant, in short, 
is castle-building whenever the mind 
wants renovation, er amusement of its 
own peciilitf character, and can so employ 
itoelfwitfaout a waste of time or attention 
from more knportant objects. 

JViptO MOnifUp Mtlff* 



The following singular advertisement is 
copied from The New London Connect 
ticut Gazette : — 

Being determined not to move from this 
State, requests all persons indebted, to 

pay particular attention to his 

New definition of an Old Grammar, viz. 

Present Tense 

1 am. Thou art. He is* 

I am* 1 In want of money. 

Thou art f Indebted to me. 
HeisJ -Shortly to be autJunriied, 

for the want therec^ to 
take the body. 
Unless immediate payment is made, 
you must expect to take a lecture upon 
my new plural. 
The Subscriber atkn for sale, at his 
Store, two rods south of the Fish-market, 
the following articles, viz. 

SoHd Arguments. 

Hot Oysters, Boiled Lobsters, Ham and 

Eggs, Butter and Cheese, &c 


Cider, Vmegar, Salt, Pickks, &c 

Pepper-Sauce, Mustard, Caymme- 
Pepper, &c 
Bum, Brandy, Gin, Bitters, &c 
Snuff, Tobacco, S^^ars, Pomatum, Ac 
Sea Serpent's Bones, Wooden Shoes, 
Water Witches, &c 
N. B. The above articles will Ic ex- 
, dianged for 
Necessaries^ vmt. 
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ditto, quarter ditto, Pistareens, Nine- 
penny ]ueoes,Four-penny-halQpenny ditto, 
or Cents. 
Terms of Payment : 
One half the sum down, and the other 
half on the delivery <n the articles. 
Rudiments gratisy mx. 

Those indebted for. Arguments 

Must not be Agitated; 

Nor think it a, Gnevance 

If they should meet Punishment 

For calling for sudL^ Superfluities; 

Nor think it Extraordinary 

That I find it Necessary 

To demand immediate Payment. 

Ajtdaew Smith. 
The smallest favour thankfriUy received. 
New London^ 
March 1, 1819. J. W, Jun. 

• Andrew Smith. 

f Any one the coat fits. 

X Hezekiah Goddard, SheriiTB Deputy. 

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Z^t <Sat|)erer. 

"1 am but a Gatherer and disposer of other 
men's 9tnS.—fFootton. 


A WOBTHY baronet of Erin's clime, 
Had a fam*d telescope in his possession ; 
And on a time , j lu- 

Of it's amazing pow'rs he made proies- 

Yon church, cried he, is distant near a 

Yet when 1 view it steady for a while.. 
Upon a bright and sunny day, 
My glass so strong and dear 
Does bring the church so near, 
That often I can hear the organ play. 




By the late William Hickingtm, Esq. 
St op passenger ! and thy attention fix on ! 
That true-bom honest fox-hunter, George 

Dixon; . ^ , 

Who after eighty^ears unwearied chas^ 
Now rests his bones within this haUow d 

A gende tribute of appUuse bestow. 
And give him as you pass one taUy-ho ! 
Early to cover, brisk he rode each morn. 
In hopes th© brush his temples might 

The view is now no more, the chase ii 

And to an earth, poor George is run at 


/» the Cathedral Church of Salisburp. 
In memory of 
Thomas Glover, Architect, 
who having erected many 
Stately, curious, and artful 
edifices for others, himself is 
here lodged under this single 
stone, in fuU expectation 
however of a buUding with 
God eternal in the Heavens. 
' T. P. H. 

Ob. Dec 2.' 


Jn Clapham Church^Yard, on a child 
three years and eight morUJis old. 
The great Jehovah, full of love^ 
His angels bright did send, 
To fetSi the little harmless dove, 
To joys that never end. 


Says my Lord to his Cook, how comes it 

1 8*y» 

That I see you thus drunk, Demus, every 

day ; i. j 

Physicians, they say, once m month, do 

allow _ , 

A man, for his health, to get drunk— as 

a sow* 
That is right, quoth the Cook, but the 

day liey don't say ; 
So for fear I should miss it, I am drunk 

every day. 



Tom weds a rich hag that would fidghtcn 

ahorse; . 

Repentance soon tortures his mma ; 

But vain are the tears that express his 


Unless he cwUd ery^himself blind! 


Venedota, P. T. W., F. R-Y., Bdgar. and 
O. S. in our next. ... 

The following communications are eillier 
deemed unsuited to the Mirror, too weU known, 
or not possessing sufficient merit:— D.Kn. 
R. S.. Chathamenws, Y.. R. F., Moyle, G., Wil- 
kins, Edwin, B. , . ,, _ 

Will our Twelfth Day correspondents allow 
their articles to stand over eleten months 


J.S.,Franci8ca. ,. ^ ,, 

There are two A. L.'sm the field. 

We stand cowected by " Mr. Patrick Bull, 
Gent. Esq. :" it was certainly in the descent and 
not the ascent thatPilatrc de Roslere and Ro- 
raaine were killed. ,« „ vj v v« 

H. H. C.'s anecdoteof Dr. Young, which he 
thinks has never been in print, is in every jest- 

Utopia in our next. 

We thank Amicus ; but we can do no more. 

H.O. in an early Number. , 

As none of our friends are so obliging as to 4ie 
for the eake of having Mr. Wall's epitaph, we 
must r«fer him elsewhere for a customer. 

Mina's Address to his Countrymen is somewhat 
out of date. Perhaps it may soon be in season. 

Lines to infant chUdren and young misses can 
rarely be acceptable to the Mirror. 

Wul R. S. turn to page 428 of our last volume, 
and he will find a full account of Capt. Parry'a 

"* JB?JX.-Sage 19. col. 2, line 44, lor « of afl.- 
read " at all." Page 20. col. 1, line 28, insert a 
comma after «* Annotationes ;"' 1.31, for "Bon- 
motiane," read " Bonmotiana ;" 1. 11 from the 
bottom, for "planum," read " plenum ; ool. 2, 
1. 20, for " levy," read " levee." 

••• The Second Volume of the Mirror it now 
ready, and may be bad of aU BookfeUers, price 
6s. in boards* 

PHnted and Published by J. LIMBIBD, 
143, Strand, (near Somerset House,) and sold 
kt/ all Newstnen and Booksellers, 

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Cjie ifHirror 




[Price 2d. 

W-E are sure we shall have the thanks of 
our poetical readers at least for presenting 
them with a view of Newstead Abbey, 
■o long the baronial residence of a family 
which has received more honour from the 
talent of the present representative, than 
from the titles which have ennobled it. 

Newstead, or New Place, was formerly 
m monastery of canons of St Augustine, 
dedicated to God and the Virgin Mary by 
the founder, Henry II., who endowed it 
with the chiuxh and town of Papelwick, 
together with large wastes about the mo- 
nastery, within the forest, a park of ten 
acres, &c In the reigh of Henry the 
Eighth, when the monasteries were 
stripped and demolished, Newstead Ab- 
oey, which is at a short distance from 
Mansfield, in Nottinghamshire, came 
into the possession of the family of B3rron, 
and continued their residence until sold 
by^e present Lord Byron a few years ago. 

ne front of the Abbey is one of uie 
most beautiful and chaste specimens of 
Gothic architecture in the kingdom. In the 
open court was & fountain discharging its 
waters frrom an antique structure of stone, 
omamented with a grotesque assemblage 

Vol ul £ 

of boars, bears, and lions. This fotui* 
tain has been removed by Major Wild« 
man, the present proprietor, who is re- 
storing the Abbey m a style of classical 
and appropriate magnificence. The em- 
bellishments which the Abbey had re- 
ceived from the present Lord Byron, had 
more of the brilliant conception of the 
poet in them than of the sober calcula- 
tions of common life. In many rooms 
which he had superbly furnished, but over 
which he had permitted so wretched a 
roof to remain, tnat in about half a dozen 
years the lain had visited his proudest 
chambers, the paper had rotted on the 
walls, and fell, in comfortless sheets, upon 
glowing carpets and canopies, upon beds 
of crimson and gold, clogging the wings 
of glittering eagks, and cbstroying gor- 
geous coronets. A gentleman who vi- 
sited the Abbey soon after Lord Byron 
had sold it, gives the following descrip- 
tion of it : — 

^' The long and gloomy gallery, which, 
whoever views, will be strongly reminded 
of Lam, as indeed a survey of t]iis place 
will awaken more than one scene in that 
poemi had not yet relinquished the sombw 

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pictures ' of its ancient race.' — ^In the 
study, which is a small chamber over- 
looking the garden, the bodes were packed 
up, but there remained a sofi^ over which 
hung a sword in a gilt sheath, and at the 
end of the room, opposite the window, 
stood a pair of lieht fancy stands, each 
supporting a cou^Se of the most perfect 
and finely polished skulls I ever saw, 
most probably selected, along with the 
Ihr-fiuned one converted into a drinking 
cap, and inscribed with some well-known 
lines, from amongst a vast number taken 
fiDom the burial-ground of the abbey, and 
piled up in the form of a mausoleum, but 
since re-committed to the ground. Be- 
tween them hung a gilt crucifix. 

'' In one comer of the servants^ hall 
lay a stone coffin, in which were fencing 
glov^ and foils ; and on the wall of the 
ample, but cheerless kitdien, was painted 
in large letters, ^ Waste not, want not.' 

'^ During a great part of his Lordship's 
minority, the abbev was in the occupation 
<^ Lord G — , his nounds, and divers co- 
lonies of jackdaws, swallows, and star, 
lings. The internal traces of this Goth 
were swept away ; but without, all ap- 
peared as rude and unreclaimed as he 
could have left it. I must confess, that 
if I was astonished at the heterogeneous 
mixture of splendour and ruin within, I 
was more so at the perfect uniformity of 
wUdness throughout. I never had been 
able to conceive poetic genius in hs poetic 
bower, without figuring it diffusing the 
polish of its delicate taste on every thing 
around it: but here that elegant spirit 
and beauty seemed to have dwelt, but not 
to have been caressed ; it was the spirit 
of the wilderness. The gardens were as 
exactly as their late owner described them 
in his earliest lays : — ^| 

•• Thro* thy battlements, Newstead, the hoDow 

winds whistle ; 
•* Thou, the hall of my father's, art gone to 

decay ; 
"In thy once smiling gardens the hemlock and 

" Now choke up the rose that late bloomM in the 

way. » 

*< With the exception of the dog's 
tomb, a conspicuous and elegant object, 
placed on an ascent of several steps, 
crowned with a lambent fiame, and pan- 
nelled with white marble tables, of which, 
that containing the celebrated epitaph is 
the most remarkable, I do not recollect the 
slightest trace of culture or improvement. 
The late Lord, a stem and desperate cha- 
racter, who is never mentioned by the 
neighbouring peasants without a signi- 
ficant shake of^the head, might have re- 
turned and recognised every ^ing about 
him, except perchance an additional crop 
of weeds. There still gloomily slept that 

old pond, into whidi he is said to have 
hurled bis lady in one of his fits of fiiry, 
whence she was rescued by the gardener, 
a courageous blade, who Was the Lord's 
master, and chastised him for his barba- 
rity. There still, at the end of the gar- 
den, in m grove of oak, two towering 
sat3rrs, he with his goat and club, and 
Mrs. Satyr with her (£ibby doven-footed 
brat, pla^ on pedestals at the intersec- 
tions of the narrow and gloomy pathways, 
struck for a moment, with their grim 
visages, and silent shaggy forms, the fear 
into your bosom whidi is felt by the 
neighbouring peasantry at ^th'<mdia%rd*9 

'^ In the lake befoare the abbey, the arti- 
ficial rock which he filled at a vast ex- 
pense, still reared its lofty head ; but the 
Mgate, which fulfilled old mother Ship- 
ton's prcmhecy, by sailing over dry land 
from a aistant part to uiis place, had 
long vanished, and the only relics of his 
naval whim were the rock, his ship buoys^ 
and the venerable old Murray, who ac» 
companied me round the premises. The 
dark haughty impetuous spirit and mad 
deeds of &s Nobleman, the poet's unde, 
I feel little doubt, by making a vivid 
and indeliUe impression on his youdifiil 
fancy, furnished some of the principal 
materials for the formation of his Lord- 
ship's favourite, and perpetually recurring, 
poetical hero. His manners and acts are " 
the theme of many a winter evenins in 
that neighbourhood* In a quarrel, which 
arose out of a dispute between their game- 
keepers, he killed his neighbour, Mi, 
Chaworth, the lord of the adjoining 
manor. With that unhs^py deed, how- 
ever, died all family feud ; and, if we are 
to believe our noUe bard, the dearest 
purpose of his heart would have been 
compassed could he have united the two 
races by an union with ^ the sole remnant 
of that ancient house,' the present most 
amiable Mrs. Chaworth — ^the Mary of his 
poetry. To those who have any know- 
ledge of the two families, nothing is more 
prspicuous in his lays than the deep 
mterest with which he has again ana 
again tumed to this his boyish, his first 
mostendearinff attachment The 'Dream* 
is literally their mutual history. The 
' antique oratorie,' where stood * his 
steed caparisoned, and the hill' 

** . crowned with a peculiar diadem ' 

Of trees in circular array, so fixed. 
Not by the sport of nature, but of man,** 

are pictures too well known to those who 
have seen them to be mistaken for a mo- 

*' It is curious to observe the opinioDi 
entertained by country people, of cele- 
brated literary characters, living at times 

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amongst them. I have frequently asked 
such persons near Newstead, what sort of 
man his Lordship was ? The impression 
of his energetic but eccentric diaracter 
was obvious in their reply, * He's the 
d— 1 of a fellow for comical &ncies. 
He flogs th*oud Lard to nothing; but 
he's a hearty good fellow for a'that.' One 
of these mere comical fancies, related by 
a farmer, who has seen it more than once, 
is truly Byronic :— He would sometimes 
get into the boat with his two noble 
Newfoundland d(^;s, row into the middle 
of the lake, then dropping the oars, 
tumble over into the middle of the water ; 
the £uthful animal would immediately 
follow, seize him by the coat collar, one 
on each side, and bear him away to land. 
Dogs tutored in this manner are invalu- 
able, because they may be relied upon in 
\ of actual dfmger." 


(To the Editor of the Mirror,) 

Sis,—- Upon turning over the leaves of 
your former volumes, I have found some 
notices connected, in a certain degree, 
with the ancient history of Wales, upon 
which I hope you will permit me to offer, 
occasionally, a few supplementary obser- 
vations. 1 shall at present confine myself 
to ^e following. 

In vol. ii. p. 305, (No. 50.) you have 
given the representation of a celebrated 
Cairn in Minorca, with a short article on 
these ancient remains, the writer of which 
presimies, luid I think rightly, that they 
were originally designed for '' sepulchral 
monaments.'* It would have given addi- 
tional weight to his hypothesis, if he had 
noticed some of those to be found in 
Wales, and which are known by the 
name of Cameddau, or Camau, a word 
ueady resembling the Scotch Cairn, 
There are several of these tumuli scattered 
tlaonghout the Principality ; among the 
most remarkable of which are those on 
Pumlumon (corruptly called Plinlimon,) 
the Cameddau Hengwm and Cameddau 
y Gawres (or the Giantess's Heaps) in 
Merionethshire, with some in the island 
of Anglesea. Mr. Rowlands, author of 
Mona Antigua, caused one of these 
latter to be opened, and found it to con- 
tain an urn, firom which he reasonably 
oondudes, that the Camedd in question 
was erected as a place of sepulture. The 
fact seems to be, that, before the intro- 
duction of Christianity into this island, 
or, at least, before the general adoption 
of its rites, these Cameddau, or stone- 
lieups, were used as the sepulchres of 
pcnons of note; and that, agreeably 

with the Highland custom, every pas- 
senger added a stone to the pile out of 
respect to the memory of the deceased. 
The conclusion I have here drawn, is 
confirmed by the popular traditions con- 
nected with some of the more ancient 
iwntUi of this description in Wales. It is, 
however, certain, that, after the Christian 
ceremony of inhumation had been adopt, 
ed, the camedd was no loneer used as a 
mark of honourable distinction, but was 
appropriated solely to malefactors. The 
custom, observed by passengers, of cast- 
ing a stone on the heap was still retained ; 
but now only as a sign of reproach ; and 
hence the popular expression in Wales of 
Cam ar ay wyneb, " A Cam on thy 
face,"— .where any ill-will is intended 
against the person addressed. 

The origin of this custom among the 
Welsh and Highlanders of Scotia^ is, 
no doubt, to be traced to a very remote 
age. It had its source, most probably, 
in the institution of Druidism, the first 
establishment of which is lost in the dark- 
ness of ages. But the usage was not 
confined to Britain. Even hk the Patri- 
archial times, as we find from the book 
of G^esis^ the erection of stone-piles 
was customary, though not for sepulchial 
purposes. It was then in use, as the pas- 
sage in Genesis seems to imply, for the 
purpose of giving solemnity to a con- 
tract* We find, however, from the 
book of Joshua, that among the Israel, 
ites of after ages, the Cam was actually 
applied to sepulchral uses, since it is re. 
coraed, that Achan, who was stoned to 
death for theft, was buried under a heap 
of stones in the valley of Achor ;f and 
the resemblances between the Hebrew 
Gar-naid and the ancient British Car' 
nedd (both signifying a heap of stones,) 
may tend to establish the identity of the 
usage thus adopted by the two nations. 
It is moreover probable, that the custom 
of burving nudefactors in this manner 
as well as individuals of celebrity, may 
have originally prevailed in this country, 
and that upon the introduction of Chris- 
tianity, the former description of persons 
were alone buried in this wav. 

Nor was the usage connned to the 
Hebrews and Britons. Homer obviously 
alludes to a similar practice in the fol- 
lowing passage in a speech of Hector to 
Paris, when the former is haughtily pre- 
dicting the fall of his adversary, in the 
contest that was about to ensue between 

_— — . ^ ri Kw ijSn 

hAtVOV t(T<TO X'^a^'^a, KOKUV ^P^X) ^^^^ ' 

• Ch. xxxi. V. 46, 51, 52, 54. 
t Ch.vii.v.26. J Iliad 4H. 1. 67. 


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^ *«.■»— for f iir«ly ihalt tlioa now. 

For tky misdeedt, thy garb of stone assume ; 

vhich seems to imply, that the tumuli 
under consideration, were also among the 
Cbeeks, appropriated to persons of infa- 
mous character. And that this must 
have been the case too with the Romans, 
to a certain extent, is sufficiently dear 
from the following anonymous epitaph 
on a notorious robber :-— 
Monte tub hoe lapidum tegitur Balista sa- 

pultos i 
Kocte, die, tatom carpe, viator, iter. 

It is impossible, then, not to refer the 
origin of the Scotch Cairn and the Welsh 
Civm to a period of high antiquity. 



(Fwr the Mirror.) 

Ooa farmers now brag o their blue sldatet 
An' foUow the fashion like high gentle fouk 
Oie me my bit bield wi* its straw theckit riggin, 
▲n' muckle mou'd lum to tak oif the peat 

There Is na a man in the fair land o' Fyvie.f 

On hill-head or brae-side, on green-haugh or 
Mair happy than me wi' my thriftie wee wlfie, 

Wha bide in a bield o' a But an' a Ben. 
A cantie an' couthie guidwife is my Katie, 

Tho'hy her best days still she's bonie an 
An' a' her delight is to please her ain Patie, 

Wi* mind an' wi' manners saeleesome an' lithe. 

Onid batter an' kebbocks the milk maks o' 
An« frae the hen-roost a new egg now an* then, 
Wi* twa three trouts taen frae yon bickerin 
My frien's feast fu*weel in the But an* the 
To my youngest bairn aft I sing diddle de diddle. 
.Or aiblins some sang coft the last maricet day. 
An' there are waur fists than mysel at the fiddle. 
At scrapin a Scottish jig, reel, or strathspey. 

Tho* sometimes I may be downhearted an* dowie. 
For wha can ken pleasure an* never ken pain. 

The physic that fizzes i» the barmy ale bowie. 
Drives dool frae the fowk o* the But and the 

Ahint my laigh housie blooms nae branchin' 
But a divot-dyked yard for my cabbage an* 
Perhaps here an* there springs an anterin flower. 
That courts the kind kiss o' the soft summer 

Xk e*enin frae labour low'st to luve an* leisure. 

What happiness purer can mortal man ken. 
While the prospect o* past and the present gies 
O* wha wadna bide in a But an' a Ben ! 
Carburton Street, Sawnby Simpson. 
FitMroy Square. 

• * A But an* a Ben* is the designation gene- 
Tilly used in Scotland for a cottage with one 

f Fyvie Is the name of a very fair and fine 
country in the uuitb-west part ofthe county of 


(To the Editor ofthe Mirror.) 

Sin,— In the last number of your 
second volume, I read an article *^ On 
the Present State of the Stage;*' fearing 
it might not be noticed, and by that 
means suffer such assertions to go unoon« 
tradicted, is the only reason I can assign 
for so humble an individual as myself 
opposing your more fluent correspondent 

G. W. assigns at the chief reason of 
the present corrupt state of society: le- 
vera! of the recent productions of the 
dramatic writers. Now, Sir, I am not so 
blind an advocate for the stage as to deny 
there is not plenty of room for improve- 
ment. Indeed, what individual thing can 
be named where there is not? Turn to what 
subject we may, whether professions or na- 
tions, or extending our views to the actions 
of previous ages, we sludl perceive in the 
whole of them, however gnnd and noble 
a part may bel-that there will always be 
found a deficiency. Is it then to be ex- 
pected when every thing else £ul8 in 
this respect that the stage should be poie 
and faultless! I perftcdy agree widi 
G. W., that such exhibitiims as ^^ Tom 
and Jerry," are a disgrace to the drama; 
although I am aware that many able 
arguments are opposed to my opiniim— 
but, then, is the whole to be condemned 
because a part is £Eiulty ! As I hefate 
remarked, it arises from an impossibility 
to bring any given thing to a complete 
state cu purity. BesidAs, how trbSing 
can be the effect of these paltry produc- 
tions, when on the other nand tney are 
opposed by the grandeur of tragedir. Let 
those who have read '' Pizarro,'' those 
who have studied in the closet, or ad- 
mired in the theatre, the character of the 
noble-minded RollalJet those bear wit- 
ness to the assertion, whether one single 
representation of that drama would not 
be sufficient to efface all the eSbcts arising 
from such insipid exhibitions. as above 
'noticed, while Shakspeare is known; 
while his plays are acted on our staee, no 
one need iear any revolution in our habits 
from such dramatic trifles. To all who 
are capable of understanding, (and thank 
heaven, few are now to be found who 
are not). What a grand moral must hit 
Richard III., Hamlet, Othello, &c && 
furnish. The characters of Othello and 
lago are alone sufficient to disclose to our 
view nearly the whole of the different 
passions which the human breast im- 
bibes. Having said thus much, I will 
conclude with the opinion of ^^ La 
J&Iotte,*' and which is supported by the 

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most eminent men this cowitry has pro- 
duced, namely, ^^ If the theatres were to 
be shut up, the stage wholly silenced and 
suppressed, I believe the wcnrld, bad as it 
is now, would be ten times more wicked." 



(For the Mirror,) 

January is the name of the first month 
of the year, according to the computation 
now used in the west. The wonl is de- 
rived from the Latin Januarius^ a name 
given it by the Romans, from Janus, 
one of their divinities, to whom they 
attributed two faces; because, on the 
one side the first of January looked 
towards the new year; and, on the other, 
towards the old one. The word Janua- 
rius may also be derived from Janua, 
gate; in regard to this month being the 
first, which is, as it were, the gate of the 
year. January and February were intro- 
duced into the year by Numa Pompilius; 
Romulus^s year beginning in the month 
of March. The Christians, heretofore, 
fasted on the first day of January, by 
way of opposition to the superstition of 
the heathens, who, in honour of Janus, 
observed this day with feastings, dancings, 
masquerades, &c January is dad in 
white, the colour of the earth at this 
time, blowing his nails. The old pro- 
verb say, '* Janiveer frees the pot by the 
fire." " If the grass grow in Janiveer, 
it grows the worse for't all the year."... 
But Ray in his collection of proverbs, 
sa3rs, ^^ There's no general rule without 
SiMne exception; for in the year 1667, 
the winter was samild, that the pastures 
were very green in January, yet was 
there scarce ever known a more plentiful 
crop of hay than the following summed." 

* Stem winter's icy breath, intensely keen 
Now chills the blood, and withers every green ; 
Brlffht shines the azure sky, serenely fair. 
On driving snows obscure the turbid sky/' 

And Cowper has beautifrilly described 
» frost scene at this period, thus—. 

" Here glittering turrets rise, upbearing high 
(Fantastic misarrangement) on the roof ; 
Large growth of what may seem the sparkling 

And shrubs of fairy land. The crystal drops 
That trickle down the branches, fast congeaPdi 
Shoot into pillars of pellucid length. 
And prop the pile they but adorned before. 
Here grotto within grotto safe defies 
The sunbeam. There emboss'd and petted wild 
The growing wonder takes a thousand shapes 
CapiiciouB, in which fancy seelcs in vain 
Tbe likeness of some object seen before." 


P. T. W. 

To the Editor of the Mirror, 

Siit,—In your last account of St. 
Winifred's Well, there is a deviation or 
two from your usual correctness, which I 
beg leave to point out, for the sake of 
precision and information, trusting that 
your candour and kindness will not allow 
the readers of the Mirror to remain long 
in mistake ; it states that the Well gives 
the name to the town, hence wc would 
suppose the town's name to be Winifred, 
but such is not the case. The Well is 
mostly called Holy-well, which is the 
real name of the town. The account also 
says, that the spring pours forth twenty- 
one tons of water eacn minute ; the fol- 
lowing extract I take from a minute de- 
scription of it, given to me on the spot, m 
short time back : ^^ One drcumstanoe 
asserted of this spring, which to sem« 
may seem incredible, will at any time be 
demonstrated to the curious. By the 
gauge, the bason will hold about 2^ torn 
of water, which, when emptied, is filled 
again in less than two minutes. The 
experiment was tried for a wager on 
Tuesday, the 12th July, 1731. Mr. 
Price the rector of Holy-well, Mr. Wil- 
liams, Mr. Wynne, I>r. Tayl(nr, and 
several other gentlemen being present, 
when to the surprise of the company, the 
WeU filled again in less tiian two 
minutes. The bason is six feet deep and 
yet the water is so dear that a pin may 
be seen at the bottom." 

A second bason is formed outside for 
use of male bathers, dresses being alwavi 
provided on the spot, by a person wno 
rents the premises and denves a handsome 
profit in the summer season. 

I remain, your's &c T. Tekkenv. 


To the Editor of the Mirror. 
Mn. Editou, — The pleasure and in« 
formation derived from the perusal of tht 
Mirror, has induced me to request as 
favour, the insertion of an explanatiof 
why the Ahnanacks for the present yeit 
have the shortest day on the 22nd oi 
December, instead of, as is usual, the 
21st ; it having given rise to much curious 
arguments without arriving at any satis- 
factory reason, is the motive of my re- 
quest ; the cause appears to me generally 
unknown, llie exphmation will therefore 
be usefuL It is by some asserted to be 
an error of the printer, in not placing a 
crotchet, shewing it to belong to the pre- 
ceding line; by others, that it occurs 
once in #orty years, and again once in » 
E 3 

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century. I have made much inquiry 
concerning it among the wise men of the 
east, but it remains a matter of astonish- 
ment to all; your interpretation will 
therefore oblige a constant reader. 

M. T. 


)9utilit journals* 

As the theory of prison discipline be- 
comes better understood, the mode of 
punishing offenders will be less repu^jnant 
to feeling, though equally conducive to 
the great object— reformation. Among 
other improvements, it has been disco- 
vered, that to the indolent no punishment 
is 80 severe as hard labour ; and modem 
engineers have been employed on the best 
means of compelling prisoners to work. 
For this purpose a machine has been in- 
vented, called die tread-mill, which has 
obtained unprecedented notoriety, and 
been adopted in several prisons m Lon- 
don, and various parts of the country. 
It resembles the fabled punishment of 
Sisyphus, who was compelled to the in- 
terminable labour of rolling to the top of 
m hill a large stone, which no sooner 
readied the summit than it fell down, and 
his labour was to be renewed. In the 
tread-mill, the prisoners ascend an end- 
less flight of stairs, and by their combined 
weieht acting upon a stepping board, 
produce the same effect that a stream of 
water does upon a water-wheel. Although 
the latter might very easily have sug- 
gested the trewl-mill, yet it was boasted 
as a new invention, until it was disco- 
vered to be but an adaptation of the Chi- 
nese tread-wheel, which is used for the 
purpose of raising water. 

The tread-miU is not, however, new 
even as an instrument of prison discipline ; 
but has been used in England two centu- 
ries and a half ago, though the circum- 
stance has escaped all who have written 
on the subject. The tread-mill of the 
Sixteenth century had^ indeed, an advan- 
t^e over that of the present day ; it was 
a combination of the tread-mill and the 
hand-crank-mill, which has been sug- 

gsted as its substitute by Sir John Coxe 
ippisley, as less prejudiciid to the health. 
In Seymour's " Survey of the Cities 
of London and Westminster,'* a work 
said to have been written by John Mott- 
ley, the son of Colonel Mottley, there is 
a description of this mill so explicit, that 
there was no necessity to adopt the idea 
from the Chinese, wnen we had it so 
mudi nearer heme. " In the time of 

Queen Elizabeth," says the writer, '^ about 
the year 1570 and odd, one John Pain, a 
citisen, invented a mill to grind com, 
whidi he got recommended to the Ixxrd 
Mayor for the use of BridewelL This 
mill had two conveniences ; the one was, 
that it would grind a greater quantity 
considerably thim other mills of uiat sort 
comd do ; and the other (which would 
render it useful to Bridewell) was, that , 
the lame, either in arms or legs, might 
work at it, if they had but use of either ; 
and, accordingly, these mills were termed 
hand-mills, or foot-mills. 

'' This mill he shewed to the Lord 
Mayor, who saw it grind as much com 
with the labour of two men, as they did 
then at Bridewell with ten — ^that is to 
say, two men with hands, or two men 
with feet, two bushels the hour. If they 
were lame in their arms, then they might 
earn their livings with their legs ; if limie 
in their legs, then they might earn their 
livings wi3i their arms. One mill would 
grind twenty bushels of wheat in a day ; 
80 diat by computation it was reckoned, 
that one of these would supply a thousand 

From this account of the tread-mill of 
the sixteenth century it will be seen, that, 
considering the rude state of the mecha- 
nical arts at the period, Mr. Pain must 
have been a mechanist of more than ordi- 
nary ingenuity. — Percy Hist,, Part TV. 

NoTHiKa is more common than to talk 
of the good old times of our ancestors, 
who manifested equal regret that the good 
old times had passed long before t^ey 
were bom : and we might trace the same 
lamentation backward from one genera- 
tion to another, to the earliest formation 
of civilized society : hence it may be in- 
ferred, that this beau ideal of perfecticm, 
the " good old times," never existed but 
in the imagination; and, that vice and 
virtue, good, and evil, in each age, are 
more equally balanced than is generally 
imagined. Moralists declaim agidnst the 
increasing depravity of the times, and 
legislators add new penal laws to the sta- 
tute book ; yet, if we refer back to our 
early history, we shall find the same cata- 
logue of crimes prevailing ; and although, 
in consequence of the increased population 
of the metropolis, and the inseparable 
evils attending a large community, crime 
and depredations may be more frequent, 
yet moral, humane, and benevolent insti. 
tutions have increased in an equal pro- 
poition; and if vice abounds more in 
London than formerly, " grace aboondi 
much more" also. 

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In OUT account of the Police, we have 
noticed the state of society at different 
periods ; and it would not be difficult to 
prove, that there are few offences com« 
mitted, at the present day, which were 
not firemient some centuries ago, except 
such as nave arisen from the altcrod state 
of jsociety. We might, indeed, go much 
further and assert, that when the police 
was not so well organized as at present, 
ounces were of a much more flagrant 
GhaxBcter. What atrocities in the pre- 
sent age can be compared to those of 
<< The Black Boy Alley gang," who so 
late as the reign of George H. were the 
tenor of the whole city ? Hogarth, in 
one of his prints of the ^' Idle and Indus- 
trious Apprentice," has depicted one of 
the scenes of this eang; but even his 
fidthful and powerfiu pencil has failed in 
eiving a true picture of their diabolical 
deeds. The gang occupied some miser- 
able tenements in Black Boy-Alley, Chick 
Lane, where the unwary were decoyed by 
means of depraved females, and when 
gagged, that they should give no alarm, 
the wretches dragged their victims to one 
of the depositories, like a lamb to the 
slaughter, and having robbed and mur- 
dered them, threw the dead bodies into 
the ditch. To so alarming an extent had 
this gang carried their atzodties, that go- 
vernment lent its aid to the ordinary 
police, by means of which the princifNU 
members of the gang were appre- 
hended, and nineteen of mem executed at 
one time. 

Some years ago the metropolis was 
much alarmed by a petson indiscrimi- 
nately stabbing several females as he met 
them in the night ; he was designated the 
monster, on account of the abhorrence 
with wluch his conduct was viewed. This 
crime has also, of late years, been frequent 
in Paris, where the offenders are called 
piqueurt; but the offence is not of mo- 
don date, for in the early part of the last 
century it was much more prevaloit, and 
was practised by a set of miscreants, de- 
nominated Mohawks^ who, in 1712, were 
suppressed by the government. 

Street robberies, which have always 
been frequent in I^ndon, attained such a 
pitch in the autumn and winter of 1741, 
that government found it necessary to 
offer a large reward fc» their suppression. 
A sum of 100^. was given on the convic- 
tion of every person found guilty of mur- 
der, or assault, with any offensive weapon 
or instrument, with tne intent to rob. 
Until government thus interfered, gangs 
of street robbers patrolled the streets with 
cutlasses and fire-arms, bidding defiance 
to the police officers, several of whom 
they wounded* 

during the last ten years, many valu- 

able reports on the state of crime in the 
metropolis have been made by committees 
of the House of Commons, and much in* 
teresting information has thus been ob- 
tained. In one of these reports it is 
stated, that there are houses in Londcm 
where boys are taught how to pick pockets, 
and other knavish arts ; and that a slang 
lanffuage is used by the thieves and pick- 
pockets, is known to every reader of a 
newspaper, as it has almost become ne- 
cessary to learn this vulgar tongue, in 
order to read the police renorts that are 
published. Schools for teacning thieves, 
and the use of slang language, are not, 
however, devices of modem times. 

Stowe relates, that at the July sessions 
in 1586, the magistracy devoted great at- 
tention to the discovery and suppression 
o£ houses frequented by thieves ; and that 
Fleetwood, the recorder to the lord trea- 
surer, with others of the bench, disco- 
vered sixteen of these houses in London 
and Westminster, and two in Southwark. 
In one of these, an ale-house at Smart's 

auay. Billingsgate, kept by a person of 
le name of Wotton, '^ a gentleman bom, 
and once a merchant of good credit, but 
&llen by time into decay," the art of cut- 
ting purses and picking pockets was 
taught scientifically. Wotton had a re- 
gular academy of vice, in which crime 
was as methodically taught as the mecha- 
nical arts. In order to give to the em- 
bryo pickpocket the dexterity which was 
requisite, a pocket with counters, and a 
purse with silver, were suspended ; each 
of them was hung about with ^^ hawk's 
bells," and a " little sacring bell" at the 
top. The pupil was taught to take out 
the counters and the silver without dis- 
turbing the bells, and when he was en- 
abled to do this, he was deemed fit to 
commence his infamous profession, and 
was admitted into the association of nyjh- 
pers Bud /oysters^ as the cutpurses and 
pickpockets were called. HoUinshed, 
who wrote at a still earlier period, notices 
the cant or slang language which was 
used in his day by the beggars. *' In 
counterfeiting the Egyptian rogues, they 
have devised a language among them- 
selves, which they name canting^ a speech 
compact thirty years since of English, 
and a greate number of od words of their 
owne devising, without all order or rea- 
son, and yet such as none but themselves 
are to understand." 

How little of novelty in crime then has 
the present generation to answer for ? even 
blood-money conspirators, who, for the 
sake of getting the reward of 40/. for the 
conviction of any offender, accuse him 
falsely, were known so far back as the 
reign of Edward III., as appears by a 
statute of that monarch, which complains. 

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that '* great damage and destruction** did 
ohen luppen by ^^ sherifis, jailors, and 
keepers oi prisons, within franchises and 
without, who have pained their prisoners, 
and, by such evil means, compelled and 
procured them to become appellors, and 
to appeal harmless and guUtless people, 
to tne intent to have ransom of such ap- 
pealed persons, for fear of imprisonment 
or other cause."— P*rcy Histories, 


After all I have said of the delights of 
the south of Italy, I would choose Tus- 
cany for a residence. Its inhabitants are 
courteous and civilized. I confess that 
there is a charm for me in the manners of 
the common people and servants. Per. 
haps this is partly to be accounted for 
from the contrast which they form with 
those of my native country ; and all that 
is unusual, by divesting common life of 
its familiar garb, gives an air of gala to 
every-day concerns. These good people 
are courteous, and there is much piguance 
in the shades of distinction which they 
make between respect and servility, ease 
of address and impertinence. Yet this is 
little seen and appreciated among their 
English visitOTS. I have seen a country 
woman of some rank much shocked at 
being cordially embraced in a parting 
scene firom her cook-maid ; and an Eng- 
lishman think himself insulted because 
when, on ordering his coachman to wait 
a few minutes for orders, the man quietly 
sat down; yet i^ither of these actions 
were instigated by the ^htest spirit of 
insolence. I know not why, but there 
was always somethinff heartfelt and de- 
lightful to me in ue salutation that 
passes each evening between master and 
servant. On bringing the lights the ser- 
vant always says ^^ Felicissima sera, 
Signoria ;*' and is answered by a similar 
benediction. These are nothings, you 
will say; but such nothings have con- 
duced more to my pleasure than other 
events usually accounted of more mo- 

The country of Tuscany is culti- 
vated and fertile, although it does not 
bear the same stamp of excessive luxury 
as in the south. To continue my half- 
forgotten simile, the eajrth is here like a 
voung affectionate wife, who loves her 
nome, yet dresses that home in smiles. 
In spring, nature arises in beauty from 
her prison, and rains sunbeams and life 
upon the land. Summer comes up in its 
green array, giving labour and reward to 
die peasants. Their plenteous harvests, 
their Virgilian threshing floors, and looks 
of busy happiness, are delightful to me. 
The bahny air of night, Hesperus in hig 

glowing palace of sunli^t, the flower* 
Btanred earth, the glittering waters, the 
ripening grapes, the chesnut copses, the 
cuckoo, smd the nightingale, — such is the 
assemblage which is to me what balls 
and parties are to others. And if a storm 
come, rushing like an armed band over 
the country, filling the torrents, bending 
the proud heads of the trees, causing the 
clouds* defending music to resound, and 
the lightning to fill the air with s{den- 
dour ; I am still enchanted by the spec- 
tacle which diversifies what I have 
heaxd named the monotonous blue skies 
of Italy. 

In Tuscany the streams are fresh and 
fhU, the plams deomtted with waving 
com, shadowed by trees and trellised 
vines, and the mountains arise in woody 
majesty behind to give dignity to tbe 
What is a land without moon* 

tains ? Heaven disdains » plain ; but 
when the beauteous earth raises her proud 
head to seek its high communion, then 
it descends to meet her, it adorns her in 
clouds, and invests her in radiant hues. 

On the Idth o£ September, 18 — , I 
remember being one of a party of plea- 
sure, from the baths of Pisa, to Vico 
Pisano, a little town formerly a frontier 
fortress between the Pisan and Florentine 
territories. The air inspired joy, and 
the pleasure I felt I saw reflected in the 
countenance of my beloved companions. 
Our course lay beneath hills hardly high 
enough for the name of mountains, but 
picturesquely shaped and covered with 
various wood. The dcale chirped, and 
the air was impr^nated with the perfume 
of flowers. We passed the Rupe de 
'Nooe, and proceeding still at the foot of 
hills arrived at Vico Pisano, which is 
built at the extreme point of the range. 
The houses are old and surmounted with 
ancient towers ; and at one end of the 
town there is a range of old walls, weed- 
grown ; but never did eye behold hues 
more rich and strange tnan those with 
which time and the seasons have painted 
this relic. The lines of the cornice swept 
downwards, and made a shadow that 
served even to diversify more the colours 
we beheld. We returned aloi^ the same 
road; and not far from Vico Pisano 
ascended a gentle hill, at the top of which 
was a churoi dedicated to Madonna, with 
a grassy platform of earth before it. 
Here we spread and ate our rustic fare, 
and were waited upon by the peasant girls 
of the cottage attached to the church, one 
of whom was of extreme beauty, a b^uty 
heightened by the grace of her motions 
and the simplicity of her manner. After 
our pic-nic we reposed under the shade of 
the church, on the brow of ths hill i ■ 
London Magaxm^* , 

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Rts House, which has become me- 
morable in English history, from the cir- 
cumstance of its having been the place 
where a conspiracy was formed for the 
assassination m Charles IL, was situated 
about two miles flif**^*^ from Hoddesdon, 
in Hertfordshire, as the Papists had been 
generally accused of the plot to destroy 
the kinff and parliament, known by the 
name of the gunpowder plot — as well of 
setting fire to London in 1666, it is said 
that Siey formed an accusation against 
the Protestants of a conspiracy, to destroy 
Charles IL, and his brother, in 1683, 
which was known by the name of the Rye 
House plot. 

It was said that the conspirators in- 
tended to war-lay and murder the king 
near Rye House, ir his way to New- 
Boarket. Historians entertain great doubts 
that any such plot existed, although 
several persons were arrested on suspicion, 
and it was made a pretext for the legal 
murder of those virtuous patriots. Lord 
William Russel, and Algernon Sidney. 


Witchcraft is not wholly disused in 
the British dominions ; in one instance, 
at least, it has been recently practised, as 
we shall have occasion to mention ; and 
the statute which still restrained the 
practice of the black art in Ireland having 
been repealed, those who choose to follow 
the profession mav do so with impunity : 
provided nevertheless, that they keep in 

mind the law which enacts that any ex* 
ertion of skill, by which fortunes are told 
or stolen goods recovered, may be punished 
as the act of a rogue and a vagabond. 
Marvellous, indeed, are the perils whidi 
attend the violation of this prohibition. 
Many a weird sister, who could sail to 
Alei^ in a sieve, has been fettoed, 
without bail or mainprise, by the spells 
of the ^Nuish beadle; and many a wizard 
who, like Michael Scott of old, could 
bind the weary demons to their endless 
task of twisting ropes of sand, has been 
compelled by the Rhadamanthine Justice, 
to beat hemp for six calendar months in 
the house of^correction. . 

We can now sport with these supersti- 
tions. They have ceased to alarm us. 
but they afi&rd a direful exemplification 
of the calamities to which human nature 
may be subjected ; nor can the history of 
witchcraft be contemplated without horror 
As the rites of the sed are noticed by the 
earlier schoolmen and divines, they ap- 
peared incorporated in a delusive dream, 
and connected with the relics of a more 
ancient Paganism. The beldames collect 
by night at the command of their many-<. 
named Queen — Hecate — Diana — Hero- 
dias, or Benzoria — the fair Holda 
amongst the Teutonic races. Away ihey 
scud to Palestine, vieing with one another 
in their mystic course, w she who first 
can dip her hands in the River Jordan 
will become the mistress of the world. 
But in vain — the waters dry beneath 
their touch, and mock their expectations. 
Feasting and dancing, mirth and merri- 
ment, seem to be the intent of the noc« 

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turoalmeediigsoftfaeiiiidated. Awkward 
ttod uncouth, the leveby possesses that 
£uita8tic character of wudness, com- 
pounded of sport and mischief, found in 
the personification of the Satyr of anti- 
quity and in the Puck of we middle 
ages. Satan, however, does not appear. 
—If the evil spirit partook of the Joy, 
his presence could only be inferred from 
the impossibiUty of such a convention 
being held under the auspices of a good 
demon. But we find no trace of the wor- 
ship of the fiend, ascribed to the Sabbath 
of the witches in later times. The be- 
lief was reprobated by the church, but 
not punished by the secular arm as a 
mortal crime. ^ Let no woman boast,' 
it is ordered by Augerius, bishop of Con. 
serans, that *■ she rides by night with 
Diana, the goddess of the Pagans, or 
with Herodias, or with Benzoria, ac- 
companied by an innumerable multitude, 
for mis is an illusion of the demon.' 

■ Such was the argument usually em* 
ployed against witchcraft until the fif- 
teenth century Bishops and confessors 
used every endeavour to convince the 
witch that she was deceived and cheated 
by the demon, but they did not bum her 
except when c^e was clearly a ' heretic.' 
When exhortations failed, they some- 
times used more tangible methods. Vin- 
cent de Beauvais relates a story of a 
witch, who attempted to persuade her 
confessor, that she could pass through 
closed doors with her nightly mesnie. He 
called her into the chancel, and, shutting 
the door, belaboured her soundly with 
the handle of the cross. Get out, get 
out I mistress sorceress, he cried; and 
as she could not get out, he, at last, 
allowed her to depart, sa]ring, ' Now see 
ye not what fools ye are, believing in the 
emptiness of dreams ?' To such modes 
of dispeUing delusion no objection can 
reasonably be raised. 

It is not dear, that, according to the 
old Kngliah common law, witchoaft and 
sorcery, as such, were punishable. If, 
as was often the case, these delusions 
were combined with other crimes, trea- 
son or poisoning, or the lighter misde- 
meanours of ftaud and imposture, then 
certainly the accusation enhancal the 

Sunishment. The usual authorities un- 
oubtedly state that sorcerers were to be 
burnt; and the church might strive to 
condemn the heretic; but the case re- 
ported in the year book, 45 Ed. III. 17. 
seems to show that the judges of the 
courts of common law wished to proceed 
with mildness. * A man was taken in 
Southwazk with a head and face of a dead 
man, and with a book of sorcery in his 
male, and was brought into the King's 

Bench, before Sir Jdm Knevett, then 
Chief Justice ; but seeing no indictment 
was against him, the clerks did swear 
him, that ftom henceforth he should not 
be a sorcerer, and he was delivered out of 
prison, and the head of the dead man, 
and the book of sorcery were burnt at 
TothiL' When the offence could be 
considered as heresy, then of course the 
witch might be duly punished. Yet 
executions upon this charge seem to have 
been of rare occurrence. And here we 
may be allowed to observe, that the 
Knights Templars, in chapter assembled, 
could have had as little power to bum 
Rebecca, as the Jews of York, in syna- 
gogue assembled, to bum Boisgilbert. 

Coke, in commenting upon the sor- 
cerer's escape, remarks, witn an appear, 
ance of ill-humour, that the ^ head and 
book of sorcery had the same punishment 
that the sorcerer should have had by the 
ancient law, if he had by his sorcery 
prayed in aid of the deviL' As the act 
is so penned as to make the mere taking 
up of a dead body, with the intent to be 
employed in witchcraft, a capital crime, 
it appears to have arisen out of the consi- 
deration of the case before quoted. A 
few passages ficom the delectable dialogue 
of King James wiU exemplify the tem- 
per in which he wished that ue new law 
should be administered. 

Epistemon replies to a question le- 
specting the oomnetency of accomplices 
as witnesses for the prosecution : ^ The 
assize («. e. the jury) must serve for an 
interpreter of our laws in that respect; 
but in my opinion, since in a matter of 
treason against the prince, bames or 
wives, or never so defamed persons, may 
of our lawe serve for sufficient witnesses 
and proofes; I think surely, that by a 
farre (P^ter reason, such witnesses may 
be sufficient in matters of high treason 
against God ; for who but witches can be 
prooves^ and so witnesses of the doings of 
witches 9* 

Precepts like these seemed to meet with 
universal approbation ; and the Scottish 
clergy, urged by mistaken zeal, and in- 
fluenced by false explanations of the 
Scriptures, persecuted the criminals de- 
nounced before them with all the alacrity 
of the Inquisition. 

Wurtzburgh was the scene even of 
greater horrors in the years 1627, 1628, 
and 1629. In this short period upwards 
of one hundred and fifty victims perished. 
They included persons of every rank and 
station; many of the dignified clergy 
belonging to the cathedral, and some of 
the richest citizens. Neither age, nor 
sex could excite compassion* 

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OuBs the ft rains renown'd in storyi 
Of peaceful ball or deadly corrie : 
Would you eall to field, or foray. 
Melt to love, or rouse to glory : 

Sound our mountain melody. 
Where the gale of love is blowing. 
Health, and mirth, and bliss bestowing ; 
Where ttie cup of joy is flowing. 
Eyes are bright, and hearts are glowing : 

Pours the bagpipes thrilling lay. 
Who can hear its notes of woe. 
For friend deceas'd, or fallen foe ; 
And see the mourners as they go, 
To its wild notes, sad and slow : 

And melt not at its melody } 
And in the day of doubt and dread. 
When bursts the battle o'er their head ; 
How strong the arm, and firm the tread. 
Of Albyn's sons o'er fields of dead : 

when cheer'd by its wild warlike cry. 
Ours the strains renown'd in story. 
Of halls of joy, or deadly corrie ; 
Would you call to field or foray. 
Melt to love, or rouse to glory : 

Sound our mountain melody. 

w , 

(Concluded from our kuU) 

Barbers. — ^Itappears there were no barbers 
at Rome, before the year A. U. C. 454. 
Varro reports, that TiciniusMena brought 
them thither from Sicily. The barber's 
shops very soon became the resort of 
idlers and gossips. Besides curling the 
hair and sbaving the beard, the ancient 
barbers also trimmed the nails. Anciently, 
a lute or viol, or some such musical in- 
strument, was part of the furniture of a 
barber's shop, which was then frequented 
by persons above the ordinary rank, who 
resorted thither for the cure of wounds, or 
to undergo some chirurgical operations, 
or as it was called, to be trimmed, a 
word which signified either shaving or 
cutting and curling the hair. These, 
and also letting of blood, were the ancient 
operations of ue barber surgeons. The 
musical instruments in this shop were for 
the amusement of waiting customers, and 
answered the end of a Twopenny Mirror, 
with which it is now usual for such to 
entertain themselves. The naivetS of 
modem barbers is well known to the 
inhabitants of this metropolis — and we 
have only 

" To walk into their shops and see. 
What witty fellows these shaven be." 

The origin of the " barber's pole" has 
been the subject of various conjectures 
amons etymologists. Some have supposed 
it to have been derived from the word 
poa, ot head; but, the true intention of 
this party-coloured staff was to shew that 
the master of the shop, practised surgery, 
and could breathe a vein, as well as take 
off the beaid; such a staff being to thii 

day, by every village practitioner, put 
into the hand of a person undergoing the 
operation of phlebotomy. The white 
band which encompasses the staff, was 
designed to represent the fillet, thus ele- 
gantly turned about it. Our present 
barbers launch out into a variety of re- 
cipes for the growth and beauty of the hair. 
We have oils which makes the hair 
grow as firm as hog's bristles, bear's 
grease, which makes it as sleek and smooth 
as silk,* and various other cosmetics well 
known to the cognoscenti in dandyinn. 
We have now the hair dressed i l4 Titus, 
k la Brutus, and some dressed to imitate an 
Irish hen, that has run through a hedae 
backwards, which may be caUed ^* Tne 
Emerald Isle frize." — To crown all, we 
have a celebrated whig maker of the name 
of Truefit,-^' and a reusor maker of ihe 
name of Sharp. The barbers were incOT- 
porated j: with the surgeons of London, 
but not to practise surgery, except draw- 
ing of teem. They were exempted by 
parliament from wa^d and parish offices, 
and firom miUtary service. In the reign 
of George II. they were incorporated 
separately, and the company of surgeons 
had an elegant hall in the Old Bailey, 
with a theatre for the dissection of human 
bodies. They now form a royal college 
and their house is in Lincoln's Inn Fidds« 
Anne Monk, Duchess of Albemarle, 
was the daughter of a blacksmith, who 
gave her an education suitable to the 
employment she was bred to, which was 
that of a milliner. Mr. Aubrey, in a 
manuscript in Ashmole's Museum, says, 
^^ That when Monke was prisoner in the 
Tower, his sempstress Nan Clarges, a 
blacksmith's daughter, was kind to him 
in a double capacity. It must be remem- 
bered, that he was then in want, and that 
she assisted him. Here she was got with 
child, and he afterwards married her, she 
was not handsome, nor cleanly; her 
mother was one of ^efive women barbers, 
and a woman of ill fame." A ballad was 
made upon her and the other four, the 
burden of which was, 

** Did you ever hear the like. 
Or ever hear the fame. 
Of five women barbers. 
That lived in Drury Lane." 

Hair Cu^^tTijr.— Julius Caesacr, when 
he subdued the Oauls, made them cut off 
their hair, as a token of submission, for 
it was esteemed a peculiar honour among 

* Mustachio wax of different hues, from the 
fiery carrot to the ebony black. 

f A quarter of an hour is never lost under the 
bands of one of these facetious and news-mon- 
gering tribe — for where is the man who has 
not gained some information from his barber 
either political or attical. 

t lo the reign of Henry VIII. 

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the ancient Oauli to wear long hair. It 
was a long thne the peculiar mark and 
privilege of kinss and princes of the 
blood (in France) to wear long hair, art- 
fiiUy drrased and curled: every body else 
were obliged to be polled, or cut round, 
in sign of inferiority and obedience. The 
oui of the hair of a son of France under 
the first race of kings, was to dedare him 
excluded from die right of succeeding to 
the crown, and redu^ to the condition 
of a subject In the eighth century it 
was the custom of people of quality, to 
have their children*s nair cut the first time 
by perons they had a particular honour 
and esteem for, who, m virtue of this 
ceremony, were reputed a sort of spiritual 
parents, or godfathers to them, though 
this practice i^pears to have been more 
ancient, for we find that Constantine sent 
the Pope the hair of his son Heradius, 
as a token that he desired him to be his 
adoptive father. Long hair was anciently 
held so odious, that there is a canon stiU 
extant, of the year 1096, importing, that 
such as wore long hair should be ex- 
cluded coming into church when living, 
and not be praved for when dead. Char- 
lemagne wore nis air very short, his son 
shorter; Charles the Bold had none at 
all. Under Hugh Capet, it began to 
appear again : tlus the ecclesiastics were 
displeased with, and excommunicated all 
who let their hair grow. Peter Lombard 
expostulated the matter so warmly with 
Charles the Young, that he cut off his 
own hair; and, his successors, for some 
generations wore it very short. A pro- 
fessor of Utrecht, in 1659, wrote expressly 
on the question, whether it be lawful for 
men to wear long hair ? and concluded 
in the negative. AnotJ^er divine, named 
Reeves who had wrote for the affibmative 
repUed to him. The Greeks and Romans 
wore false hair. The cutting off the hair 
in mourning for the dead is an Eastern, 
as well as a Ghrecian custom; and ap- 
pears to have obtained in ancient times, 
as well as in latter ages. Among the 
ancient Greeks, it wa^ sometimes laid 
upon the dead body, sometimes cast into 
the funeral pile, and sometimes placed 
upon the grave. How the Jews disposed 
of it we are not told; but that they cut 
it off we are assured. Berenice, queen 
of Egypt, sacrificed her hair to the gods, 
on her husband returning victorious. In 
modem days we preserve this lasting 
relic of the dead, and have it made into 
various devices, according to the taste of 
the times; sometimes adorned with an 
applicable motto, thus, " Sacred will I 
keep thy dear remains." Hair is to be 
found upon aU parts of the body, exc^t 
the soles of the feet and palms of the 

hands. Mlieii we examine (sajrs Qnincey) 
the hairs with a microscope, we find tliat 
they have each a round bulbous root, 
which lies pretty deep in the skin, and 
which draws thehr nourishment from the 
surrounding humours; that each hair 
consists of five or six others, wrapt up in 
% a common tegument or tube. They grow 
as the nails do, each part near the root 
thrusting forward that which is imme- 
diatdy above it, and not by any liquor 
running along the hair in tubes, as plants 
grows. For further particulars I refer 
Sie reader to Vickery and Ross. 

P. T. W. 

No. XV. 

THE QUEEn"0F the ROSE.* 

(For the Mirror.) 

There is still a part of the world where 
simple genuine virtue receives public 
honours. It is in a village of Picardy, 
where an affecting ceremony, which draws 
tears from the spectators, a solemnity, 
awful from its venerable antiquity, and 
salutary influence, has been preserved 
notwithstanding the revolutions of twelve 
centuries; there the simple lustre of the 
flowers, with which innocence is annually 
crowned, is at once the reward, the en- 
couragement, and the emblem. Here, 
indeed, ambition preys upcm the young 
heart, but it is a gentle ambition; the 
prize is a hat, decorated with roses. The 
preparations for a public decision, the 
pomp of the festival, the concourse of 
people which it assembles, their attention 
fixed upon modesty, which does itself 
honour by its blushes, the simplicity of 
the reward an emblem of those virtues 
by which it is obtained, the affectionate 
mendship of the rivals, who, in heighten- 
ing the triumph of their queen, conceal 
in the bottom of their worthy hearts, the 
timid hope of reigning in their turn : all 
these circumstances united, give a pleas- 
ing and affecting pomp to &is singular 
ceremony, which makes every heart to 
palpitate, every eye to sparkle with tears 
of true delight, and makes wisdom the 
object of passion. To be irreproachable 
' is not sufficient, there is a kind of noble- 
ness, of which proofs are required; a 
nobleness, not of rank and dignity, but of 
worth and innocence. These proofs must, 
include several generations, both on the 
father and mother's side; so that a whole 
family is crowned upon the head of one ; 

* It is upon this custom that Mr. Beasley has 
founded his new Opera of " Philandering", now 
peiforming at Drury Lane Theatre. 

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the triumph of one, is the glory of the 
whole; and the old man in grey hairs, 
who sheds the tears of sensibility on the 
lictory gained by the daughter of his 
son, plMed by her side, receives, in 
effect, the reward of sixty years, spent in 
a life of virtue. 

By this means, emulation becomes 
general, for the honour of the whole; 
every one dreads, by an indelicate action, 
to dethrone either his sister or his 
daughter. The crown of roses, promised 
to the most prudent, is expected with 
emotion, distributed with justice, and 
established goodness, rectitude, and mo- 
rality, in every family; it attaches the 
best people to the most peaceful residence. 

Example, powerful example, acts even 
at a distance ; there, the bud of worthy 
actions is unfolded ; and the traveller, in 
approaching this territory, perceives, be- 
fore he enters it, that he is not far from 
Salency. In the course of so many suc- 
cessive ages, all around them has ch^ged ; 
they alone, will hand down to their 
children, the pure inheritance they re- 
ceived .firom their fathers : an institution 
truly great, firom its simplicity : power- 
ful, under an appearance of weakness; 
such is the abnost unknown influence of 
honours ; such is the strength of that easy 
spring, by which all men may be governed : 
sow honour, and you will reap virtue. 

If we reflect upon the time the Salen- 
cians have celebrated the festival, we find 
it isthemost ancient ceremony existing. If 
we attend to its object it is, ]^rhaps, the 
only one which is dedicated to the service 
of virtue. If virtue is the most useful 
and estimable advantage to society in 
general, this establishment, by whidi it 
IS encouraged, is a public national benefit, 
and belongs to France. 

Madame De G«nlis says, according to 
a tradition, handed down from age to age. 
Saint Medard, bom at Salency, was the 
institutor of that charming festival, 
which has made virtue flourish for so 
many ages. He had himself the pleasing 
consolation of enjoving the fruit of his 
wisdom, and his family was honoured 
with the prize which he had instituted, 
for his sister obtained the crown of roses. 

This affecting, and valuable festival, 
has been hand^ down from the flfth 
century to the present day. To this rose 
is attached a purity of morals, which from 
tftne inmiemorial, has never suffered the 
slightest blemish; to this rose are at- 
taoied the happii^^, peace, and glory of 
the Salencians. 

This rose is the portion, frequently the 
only portion which virtue brings with it; 
this rose forms the amiable and pleasing 
tie of a happy maixiage. Even fortune 

is anxious to obtain it, and comes with 
respect, to receive it fh>m the hand of 
honourable indigence. A possession of 
twelve hundred years, and such splendid 
advantages, is the finest title that exists 
in the world. 

An important period for the festival 
of the rose, was when Louis XIII. sent 
the Marquis de Ctordes, the captain of 
his guards, from the castle of Varennes 
to Salency, with a blue ribbon, and a 
silver ring, to be presented firom him, to 
the queen of the rose. It is from that 
honourable epoch that a blue ribbon, 
flowing in streamers, surrounds the crown 
of roses, that a ring is fastened to it, and 
the young girls of her train, wear over 
their white robes, a blue ribbon, in the 
manner of a scarf. 

In 1766, Mr. Morfontaine settled a 
yearly income of 120 livres upon the girl 
then elected queen. This income to be 
enjoved by her during life, and, after her 
death, each succeeding girl, who should 
be crowned queen, to have one year's in- 
come on the day of her election. This 
noble generosity can only be rewarded by 
the homage of the public, and honour 
alone is the worthy recompense. 

Some davs bmre the feast of St. 
Medard^ the inhabitants assemble in 
presence of the officers of justice, where 
this worthy company deliberate upon the 
important business of making a choice; 
in doing which, they have no object in 
view but equity. They know all the 
merits that give a title to the crown; 
they are acquainted with all the domestic 
details of their peaceful village, they 
have not, and cannot have, any oUier in- 
tention, but to be just : enthusiasm and 
respect for the memory of the holy insti- 
tutor and the excellence of the mstitu- 
tion, are still in full force among them. 
They name three girls, three virtuous 
Salencians, of the most esteemed and 
respectable families. 

The nomination is inomediately carried 
to the Lord of Salency, or to the person 
appointed to represent him, who u finee 
to decide between the three girls, but 
obliged to choose one of them, whom he 
proclaims queen of the year. 

Eight days before the ceremony, the 
name of the successful candidate is 
declared in church 

When the great day of the festival 
-arrives, which is always the 8th of June, 
the Lord of Salency may d^m the honour 
of conducting the queen to be crowned. 
On that grand day, she is greater than 
all by whom she is surroimd^; and that 
greatness is of a nature which has nothing 
in common widi the usual distinctions of 

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Hie Lord of Saleney has the privilege 
of going to take virtue from her cottage, 
and lead it in triumph. Leaning upon 
his arm, or the arm of the person whom 
he has substituted in his place, the que«n 
of the Rose steps forth ftmn her dwelling, 
escorted by twelve young girls dressed 
in white, with blue scarfs, and twelve 
youths who wear the livery of the queen ; 
she is preceded by music and ^ms, 
which announce the beginning of the 
procession! She passes along the streets 
of the village, between rows of specta- 
tors, whom the festival has drawn to 
Saleney, from the distance of fbur leagues. 
The public admire and applaud her ; the 
mothers shed tears of joy ; the old men 
renew their strength to follow their be- 
loved queen, and compare her with those 
whom they have seen in their youth. 
The Salencians are proud of the merits of 
her to whom they give the crown; she is 
one of themselves, she belongs to them, 
she reigns by their choice, she reigns 
alone, and is the only object of attention. 

The queen being arrived at the church, 
the place appointed for her, is always in 
the midst of the people, the only situation 
that could do her honour, where she is, 
there is no longer any distinction of rank, 
it all vanishes in the presence of virtue. 
A pew, placed in the middle of the choir, 
in s^ht of all the people, is prepared to 
receive her: her train range themselves 
in two lines by her side, she is the only 
object of the day, all eyes remain fixed 
upon her, and her triumph continues. 

After vespers the procession begins 
agam ; the clergy lead the way, the I^rd 
of Saleney receives her hand, her train 
joins, the people follow, and line the 
streets, while some of the inhabitants, 
under arms, support the two rows, offer- 
ing their homage by the loudest acclama- 
tions, until she arrives at the chapel of 
Saint Medard, where the gates are kept 
opcai: the good Salencians do not forsake 
their queen at the instant when the re- 
ward of virtue is going to be delivered; 
it is at that moment in particular, that it 
is pleasing to see her, and honourable for 
her to be seen. 

The officiating clergyman blesses the 
hat, decorated with roses, and other 
ornaments; then turning towards the 
assembly, he pronounces a discourse on 
the subject of the festival What an 
aiiecting gravity, what an awful impres- 
sion does the language of the priest 
(who in such a moment celebrates the - 
praises of wisdom) make upon the minds 
of 'his hearers ; he holds the crown in his 
hand while virtue waits kneeling at his 
feet; all the spectators are affected, tears 
in every eye, persuasion in every heart; 

then is the moment of lasting impres- 
sions ; and at that instant he places the 
crown upon her head. 

After this begins a Te Deum^ during 
which the procession is resumed. 

The queen, with the crown upon her 
head, and attended in the same manner 
as she was when going to receive it, re-' 
turns the way she came; her triumph 
still increasing as she passes along till 
she again enters the church, and occupies 
the same place in the middle of the choir, 
till the end of the service. 

She has new homage to receive, and, 
going forth, is attended to a particular 
piece of ground, where crowned innocence 
finds expecting vassals prepared to offer 
her presents. They are simple gifts, but 
their singularity proves the antiquity of 
the custom ; a nosegay of flowers, a dart, 
two balls, &c &c 

From thence she is omducted, with the 
same pomp, and led back to her relations, 
and, in her own house, if she thinks 
proper gives a rural collection to her 
conductor and her retinue. 

This festival is of a singular kind, of 
which there is no model elsewhere. It is 
intended to encourage virtue, by be- 
stowing public honours, and for such a 
purpose they ought to be boundless. 
Where virtue reigns there is no rival ; 
and whoever wishes for distinction in her 
presence, cannot be sufficiently sensible 
of what is due to her triumph. 

The distinguishing characteristic of 
this festival is, that every part of it is 
referable to the queen, that every thing 
is eclipsed by her presence ; her splen- 
dour is direct, not reflected: her glory 
borrows nothing from distinction of 
rank; she has no need of any one to 
make her great and respectable ; in one 
word, it is the image of virtue which 
shines, and every thi^ disappears before 
her. F. R y. 


By the Hon. R, Spenoer* 

0*Ea Snsan^s brow (the fanlt was mine) 

A frown one moment's empire held ; 
The smile, which rules by right divine. 

The dark usurper soon expell'd. 
That well was pla3r*d the monarchVpart, 

E*eii in that lawless reign, I own ; 
He justly pierc*d the rebel heart, 

whose guilt has raisM him to the throne I 
Think not, by vain repentance driv'n. 

Too late for mercy I appeal ; 
Each wound that alien frown has giv'n. 

That native smile can more than heal ! 
Heav*n has so fixM their mutual pow*rt. 

That good or ill shou'd ever thrive ; 
Night cannot fade so many flow'ra 

As day returning can revive I 

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To prevent (he Smoking of a Lamp,^^ 
• Soak tiie wick in strong ^^negar, and dry 
it well before you use it ; it will then bum 
both sweet and pleasant^ and give much 
satisfaction for tne trifling trouble in pre- 
paring it. 

Excellent Method of Salting Meat.^^ 
The following Recipe may prove accept- 
able to many private families, and from 
trial can be strongly recommended. To 
three gallons of spring water, add six 
pounds of common salt, four pounds of 
bay salt, two pounds of common loaf 
sugar, and three ounces of saltpetre-^ 
bou the whole over a gentle fire, and 
whilst boiling, carefully scum it; when 
quite cold, it is fit for use. Rub the 
meat to be cured with fine salt, and put 
it to drain for a day or two, in oi^er 
to free it from the blood, then immerse 
it in the above brine in the tub, taking 
care every part is covered. Young pork 
should not remain more than three, four, 
or five days in the pickle, but hams for 
drjmg must be immersed a fortnight at 
least before they are buns up, and tongues 
the same period. Beef may remain ac- 
cording as it is to be more or less flavoured 
with Ihe salt i a little practice will soon 
prove the time every kind of meat will 
require. When the pickle has been in 
use about three months, boil it up again 
gently, and after scumming it well whilst 
boiling, add three pounds of common salt, 
three pounds of bay salt, half a pound 
of sugar, and one or two ounces of salt- 
I»etre — ^when cold it will be as good as 
first. This brine may appear expensive, 
but ultimately it will be found cheaper 
than the usual mode of salting, with the 
certainty that the meat, &c. cannot spoil, 
that the flavour will be excellent, and 
it will be juicy and tender. 

Cheap and Wholesome Beverage^-^ 
Pindar commences one of his celebrated 
Odes with an eulogium on water: and 
Hofinian, the celebrated physician, gives 
it as his opinion, that pure water is the 
fitest drink for persons of all ages and 
temperaments. Many instances of lon- 
gevity could be deduced from among 
persons whose only drink was water. 
Machinery may be applied with effect 
for the improvement of water. It is well 
known, thai it is ameliorated by pouring 
it from one vessel into another ; and the 
more it is agitated, the more it acquires 
the qualities to be desired. The common 
mode of impregnating water with fixed 
air, is troublesome and expensive ; be- 

sides, fixed air should not be taken in 
large quantities in every case ; whereas, 
the more that i^ater can be impregnated 
with atmospheric air the better. 

Preventive of AtM/.— .The cutlers in 
Sheffield, when they have given bnife or ^ 
razor blades the requisite degree of polish, 
rub them with powdered quicklime, in 
order to prevent them from tarnishing; 
and, it is said, that articles made of po- 
lished steel are dijpt in lime water, by the 
manufacturer, before they are sent into 
the retail market. 

•' 1 am but a Cfatherer and disposer of other 
men's stuflf." — fFotton, 

CLEaiCAL Wit.— The facetious W^tty 
Morrison, as he was commonly called, 
was entreating the commanding officer of 
a regiment, at Fort Greorge, to pardon a 
poor feUow sent to the halberds. The 
officer granted his petition, on condition 
that Mr. Morrison should accord with 
the first favour he asked, the favour was 
to perform the ceremony of baptism for a 
young pu^y. A merry party of gentle- 
men were invited to the christening. Mr. 
Morrison desired Major — to hold 
up the dog. '^ As I am a minister of the 
Kirk of Scotland," said Mr. Morrison, 
" I must proceed accordingly." Major 
■ said he asked no more, '' well 
then Major I begin with the usual quesi- 
tion, ^*' you acknowledge yov/rself the 
^ather of this puppg." The Major un- 
derstood the joke, and threw away the 
animaL Thus did Mr. Morrison turn 
the laugh against the ensnarer, who in- 
tended to deride a sacred ordinance. — On 
another occasion, a young officer scoffed 
at the parade of study to which Clergy- 
men assigned their right to remuneration 
for labour, and he offered to take a bet, 
he would preach half an hour upon any 
verse or section of a verse in the Old or 
New Testament. Mr. Morrison took the 
bet, and pointed out '* And the Ass 
opened his mouth, and he spoke.** The 
officer declined employing his eloquence 
on that text. Mr. Morrison won the 
wager, and silenced the scomer. 

An old German Knight in the first 
half of the seventeenth century, when 
enormous goblets were among we chief 
ornaments of the rooms and tables of the 
nobility, sat once at table next his young 
wife, in a numerous company, where the 
bottle went continually round, and a 
large goblet was to be emptied each time, 
on pain of being countenanced as a false 

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brother by the guests, who were very strict 
on this point. The wife, who had received 
a more polished education, whispered to 
her husband, when it came again, to 
empty an enormous ghiss, to pour the 
wine secretly under the table : '^ The 
others will see it, said he." His wife, 
therefore, just as he was raising his glass 
to his mouth, snuffed out the candle, and 
repeated her request. Instead of com- 
plying, he said with a kind of sublimity, 
^ Ood sees it" and emptied his goblet. 

Solution of the Riddle^ in No. 64.* 

That can never be, quoth I, 

Or I can*t make it out ; 

For if one syllable you take from five, 

There remains four, beyond a doubt. 

I thought the matter o*er again, 

And discovered for my pains. 

That if from monosyllable you take M O 

*' No syllable" lemains. 


• Similar answers have been received from at 
least a dozen Correspondents. 


Fair marble, tell, to future dajrs. 
That here two virgin sisters lie ; 

Whose life emnloy^d each tongue in praise, 
Whose deatn gave tears to every eye. 

In stature, beauty, years, and fame. 
Together as they grew, they shone ; 

So much alike, ao much the same. 
That death mistook them both for one. 



A man being drowned. 

Was ne'er again found, 

" Sure he's gone the way of all flesh," 

Then another did reply, 

" Sir, that I do deny. 

Sure he's gone the way of all fish." 


Tom hates a liar 1 thus we see. 
Two of a trade can ne'er agree. 



On a Military Officer, in a Church-Vard 
near Oxford, 
Billetted by death, 
I quartered here lay slain. 
And when the trumpet sounds, 
I'll rise and march again. 


To the Editor of the Mirror. 

Sib, — I should feel extremely oblised to 
you if you could favour me with &e di« 
rections for making the red and blue Fires 
used in conflagrations at theatres. I have 
seen them in some newspapers, but can- 
not now recollect which. 

Your obedient servant, RovER. 
Saturday, January 17, 1824. 


Thbeb is a grief that knows no end. 

A sorrow time can never quelL 
The poisonous drop remorse can blend. 

On memory's page must ever dwell. 
And each offence to those we love. 

The careless word, th* averted eye 
A never failing worm will prove. 

When in the sUenttomb they li«. 



They say, my friend, that you admire 
Yourself with all a lover's fire. 

Men who possess what they desire. 
Like you, are happy fellows ; 

But you can boast one pleasure more. 

While blest with all that you ad<»e, 
** That no one will be jealous." 


' Thore is a mistake, tho' the saying is old. 
To hear a man tell you he has a 6arf cold ; 
We must drop the saying, though lonir 

it has stood. 
For I never heard of a cold ihAtwsgcod. 


Edgar. Edric,Oculu8,ZetusKiow,and several 
other correspondents, shall have a place. 
«# ♦!!'.*'*****^*P""***"^* ^'" perceive that several 
?hV «i'.i**?S""'K*"®"* J**^** *>««« inserted in 
51* jr*®V* Number ; and it is our intention to 
hffw *>^««' «^»ce to them than we hav« 
?.«ifw.^""f* '^^'*^' *»y *^« adoption of a 

nia'wX'r " ''^'''^' ^'^^^^-^ -* »»»•>> 

-^«;5i*'*"?"*«*'**»**No8.3 and 4 have been 
w« S^i* tS*^ *5* *" ?* »»*»^» «f the engraver! 
?e%»d\5^^^^^^^^^^^^^ Obliged by the Article; 

in^*-??** attributed to the Princess Chariotte 
^\^^ *!«?*? Number, were only ado^' 
by herRoyal Highness, with a slight altSSSS^ 
from Thomson's Seasons. * aiicrauon, 

he*tn«l!lIiSr*'i.*''**v*" '^* commonications 
ne enumerates have been received and «».» 

««V».«iVl/"®^®*''®^ numerous letters, to which 
we shall give answers In our next wh^ i^S 

Ve th ank Oculns. 
1 J'*t*?'*'' 3^} P^fi9hed by J. LlMBrnn 

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Cfie Mitvox 




[Price 2d, 

porcelain CoUier m Ci;tna. 

CuiXA contains few natural curiosities, 
but those of art are stupendous. There 
is the great wall, which separating China 
firom Tartarv, extends ahout fifteen 
imndied miles, built some centuries be- 
Han Christ, and excelling any fortification 
Vol. III. F 

of the ancients. I'his wall is carried over 
mountains and vallies, and is built prin. 
cipally of brick and mortv, from twenty 
to five and twenty feet oigh, and ten oi 
twelve feet thick. 

The chain bridges are very ingeniout^ 

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aa m&y be seen by a reference to No. 3d, 
of the MirroTy where we gave an engrav- 
ing of the celebrated (£ain bric^ of 
China. The triumphal arches of China 
are not built in the Greek and Roman 
style of architecture, although they are 
superb and beautiful — ^but Sieir towers, 
the models of which are now frequent in 
Europe under the name of pagodas, are 
great ornaments to the country. 

The most celebrated of the pagodas, is 
the Porcelain Tower of Nankin, which 
is the admiration of all who, in visiting 
China, see it. This elegant and com- 
modious building, of which we give a 
correct engraving, may be regarded as a 
fine specimen of oriental pagodas. The 
tower is about two hundred feet in height, 
and derives its name ftom. its having a 
China or porcelain coating. The Portu- 
guese were the first to bestow on these 
superb edifices the title of pagodas, and 
to attribute them to devotional purposes. 
There can be little doubt, however, that 
in many instances they have been rather 
erected as public memorials or ornaments, 
like the columns of the Greeks and 

Mr. Ellis, in his journal of the em- 
bassy to China, relates that, in the 
company of three gentlemen X)f the em- 
bassy, he succeeded in passing completely 
through the uninhabited part of the city 
of Nankin, and in reaching the gateway 
visible from the Lion HUl. The object 
of the party was to have penetrated 
through the streets to the Porcelain 
Tower, apparently distant two miles. 
To this, however, the soldiers who ac- 
companied them, and who, from their 
willingness in allowing them to proceed 
thus far, were entitled to consideration, 
made so many objections, that they were 
forced to desist, and to content them- 
selves with proceeding to a temple on a 
neighbouring hill, from which they had 
a very complete view of the city. From 
this station the Porcelain tower presented 
itself as a most magnificent object 


A translation from the German^ by the 
late B. Thompson, Esq, 

The following authentic narrative will 
at least exhibit such a pointed exception 
to the rules laid down for this science by 
Lavatn, as at once to render every rule 
doubtful ; and will serve to illustrate, that 
a forbidding countenance is not always 
incompatible with virtue ;-^ 

The Duke of S** was, some years ago, 
travelling from town to his seat in the 
oountry^ accompanied by no one except 

his two out-riders. He had proceeded 
nearly twenty miles, when the road lay 
through a small wood ; and he had but 
just entered this, when the carriage was 
suddenly surrounded by six men on horse* 
back. Two of these secured one of the 
attendants, two another; the remaining 
two held pistols through the side-win- 
dows of the carriage. 

" Your pocket-book, my Lord," said 
one of the highwaymen, whose counte- 
nance was hideous. 

The Duke put his hand into His pocket, 
drew out a heavy purse, and presented it. 
" I beg pardon, my Lord," said the 
robber ; " it is your pocket-book I want." 
While uttering these words he weighed 
the purse with his lefi hand, and cocked 
the pistol with his right. 

The Duke retained his presence of 
mind, and drawing forth his pocket-book, 
gave it to the highwayman, who deli- 
berately opened it. While the fellow 
examined its contents, his Grace calmly 
examined the lineaments of his face. It 
was not possible to imagine an association 
of human features more perfectly disgust- 
ing. He took some papers from the 
Duke^s pocket-book, and then returned iU 
" A pleasant journey, my Lord!" 
called he, and putting spurs to his horse, 
galloped with his companions towards 

The Duke examined his pocket-book, 
in which, when he left town, he had 
2,500/. ; and, contrary to his expectation, 
he now found 500/. of this sum still left 
in his possession. He tcld the story to 
all his friends, and used always to add, 
" I would give, at this moment, a hun- 
dred pounds if you could only see the 
fellow ; for never did nature so com- 
pletely stamp a man for a robber. His 
very look argued predestination." 

In the course of two years his Grace 
had ceased to think of the adventure, 
when he one morning received the fol- 
lowing letter : — 

'' My Lord, — I am a poor foreign 
Jew. The Prince whose subject I was 
became a blood-sucker to his subjects in 
order that he might have the means of 
hunting the stag, and giving this animal*s 
blood to his hounds. I went to England 
with five others of my religion, hoping 
there to find the means of livelihood. 1 
fell ill at sea, and the vessel, in which I 
had taken my passage, was wrecked. A 
man, whom I had never seen before, 
sprung from the shore into the water, and 
saved my life at the risk of his own. He 
took me to his house, caused me to be 
well treated by his family, and sent for a 
surgeon. He was a woollcn-nianufac- 
turer, and had twelve cliildren alive. 1 

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recoTCred, and he Mquifed of me nothing 
more ^lan that I shoold ooca9ionally visit 
him. Some time after I observed, during 
one of my calls, that he was in a state of 
great dejection. The American war had 
broken out — he had sent eight thousand 
pounds worth of goods to Boston, and the 
merchants there would not pay. He con- 
fessed to me that in a. month a bill of 
exchange drawn by him would become 
due ; that he could not pay it ; and that 
if he did not, he was ruined. I would 
most willingly have assisted him, but it 
was outof tny power ; and reflecting that 
I owed my life to him, determined on 
sacrificing it for him. I imparted my 
wishes to the five Jews who had accom- 
panied me from the Continent, and who 
all felt a regard for me, as I for them. 
We posted ourselves on the road, by 
which your Grace was destined to pass, 
and you, of course, recollect what occurred. 
I took out of your pocket-book 2,000/., 
and in your purse I found 110/. I wrote 
a letter in an unknown name, send- 
ing the preserver of my life the 2,000/. 
wmcH he wanted, and stating that I 
should again apply for it as soon as I 
knew that he possessed so much. At 
that time I saved him ; but the Ameri- 
can troubles continued, and a week ago 
the unfortunate man died insolvent. 
During the interval that has elapsed 
since I saw your Grace, I have more than 
once had concerns in the lottery, and on 
the very day the manufacturer died, the 
wheel of fortune gave me 4,000/. 

^' Inclosed, therefore, you receive, my 
Lord, with interest, the sum of which I 
robbed you ; and you will find 1,000/. be- 
yond this, which I request you to send 
— ^ at — . Have the goodness and con- 
descension to inquire, at the same time, 
after a poor Jew, who was formerly at- 
tended, during illness, with hospitable 
attention by mat kind family. "With the 
rest of my lottery-profits I return to thb 
continent, accompanied by my five coun- 
trymen. I swear to you, my Xiord, by 
the Qod of our fathers, that not a pistol 
which we possessed was loaded when we 
attacked you. We were apprised of your 
journey ; we knew that you carried with 
you a considerable sum ; but no tempta- 
tion should have induced us to injure you. 

" Spare yourself the trouble of a fruit- 
less attempt to discover us. When this 
letter reaches you, we shall have been 
several day^ at sea. The God of our 
fathers TOeserve you !" 

The buke caused inquiries to be made 
respecting the woollen-manufacturer, as 
well as the poor Jew, and every word of 
the letter was confirmed. His Grace not 
Mily sent the unfortunate family all that 
F 2 

the letter contained, but provided for 
several members of it in other respects. 

^^ I*d give a hundred pounds,^ said 
the Duke frequently, " if any man would 
shew me the face of that ug^y Jew ; and 
I*d give a thousand if any one would 
bring me the hideous fellow himself.** 


(For the Mirror,) 

Ma. MoBiN, a French academician, hat 
amused himself with collecting several 
historical notices of this custom, a sum- 
mary of which I give for the benefit of 
those who have had, or not had, the 
honour of kissing his Majesty's hand. 

This custom is not only very ancient 
and nearly universal, but has been alike 
participated by religion and society. To 
begin with religion. From the remotest 
timea men saluted the sun, moon, and 
stars, by kissing the hand. Job assures 
us that he was never given to this super- 
stition, xxxi. 26. The same honour was 
rendered to Baal, Kings i. 18. Other 
instances might be adduced. 

We now pass to Greece, where all 
foreign superstitions were received. Lu- 
cian, after having mentioned various sorts 
of sacrifices which the rich offered the 
gods, adds, that the poor adored them by 
the simpler compliment of kissing their 
hands. This author gives an aneodote of 
Demosthenes, which shews this custom^ 
When a prisoner to the soldiers ot Anxi* 
pater, he asked to enter a temple. When 
he entered, he touched his mouth with 
his hands, which the guards took for an 
act of religion. He did it, however, more 
securely to swallow the poisoa he had 
prepared for such an occasicm. He men- 
tions other instances. 

Prom the Greeks it passed to the Ro- 
mans. Pliny places it amongst those 
ancient customs, of which they were ig- 
norant of the origin or the reascm. Per- 
sons were treated as Atheists who would 
not kiss their hands when they entered 
a temple. When Apuleius mentions 
PsychI, he says, she was so beautiful 
that they adored her as Venus in kissing 
the right hand. 

This ceremonial was associated with 
the earliest institutions of Christianity. 
It was a custom with the primeBval 
bishops to give their hands to be kissed 
by the ministers who served at the altar; 

This custom, however, as a religious 
rite, declined with Paganism. 

In socie^, M. Morin considers the 
custom of kissing hands as essential to 
its wel^Eire. It is a mute form which 

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cxpnsaes reconciliation, which entreats 
ftvonrs, or which thanks for those re- 
eelTed. It is an universal language, in- 
telligible without an interpreter, which, 
doubtless, preceded writing, and, perhaps, 
speech itsietf. 

Solomon says of the flatterers and sup- 
pliants of his time, that they ceased not 
to kiss the hands of their patrons till they 
Had obtained the favours which they soli- 
cited. In Homer we see Priam kissing 
the hands and embracine the knees of 
Achilles, while he supplicates for the 
body of Hector. 

This custom prevailed in ancient Rome ; 
but it varied. In the first ages of the 
lepublic it seems to have been only prac- 
tised by inferiors to their superiors ; equals 
gave their hands and embraced. In the 
progress of time even the soldiers refused 
to diew this mark of respect to their 
generals ; and their kissing the hand of 
Cato when he was obliged to quit them, 
was regarded as an extraordinary circum- 
stance at a period of such refinement. 
The great respect paid to the tribunes, 
consuu, and dictators, obliged individuals 
to live with them in a more distant and 
respectful manner ; and instead of em- 
bracing them as they did formerly, they 
considered themselves as fortunate if al- 
lowed to kiss their hands. Under the 
emperors, kissing hands became an essen- 
tial duty even for the great themselves ; 
inferior courtiers were obliged to be con- 
tent to adore the purple by kneeling, 
touching the robe of^ the emperor by the 
right hand, and carrying it to the mouth. 
Even this was thought too free ; and at 
length they saluted the emperor at a dis- 
tance, by kissing their hands in the same 
manner as when tliey adored their gods. 

It is superfluous to trace this custom 
in every country where it exists. ^ It is 
practised in every known country in re- 
spect to sovereigns and superiors, even 
amongst the Negroes and the inhabitants 
of the new world. Cortez found it esta- 
blished at Mexico, where more than a 
thousand lords saluted him in touching 
the earth with their hands, which they 
afterwards carri^ to their mouth. 

Thus, whether the custom of saluta- 
tion is practised by kissing the hands of 
others from respect, or in bringing one's 
own to the moudi, it is of all other cus- 
toms the most universal. Mr. Morin 
concludes that this practice is now become 
too gross ; and it is considered as a mean- 
ness to kiss the hand of those with whom 
we are in habits of intercourse ; and he 
prettily observes, that this custom would 
be entirely lost if lovers were not soli- 
flitout to preserve it in all its full power. 


(For the Mirror,) 

Palb offspring of a hundred yeart , 

Whom long expectancy endears ; 

A wish of childhood, a young thought. 

In early fancy deep inwrought : 

Fair stranger in a northern bower. 

Thou tremulous and tender flower. 

No human eye ahall e'er behold 

Thy bashful heautiet twice unfold. 

Stainless from any taint of earth. 

Thou hast thy pare elaborate birth } 

No hues but those of softest green 

Are in thine airy blossoms seen. 

From that stem bosom drawn alone. 

That spreads for thee a starlike throne* 

Then sees thy sudden growth arise. 

And point unswerving to the skies. 

Thv slender stem like flame aspires 

To'heaven, and prompts the silent pray'r 

In him whose eye uprais'd admires 

Thy beauty In the realms of air, 

Where not a flowret bursts its sheath. 

Till far above our fleetinir breath 

It drinks a purer gale, imbued 

With sacred love of solit ude. M us . 


C To the Editor of the Mirror,) 

Sir, — The story recorded of Santi, in 
No. 62, brings to mind a circumstance, 
the authenticity of which you ^may rely 

A young lady having jokingly re- 
marked to her friend how extremely ugly 
she looked, it had such an effect upon the 
mind of the poor girl, that her face natu- 
rally grew distorted. 

Another instance, as true as the above, 
is as follows : — A Gentleman meeting an 
old acquaintance, ironically said, •* Bless 

me Mr. , how very ill you look I*' 

the consequence of which was, that the 
gentleman went home, took to his bed, 
and in a day or two died. 

Did my time permit, I could relate 
many more such circumstances equally 
true; but, it is to be hoped, that the two 
most melancholy ones already related, 
may deter others from a practice so wicked, 
and so dangerous. 

A Constant Reabeb. 



Now — ^but before I proceed further let 
me bespeak the reader*s indulgence at 
least, if not his favour, towards this ever, 
lasting monosyllable, now, to which my 
betters have from time to time been so 
much indebted, and on which I shall be 
compelled to place so much dependance 

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fa thif my present undortaking. It is 
the pass-wora, the *' open sesame," that 
must lemoTe horn before me all lets and 
mpedunents — it is the chaim that will 
alternately put to silence my imagination 
vhen it may be disposed to infringe on 
iie office of my memory, and awaken my 
memory when it is inclined to sleep — in 
fact it is a monosyllable of infinite avail, 
and for which, on this, as on many other 
occasions, no substitute can be found in 
our own or any other language : and if I 
apjnroye above all other proverbs that 
which says " there*s nothing like the 
time present," it is partly because *'*' the 
time present" is but a periphrasis for 

• Now, then, the cloudy canopy of sea- 
coal smoke that hangs over London, and 
crowns her queen of capitals, floats thick 
and threefold — for fires and feastings are 
rife, and every body is either " out" or 
*' at home" every night — Now school- 
boys do not know what to do with them- 
selves till dinner-time — for the good old 
days of frost and snow, and fairs on the 
Thames, and furred proves, and skaiting 
on the canals, and sliding on the kennels, 
are gone by; and for any thing in the 
shape of winter, one might as wdl live in 
Italy at once ! — ^Now, (on the evening of 
twehfth^y) mischievous maid servants 
pin elderly people together at the windows 
of pastry-cooks* shops — ^thinking them 
**■ weeds that have no business there." — 
Now, if a frosty day or two cloes happen 
to pay us a flying visit on its way home 
to the North Pole, how the little boys 
make slides on the pathways for the Uck 
of ponds, and, it may be, trip up an 
occasional housekeeper just as he steps 
out of his own door; — ^who forthwith 
vows vengeance, in the shape of ashes, on 
all die slides in his neighbourhood — not, 
doubtless, out of vexation at his own 
mishap, and revenge against the petty 
perpetrators of it, but purely to avert the 
like iirom others! — Now Bond-street 
begins to be conscious of carriages — ^two 
or three people are occasionally seen wan- 
dering through the Western Bazaar — and 
the Soho ditto is so thronged, that Mr. 
Trotter begins to think of issuing another 
decree agamst the inroads of single gen. 
tleraen^ — Now linen-drapers b^in to 
« sell oflT' theur stock at *' fifty per cent, 
ander prune cost," and continue so doing 
all the rest of the year — every article of 
which will be found on inspection to be 
«f '^ the last new pattern," and to have 
Been ^ only had in that morning !"— 
Now oranges are eaten in the dress-drde 
of Ae great theatres, and inquiries are 
piopoanded there whether '^ that gentle- 
man in black," meaning Hamlet, *' is 

Harlequin f* And laughs aud '* La I 
Mamma*s" resound thenoe, to the remotest 
comers of the house ; and '^ the gods** 
make merry during the play, in (nrder 
that they may be at leisure to listen to 
the pantomime ! and Mr. Farley is con- 
sequently in his glory, and Mr. Grimaldi 
is a great man : as, indeed, when is he 
not ? — ^Now newspapers teem with twice- 
ten-times-told-tales of haunted houses, 
and great sea-snakes, and mermaids ; and 
a murder is worth a jew's-eye to them ; 
for '^the House does not meet for the 
dispatch of business till the third of Fe- 
bruary." And great and grievous are 
the lamentations that are heard in the 
said newspapers over the lateness of the 
London season, and its detrimental effects 
on the interests of the metropolis :" — but 
they forget to add, *'*' Erratum — for me' 
tropolis read newspapers,^* — ^No w Moore^s 
Almanack holds '^sole sovereign sway 
and mastery" among the readers of that 
class of literature ;--ibr there has not yet 
been time to nullify any of its predictions 
^-not even that which says '•^ we may 
expect some frost and snow about this 
period." — Finally — now periodical works 
put on their best attire — ^the old ones 
expressing their determination to become 
new, and the new ones to become old; 
and the New Monthly Magazine in par- 
ticular ^which is bodi new and old, and 

which realizes in its performances the 
pretensions of all the others (!)— makes a 
point of putting forth the first of some 
pleasant series of papers (ecce signtun !) 
which cannot fail to fix the wavering 
propensities of the most periodical of 
readers, and make him her own for an- 
other twelve months at least! — New 
Monthly Magazine. 


Hasten, love ! the sun hatL set. 

And the moon, through twilight gleaming. 
On the mosque's white minaret 

Now in snver light is streaming. 

All is hush'd in soft repose. 

Silence rests on field and dwelling. 
Save where the bulhul* to the rose 

A tale of love is sweetly telling. 

Stars are glittering in the sky, 
** Blest abodes of light and gladness :" 

Oh ! my life 1 that thou and I 
Might quit for them this world of sadness. 

Srfe the fire-fly in the topef 

Brightly through the darkness shining* 
As the ray which heavenly hope 

Flashes on the soul's repining. 
Then haste I bright treasure of my heart I 

Flowers around, and stars above thee. 
Alone must see us meet and part. 

Alone must witness how I love thee. 

Oriental Heralds 

• Indian Nightingale. 
+ Grove, or thick closi 

closterof trees. 

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Ah! woiddl wereiaArabv! 

For every tplendour here 1 see. 

Is far lesB lovely — far lei^ fair 

Than Nature's simplest treasores' there. 

There, 'mid the huming desert's waste. 
The chrystal fount bow sweet to taste ; 
The cooling shade of palmy tree 
How welcome in bright Araby. 

lliere the fierce sun shoots from his ray 
A blase of glory o'er the day ; 
And moon and stars at sootliing night 
Sbed beams of softer, holier light. 

But, ah I beyond e'en charms lilce these. 

An Arab maiden's beait to please. 

My love is there 1 — to him I'd flee, 

Aiid live and die in Araby. Ibid, 

C. No, the laboQif of the poow i 
theptideoftberiGh. . 

P. Virtue is a jewel of ffreai price. 

C. Not so ; for then ^e poore could 
not come by it. Lad^''9 Mag, 



Prmi, The more the merrier. 

Cross, Not so ; one hand is enough in 
a purse. 

P. Hee that rutmes fastest^ gets most 

C. Not so; for then footmen would 
get more ground dian their masters. 

P. He runnes far that never tumes, 

C. Not so; he maybreakehis necke 
in a BlaoTt course. 

P. No man can etdl againe yesterdag, 

C. Yes ; he may call till Lis heart ake, 
&o* it never come. 

P. He that goes softly^ goes safely* 

C. Not among thieves. 

P. Nothing hurts the stomach more 
than surfeiting, 

C. Yes, lacke of meat. 

P. Nothing is hard to a tvilHng mind, 

C. Yes, to get money. 

P. None so blind as they that will not 

C. Yes, they that cannot see. 

P. There is no creature so like a man 
as an ape. 

C. Yes, a woman. 

P. Nothing but is good for something, 

C. Not so; nothing is not good for 
any thing. 

r. Every thing hath an end, 

C. Not so ; a ring hath none, for it is 

P. Money is a great comfort, 

C. Not when it brings a thidT to the 

P. The world is a long journey. 

C. Not so; the simne goes it every 

Y. It is a great way to the bottom of 

C. Not so ; it is but a stone's cast 

P. A friend is best found in adversity, 

G. Not so; for then there's none to 
bt found. 

P. The pride of the rieh makes the 
hbowrs of the poor. 


Q. In words unnumbered I abound, 

In me mankind doth take delight; 
In me much learning still is foimd. 

Yet I can neither read nor write. 

Answer. It is a booke printed or 
Q, With learning daily I am conversant, 

And scan the wisdom of the wisest man ; 
With force I pierce the strongest a^gu- 

Yet know no more than it had never 

A. It is a worm that eats through the 
bookes in a learned library, 
Q. Full rich am I, jet care not who 

Doth take away nora me my wealtli ; 
Be it by fraud, I will not see, 

Nor prosecute, though 't be by stealth; 

A. It is a coffer wherein great riches 
are laid up. 
Q. Tho' I am pierced a thousand times. 

Yet in me not a hole is made ; 
I notice give when Phoebus climbs 

To drowsie mortals in their bed. 

A. It is a window penetrated by the 

Q. I'm dragg'd along thro' dirt and mire, 

O'er cragged stones and hills about ; 
And yet I neither faint nor tire. 

But rather weary those diat do't. 

A. It is a coach drawn €U)out by horses. 
Q, Five ribs I have, a breech and head. 

Four feet, and likewise a long tail : 
In smoke and fire I make my bed. 

And to do service never faU. 

A- It is a gridiron. 

There— that is quite a sufficient dose 
for one afternoon; but by the way of 
showing that we can fool it with the 
best of our country cousins, we will give 
one o£ our ovm — 

Q, Why is the Temple Church so mudb 
Hke Heaven $ 

A. Tftere none are married^ or in 
marriage given. 

The church in the Temple was founded 
in the reign of Henry II., upon the 
model of mat of the holy sepulchre at 
Jerusalem, and is extra-parochial. But 
it would be better not to put this conun- 
drum ; for perhaps some unlucky (Edipui 
might answer, because the Templabs 


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' As fancy works*— 'tis Pope that says it— ' 

Maids yield to every phantasy, 
And judginent then, when hyp betrays it. 

Leads cooler minds to think them crazy, 
'fhrough whims, most strange, these fair ones 

Whose reason fond imaginations mock : 
Bat hold I — enough that I refer 

To Pope's said Rape, vide licet , the Lock. 
Nor shall the maidens' case be press'd too hard. 

Nor they alone in ridicule be had 
By me a v«grant Muse and rambling bard ; 

For married women are almost as bad. 
That maids have fancies, trutli records. 

As ever in their noddles thronging ; 
But have not they, ' who love their lord$* 

Some foneies too ? — ^they call it ' Longing.* 

A ease in point — we've many equal. 
Bat few so pleasant in the sequel. 
The fact I know— the time is recent— 
The names I kide— I think it deqent. 

A bishop, worthiest of the stock. 

And gentle as the gentlest of his flock, 
A goodly company of friends most dear 
Invited to his hospitable cheer. 

Amid'the visitors, was one 
Who promised soon a daughter or a son ; 

Or i>oth, 'twas possible, might come ; 

For Heaven is doubly kind to some. 
For all her little wants the prelate cared. 
And nought that kindness could devise was 
spared : 

Bat still an absence she betrav'd. 
Though not expressly from Intention : 

She lent no ear to what he said. 
And lost on her was all attention. 
She bow'd — but yet her eyes would constant 

And fix themselves upon a »ilver urn. 

No dullard he — and, when she went. 

Along with her the urn was sent. 
la season due, the child was born. 
And early on the auspicious morn. 
The grateful matron 
Announced it to her generous patron. 

The time from this was not remote. 

When the grave bishop dropp'd a note. 

As thas : — ' Dear ma'am I cannot tell 

How glad I am that all is well : — 
TouVe had your longing, and 'twas my delight 

To pity and relieve your pain ; 
Now I have mine (as reasonable qaite) 

And long to have my um again V 

No. XLV. 



'TwAS in the dreary month of November, 
the night was dark — the rain, driven by 
a most tempestuous wind, beat with vio- 
lence against the window, when a strange 
noise in his chamber awoke the young 
Count Alfonso; he listened; the won* 
derful sound which he had bat indis* 
tinctly heard — the howling of the wind — 
aod the heavineM of the min bU ocm- 

spired to {ncrease his terror. At length 
a deep groan struck his ear, he rose 
cautiously and sc^tly, determining, at 
all events, to defend himself as well as he 
was able, and gr<^ped for his sword in the 
eomer ddse to his bed in which he was 
accustomed to put it, on retiring to rest, 
but — it was gone ! The horror that per- 
vaded his soul at the expectation of his 
receiving every moment the deadly blow ; 
at having no one near him to whom he 
could call for assistance — and no weapon 
with which he could miike any defence-^ 
these thoughts occupied his mind for an 
instant. He rushed towards the door, 
and stumbled over what appeared to him 
to be the body of a man, his terror was 
now at its climax, but he hastily regain, 
ed his footing, and with the rapidity of 
lightning, descended the stone staircase ; 
he fancied he heard footsteps swiftly fol- 
lowing him, and he quickened his pace, 
till he had arrived at the door of old 
6h>nzalo, who had lived many years in 
the familv, in the c^>acity of steward. 
He thundered at the door, and the old 
man within,«dananded " who was there?" 
" It is Alfonso," cried he, " for the love 
of Heaven be quick, and let me in !" 
'^ Good God ! wnat has happened to my 
dear young master ?" exchumed Gonsalo, 
quite terrified, and opening the door, 
which he was in the habit of fastening : 
in darted Alfonso, pale, and breathless, 
and hastily shutting tiie door, locked 
it again after him. " WTiat brings you 
out of your bed at this unseasonable 
hour, and what can have thus ai&ighted 
you ?" again eagerly inquired Gonzalc. 
*'^Do not ask me; do not ask me!*' 
wildlv articulated the youth, and sunk 
senseless on the floor. 

One of the Count's footmen, named 
Sancho, a resolute and enterprising young 
man, slept in the chamber contiguous to 
that of Gonzalo, and the old steward im- 
mediately called him to his assistance. 
Having placed the insensible young 
Count in a chair, he soon revived, and 
with the greatest composure, related to 
them the cause of his alarm. After a 
little deliberation, they agreed to repair 
inmiediately to Alfonso's apartment, but 
had the precaution to provide themselves 
with a pair of pistols eadi, and the 
young Count followed them in the rear. 
As they entered the room, he shuddered 
at the recollection of the horror in which 
he had quitted it. '^ There is nobody 
here ;" exclaimed Sancho, as he entered, 
^' I'll warrant it was nothing but a dream 
which on awaking, you fancied was real." 
'^ It was no such thing," quickly retunu 
ed the youth, somewhat displeased at ttes 

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They proceeded to search every place 
where it was possible any body could 
have concealed himself. ^^ They must 
have escaped,** at length exclaimed Al« 
fonso, casting his eyes round the room, 
when his sword, which he had endea- 
voured to sieze in the dark, met his 
view ; it was lying on the floor, not far 
from the bed. He took it up and ex- 
amined it; the point was tinged with 
blood but newly sned, and the ^ace near 
which it lay was dyed with the same 
crimson colour. '^ Look here, Sancho,*' 
said Alfonso ; '' you will now be con- 
vinced that I have had no dream.** It 
immediately occurred to Gonzalo that 
they might find out something by tracing 
the spots of blood ; but to their astonish- 
ment and. disappointment it was confined 
to one place. They were, therefore, not 
enabled to make any discovery of this 
mystery ; but no doubt was entertained 
in their minds that the young Count's 
swcnd had been the instrument for per- 
petrating some atrocious deed. 

The Count Tassini, father of the young 
Alfonso, at the decease of his father, who 
was then about twenty-three years of age, 
found a large fortune at his disposal, and 
being the elder brother, succeeded to the 
title. . He married a young lady, to whom 
he had, for some time, been attached. 
Her parents possessed considerable pro- 
perty, which ne inherited at their death. 
The ancient Castle of Orcani had be- 
longed to the Count's family for cen- 
turies, and had recently undergone a 
thorough repair. 

The Countess had had but two chil- 
dren, one of whom died at a very early 
age. Alfonso had already attained the 
age of fifteen, and was greatly idolized by 
his parents : he was brave, generous, and 
benevolent, and was sinceieJ^ beloved by 
all who knew him for the gentleness of 
his disposition and goodness of heart. 

About this time Francisco, a younger 
brother of the Count Tassini, returned 
from the army, having; been abroad many 
years. He was precisely the reverse of 
nis brother in every respect. The Coimt 
was all that was amiable, and felt him- 
self peculiarly happy when promoting 
the felid^ of his feUow-creatures ; whilst, 
on the otner hand, there was nothing that 
Francisco would pause to execute, how- 
ever diabolical, he might have in view. 
He took up his abode at Orcani, and in- 
timated that he should probably stay 
about a month, as he shortly intended to 
rejoin his regiment. Tassini had never 
seen him since the death of his father, 
and was ignorant ^of the real character of 
his brother. He accordingly introduced 
him to the Countess, when what was 

Franciaoo*t astanidmMm at bdioldliig 
the very same lady to whom, under an 
assumed title, he paid his addresses 
eighteen years before ! He had thai ,en. 
deavoured, by every art he could devise, 
to prepossess her in his fitvour; and at 
length applied to her fietther for his con- 
sent to their union. The old man j6» 
ferred him to his daughter, telling him, 
that if she had fixed her affections upon 
him, his concurrence to the match shcmld 
not be wanting, and that he had but one 
wish — to see his child happy. Fran- 
cisco accordingly had a private interview 
with the young lady : he urged his suit 
with all that insinuating art which is so 
natural to the Italian ; but contrary to 
his expectations, she told him that her 
heart was already engaged, and that she 
could nevei be his. This rejection ex* 
asperated him greatly, and he contrived a 
plot to carry her off" by force. One even- 
ing an opportunity presented itself, and 
she was suddenly seized and conveyed 
into a carriage in which was Francisco, 
who drove off* at a furious rate. Her 
father, however, was soon after apprised 
of the circumstance, and he summoned 
his servants to attend him ; horses were 
instantly saddled, and they hastened after 
Francisco, and at length came up with 
the carriage, which mey succeeded in 
stopping. Francisco, finding himself 
thus unexpectedly foiled, resolved to be 
revenged on the young lady's father, 
whom he espied a litde distance firom 
him : he seized a pistol and fired — ^the 
ball missed him, but unfortunately lodged 
in the breast of one of his servants, who 
fell lifeless to the ground. Francisco 
darted out of the carriage, seized his 
horse, and, aided by the darkness of the 
night, and the confusion that the rest 
were in, escaped. The young lady was 
found in a state of insensibility. Every 
endeavour was afterwards made to dis- 
cover the retreat of Francisco, and bring 
him to justice ; but he had effectually 
eluded the vigilance of Aose who went in 
quest of him. 

Tassini had for many years endea- 
voured to learn what had become c£ his 
brother; and his sudden visit to the 
castle greatly surprised him. It was for- 
tunate, however, that the Countess did 
not recognise him. 

Francisco, who had never liked his 
brother, now found that it was he who 
had been his rival : this idea haunted hig 
imagination, and the greatest hatred 
filled his bosom. He reflected that by 
the death of the Count's family all their 
proper^ (which he knew was verycon- 
siderable) would belong to him. These 
circumstances combinecL stimulated him 

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to plan the destruction of the whole fk- 
mily; but though so habituated to every 
species of villany, he could not conceive 
how it could be carried into execution 
without incurring suspicion. He at 
length fixed the day for his departure 
from the castle; the Count had tried 
every means in his power, but in vain, to 
induce him to quit the army and reside 
with them ; and he had taken leave but 
a short time before this story commences. 
Ghmzalo deemed it advisable to ac- 
quaint his master, without delay, of what 
happened; upon which the Count in- 
stantly rose, and several servants were 
summoned to attend him. He first pro- 
ceeded to Alfonso's chamber, where he 
was himself an eye-witness of what is be- 
fore related ; and afterwards went down 
stairs, when it was discovered that the 
Castle had been robbed of the plate, and 
almost every portable article of value. 
It was ascertained how the robbers had 
gained admittance — the great massive 
bolts that secured the outer door must 
have been withdrawn. This led the 
Count to suspect that somebody had been 
concealed within for the purpose of let- 
ting in his companions ; and after pick- 
ing the lock of the hall door, which was 
found open, they had thus easily gained 
access to every part of the castle. But 
the ingenuity with which they had ef- 
fected the robbery — ^their having carefully 
avoided entering the bed-chambers, or 
alarming the servants, and having ran- 
sacked every other apartment — ^were con. 
vincing proofs it could not have been done 
80 dexterously by strangers. 

The report of the robbery soon spread 
far and wide, and the friends of the 
Count hastened to the castle to give him 
their advice and assistance. Their exer- 
tions were indefatigable in scouring the 
country round about — all persons who 
«xcitea any suspicion were detained and 
examined, and large rewards were offered 
for the discoveiy of the marauders. 

Nearly a week had passed away, during 
whidi every effort had been made, but 
nothing &rther transpired, to bring the 
thieves to justice. On the sixth day 
after the robbery, a servant brought the 
Count a scrap of paper that had been found 
under the door on opening it in the 
morning, on whidi was written the fol- 
lowing: — 

*' Count Tassiki, — When we <fe- 
prived yeu of your property^ you did not 
consider that we left you your life — so be 
quiet^ or we shall soon pay you another 

Tl^e neighbourhood of Orcani had for 
some time been reported to have been 
Infested with banditti, and what tended: 

greatly to strengthen these reports, waa 
die frequent draredations that had been 
committed. Tnese circumstances, and 
more particularly the late transactions at 
the castle, threw thfe family into the 
greatest consternation, which determined 
me Count to quit it as soon as he could 
provide himself with another residence. 
He had lately heard that a villa, about 
fifteen leagues distant was to be let, and 
he made up his mind to go and see it, his 
friends promising him to remain at the 
castle with the Countess during his ab- 
sence for a few days. 

He accordingly departed one morning, 
taking with him Masetti, and three other 
servants on horseback, well prepared to 
repel any attack that might be made upon 
him. Nothing of consequence occuned 
to him on his journey, and he arrived 
safe at the place of his destination in the 
evening. The following day, he went 
to the villa, which upon inspection he 
found exactly suited him, and ^after agree- 
ing with the owner of it, he pursued his 
journey homeward, having transacted his 
business to his entire satisfaction. The 
Count fully expected to have reached the 
castle the same night, but it grew sud- 
denly dark, and fearing that he had 
missed the way, he desired one of his 
attendants to make inquiry of a person, 
whom they could but just discern, riding 
a little distance before them. The man 
informed them, that, if they continued to 
follow him, they would be right, as ho 
himself was gomg their way. But a 
storm coming on, the Count and hit 
servants were compelled to alight at a 
small cottage which they had then come 
to, and solicit a shelter. The person 
whom ihey had accosted on the road, 
likewise followed their example. The 
only inhabitants were an old man and 
his son, who set before them some bread 
and fruit, and wine, and then conducted 
their horses to an outhouse. 

Tassini, on casting his eyes towards 
the stranger, was struck with awe at his 
appearance — ^his person, which was rather 
tall, was enveloped in a long dark cloak—. 
his beard and mustaches very long and 
black — his countenance of the most 
deadly hue, which produced a striking 
contrast to his beard and dress — ^indeed, 
his whole appearance was the most terrific 
He did not enter into any conversation, 
but maintained a most gloomy silence. 
The storm still continuing unabated, the 
old man offered to accommodate the 
Count with a bed in an adjoining room, 
but he refused, saying he should depart 
by break of day. The same offer was then 
made to the stranger, who accepted of it, 
and retired. MTien they were alone. 

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Tassini could not help remarking to his 
servants Iiis suspicions of this man, and 
intimated that he did not consider it to be 
quite safe to be under the same roof with 
bun. <^ You need not, Sir,'* said Ma- 
setti, ^^ be under any apprehension, we 
are well armed, and have nothing to fear." 
This assurance of his favourite servant 
at once satisfied the Count, and he con- 
sidered himself perfectly safe. 

Near midnight the stranger sofdy 
entered the room, and finding all quiet, 
he first examined the Count, and after- 
wards his servants, who seemed to be 
asleep — he drew a dagger firom under his 
cloak, and again approaches Tassini — 
his arm was already uplifted to plunge it 
in his bosom — ^wnen Masetti seized a 
pistol and fired — ^the weapon dropped 

Sowerless from his hand, and he fell 
own apparently lifeless. 

To be concluded in our next. 


CFor the Mirror.) 

Seneca, in his Morals, justly says, 
*^ There is no state of life so miserable, 
but there are in it remissions, diversions, 
nay, and delights too; such is the be- 
nignity of nature towaids us, even in the 
severest accidents of human life. There 
were no living if adversity should hold 
on as it begins, and ke^ up the force of 
the first impression. Calamity tries vir- 
tue, as fire does gold. How many ca- 
sualties and difiiculties are there that we 
dread as insupportable mischiefs ; which 
upon farther thoughts, we find to be mer- 
cies and benefits. Sometimes a calamity 
turns to our advantage ; and great ruins 
have nuide way to great glories. It is 
only in adverse fortune, and in bad times, 
that we find great examples. Mucins 
thought himself happier with his hand 
in the flame, than if it had been kissed 
by his mistress. Fabricius took more 
pleasure in eating the roots of his own 
planting, than in all the ddicacies of 
luxury and expense. The more we 
struggle with our necessities, we draw 
the knot the harder, and the worse it is 
with us : and the more the bird flaps and 
flutters in the snare, the sooner she is 
caught : so that the best way is to sub- 
mit and be still, under this double con- 
sideration, that the proceedings of God 
are unquestionable^ and Ms decrees not 
to be resisted,** 

Some writer has observed, that ^' Ad- 
versity exasperates fools, and dejects 
•owaids } it dnws out the fiumlties of die 

wise and courageous; emlx^dens the 
timid, and puts the modest to the ne- 
eessity of trying their skill : it awes the 
opulent, and nukes the fallen industri- 
ous ! Much noay be said in favour of 
adversity : ^' ihe worst of it is, it has 
no friends."— -Shakspeare, in his '^ As 
you like it,'* says— 

*' Sweet are the nses of advertitps 
Which, like the toad, ugly and yemaaovm. 
Wears y^ a precious jewel in bis head." 

And again in the play of Henry VI. our 
great Poet says— 

" Let me embrace these sour adversities ; 
For wise men say, it is the wisest coarse.*' 

Henry VI. 

Rousseau says, '^ Reason requires us 
to support adversity with patience, and 
not increase its weight by useless com- 
plaints; not to esteem human things 
beyond their value ; nor exhaust in be- 
wailing our misfortunes, the strength 
we should exert to soften them; and, 
lastly, to recollect sometimes that it is 
impossible for man to foresee the future, 
and know himself sufliciently to judge 
whether what has happened be a blessing 
or a misfortune.** ^^ He that never was 
acquainted with adversity, has seen the 
world but on one side, and is ignorant of 
half the scenes of nature,** says Seneca. 

— . — " Thou chiefest good 1 

Bestow'd by Heaven, but seldom understood.** 
P. T. W 

CFor the Mirror.) 

I will not now recall the hour. 

When love was all to me ; 
And like the dew upon a flower, 
It rested on its chosen bower. 

In sweet security I 

We part — another's heart receives thee. 
But far less fond, less true than mine ; 
But when,that other heart deceives thee. 
Then, wilt thou think on her who leaves thee. 
Whose life^ whose heart and soul were thine 

How much I prised thy love I own. 

No other love can e'er efface it ; 
But like that dew, too roughly thrown. 
Far from its shelter, broken, gone. 

And lost I Oh, say I who can replace it ? 

Fair dreams have passed — ^my task is set. 
Careless what fate may soon await me ; 

My brightest days are clouded, yet 

My heart a prey to fond regret, 
Can never quite forget, or hate thee. 

Believe me, no— on memory's leaf. 
Are lines, the hand of Time shall spare 

And pausing, mark thy love, the chief. 

The dearest source of joy and grief. 
My heart's best treasure wasting there. 

And think of this-~had all of gloom. 
Of darkness, or despair been thine. 
E'er to the confines of the tomb, 
'Mid blU^hted hopes and wasted bloom. 
Thy rortune had been mine. 


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(For the Mirror.) 

It doth not appear to me that curiosity, 
cmr 8ex*8 foible md their only fouh, is 
altogether liable to the latter exception 
If harmlessly exercised. In truth, then, 
I among many others are on the tip-toe 
of anxiety to know who and wliat thou 
nit ; fbr be what dion wilt, ^^ thou com*st 
in such a questionable shape that I will 
vpeak to thee.*' 3Iuch do I feel disposed 
4o enrol thee among my sex ; for, lustrous 
«8 this age is in female beauty and pro- 
lific in acquirement, who dare undervalue 
those charms a Mirror even is proud of 
reflecting ? who shall presume to rniet 
otherwise, simply from the numerous 
ei^iemeials of the day (among which 
yours, thanks to its able conduct, has 
stoutly upheld the championry) being 
wmducted by the self-created lords of the 
creation? Its title— dts host of male 
contributors — its chaste and brij^nly in- 
tellectual chatacteis— all suggest the idea 
of an editress — and one, too, to whom I 
would rig^t willingly extoid die hand of 
ftliowship; but, oh, what fear doth 
blanch my cheek, lest the reverse should 
prove the fact; how would my virgin 
modesty shrink appalled at the bare idea 
of thus confidently addressing a whisker- 
andos 1 It cannot be ; the f^ of genius 
mantles over your glittering pages, deck- 
ing them with gems of hues too precious 
to be excited by other than an idolized 
goddess. All of them eager candidates 
fat '^ wreathed smiles,** eyeing each the 
other askance with gallant dmng, and 
-wielding their pens with tempered zeal 
and candour in honourable cont^tion for 
excellence ; this is at it should be. 

Our sil^t coterie of blues leave the red 
ooatt to boarding-school misses and un- 
governable hoydens, maintaining that 
** none but the wise deserve the fafar," 
and feeling assured that, as human nature 
is constituted, wisdom does not exclude 
bravery, though the latter quality is oft^ 
devoid of wisdom. Not, however, wish- 
ing to defogate from the '^ pride, pomp, 
and drcnmstance of glorious war;*' never. 
thelesB they have ueir share of mezit; 
and, conscious of the all-pervading in- 
fluence of a gay exterior even among my 
own sex, I am disposed to be more in- 
dulgent towards that foible in the butterw 
flies of the lordly race. 

How I shouM delight to glance my 
eye over the array of talent reflected in 
your Mirror ; do, dear Editress, quickly 
make your elec^oxi, that we of the forlorn 
hope may brighten in the prospect of 
•baring in the spoils. When the soul 
nddena into disappointrntnt, it beoomes 

kas fastidious ; and to soften ^ edge of 
diaafpointment oiur dub have xeaolved to 
pour in a neatly addressed fixe on the in- 
stant, provided, of course, you charitably 
lend your fostering aid, which we are not 
so imreasonable as to expect until your 
own object is attained. 

I have a solitary pleasure in idealizing 
your soul-stirring suitors ; and f<nemost 
in the phalanx I place the redoubtable 
*' P. T. W.** whose murderous pen hath 
already immolated the inofibnsive months 
of Anno 23 ; and who is, perhaps, now, 
ere their last glimmering taper hath ex- 
pired in its socket, planning new cam- 
paigns, and, like a wary general, is 
marshalling and disciplining his prolific 
brain for fresh encounters, and consequent 
triumphs of surpassing brilliance. 

In my mind*s eye he is a brisk dapper 
powdered gent., ripe lor the sickle of ma- 
trimony, and longing to be gathered to 
the harvest. If my memory fails not, be 
is a veteran in the lists, for methinks his 
prowess is abundantly herakleA already. 

Then the braw chick " Edgar,*' a 
strappan youth frae the border, strongly 
tinctured with the i^ark divine : we will 
not say he smelU o* the lamp, the phrase 
is somewhat fusty. The p^ection of art 
is its consonance with nature ; and he has 
happily attained that matured perfection 
which steals wille nille traceless to the 

« F— r— -y ;*' shall I waste a feather 
from my quiver ? the designation smells 
of " the Poultry," and eulogy might be 
•" sending coals to Newcastle," for our 
■sex have a mortal aversion to feeding each 
other's vanity. We intuitively detect 
personation, however adroitly managed; 
^nd are apt to exclaim, even of those who 
wear the breeches, '^ right woman i* faith 
after aU." 

" •j-f." A sudden awe restrains iny 
pen. One star is felt to be a host within 
itself; but when two shine in one sphere^ 
their astounding influence not merely dis- 
proves the ambitious axiom so long ad. 
mitted, but threatens utter oblivion to 
any rash mortal who should presume to 
interpose. What do I say? sure mf 
vision deceived me. Sweet Editress, par- 
don my wanderings ; I mistook the gentle 
youth. In recompense I &in would say, 
if you the prize disdain, " Give me toe 

It has become of sprightly " Tim ?'» 
Sweet little " Tobykin," a fellow of 
infinite jest! Where be his quips and 
quiddities now ? In good sooth we can't 
spare him. I dare not repeat half the 
agieeable things I hear— they'd gar hhn 
rin wud mad wi' joy, sae deariy is he 
prized by the sonsie hniies. 

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As for «* Beta," (ominous nanw,) if his 
forte really is a word and abW, we hope 
we shall be priTileged to choose for our. 
selves, for itone of us have anj relish for 
fistic operations. 

We should be delighted to glance at 
^^ Utopia's** scheme of matrimony ; to 
us spinsters new lights on the subject are 
erer acceptable. As for *' A. B. C." we 
can get him by heart at any time. 

More anon, if agreeable, from your 
zealous friend Jaket. 


(Toihe Ediiar of the Mirror.) 
Siii,^In your Sixty-fourth Number 
is a note from Peter Tomkins, in which 
he complains of a mistake made by the 
author of the Scotch Novels. The one he 
has p(Hnted out in Kenilworth, b similar 
to another which I remember having 
noticed in Ivanhoe. It occurs in that 
part where Rebecca is shut up in the 
castle of Front de Bceuf . Not having the 
novel at lumd, I cannot tell what page, 
nor repeat the words. But she is repre- 
sented in the first instance to be unable 
to secure herself against intruders, by 
there being no inner bolt to the door of 
the apartment — and in a subsequent pas- 
sage, to have secured herself by faste n i ng 
one which was attached to it. 

In Si. Ronan*s Well, are two other 
contradictions. Speaking of Lady Pene- 
lope Penfeather, the author says: ^^ The 
rank and fortune of the lady, her pre^ 
iensions to beauty^ as well as talent, 
(though the former was something faded) 
and the consequence which she arrogatea 
to herself as a wonum of fashion, drew 
lound her painters, x>oets, and philoso- 
phers, &c VoL I. p. 67—8. Again : " She 
was the daughter of an Earl, possessed a 
shewy person, vaA features which might 
be ealied handsome in youth, though now 
lather too much^onofic^« to render the 
4erm proper." Ibid. 124. Whilst he 
afterwards adds : ^^ Notwithstanding the 
depredations which time had made on a 
countenance which had never been dis^ 
Mnguished for beauty^ she (Lady P.) 
seemed desirous to Um the part of the 
beautiful daughter of Egeus.*^ VoL IL 

Mowbray thus addresses himself to 
Micklewhams *^ I got that afiected slut, 
Lady BimMs xoaii, to tell me what her 
mistress had set her mind on, and she is 
to wear a Grecian habit forsooth. — ^But 
here's the rub — ^there's only one shawl in 
Edinburgh that is worth showing off in— 
that shawl must be had for Qara.— Send 
instantly and secure it, for as Lady 

Sinks writes by to-morrow*s jiost, yout 
order can go by to-nifht's maiL*' VoL 
IL p. 117* dlara atSerwards, in a con- 
versation with her brother, says, *•*• The 
shawl had been bespdcen on her {Lady 
fenehpe*s) account, or very nesdy so— 
she showed me the tradesman's letter, 
only some agent of yours had ocmie in 
between with the ready mcmey.** VoL IL 
page 229. And again, it is stated: 
*^ He, (Mowbray) hhnself, had been the 
first to interfere with, and defeat her 
Ladyship's (Ladyship Penelope* s) de- 
signs on the garment in question.** Ibid. 

To these contradictions you have 
added the following in your abrid 

of the work. You first say. 
the same roof {the Manse) does Oaia 
also meet with her unhap]^ lover;*' 
and then you continue : ^^ We have no 
means of knowing whether she actually 
sought Tyrrel, but her nest appearance 
was alone by the side of her umortnnate 
lover (at Mrs. Margaret Bodies JJ** The 
latter is agreeable to the Novels the 
fomier is not— both csnnot be true. 


P.S. I cannot understand what P. T. 
means by concluding his note with ^' de- 
scribing any thing otherwise beautiful.** 
What beauty was there in the black or 
white eye-brows of the impostor ? 


Neab. the banks of the Wdga, on the om- 
finesof Europe and Asia, this fiur is held, 
and the miserable village, for a month, 
partakes of all the festivities of a great 
metropolis : the richest commodities are 
brought here. The following is an ac- 
count of a bargain for shawls : — The 
conclusion of a bargain for shawls alwajrs 
takes place before witnesses. Having 
been asked to attend in that capacity, I 
went to the fair with the purchaser, the 
other witnesses, and a broker, who was 
an Armenian. We stopped at an im- 
finished stone house, without a roo^ and 
were ushered into a kind of cellar; 
though it was the abode of an extremely 
rich Hindoo, it had no other furniture 
than eighty elegant packages, piled one 
upon the other against the waU. Paroeb 
of the most valuable shawls are sold, 
without the purchaser seeing any more 
than the outside of them ; he neitha un- 
folds nor exsmines them, and yet he is 
perfectly acquainted with every shawl by 
means of a descriptive catalogue, which 
the Aimeniaa broker with much di& 

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culty, proeaves from Cashmere. He and 
bis witnesses and brokers, for he some- 
times has two, all sit down : he does not, 
however, say a word ; every thing being 
managed by the brokers, who go con- 
^ually from him to the seller, whispers 
in their ears, and always take them to 
the furthest comer of the apartment. 
This negociation continues till the price 
first asked is so far reduced, that the dif- 
ference between that and the price offered 
is not too great, so that hopes may be en- 
tertained of coming to an agreement. 
The shawls are now brought, and the 
two principals begin to negociate. The 
seller displays his merchandize, and ex- 
tols it highly ; the buyer looks upon it 
with contempt, and rapidly compares the 
numbers and the marks. This being 
done, the scene becomes animated; the 
purchaser makes a direct offer, the seller 
rises as if going away, the brokers follow 
him crying aloud, and bring him back 
by force ; they contend and struggle, one 
pulls one way and one the other ; it b a 
noise, a confasion, of which it is difficult 
to form an idea. The poor Hindoo acts 
the most passive part ; he is sometimes 
even ill-treated ; when this has continued 
for some time, and they think ihej have 
persuaded him, they proceed to the third 
act, which consists in giving the haad, 
and is performed in a most grotesque 
manner. The brokers seize upon the 
seller, and endeavour, by force, to make 
him put his hand in that of the purchaser, 
who holds it open, and repeats his offer 
with a loud voice. The Hindoo defends 
himself; he makes resistance, and disen- 
gages himself, and wraps up his hand in 
^e wide sleeves of his robe, and repeats 
his first price in a lamentable voice. 
This comedy continues a considerable 
time, they separate — they make a pause 
as if to recover strength for a new con- 
test, the noise and the struggle recom. 
mence ; at last the two brokers seize the 
hand of the seller, and, notwithstanding 
all his efforts and cries, oblige him to 
lay it in the hand of the buyer. All at 
once the greatest tranquillity prevails; 
the Hindoo is ready to weep, and laments 
in a low voice that he has been in too 
great a hurry. The brokers congratulate 
the purchaser ; they sit down to proceed 
to the final ceremonies— the delivery of 
the goods. All that has passed is a 
mere comedy; it is, however, indispen- 
sable, because the Hindoo will by all 
means have the appearance of having been 
deceived and duped. If he has not been 
sufficiently pushed about and shaken — if 
he has not had his collar torn — ^if he has 
not received the full compliment of 
punches in the ribs, and knocks qu the 

head — if his right ann is not black and 
blue from being held fast to make him 
give his hand to the buyer, he rcnpents of 
his bargain to the next fair, and then it 
is very difficult to make him listen to 
any terms. In the affiur which I assisted 
as a witness, the Hindoo had demanded 
230,000rubles, and comedown to 180,000; 
and of this sum he paid two per cent, to 
the brokers. Our whole party sat down 
with crossed legs upon a handsome carpet 
spread on purpose. When we had taken 
refreshments, ihe merdiandize was de- 
livered ; and when every thing was at last 
settled, the whole company knelt down 
to pray. Kiow« 



The name of Benin Gorod, in Mull, a 
mountain with Basaltes pillars, 200 
feet in height, discovered by Mr. Raspe, 
in the year 1789, and fax superior to 
Staffii, the Giant*s Causeway, or any 
other specmien of the kind hitherto 
known, arises from a story, of a nature 
so truly tragical, that it merits to be pre- 
served. There are many traditions re- 
specting it, but the following seems to be 
the most authentic 

A powerfril chieftain, who was Lord of 
the Island of Mull many years ago, was 
no less distinguished for the extent of his 
territories, where he lived in great feudal 
magnificence, than for a ferocity of temper 
which knew no bounds, and a spirit of 
avarice which he found no means of satis- 
fying, but by grievously oppressing his 
tenants and vassals, and seizing their 
property and estates. He was particu- 
larly anxious to acquire the possessions of 
a neighbour, whose name was Gorod, on 
account of their extent and contiguity. 
But he had Ions abstained from any at. 
tempt of this kind, both as Gorod, 
though above fifty years of age, had re- 
mained unmarrieo, and, failing of him 
and his heirs, the estate reverted to the 
chieftain, and because his only son, who 
was reared according to the custom of 
those times, in the family of a vassal, 
was in his custody. Gorod, however, 
contrarv to the expectation of every one, 
married a young lady of great beauty and 
accomplishments, whom he had acci* 
dentally met with in one of the neigh- 
bouring islands; and the chieftain had 
reason to apprehend that the expectations 
with which he had flattered himself of 
getting his vassal's estate by a failure of 
his posterity, would be frustrated. 

Impelled by lust and disappointment^ 

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heretohed to deilaroy the hopes imd hut- 
pinen of Oorod, by sedueing hit wife, 
which he with difficulty exacted, and at 
last canned her in triumph to his castle. 
Cknod concealed his rage whilst he in- 
wardly vowed vengeance: and having 
contrived in the course of a great hunting 
party, at which the chieftain and his son, 
Gorod and the lady, and all the principal 
pec^le of the island assisted, to bring the 
whole company to the summit of a lofbr 
mountain, he seized the youth, and, 
standing on the bdnk of a frightful pre- 
cipice, lie exd^med, '* This instant I 
]^niige mysdf and this boy down the 
cUff, unless that infamous woman is pnt 
to death by the. banda of her seducer/* 
The chieftain trembling for the safety of 
the only support of his family, and en- 
ooujeaged /by Uie persuasions of his un- 
happy mistress, who presented her breast 
to receive the stroke, reluctantly obeyed. 
• Gorod then cried out " I am revenged ! 
but that tyrant must be punished." Then 
springing from the mountain with the 
luihappy youth in his arms, they were 
^most instantly dashed in pieces. The 
place has ever since been known by the 
name of Benin Gorod, or the Hill of 
Gorod : and the prospect from its summit, 
particularly when the spectator revolves 
in idea the scene that was there exhibited, 
excites a degree of horror which it is im- 
possible to descrsbe. 
Aflhighted mem'ry shrinks e'en now to tell 
The scene that once on Gorod-Hill befell 
B'en fiend>eyed vengfeance trembles at the 

And shuns the havoc that destruction wrought : 
To " Auld lang Syne," commits the blood-stain'd 

And shadd'rhig, dares not in the tale proceed. 


EUnbeth, hops were fetohed fitom the 
lowcountries* Potatoes were first brought 
to England by Sir Walter Raleigh ; and 
clover grass was first introduced in this 
country from Flanders, in 1645. Some 
fig-trees, planted by Cardinal Pole, at 
Lambeth, in the reign of Henry VIII., 
jure said yet to be in existence ; as »re the 
&it mulberry-trees at Sion-house. 



Ghsraies were fi^ brought over from 
Flwiders, in the reign of Henry VIII., 
by the King's fhiiterer, and planted in 
Kent, whence they had the name of 
Kentish cherries. Our Kentish pippins 
bear the same date. Lord Cromwell 
introduced the Perdrigon plumb in the 
reign of Henry VII. ; and M^'olfe, that 
King's gardener, first brought in apri- 
cots. Artichokes came in at the same 
tune, but they were in no plenty till the 
reign of Queen Mary. The Levant tra- 
ders brought in currants from Zante, in 
the time of Henry VIII. : and tulip roots 
first came firom Vienna, in 1578. The 
hop, whidi is now thought so much of, 
was, under the reign of Henry VI., peti- 
tioned against in parliament, as " a 
wicked weed I'» As Ute as thereign of 

The morals of Gksneva during the last 
half of the eighteenth century, were not 
by any means unobjeietionable, although 
purer than in most other parts of Europe; 
luxury and idleness exerting their usual 
influence, the universal relaxation liad 
gained ground, but the French revolution 
coming towards the latter end of this 
wicked age, swept away together vices 
and virtues, property and life. Half a 
century will be necessary to rebuild 
Genevan fortunes ; adversity, in tlie mean- 
time, and serious cares have restored the 
national character, not assuredly to Cal- 
vanistical austerity, but to simplicity, 
solidity, and a preference of domestic 
enjojrments over all others. I have oc- 
casionally heard music executed with that 
facility which marks great practice; 
drawing is very generally cultivated, and 
you meet with these accomplishments in 
families, where from all circumstances 
you might wonder there should be found 
time to acquire them. This is explained 
when you remark how few women above 
the lower ranks are seen about the streets 
or any where but at home, except a few 
hours at night; there arc no morning 
visits at all. 

Mr. de Candole, professor of botany at 
Geneva, but whose reputation is Eu- 
ropean, made use, in a course of lectures, 
of a very valuable collection of American 
plants, entrusted to him by a celebrated 
Spanish botanist, Mr, Slosino, who 
having occasion for this collection sooner 
tilian was expected, sent for it back again. 
Mr. de Candole having communicated 
the circumstance to his audience, with 
the expression of his regrets, some ladies 
who attended the lectures offered to copy, 
with the aid of their friends, the whole 
collection in a week, and the task was 
actually performed. The drawings, 860 
in number, and filling 13 folio volumes, 
were executed by 114 female artists ; one 
indeed of the laaies alone did. 40 of them. 
— In most cases the princip^ parts only 
of each plant are coloured, the rest only 
traced with accuracy ; the execution in 
general very good, and in some instances 
quite masterly. There is not perhaps 
another town of 23,000 souls where such 

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a number of female ardits, the greater 
part of course amateurs, could be found. 
Notwithstanding the wide dispersion of 
the drawings, there were not any lost, and 
one of them having been accidentally 
dropt in the street, and picked up by a 
girl not ten years old, was returned to Mr. 
de Candole, copied by the child, and is no 
disparagement to the collection. On 
another occasion, several drawings were 
carried to a wrong house, but there, too, 
they found artists able and wUling to do 
their part. This taste for the arts, and 
for knowledge in general, is universaL 


The King was not a great reader, but 
what he read he remembered tenaciously. 
In his historic recollections he shewed 
himself always particularly prompt and 
accurate. A curious proof of this is extant 
in the fine copy of the second folio edition 
of Shakspeare^s Works, which is in the 
Royal library, and which originally be- 
longed to Charles I. The book was 
purchased by Dr. Askew, at Dr. Mead^s 
sale, for two guineas and a half, and at 
the death of Dr. Mead, Mr. Steevens be- 
came the purchaser of it, for five pounds 
ten shillings. In a leaf of this book, 
Charles I. had written with his own hand, 
*' DUM spiao SPERO, C. R." And Sir 
Henry Herbert, to whom the King pre- 
sented it the night before his execution, 
has also written, ^^ Ex dmio Serenissimo 
Regis Car. Servo suo humiliss, T. Her- 
bert." — Mr. Steevens has added, " Sir 
Thomas Herbert was Master of the 
Revels to King Charles I." The book 
being subsequently purchased for the 
King*8 library at eighteen guineas, his 
Majesty, on inspecting it, immediately 
observed, that there was an error in this 
last noteof Mr. Steevens, and taking a pen, 
he wrote beneadi it these words, — " This 
is a mistake, he (Sir Thomas Herbert) 
having been Groom of the Bed Chamber 
to King Charles I., but Sir JT&nr^ Herbert 
was IVhister of the Revels." 

**I am bat a Gatherer and disposer of otber 
men's ^infS.—fyootton. 


To the Editor of the Mirror. 
Mr. Edit o A, — The uncommonly tall 
gentleman so wdU known about the Inns 
of Court and the Metropolis, as having 
the body of a giant and the voice of a 
diild, was one day walking through a 
£ur held in one of the Ridings of York- 

shire, when an outsywu laiicd, that 
the giant (a remarkably tall man then 
exhibiting there) was making off— the 
rabble pursued, and maigri lui brought 
back the supposed run away giant — the 
equivoque was then discovered, and it was 
found, the brother giant was safe in his 
fairy castle, to the no small entertainment 
of those present. 

The same individual to whom I have 
alluded (it is supposed after a bacchana- 
lian revel) was seen with great noncfto- 
lance^ lighting his expiring segar at a 
lamp in 3ie street, and ne had taken off 
the lid for that purpose, which, when he 
had stolen, I may say, the sacred fire; 
this modem Prometheus quietly rq^laced. 

Light Heads. — Two Gentlemen hap- 
pening to be at a public entertainment, 
a third and mutual acquaintance was 
observed to come in wearing a white hat, 
the one remarked to the other, that Mr. 

, had on his white topper — Oh ! 

said his friend, *' T is light headed 

this evening. 

A YOUNG lady at the dancing academy 

of Mr. B , not a hundred miles 

from Comhill, sitting down and placing 
her head on her hand near the candle^ 
he called out. Miss, pray move, or you 
will be light headed in a minute. 

It is with narrow souled people as with 
narrow necked bottles, the less they have 
in them, the more noise they make in 
pouring it out. 

When men grow virtuous in their old 
age, it is only making a sacrifice to God 
of the DeviPs leavings. 

A student being asked for a definition 
of the three cardinal virtues. Faith, Hi^pe^ 
and Charity, replied as follows :— 

Quid est Fides ? Quod non Vides. 
Quid est Spes ? Vana res. 

Quid est Cnaritas ? Magna raritas. 

We may laugh at a country man saying 
" Meestur" for " Master," but he is more 
correct in the pronunciation according to 
the derivation than many may imagine. 
It is a great word, Mrfswg — peritus, cow 
suitor — Theme Mi? 5op cura. 


Hal says he's poor in hopes, you'll say 

he's not, 
But take his word for't, Hal's not worth 

a groat. ft 

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It blow a hard storm, and in utmoet 

The sailors all hurried to get absolution, 

Which done, and the weight of the sin 
they confess^, 

Transfer! *d, as they thought, from them- 
selves to the priest ; 

To lighten the ship, and conclude the 

They tossed the old parson souse into the 


On teeing a young Lady writing verses 
mdi a hole in her Stocking, 

To see a lady of such grace. 

With so much sense, and such a fa/ccy 

So slatterly is shocking ! 
O ! if you would with Venus vie. 
Your pen and poetry lay by, 

And learn to mend your stocking. 


Thk motto de mortuis nil nisi bonum is 
generally most religiously adhered to in 
tomb-stone records: this however, does 
not appear to have been the case in the 
following :— . 


In Horsley Down Churohin Cumberland, 

Here lie the bodies 

of Thomas Bond, and Mary his wife. 

S&e was temperate, chaste, and charitable ; 


she wib proud, peevish, and passionate. 

She was an affectionate wife, and a tender 



her husband and child, whom she loved, 
seldom saw her countenance without a 

disgusting frown, 
whilst she received visitors, whom she des- 
pised, with an endearing smile. 
Her behaviour was discreet towards 
strangers ; 


imprudent in her family. 

Abroad, her conduct was influenced by 

good breeding ; 


at home, by dl-temper. 

She was a professed enemy to flattery. 

And was seldom known to praise or 



the talents in which she principally 
were difierence of opinion and discover- 
ing flaws and imperfections. 

i^e was an admirable economist, 

and, without prodigality, 

dispensed plenty to every person in her 



would sacrifice their eyes to a farthing 


She sometimes made her husband happy, 

with her good qualities ; 


much more firequently miserable — ^with 

her many failings ; 
insomuch, that in thirty years cohabita- 
tion, he often lamented, 
that, maugre all her virtues, 
he had not, in the whole, enjoyed two 
jean oi matrimonial ccnnfort. 


finding she had lost the affections of her 

husband, at well as the regard of her 


family disputes having been divulged by 


she died of vexation, July 20, 1768, 

aged 48 years. 

Her worQ-out husband survived her four 

months and two days, 

and departed this life, Nov. 28, 17G8, 

in the 54th year of his age. 

William Brad, brother to the deceased. 

erected this stone, 

at a weekly monitor to the surviving 

wives of this parish, 

that they may avoid the infamy 

of having their memories handed down to 


with a patch-work character. 


Cries Sylvia to a reverend Dean, 

" Wnat reason can be giv'n. 
Since marriage is a holy thing. 

That there are none in heaven ?" 
" There are no women" he replied. 

She quick returned the jest, 
** Women there are, but I'm afraid. 

They cannot find a priest." 


The Stage, a brief Oration. The Origin and 
History of Printing. C. D. An Amateur 
Musical Party. Clavis. and an Old Subscriber, 
in our next. 

Leisure Hours, No. ill. promised insertion in 
our present number, shall appear next week. 

Sam Felix, In reply to a letter in the Mirror, 
observes, that " if the Printer of the Almanack 
has made the 22d day of December the shortest 
day, he has committed an error." 

We have great doubts of Tom Peppen's jilaii. 

A Constant Reader will find " How d'ye do** 
and •' Good bye," in No. 26 of the Mirror 

Printed and Published by J. LIMB/RD, 
143, Strand, (near Somertet House,) and $old 
by allJVewsmen and Booksellers. 

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%^t Mitvot 



[Pbicb 2<^. 

€t)e Gatt)eDra( of aiufiQerp. 

Of all the cities of the Netherlands, 
Antwerp is the most celebrated fox its 
dmrches, and, independent of the cathe- 
dral, of which we present a very fine view, 
tfiere are the Jesuits* chuvph, a magnifi. 
eent building, and the chapel of the Vir. 
gin, of striking grandeur. The cathedral 
» a most noble pile, with one of the finest 
steeples in the world. So struck was 
the jSmperor Charles V. with the beauty 
of this stately edifice when he made his 
entry into Antwerp, that he said it ought 
to be put in a case, and exhibited only 
•Doe a year as a rarity. 

The cathedral is a beautiful ipedmen 

Vol. Iff. G 

of Gothic architecture. It is five hundred 
feet in kn^, and in breadth two hun- 
died and forty feet It is three hundred 
and sixty feet high, and is supported by 
not less than one nundred and twenty-five 
pillars. The exact date of its erection is 
not known ; but it is generally considered 
to have been built in the thirteenth cen- 
tury. The choir was built in the year 
1 52 1 . This superb structure was reduced 
to ashes, the tower and choir excepted, in 
the year 1533 ; but the year after it was 
rebuilt in that style of beauty and gran- 
deur in which it now appears. 

The tower of Antwerp C'Etliedral Is 

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oeneially admired m a vork of singular 
delicacy. It is 465 feet high to the top 
of the cross, which is fifteen feet in 
height It was begun in the year 1422, 
under the care and inspection of John 
Amelius, a celebrated architect ; but was 
not finished until the year 1518. Per- 
sons may ascend 400 feet high by a stair- 
case, consisting of a flight of 622 stone 
steps. There are two sun-dials attached 
to the cathedral, both of which are 94 feet ' 
in circumference. The chimes, or mu- 
sical clock, which plays eight tunes in 
every hour, consists of nearly sixty bells. 
The largest bell weighs 16,000 lbs. 

The cathedral is adorned with several 
paintings by Rubens and Quintin Matsey, 
the blacksmith, whom love converted into 
a painter. He is interred at the entry of 
the cathedral, where his monument is 
placed, with an inscription stating that 
all. conquering love had made an Apelles 
of a blacksmith. 

IN ear this monument there is a pump, 
ine iron work of which was wrought by 
Metsey to prove his ingenuity in his 
original profession. It was executed by 
the hammer alone, as was usual with 
Metsev* who never used a file in polishing 
any work. 

No. IIL 

I'oscimur, si quid vacai sub umbra 
Lusimus tecum, quod et hunc in annum 
Vivat et plures. Hor. 

Among the various fruits of my " lei- 
sure hours,** with which, as already nar- 
fated, I have endeavoured to beguile that 
kBBdium vita, which all of us more or less 
'eel, I ought to include a choice collection 
of anagrams, both ancient and modem, 
that have, at sundry times, found their 
wcy into my treasury of " good things." 
NtTw I am well aware, that, in thismostphi- 
lo6ophical of all philosophical ages, I am 
exposing myself to no small risk of being 
written down an ass for coming forward, 
as I mean manfully to do, in defence of 
the exploded science of anagrammatism. 
Not, although I possessed all the learn- 
ing of Camden, who wrote a profound 
treatise on this most delectable art, — ^not, 
although I were animated by all the ge- 
nius of that celebrated Frenchman, yclept 
Thomas Billon, who published a series 
of prophecies in an anagrammatical guise,* 
—not, in fine, although I were as deeply 

• He lived in the beginning of the l/tb oen- 
«flr A furtlMr notiee of him will occur in the 

versed in this m3r8tical tcienoe as all the 
Jewish cabalists put together, could I 
hope to induce the present perverse gene, 
ration to adopt one iota of my preelec- 
tions in its favour. Fully and sorrowfully 
impressed as I am with this disheartening 
conviction, I shall yet, coHie que coUtej 
fearlessly devote this paper to a brief 
illustration, as well as historical review, 
of the art of which I have been speaking. 

^^ Anagranmiatism, or Metagranmuu 
tism," (which, by the way, is the more 
accurate term,*) is defined by Camden, 
in the treatise above noticed, to be " the 
dissolution of a name, truly written, into 
its letters as its elements, and a new con- 
nexion of it by transposition, without 
addition, subtraction, or change of any 
letter, into different words, making some 
perfect sense applyable to the person 
named." And this, the same laborious 
author farther informs us, " is the only 
quintessence that hitherto the alchymy of 
wit could draw out of names." He men 
proceeds to remark, that the ^' precise in 
this practice" strictly adhere to thf rules 
of the definition he has laid down, witn 
the exception only of omitting or retauw 
ing the letter h according to their conve- 
nience, ^*- for that it cannot challenge the 
right of a letter." But the " licentiats," 
on the other hand, he continues, *^ think 
it no injury to use E for je, v for w, s for 
z, and c for k, and contrariwise." We 
are, therefore, to infer from all this, that 
a genuine anagram, of the true legitimate 
breed, must, accordiing to the strictness ot 
the art, be confined to the letters com- 
posing the original word, but that, by a 
licence resembling that of the poets, a 
change of certain letters into others of an 
analogous nature may occasionally be 
made at the discretion of the anagram- 

As far as a science may be reconmiended 
by the antiquity of its origin, anagram- 
matism has every thing in its favour, 
since there is ground for assuming, that 
it may be traced to the time of the great 
Jewish lawgiver himself, whose mystica. 
traditions, called Cabala, conmiunicated 
by him to the chosen seventy, are thought 
by some to have been neidier more nor lesa 
than so many anagrams. At least it is 
certain, that, i<mong the various species 
of cabalistical li^re, in. which the Jews de- 
lighted, the one called themura was 
precisely syhoQjmou^ with what we un<. 

• Anagrammatism (compounded of cva anA 
ypafifxa) means, literally, the art of writing 
backwards, in which sense Amor it an anagram 
of Roma, and evil of live; but metagramma- 
tism (formed of y^era and ypofjifta) implies a 
transposition of letters, which has become the 
popular sense of anagrammatism. For this 
reason i prefer adopting the received tem. 

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derstand by anagrammatism ; and hence 
the ancient cabalists were of opmion, that 
there was not a word in the whole Mosaic 
law which did not contain some hidden 
mystery, that might, by this means, be 
disclosed. Upon this principle they dis- 
covered the Hebrew word for " grace" in 
llie name of Noah, the words ^^ he shall 
receive" in that of Messiah, and, in the 
name of the Virgin Mary, ^e anagram, 
matical appellation, *' our holy mistress." 

After the Jews, the Greeks appear to 
have been the earliest cultivators of this 
mystical learning. Lycophron, the x>oet, 
author of" Cassandra," who wrote about 
three centuries before our era, has trans- 
mitted to us .two specimens of his skill in 
the art. These are ani^ams of Ptolemy 
I^liladelphus and his wife Arsinoe, 
wnich, written in Greek, are as follows : 
— UroKefiatos — ^Airo /ie\iro;. Made of 
honey — Afxnyori — Epos lov, Juno's violet. 
Lycophron, as we leam fiK)m Eustathius, 
was succeeded by several others, who, to 
borrow the quaint language of Camden, 
*"*• disported themselves" in this mystical 
science. Of the anagrams, preserved by 
Eustathius as the production of these 
worthies, Apm;, virtue, transposed into 
E/wmj, lovely, and l\apos, merry, into 
Aiopos, warm, may be cited as favourable 

The next people, in order of time, as 
far as my discoveries go, that have evinced 
any passionate attachment to this ancient 
art, are the French, who, in the sixteenth 
century, about the time of Francis L, 
*' began," as Camden tells us, " to distil 
their wits herein." Numerous examples 
of their proficiency in this way have de- 
scended to us, of whidi I shall only, at 
present, transcribe the following. It is 
an anagram of the name of the monarch 
I have just mentioned, which may be 
thus transposed — Francois de Vaioys — 
*' De facon suis royai,"** So attadied, 
indeed, oo the French appear formerly to 
have been to this science, that Thomas 
Billon, a Provencal, of whom honourable 
mention has alreaidy been made, was re- 
tained at court by Louis XIII. as a sort 
of *' Anagrammatist Laureate," with a 
pension of 1,200 livres. In this enviable 
capacity he seems to have composed his 
" Anagrammatical Prophecies," to which 
I have already alluded, and which there 
can be little doubt supplied the hint for 
that sublime " Vision," with which we 
have been favoured by a laureate of these 
days. Indeed, I would even go so far as 
to surmise, that, as the "Vision" in 
question is allowed, on all hands, not to 
be poetry, it may prove at last, for any 
thing that appears to the contrary, to be 
oeit&r more nor less than an ingenious 

c(»npilati(m of anagnma, most happily 
concealed under the guise of a poem. 

About two centuries ago the occult art 
under consideration seems to have grown 
into some favour with the Italians, as I 
find that a certain prelate, the Bishop of 
6hrassa, lio doubt a man of great learning, 
was eminently skilled in H ; and it was 
afterwards held in high estunation among 
the literati of Italy generally. The Ger- 
mans, too, as we leam from that erudite 
author, Martinus Lipenius, were wonder- 
fully distinguished, about the same pe- 
riod, by their proficiency in the dissection 
of names. He enumerates about thirty 
German authors who, in the 16th and 
17th centuries, immortalized themselves 
by their dissertations on anagrammatism.* 

In this country, also, we gather fiK)m 
Camden, the art began to flourish during 
the reign of Elizabeth ; and he tells us, 
he ^^ knew some who had bestowed some 
idle hours herein with good success, albeit 
our English names, running rough with 
dragged consonants^" (a fine instance, I 
may observe en passant^ of the onoma~ 
topeia^) " are not so smooth and easy for 
transposition as the French and Italian." 
Accordin^y, Camden furnishes us but 
with one English anagram, which is the 
following on Charles I. Charles James 
Sieuart, " Clahns Arthur's Scat" He 
has left us, however, a great variety in 
Latin, which, according to the taste of 
the age, was the language then most in 
repute with men of learning. From these 
I shall make selections hereafter : at pre- 
sent I shall merely add, that among the 
English anagrammatists noticed by Cam- 
den, he himself shines pre-eminent ; and 
he adverts, with a becoming modesty, to 
his own qualifications in this respect. 

I cannot close my subject wjmout no- 
ticing the definition whidi our great lexi- 
cographer fastidiously gives of an ana- 
gram, which he describes to be (horresco 
referens !) ** a conceit arising nrom the 
letters of a name transposed;" and all 
this, too, without havmg the fear of 
Horace before his eyes, ror that writer 
expressly asserts, 

Dixeris e^egi^ notum si rallida Terbtun 
Reddident junctura novum — 

which, in defiance of all critics and com. 
mentators, I hold to be a decided testi- 
mony to the excellence of the sublime art 
I have here ventured to vindicate. 

• See the « Bibllotheca Realis Philosophica" 
of Lipenius, published at Franlcfort on the 
Maine in 1682. He enumerates 35 treatises on 
anagrammatical subjects, all, but about live, I 
believe, written by Germans. Among the live 
alluded to is a collection of Anagrams and Chro- 
nogiams, published in London, 1613, by one J. 
Cheekeian Englishman. 


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80 mnca st piesent for anagrammatisin. 
J shall resume the subject in my next 
paper. Otiosus. 



(Fw th$ Mirror.) 
Albeit my mind doth not like to be 
disquieted in its musings upon meaner 
things than the high subject of the voca- 
tion with which a Christian man is called ; 
yet it appeareth unto me, that there is a 
propriety in descending occasionally, and 
adverting for a little season to other 
themes. Indeed the mind hath its moods ; 
and there is a relief to be experienced by 
diverting the current thereof where good 
'» likely to be educed. 

In mine early days, among the glens 
and mountains of my beloved native 
Und, have I never heard the Theatre de- 
nominated other than a most puissant 
not-house for the rearmg of agents to 
spread more far and widely the ^gdom 
of desolation, the dominions of the Prince 
of the Power of Darkness. I have seen 
comparative happiness, and innocency, 
and peace, where it was only known as a 
*ax off pestilence, only conversed of as a 
contagion. And now that I have travelled 
10 this more southern land, and inter- 
mingled with its massive population, and 
seen and heard a little of what is called 
civilixed life^ mine opinion thereupon 
hath not in any wise dianged. This is, 
in verity, a theatre-loving people ; and it 
is written as with a sun-beam, that the 
way in which it seemeth good unto them 
to go, is that which leadeth unto per- 
dition. How, I ask, can it be other- 
wise ? Are not these houses of abomi- 
nation among the most formidable barriers 
upraised to thwart the progress of the 
Chospel light, which the holy and good 
"Vien who do honour to the country are 
ver and anon essaying to pour in upon 
the misguided people ? Merciful Heaven ! 
what booteth it (humanly speaking) to 
lift up the banner of righteousness^ whec 
9uch an enemy cometh in like a flood ? 

I repeat it, these Theatres are a crying 
and a fearful evil. Look at the charac^ 
ters of those who are so skiltiil often in 
playing the part of mimics and mounte- 
banks to draw the artificial tear, or cheat 
the heart into a momentary credence of 
Its merriment. How would their Uvea 
look if exposed to the broad day-light of 
unbiassed public opinion? their hBartt^ 
if dissected and laid open, with their every 
passion and principle, to the clear and 
enlightened mind's eye ? Sliame would 
brand its indelible st\gma upon their 

cheeks, and despvr corrode their hearts, 
under such an unmasking. And the8# 
are ihe men and these the women, who, 
having first filled our generous youth of 
every rank and class with admiration oi 
tfaeu talents, induce them, as a ready 
comieguenee, to tread in their fiootstepH, 
and mllow the downward path, which 
leadeth unto death eternal ! 

Far be it from me to endeavour to hold 
them up as marks for the finger of scorn 
to point at. I would not deny to many 
of them the meed of more moral wortb 
than might perchance be expected firom 
their caUing, which doth surely exposv- 
them to sore temptation ; but I love ^em. 
so well, that I would be unmindful of 
my deeply-responsible duty, did I not 
hold up to them the plain statement ot 
their danger, or refrain from uplifting the 
voice of warning unto them. I love them 
so well, these mistaken and wilful men 
and women, that have slain their thou- 
sands and their tens of thousands by theii 
most perilous example, that I would lose 
much, and hazard almost every thing, to 
save their never-dying souls, and give 
them peaceful minds and joyful hopes to 
stand them instead, when they come to 
endure the threnes and throes of a dying 

But come we now to the genera, prin- 
ciple which we do publicly and profes- 
sionally advocate. It is not for me to 
deny that there are occasionally some good 
morals inculcated — some good examples 
held forth in these exhibitions. It is not 
for me to say that the muse of Shak. 
speare, which must be remembered and 
admired while the name of Old England 
is extant in the round globe, should be 
stinted in her flight and influence ; but 1 
do say, that the theatre is the last place 
where a wise and good man will go 
himself, or take his beloved children, for 

rtterns upon which to form cJiaracter— 
do say, that all who appreciate the 
transcendent genius of our immortal 
Bard, will find themselves as much de- 
lighted and edified by perusing by their 
own fire-sides, his well known works, as 
by viewing them irepresented on the stage, 
distracted as it seemeth to me, their at- 
tention must be from what is good and 
beautiful in them, by the glare of the 
dangerous attractions which would enmesh 
all within the sphere of their influence ; 
and ths soul-sleeping whirl of licentious- 
ness, in which it is ten to one but they 
are for ever lost. And if we can go no 
further than this, as professing Chris- 
tians in our averment jtfi to the most ap- 
proved, and least objectionable of these 
things, what shall we say of the doului 
meanings, the obscene jMts» Die inkm 

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IttOTal, ineligiout tendencies, which do 
abound so fearfully in the major p^t of 
the performances euiibited to the public? 
We do not pause one moment in affirm- 
ing, that they are fraught with unmingled 
and incalculable mischief — ^they have no 
counteracting power within themselves — 
the virtues which they aflfect to inculcate 
axe genoally, we may say invariably, im. 
TOacticable in the present usual walks of 
life, and vice seemeth clothed in such 
goodly and beautiM appareU-4iath a 
loveliness so sweetly flung around her, 
that men cannot choose but think her an 
angel of light — she is tolerated and che. 
rished in the crowded theatre, and carried 
from thence into the parlour and drawing 
room, to kindle the repeated blush on the 
cheek of modesty, and doud for evermore 
the happiness, and blast the harmony of 
domestic life. O! howlcommisseratethe 
young inexperienced mind, to whom all 
this is comparatively new, and therefore 
more dangerous — how do I grieve for 
those, who habituating themselves to 
such stimulants to relieve their ennui, 
find to their peril, that the moral dis- 
tempers sure to result, are often, too 
oft^ alas ! incurably confirmed. 

Now I would make rooi and branch 
work of the matter, and cry out for abo^ 
Ution and not reform. Prove to me that 
there is a predominance of good, or that 
there is not a vast overwhelming mass of 
evil resulting from theatrical amusements 
as they are now conducted, and I will 
condede my point — ^till then, it appeareth 
dearly against all good sense and sound 
argument to affirm, that because they but 
partake of the imperfection inseparable 
from all human institutions, they should 
needs be tolerated, and dieir glarins 
drawbacks winked at. Away then with 
such things from the earth, which hath 
enough- and more than enough of sorrow 
and guilt already ; I require no legisla- 
tive enactment for their destruction — let 
every man who calls himself a follower 
of the crucified Saviour, do his duty and 
refrain from giving the countenance of 
his example to them, and the work will 
be in a &ii and hopeful train of accom. 
plishment The high prospects and glo- 
rious promises appertaining imto the 
genuine Christian are infinitdy worth the 
sacrifice, were it an hundred times greater, 
and consistency indeed demands it. Gk>, 
if you will to the battle field, and meet 
death, with your face to the foe for your 
country — her monarch — her unrivalled 
constitution — go, if you will, to the hospi- 
tal, or the private domicile of sickness 
and sufiering, where death may be well 
risked and nobly, in the glorious attempt 
to oool the parched tongue— to bathe the 

burning brow, or pour the balm of hea- 
venly consolation into the sinful man's 
spirit, who groans under the misgi\ingE 
m his awakened conscience and feeble 
faith ; but, O ! let me conjure you, to 
refrain your steps from wandering lo 
haunts where the very atmosphere Jt 
laden with poison that corrodeth the soft* 
where every tread of your feet is dowc 
the sloping pathway that leaded unto the 
spiritual, the second death. 

Tell me not of the eminent men whe 
have defended and spoken well of sudi 
spectacles — ^Where are they? I know 
them not. Do the memorials of the in- 
tellects of the olden time land them 
Hath any genuine philanthropist — any 
friend to religion and morality — ^to the 
best and most endearing interests of hu- 
manity, recommended them? There 
hath indeed been one ornament * to our 
literature, and I will say, friend of our 
Holy Faith too, who did condescend to 
employ his pen in a dramatic composition, 
and was not guiltless entirdy of the 
blood of a fellow creature ; lt>ut I envy 
not his fame, which such a fact hath so 
much tarnished, and sure I am, that the 
truly great and good can never stand up 
for such a cause. 

I have seen, I have seen, and shall 
never forget the agonized mother, as she 
detailed me ruin of her bdoved son — ^the 
sacrifice of his flattering worldly pros- 
pects — ^the frightful dereliction of duty 
and afiefetion which he exhibited towards 
her who loved him so dearly and so well 
—the madness with which he rushed into 
the very jaws of perdition, and jeoparded 
his immortal soulZ— and as the tear stream- 
ed from her eye, and the heavy sigh 
arose from her bosom, she told me that 
his destruction was dated, and most 
truly so, from the time when he began 
to assodate with players, and play-going 
people ;-|* and her spirit was riven with 
bitterness, when she contemplated the 
probability that his end might cover him. 
self and his respectable family with igno- 
miny. This is but one solitary instance 

* Addison — The story of Eustace Biidgell is 
well kDown. He took a boat at Somerset stairs, 
ordered the waterman to shoot the bridge : and 
while the boat was passing under the arch, he 
threw himself into the river, and perished im- 
mediately. Upon his bureau was found a slit 
of paper, on which were written these word& 
"What Cato did, and Addison approved, can* 
not be wrong.*' It has been said that Addisos 
did not juatify the suicide of Cato, but a writer 
on the Evidences of Christianity, cannot be ex- 
culpated for passing by, in such a manner, his* 
torical facts of this nature, and not marking 
them y^Mh his most unqualified disapproval. He 
should have done so for the sake of hit own 
character, but chieflv to prevent a possibility of 
an evil impression being eustamped on thepulK 
lie mind. t A fact. 


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smong many that could be adduced, and 
let not the cawiist aav, that such can 
only be the effect of such pernicious 
amusements on weak minds. I know 
well, they can be plausible ^ough, and 
can use with power the weapons of ridi- 
cule in sudi a question ; but I heed them 
not ; for every dogma there is a defence, 
for every work there is an ingenious 
shewing of its advantages and utility, by 
which many are entrapped ; but all this 
changeth not my deep-rooted conviction, 
for the which it hath appeared good unto 
me to state these few reasons among 
many others that could be urged, and for 
which I shall not grumble to be branded 
as an enthusiast, fenatic, or methodist, 
if so be, that I may become the humUe 
instrument 6i convincing any seflecting 
mind. Edoab. 


(For the Mirror.) 

How soar sweet music is, when time is broke aod 
No proportion kept. Bhakspbar. 

Mr. Editor, — Being very fond of 
music, and flattering myself tnat I pos* 
sessed a reasonable good ear, I ventured 
some few summers iMtck to leain the art 
of " rubbing the hairs of the horse o'er 
the bowels of the goat,** that is to say, I 
became a scraper on the violoncello, and 
by dint of an occasional hour's practice 
or so, I managed at the end of two at 
three years, to scramble through most of 
the bass accompaniments in my Sister's 
What-n^l! — It is really astonishing to 
find the /ery rapid strides musip has 
made in this country within the last 
nine years, and how much the science has 
tended to dissipate that ennui which used 
so woefully to pervade the greater part of 
our evening parties. The peace, thanks 
to the Dul^ of Wellington and his brave 
supporters, has transmogrified every 
thing as poor Tokely used to say. The 
young Ladies of the present day live not 
in the reign of harpsidiords, those old 
fashioned pen-wire-gratins instruments 
have long been laid up in we cock Joft or 
lumber-room, to give place to the addi- 
tional octave Broadwood-grands, or the 
rich toned Tomkinson-smalls, the lyre, or 
harp-lute, that '* sweet little delicate 
toned instrument** as old Light puffs* it, 
now hangs up in " Tara's Halls" to pe- 
rish, while double action Erarda, or extra- 
damper-movement pedaIled.Dizi*s charm 
with their heart-soothing tones. The 
Robin Adairs, John of Parises, and all 
those sort of gothish German grinding 

• Vidt Newspaper AdvertiMmento. 

organ tunes are nearly shamed out of oaf 
squares and streets by ^ Dsptfw Isn^lmv 
ttid Di tanH pcUpiHe of the Savoyaids. 
The drum and pine have long since re* 
treated to theaoona of ^e haip and flute, 
and the apothecary's boy has thrown 
aside his reeds, to ane the silvery tones of 
a Drouet, or the riouiess of a Nidiolson. 
Sostinentes, .£doph<mes, ApolUmicons, 
Hannonicons, and Panharraonicanspottr 
in monthly on us. The boarding sdiool 
Miss, or rather in the refined language of 
the day, I should say the pupil, no longer 
shews (^her talent with a Steibelt storm 
ccmcerto, ot a Latour imitation, such rub- 
bish has long been doomed to moulder 
beneath piles of Beethoven trios or Mozart 
sonatas. Composition, thorough-bass, 
relative majors, and minors, harmonic 
changes, six flat and five snarp ke3r8, 
Fugues k la Moschelles, in short the 
Logier system is now the rage. The 
perruquier, or cosmopholiter,* no Ion 
objects, even in these hard times, to i 
his hundred guineas for a Broadwood or 
an Eraid, or the City Mrs. Green, her 
guinea for twenty minutes vocal instruc- 
tion for her daughter. Such is the state 
of refinement and extravagance to which 
we have come — but as poor Richard 
would say, '* We may go further and 
fore worse." 

So much for a digression — now to re- 
turn to myself. I have stated then, that 
I managed to get over an accompaniment 
pretty foirly, and being i^i>le so to do, I 
looked upon myself as one fully qualified 
to enter the lists, for 

I had heard of Mozart, and I long'd 
To fiddle on my bass, his Orpheus notes. 

and it was not long ere my wish was 
gratified, for a musical friend of mine, 
having received an invitation to a emau 
amateur party at Mrs. Shewoff's, requested 
me to accompany him, assuring me how 
desirable my company and assistance 
would be^ as his fnend was a most de- 
lightful creature, particularly fond of 
music, and had charming daughters, who 
were looked upon as second St CeciHas I ! 
Now, even to a common lounger at par- 
ties, these were great inducements ; what 
must they then have been to myselF, who 
looked forward to a rich musical treat ? 
and therefore, as you may naturally con- 
dude, I was not long making up my 
mind to accede to his request I now 
began to consider that my best mode of 
making my debut would be, to do the 
thing in a professional sort of way — to 
cut a daslw-lto create attention — ^to come 
strong over the party, as Pierce Egao 
would say, I therefore dispatched pei 
• Vul*. Tailor. 

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porter, (for violoncellos are not the small- 
est Ghildren in the world,) to Mrs. 
ShewoflTs, my exquisite, rare-toned, 
Guanerius, with a large parcel of music, 
not that I could play five bars of its 
contents, but nHmporte appearance was 
my aim, and I wished to frighten the 
saints. This was doing the thing in a 
reeiilar sort of way, a la Lindley ; this 
tcSd. the family that Signior Basso was 
coming; for having been apprised that 
the party was to be a quiet friendly sort 
of meeting, I had made up my mind to 

n»retty early, and wonderful to relate, 
ept my time, for I arrived at the 
house just as the Charley was chanting 

Sast nine o*clock — quite the right time of 
ay for me, for, to my sreat joy, I found 
the overture to tea and coffee finished, 
and Miss Apollina Shewoff (the eldest 
daughter,) leading the way to the piano. 
I had scarcely got through the ceremony 
of a Don Guzman bow, ere I was sur- 
rounded. An old gentleman, whom I 
supposed to be the master of the house, 
for I never got introduced to him, came 
up to me, half inclined to be angry and 
half smiling, and just as he had got out 
the words, "Why, sir — ^you seem to have" 
— A good natured lady who stood near 
me, saved me from his reproof, by assur- 
ing him how delighted she was to find so 
fine a concert in preparation ; but still I 
was doomed to encounter more enemiei. 
^" O you naughty man, for coming so 
late,** said my friend Mrs. Chronometer. 
— " Do you call this genuine time," 
added Mr. Pedler, — and " I hope you 
have not incommoded yourself much Mr. 
Jerry,'* sarcastically li^ed one of the 
Miss Shewoff's, while three or four of 
the chil^vn endeavoured to convince me 
how much they longed to hear my child 
scream. Thus was I suffering in a comer 
<^ Uie room, without a possibility, amid 
80 many tongues, of uttering a syllable 
in my defence, until my mend, Dick 
Boldface, coming to me, relieved my 
embarrassment. Picture to yourself, Mr. 
Editor, the surprise I must have felt, 
when I found, that instead of a small 
party, I had to encounter, as generally is 
the case in professed meetings of the 
kind, a regular squeeze ! My spirits now 
began to fail me, for, to tell the truth, I 
felt such a tremor come over me, that I 
scarcely knew whether to sneak suddenly 
tut of the room and bolt, or " stand the 
Hazard of the die.'* One moment I fanded 
my face was like the setting sun, but this I 
tmmght might be the brmiant reflection 
of the rosy drapery, or the imagination 
of the brain 4uawn from the ^ect of 
colouring of a brilliant rouged lady, who 

stood beside me : — at another moment I 
Imagined myself to look like a ghost, 
non obstante my dandification. Then I 
thought of the expose^ if I should, through 
nervousness, lose my time, or overlook a 
pause ! and lastly, I cursed myself for 
my rashness, in having ventured so far 
beyond my depth, like Cardinal Wolsey; 
I wished my violoncello would crack, or 
that I might not have trvo strings to my 

As to fiddling, I knew it would be 
quite out of the question, for my fingers, 
although a very cold evening, were, to 
use a musical phrase, quite dampers, I 
took out mj nicely folded cambric, at 
least fifty tunes, under the pretence c^ 
using it ; but, in thith, it was to cool 
my fingers, which now began to exude 
at every pore. However, miding that I 
had no alternative, and that I re^y was 
wanted to take the violoncello part in the 
overture to the evening's entertainments, 
and not wishing to nuike myself more 
conspicuous than I had done, I put on an 
extra face, and walked with a very bold 
step through the crowd, which, as usual 
in music parties, was pressing as near as 
possible to the performers, to their very 
great annoyance, and the deprivation m 
the expansion of sound. 

But to crown all my disasters, in my 
endeavour to do a bit of polite to an old 
lady, who had dropped her yard-and-a- 
half-wide fan of the sixteenth century, 
in my rising to restore it to her, I hit my 
head against Snowhall, the black foot- 
man's arms, who was, at the moment, 
retiring from the room with some beau- 
tiful empty china coffee cups and saucers, 
and nearly demolished the whole of them, 
but Apollo befriended me, for not less 
true than strange to say, no material 
damage was done. 

(To be concluded nest week,) 


(For the Mirror.) 
Great scope has been given of late for 
architects, to exercise their judicious 
management in selecting ancient and 
pure examples in designing from Grecian 
models, and the Grecian doric order ha« 
evidendy been brought into considerable 
notice lately. This beautiful order which 
is to be found only in Grecian designs, 
has been executed in various buildings 
with considerable effect r the New Street 
contains, in a great measure, a jumble of 
designs, containing neither taste nor 
classic skill from selection. Many have 
been copied from the ancient Roman ex- 
amples, but ancients M well as modems, 
had fault! .which, ontidering the age 

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w«^ Mt6 in, we ought to have remedied 
altogether, or at any rate to have im- 
proved upon them. However, Suffolk, 
•tieet contains a building, which, without 
presurainff, we may say, is a complete 
study of me chasteness of Grecian archi. 
tecture. Much praise is due to Mr. Nash 
for his approval of this design, and more 
to the designers, Messrs. Taylor and 
Crecy ; it is intended as a building for 
the reception of ancient models, casts, &c. 
and students ; the ground story is occu- 
pied by a portico of the Grecian doric, 
naving coupled anUBn the proportions, 
apparently m>m the temple of Theseus, 
at Athens ; the upper story is a continu- 
ation of an anUB throughout the front ; 
in the centre is a window with a pedi- 
ment—frieze architrave, &c from the 
temple of Erectheus, at Athens, orna- 
mented with jMMieraSjM are also the anta; 
the ornaments are of terracotta^ the whole 
surmounted by a bold cornice. From 
the same builung, one thing ought not 
to pass unnoticed, that is, the trifline 
ballustiades over ihe portico, which Iook 
too much like the legs of chidrs. Such is 
a brief notice of the elevation of the front 
next Suffolk^street There is another 
front looking towards Charing Cross 
which I may notice in another article, 
OQually worthy the attentive examination 
of young studoits in this noble science. 
C. D. 



(For ihe Mirror) 

Natiye artless beauty has long been 
the peculiar distinction of my fair fellow- 
subjects. Our poets have long sung their 
genuine lilies and roses, and our painters 
nave often endeavoured, though in vain, 
to imitate them : beautiful nature mocked 
all their art, but I am now informed by 
persons of unquestioned truth and saga- 
city, and indeed I have observed but two 
many instances of it myself, that a great 
number of those inestimable originals, by 
a strange inversion of thiikgs, give the 
lie to the poets, and servile^ copy their 
painters; degrading and disguising them- 
selves into worse copies of bad copies of 
themselves. It is even whisperea about 
town of that excellent artist, Mr. Listard, 
that he lately refused a certain young 
female (near Queen's Square) to draw 
her picture, alleging, that he never 
copied any body's work but his own and 
those of nature. I have taken great 
pains to inform myself of the growth and 
extent of this heinous crime orself jpaint- 
ing, and I am sorry to say, that 1 have 
found it to be cxtiemely epidemical. 

The present stale of it, in its several de. 
grees, appear to be thus — the inferioi 
class of women, who always ape their 
betters, make use of a sort of rough cast 
little superior to the common lath and 
plaster, which comes very cheap, and can 
easily be afforded. The class immedi- 
ately above these, paint occasionally, 
either in size, oil, or tooth-powder, which 
at six-pence per foot square, comes within 
a moderate weekly allowance. The ge- 
nerality of women of fashion make use of 
a superfine stucco, or plaster of Paris 
highly glazed, which does not require a 
dn^y renewal, and will, with some slight 
occasional repairs, last as long as their 
curls, and stand a jiretty strong col- 
lision. As for the transcendant and 
divine peail powder, with an exquisite 
varnish superinduced to fix it, it is by no 
means common, but is reserved for ladies 
not only of the first nmk, but of the most 
considerable fortunes; it being so very 
costly, that few ladies' pin-money can keep 
a (syce in it, as a face of condition ought to 
be kept; perhaps the same number of 
pearls whole might be more acceptable 
to some lovers, than in powder upon the 
lady's face. I would now fain undeceive 
my fair country-women of an error, which, 
gross as it is, they too fondly entertain. 
In order to do this effectually, and save, 
as far as I am able, the native carnations— 
die ^es, teeth, breath, and the reputation 
of my beautiful fellow-subjects — ^I here 
give notice, that, if after one calendar 
month fixmithe date hereof, (I allow that 
time for the consumption of stock in hand) 
I shall receive any authentic testimonies 
(and I have my spies abroad) of the sophis- 
tication and adulteration of the frurest 
works of nature, I am resolved to publish 
at full length the names of the delinquents, 
which, I hope will be a sufficient cheek 
to those who attempt to supply themselves 
with that which nature has denied; but, 
I shall conclude this paper with a word or 
two of serious advice to all my readers of 
all sorts and sexes. Let us follow nature, 
our honest and faithful guide, and be 
upon our guard against i& flattering de- 
lusions of art. Nature may be helped 
and improved, but will not be forced or 
changed. AU attempts in direct opposi- 
tion to her, are attended with ridicule ; 
many with guilt The woman to whom 
nature has denied beauty, in vain endea- 
vours to make it by art ; as the man t« 
whom nature has denied wit, becomes 
ridiculous by the affectation c^ it: they 
bodi defeat their own purposes, and are 
in the case of a valetudinarian, who gk- 
ates or increases his distemper by reme- 
dies, and dies of his immoderate desire ta 
live. &R. 

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IPutlu 3)otttnal0« 


Now, the Christmas holidays are over, 
and all the snow in Russia could not 
make the first Monday in this month 
look any other than black in the home- 
loving eyes of little school-hop ; and the 
streets of London are once more evacuated 
of happy wondering fiices, that look any 
way but strait before them ; and sobs are 
heard and sorrowful &ces are seen to 
issue from simdry post-chaises that carry 
sixteen inside, including cakes and boxes; 
and theatres are no longer conscious of 
unconscious Eclats de rire, but the whole 
audience is like Mr. Wordsworth's cloud, 
«« which moveth altogether, if it move at 
alL" — £n revanche, — Now newspaper 
editors begin to think of disporting them- 
selves ; for the great national school for 
^ children of a burger growth'* is met in 
Saint Stephen's Chapel, «^ for the dis~ 
patch of business" and of Ume, and con- 
■equently newspapers have become a 
nonentity, and those writers who sign 
themselves ^^ constant readers" find their 
occupation gone. Now, the stones of 
Bond-street dance for joy, while they 
**> prate of the whereabout" of innume- 
xable wheels : whidi latter are so happy 
to meet again after a long absence, that 
they rush into each other's embraces — 
•« wheel withhi wheel"— and there's no 
getting them asunder. Now, the Italian 
f^era is open, and the house is full; but 
if asked on the subject, you may safely 
say that " nobody was there ;"— for the 
opera-hats that you meet with in the pit 
evidently indicate that the wearers apper- 
tain to certain counters and counting, 
houses in the city, or serve those that do — 
having " received orders" for the opera 
in the way of their business. — Now, a 
sudden thaw after a week's frost puts the 
pedestrians of Cheapside into a pretty 
« pickle. — Now, the troiUnr of Saint 
James's-stieet begins to know itself again; 
the steps of Racget's are proud of being 
inessea by rigm-honourable feet; and 
the dandies^ waieh tower is once more 
peopled with playful peers peering after 
beautiful frailties in furred pelisses. — 
Now, (m fine Sundays, the citizens and 
their wives begin to hie them to Hyde 
Park, and having attained Wellington, 
walk, fancy that there is not more than 
two pins to choose between them and 
theur betters on the other side the rail ; 
while these latter,— having come abroad 
to take the air (of the msides of their 
carnages) and kiU the time and eore the 

vapours, — ^pennit inquiaitive equettriao* 
to gaze at uem through plate-(^ass, and 
fancy, not without reason, that they look 
like flowers seen through flowing water s 
Lady O , for example, like an over- 
blown rose ; Lady H— , like a painted 

lady-pea ; the Countess of B , like a 

newly opened apple-blossom ; and her 
demure-looking little sister beside her 
like a prim-Tose, — Now, Winter being on 
the wane, and Spring only on the ap- 
proach, Fashion, for once in the year, 
begins to feel herself in a state of inter- 
regnum, and her ministers, the milliners 
andoulcrs, don't know what to think; 
Mrs. Bean shakes her head like Lord 
Burleigh, and declines to determine as to 
what may be the fate of future waists ; 
and Mr. Stultz is equally cautious of 
committing himself in the afiair of col- 
lars ; and both agree in coming to the 
same conclusion with the statesman in 
Tom Thumb— that, «' as near as they 
can guess, they cannot tell!" — Now, 
therefore, the fashionable shops are shorn 
of their beams, and none can show waret 
that are stricUy in season, except the 
stationer's. But his, which for all the 
rest of the year is dullest of the dull, is 
DOW, for the first fourteen days, gayest 
of the gay — for here the poetry of love . 
and the love of poetry are displayed 
under all possible and impossible forms 
and metapnors-— from little cupids creep- 
ing out of cabbage roses, to large over- 
grown hearts stuned with double-headed 
arrows, and uttering piteous complaints 
in verse while they fry in their own 
flames. And this brings us safe back to 
the point from which we somewhat pre- 
maturely set out ; — ^for Now, on good &unt 
Valec^fne's eve, all the rising generation 
of this metropolis who feel that they have 
reachui the age of indiscretion, think it 
full tinot for them to fall in love, or be 
fallen in love with. Accordingly, in. 
finite are the crow-quHls that move miiu 
cingly between embossed margim. 

*And thoM rhifmt now who nerer rhymeA 

And those who always rhymed now rfaymc th» 


to the utter dismay of the newly.appoint- 
ed two-penny postman the next morning; 
who curses Saint Valentine almost as 
bitterly as does in her secret heart yonder 
sulky sempstress, who has not been called 
upon for a single two-pence out of all the 
two hundred thousand * extra ones that 
have been drawn from unwilling pockets^ 
and dropped into canvass bags, on thia 

• This wai the number of letters that pused 
through the two-penny post-office on the i4th of 
February, 1831 . In addition to the usual daily 
avvrage.— Set the Official Retonu. 

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eventful day. She may take mj word for 
it that the said sulKineas, which has 
some show of reason in it to day, is in 
the habit of visiting her pretty face 
oftener than it is called for : if it were 
not so, she would not have had cause for 
it noir. 

But gpod Bishop Valentine is a plu- 
ralist, and holds another see besides that 
of Jiondon. 

" AH the air in his diocese. 

And all the chirping chorister* 

And other birds are his parishioners ; 

He marries every year 
The lyrique lark, ana the grave whispering doves 
The sparrow, that neglects his life for love ; 
The household bird with the red stomacher ; 
He makes the blackbird speed as soon 
As doth the goldfinch or the halcyon." 

Let us be off to the country without 
more ado ; — for who can stay in London 
in the face of such epithets as these— 
that seem to compel us, with their sweet 
mafic, to go in search of the sounds and 
sights that they characterise ; — ^' The 
li/ric lark !" — ^Why a modem poet might 
live for a whole season on that one epi- 
thet! — Nay, there be those that have 
lived on it for a longer time — perhaps 
without knowing that it did not belong 
to them 1 " The sparrow — iJuit neglects 
his li^e for lave r " The household 
bird, with the red stomacher!" — That 
a poet who could write in this manner, 
for pages together, should be almost en- 
tirely unknown to modem readers^ (except 
to those of a late number of the Retro- 
spective Review,) would be somewhat 
astonishing, if it were not for the con- 
sideration that he is so well known to 
modem writers ! It would be doing both 
parties justice if some one would point 
out a few of the coincidenoes that occur 
between them. In the mean time, we 
shall be doing better in looking abroad 
for ourselves mto that Nature to which 
Tie looked, and seeing what she offers 
worthy of particular observation in the 
course of this last month of Winter in the 
country, though it is the first in London. 
.Our '^ now" in regard to the latter place 
finished on Saint Valentine's Day. Let 
it here begin on that day : for die first 
half offers nothing that can expressly dis- 
tinguish it from its sister January. 

Now^ then, about Uie middle of the 
month, a strange commotion may be seen 
and heard among the winged creatures — . 
portending momentous matters. The 
lark is hish up in the cold air before day- 
light, seeking for the unrisen sun ; and 
his chosen mistress is listening to him 
down among the dank grass, with the 
dew still upon her unshaken wins. The 
bird *« with the red stomacher'^bqa lefl 

off; for a brief season, his low plaintive 
piping, ^-ndiich it must be confessed, 
was poured forth for his own exclusive 
satisraction, — and reckoning on his spruce 
looks and sparklins eyes, issues his quick 
peremptory love-cul, in a most ung^lant 
and husband-like manner. The sparrows, 
who have lately been sulking silently 
about from tree to tree, with ruffled 
plumes and drooping wings, now spruce 
themselves up till they do not look half 
their former size ; and if it were not 
pairing-time, one might fancy that there 
was more of war than of love in their 
noisy squabblings. But the crouching 
forms, quivering wings, and murmuring 
bills, of yonder pair that have quitted 
for a moment the clamorous cabal, can 
indicate the movements of but one pas- 
sion. Among the choristers, the only 
one, except the lark, who now finds 
leisure to practise his spring notes, is 
the thrush ; and he not till towards the 
end of the month — nor then unless the 
season is mild and forward. The yellow- 
hammer and the chaffinch may indeed 
occasionally be heard towards the latter 
end; but their short interrupted notes, 
pleasant as they are, can scarcely as yet 
be called singing, but rather the talking 
of it :— for 

** I shall not ask J(^an Jaques Rosseau 
If birds confabulate, or no ;" 

but shall determine at once that they do 
— at least if any dependance may be 
placed on eyes and eurs. But let us leave 
the birds to themselves now : 

•• Sacred be love from sight, whate'er it is." 
We shall have enough opportunities of 
observing all their other pretty ways 
hereafter. — New Monthly Magaxine, 


Three sightless inmates of the sky, 

Whose names were Justice — Foitune—Cupidi 
Finding their public life on high 

Somewhat monotonous and stupid. 
Besoived one morning to unite 

Tbeir powers in an Allianfc^ Holy 
And ourify the Earth, whose plight 

They all agreed was melancholy. 
Quoth Justice — Of the world below 

I doubtless have the best idea, 
Since in the Golden Age, you know 

I ruled it jointly with Astrsea ; 
While, therefore, we on earth abide. 

For fear our forces should be parted. 
Let me be your perpetual guide : — 

Agi-eed, nem. con. and o£f they started. 

Love first, and Fortune next descends. 

Then Justice, thouirh awhile she tarried. 
When Cupid cries—This fight, my friends. 

Has made my throttle somewhat arid : 
Beneath each wing, before our trip, 

I poppM a golden vase of nectar. 
And I for one should like a sip. 

What saf s vat worshipful diitetct? 

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tliepropotitkni, twatdeereed, 

Redounded to the moTer's glorr* 
So down they sate upon the mead, 

And plied the flagon con amore ; 
But not refleeting that the draught 

With air of earth was mix'd and muddled. 
Before the second vase was quafTd, 

They all became completely fuddled. 
Now reelinff, wrangling, they proceed. 

Each loudly backing his opinion. 
And *stead of letting J ustice lead, 
- All struggle fiercely for dominion : 
Whereat her sword in wrath she drawi^ 

And throws it in her scales with fury. 
Maintaining that the rightful cause 

Requires no other judge and jury. 

Fortune, purloining Cupid's darts. 

Tips them with gold for sordid suitors 
Making sad havoc id the hearts 

Of matrimonial computers ; 
While Love on fortune's wheel apace 

Plagues mortals with incessant changes^ 
Gives flying glimpses of his face. 

Then presto I pass ! — away he ranges. 

Their pranks, their squabbles day by day 

Gave censarers a better handle. 
Till Jove impatient of their stay. 

And anxious to arrest the scandaU 
Bade Fortune — Justice — Love return ; 

But to atone for their miscarriage, 
Xest men for substitutes should yearn. 

He sent them down Luck, Law, and Marriage 
New Monthly Magazine. 

No. XVL 


The Old English Yeoman. — Hbi- 
lison, in his Introduction to Bolinshed's 
History of Great Britain, gives the fol- 
lowing interesting definition of the sub-* 
stantial yeoman or farmer in Queen 
Elizabeth's days :— 

*'*' This sort of people have a certaine 
preheminence, and more estimation than 
labourers and the common sort of artifi. 
oers, and those commonlie live weahhilie, 
keepe good houses, and travell to get 
riches. They are iJso for the most part 
farmers to gentlemen, or at the least-wise 
artificers, and with grazing, frequenting 
of markets, and keeping of servants (not 
idle servants as the gentlemen doo, but 
such as get both their owne and part of 
their master's living^, do come to great 
wdth, that manie ot them are able and 
doo buie the lands of unthrifUe gentle- 
men, and oiteD. setting their sonnes to the 
9chooles, to the Universities, and to the 
Ins of the court; or otherwise leaving 
them sufficient lands whereupon they may 
live without labour, doo make them by 
those means to become gentlemen : these 
were they that in times past made all 
France afraid, and albeit they be not 
called master, as gentlemen are, or Sir, 
as to Knights appertaineth, but onlie 
Mm and ThCTias &€. yet have they 

beene found to have doone verie good 
service: and the Kings of England in 
foughten battles, were woont to remaine 
among them (who were their footmen), 
as the French Kings did amongst their 
horsemen ; the Prince, thereby, shewing 
where his cheefe strength did consist." 

The Faemee's WirE—The farmer's 
coadjutor in domestic economy — ^the En- 
glish housewife, was a personage of no 
small consequence; for as Tusser, the 
rural poet, has observed-^ 
" Housekeeping and husbandry, if it be good. 
Must love one another ascousines in blood : 
The wife, too, must husband as well as the man. 
Or farewell thy husbandry, doe what thou can.** 

" Next unto her holiness and sanctity 
of life," says Markham, '^ it is meet that 
our Engliui housewife be a woman of 
great modesty and temperance, as well 
inwardly as outwardly ; inwardly, as in 
her carriage and behaviour towards her 
husband, wherein she shall shun all vio- 
lence of rage, passion, and humour, and 
outwardly courteous to her neighbours 
and dependents. Let her garments be 
comely and strong, made as weU to pre- 
serve the health as to adorn the person, 
altogether without toyish garnishes, or. 
the gloss of light colours, and as far from 
the vanity of new and fantastic fashions 
as near to the comely imitation of modest 
matrons. She must be watchful, diligrat, 
witty, pleasant, constant in friendship, 
fiill of good neighbourhood," &c Her 
other qualifications, he states, were to 
consist in an intimacy with domestic 
physic, with cookery, with the distillation 
of waters, the making and preserving of 
wines, making and dyeing of doth, nult* 
ing, brewing, baking, &c 

The Country BaoE. — ^Bishop Earle 
has touched this homely subject with 
singular point and spirit. 

" A plain country fellow is one that 
manures his ground well, but lets himself 
lye fallow and 4mtilled. He has reason 
enough to do his business, and not enou^ 
to be idle or melancholy. He seems to 
have the punishment oiNebuchadnexxar^ 
for his conversation is among beasts, and 
his tallons none of the shortest, only he 
eats not grass, because he loves not salleta. 
His hand guides the plough, and the 
plough his thoughts, and his ditch and 
landmark is the very mound of his medi<« 
tations. He expostulates with his oxen 
very understandingly, and speaks .^0 and 
ree better than English. His religion is 
a part of his copyhold, which he taket 
horn his landlora, and refers it wholly 
to his discretion ; yet if he give him 
leave, he is a good christian to ms power, 
that is^ comes to church in bis best 
clothes, and sits there with his neigh- 

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boon, when he is oapobk of only two 
piaydn, for ram and fair weaOter. His 
oompliment with his neighbour i^ a good 
thump on the back, a^ his saluti^don 
oommonlr some blunt curse. He is a 
niggard all the week, except only market 
day, where, if his com sell well, he thinks 
he may be drunk with a good conscience. 
For death he is aerer troubled, and if he 
get in but his harvest before ; let it come 
when it will he cares not." 



R088IKI, the celebrated Composer who 
now presides over the Italian Opera in 
this country, was bom on the 29th of 
February, 1792, at Pesaro, a pretty little 
town in the Papal States, on the GKilf of 
Venice. His mther was a poor player on 
tiie French horn of the third rank ; one of 
those perambulating symphonists, who 
get their living by visiting the fairs of 
Siniga^Ua, Fermo, Forli, and other little 
towns in Bomagna and its neighbour- 
hood ; and forming a part of ue little 
Impromptu orchestras, which are col- 
lected fat the Opera of the £ur. His 
mother who had once been handsmne, 
was a tolerable seconda donna: they 
went from town to town, and from com- 
pany to company ; the husband pla3ang 
m tne orchestra, the wife singing on the 
•tage— poor, of course : and Rossini their 
ion, covered with glory, with a name 
which resounded throughout Europe, 
fidthfiil to the paternal poverty, had not 
laid by for his wnole stock, two years ago, 
when he went to Vienna, a sum equal to 
the annual salarv of one of the actresses 
who sing at Pans or at Lisbon. 

Living is cheap at Pesaro, and although 
his family subsisted on very uncertain 
means, they were never sorrowful, and 
above all, cared little for the future. In 
1799, Rossini's parents took him to Bo- 
logna; but he did not begin to study 
music until 1804, when he was twelve 
years of age. His master was D. Angelo 
TeseL to. the course of a few months, 
the young Oioacchino earned several 
paoli by singing in the churches. His 
fine soprano voice and the vivacity of his 
youthml manners rendered him very 
welcome to the priests who directed the 
FvnaAonL Under Professor Angelo 
Tesei, Oioacchino was well instruct^ in 
•ingiiig, in the art of accompanying, and 
in the rules of oounterpoint From the 

year 1806 he wm capiUe of siHgii^ anf 
piece of music at sight, and great hemes 
began to be entertuned of him. His 
handsome figure induced the idea of 
i PftlHng a ten<nr of him. 

In 1806 Rossini quitted Bologna to 
undertake a musical tour in Romagna. 
He presided at die piano as leader of the 
orchestra at some of the smaller towns, 
and in 1807 entered the Lyceum at Bo- 
logna, and received lessons of music 
from fiither Stanislao MatteL A yeat 
subsequently, he was qualified to com- 
pose a symphony, and a cantata called 
// Piano <r ArvMnia. It was his first 
production of vocal music Immediately 
afterwards he was elected a Director oif 
the Academy of GoncordL 

Being by the interest of a very amiable 
female sent to Venice, in 1810, he there 
composed for the Theatre San Mose, a 
little Opera in one act, called La Cam" 
biale de Matrimomo. Returning to Bo- 
logna in the autumn of the following 
year, he prepared UEqwooco Strava^ 
garUe for representation : and then revisit- 
ing Venice, produced for the Carnival of 
1812, L'Inganno FeUce. In every part 
of this Opera his genius sparkles. An 
experienced eye can recognize, without 
difficulty, in it, the parent ideas of fif- 
teen or twenty capital pieces, which at a 
later, period established the character of 
Rossini's chefs-d'auvre. 

At the Carnival of Venice, in 1813, 
Rossini jHroduced Tancred. This de- 
lightful piece was so successful, as to 
create a Kind of musical furor. From 
the gondolier to the nobleman, evenr 
body was repeating 

*' Ti rivedro^ nU rivedroL^ 
In the very courts of law the judgei 
were obliged to impose silence on the 
persons present, who were i ' 

•* Ti rivedro^ mi rivedrai^* 
The dUettand all declared that their 
Cimarosa had revisited the world. This 
charming Opera of Tancred made the 
tour of Europe in four years. 

'^ No one can doubt," says M. de 
Stendhal, ^' that in sudi a place as Ve- 
nice, Rossini was as happy as a man, as 
he was celebrated as a composer. In a 
short time. La M , the charming 

bufi^ singer, then in the flower of het 
genius and her youth, tore him from 
ue great ladies, his early protectors. 
He was called very ungratdiil; ana 
many tears were shed on his account. 
On this subject an anecdote is told, 
full of incident, and very entertaining^ 
which places in a strong light Rossini's 
daring and lively duuacter; and the 

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east widi which he adopted decided va- 
aolutions; but leallr I cannot publidi 
this anecdote. Whaterer changes I 
might make in the names of the parties, 
to defeat the curious, it is a story so 
replete with extraordinary circumstances, 
that every body in Italy would know the 
actors in it. Let us wait a few years. 
It is said, that La M , not to be 

behind-hand with Rossini, sacrificed 
Prince Lucien Bonaparte to him.*' In 
the autumn of 1812, when twenty-one 
years of age, Rossini was engaged at 
Milan. He composed for La Sc^ La 
Pietra del Paraganey* his chef-tTmuvre 
in the buffa style. 

After all this success, Rossini revisited 
Pesaro and his family, to which he was 
passionately attached. During his ab- 
sence his sole correspondent had been his 
mother, his letters to whom he addressed, 
^ To the most honoured Signora Rossini, 
mother of the celebrated composer in 
Bologna." '« Such," adds his biogra- 
pher, *-*- is the character of the num ; 
half serious, half laughing. Happy in 
his genius, in the midst of the most 
susceptible people in Europe, intoxicated 
with praise from his very infimcy, he is 
conscious of his own glory, and does not 
see why Rossini should not natiurally and 
without concession, hold the same rank 
as a general of division, or a minister of 
state. The latter has drawn a great 
^ prize in the lottery of ambition ; RcMsini 
' has drawn a great prize in the lottery of 
nature.'* TUs phrase is his own 

The severe critics of Bologna charged 
Rossini widi transgressing the rules of 
composition. He agreed with them. '^ I 
should not have so many faults to re- 
proach myself with (said he) if I were 
to read my manuscript twice over. 
But you know that I have scarcely six 
weeks given me to compose an Opera in. 
During the first month I amuse myself— 
and pray when would you have me amuse 
myself, if not at my present age and 
with my present success ? Ought I to 
wait till I am <^d and full of spleen? 
The last fortnight comes, however !^ 
every morning I write a duet, or an air, 
which is rehearsed in the evening. How 
is it possible that I can perceive an error 
in the accompaniments ?'* The accusa- 
tion was repeated in Paris, by M. Berton, 
of the Institute, who made a comparison 
between Rossini and Mozart, disadvanta- 
geous to the former. This produced a 
lery animated reply from M. de Stendhal 
and a furious paper war ensued 

Some time afterwards poor Rossini 
experienced at Bologna a more serious 
onbarrassment than any the critics had 
* Mot known in thii country. 

occasioned him* A Milan lidr abandon. 
ing her palace, her husband, and her 
children, her reputation, arrived early- 
one morning in his small apartment at 
an humble inn. The first moments were 
very tender ; but presently the most cele- 
braxed and the most beautiful woman of 
Bologna (the Princess C ■ j also made 
her appearance ! Rossini laugned at both, 
suns a bufia air to them, and left them 
in the lurch. 

From Bologne, Rossini was engaged 
to visit all the towns in Italy, where there 
was a theatre. He composed five or six 
operas in a year, for ea(»i of which he 
received 800 or 1,000 francs. The difli- 
culties with which he had to struggle 
in combating with the caprices of me 
various singers, were numerous, but this 
is invariably the case with performers. 
To compose was to him very easy; to 
listen to the rehearsals of ms compo* 
sitions the greatest pain. Every where 
the performance of a new Opera super- 
seded for the time every other occupa- 
tion on the part of the mhabitants. At 
the commencement of the overture a pin 
might be heard to drop. When it 
finuhed the most trem^idous hubbub 
ensued. It was either praised to the 
skies or hissed without mercy. The 
same took place after every air. It is 
<mly in Italy that this rapturous and 
almost exclusive admiration of music 

About the year 1814 the fiune of Ros- 
sini reached Maples ; the inhabitants of 
which, with commendable self-compla- 
cency, were astonished that there should 
be a great composer in the world who 
was not a Neapolitan. Rossini engaged 
to produce for the Neapolitan theatres 
two operas a year for several years. The 
labour was inmiense; he perfonned it 
laughingly, and ridiculed every body, 
which caused him many enemies, of 
whom the most incensed at the present 
day is M. Barbaja, with whom he had 
engaged, and to whom he paid the un- 
civil trick of— marrying ms mistress! 
Rossini commenced at Naples towards 
the end of 1815, in the most brilliant 
manner, with Elixdbetta reaina d* Ingm 
elterray a serious opera. But to com- 
prehend the success of our young com- 
poser, and his subsequent uneasiness, it 
is necessary to go further back. 

King Ferdinand had languished for 
nine years in Sicily, amidst a people who 
were continually talking to him of parlia- 
ments, finances, the balance of power, 
and other absurdities. He arrives at 
Naples, and behold ! one of the most 
beautiful features of his beloved city, 
that which, during his absence, embit- 

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tcrcd moat his regreta, the magnifiaait Piqued at thii, Rosstm eiidtoWM»d to 

theatre of San Carlo is burnt down .in a obtain his object without employu^ the 

nieht. The loss of a kingdwn, or of voice of Mademoiselle Colbrand. li^e 

haSf a dozen battles would not have the Germans, he had recourse to his 

affected hrai so much. In the midst of ordiestra, and converted the accessary 

his despair, M. Barbaja said to him— mto the principaL The result was the 

« Sire, in nhie months I will rebuild the Moise, the success of which was immeise. 

immense edifice which the flames have 
just devoured, and it shall be more beau- 
tiful than it was yesterday." He kept 
his word. From that moment M. Bar- 
baja became the first man in the kingdom. 
He was the protector of Mademoiselle 
Colbrand, his first singer, who laughed 
at him all day, and consequently ruled 
him completely. Mademoiselle Colbrand 
(now Madame Rossini) was from 1806 
to 1815, one of the finest singers in 

El^e liobeUisst. 


(Concluded from our last) 

At the report of the pistol, the Count 
immediately started up, and the old man, 
followed by his son, hastily entered. 

^ ^^ „. „ _ Masetti having explained what had hap- 

Europe. In 1815 her voice began occa- pened, they raised the stranger; upon 
lionaUy to fail her, and she sang falsely ; examining him, they found that the ball 

ioon she sang out of tune ; but no one 
dare say so at Naples. Devoted to music 
as the Neapolitans are, from 1816 to 
1821, they were obliged to be thus 
annoyed in the most tormenting manner 
in this their principal pleasure, without 
venturing to complain. 

When Rossini arrived at Naples, 
anxious to succeed, he applied himself to 

had perforated his loins. The blood 
flowed copiously from the wound, and it 
was feartfl that he would bleed to death. 
When it began to be light, the Count 
despatched one of his servants, in the 
ffreatest haste, for a vehicle to convey 
him to the castle, wishing, if it were 
possible, to revive him, and learn what 
cause he had for attempting his life. A 

please the Prima Donna, who entirely carriage was soon procured ; the stranger 

governed the director, Barbaja. Her voice was carried into it, and the Count pre- 

was not pathetic, but magnificent, like her sented the old man with a purse of gold, 

person, and Rossini adopted the means of and departed, 

enabling her to display it to advanta^ On their arrival at the castle, the 

But in the following year, her voice 
became weaker, and Uie iron hand with 
which the King compelled the Neapo- 
litans still to listen to her, alienated more 
hearts from him than any other possible 
act of despotism could nave done. In 
1820, had it been wished to fill the in- 
habitants of Naples with joy, the way 
would have been, to remove from them 
Mademoiselle Colbrand. 

Rossini, wiamoured with Mademoiselle 

stranger was undressed and put to bed, 
his beard having been previously re- 
moved : the Count's physician was sent 
^r, who was examining the wound when 
Tassini entered the apartment, but who 
can describe his feelings at recognizing 
his brother Francisco ! ! — He was speech- 
less for some time, but suddenly reool- 
lecting that he might yet be saved, he 
awaitra with ther greatest impatience for 
Ae physician's decision, who informed 

Colbrand, but j}ot being able to depend him that ^e wound was mortal, and 

upon her voice, deviated more and more 
into German harmony, and departed 
more and moi^ from true dramatic ex- 
pression ; being perpetually persecuted 
by the lady to give her sucn airs as she 
was yet capable of executing. 

After the brilliant success ofElizabettOy 
Rossini went to Rome, and in the Car- 
nival of 1816, produced Torvoldo e Dor- 
liska^ and his chef d'ceuvre^ the Barbier 
of Seville* He re-appeared at Naples, 
and produced La Gazetta^ and afterwards 
Othello, He then went to Rome for 
Cenerentola ; and to Milan for La Gax- 
xa Ladra, Scarcely had he returned to 

that it was impossible he could live; 
notwithstanding this, the Count wished 
the ball to be extracted, wluch was at 
length executed with the greatest diffi- 
culty. Francisco, however, continued to 
linger till the next morning, apparenthr 
insensible to all around him, when deatn 
put a period to his existence, to ^e 
greatest sorrow of the Count and his 

The following day Masetti requested a 
private interview with the Count, saying 
he had something of consequence to im- 
part to him, relative to his latebrothei^ 
which, at his death, he felt himself at 

Naples before he produced VArvMe. — liberty to reveal. The Count and Masetti 

The public wishing to mark their sense having retired together, the latter began 

of Mademoiselle Colbrand's uncertain as follows: — 

voice, VAnMde was not very successfuL " At a voy early period of my life, I 

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felt h tttrd&g predilection fbr the amiy, 
and my parents being very poor, I was 
ashameid to be any longer a burthen to 
them, and I enlisted as a congimon soldier, 
fully assured that by the display of my 
valour, I should soon be promoted. 
Whilst in the army I first became ac- 
quainted with your brother; he was 
known by the name of Julio Guidini, 
and was a petty officer in the same regi- 
ment in which I was. Having been in 
this situation five years, during which 
time I had been ki several battles, I found 
that merit seldom met with reward ; but 
the hardships and dangers to which I was 
constantly exposed, completely cured me 
of my rage for a military life, and I was 
quite overjoy^ when our regiment was 
discharged, and at finding myself once 
more free — not so, however, my com- 

*'*' Having been paid off, our evenings 
were spent in carousing, drinking, and 
all kinds of debauchery. One night a 
party of us had assembled togetl^r as 
usual, and were debating what we should 
do when our money was all expended ; 
your brother, whom I shall caU Julio, 
rose and thus addressed us : — ^^ My 
friends," said he, '^ if you will listen to 
me, you shall no longer toil, like slaves, 
frt>m morning till night, as you have 
been accustomed to do ; but if you will 
follow my advice, you will become your 
own masters, and live happy and free 
together." We were all anxious to know 
what he meant, and he did not keep us 
long in suspense. His plan being ap- 
proved of by all, we agreed to follow 
him, and after a wearisome journey, ar-"* 
riv^d within ten miles of this castle. 
Julio at length conducted us through a 
thicket, almost impenetrable, and we 
found ourselves at the mouth of a cave, 
which we entered; it contained several 
spacious apartments, most excellently 
adapted for the purposes we designed. 
By the direction of Julio we had com- 
mitted many depredations on our way 
hither ; our plunder consisted of things 
we supposed might be useful to us, 
amongst which was a quantity of silver 
plate ; this we commenced melting down 
and converting into money. 

" Coining was soon carried on. to a 
great extent, Julio having been nomin- 
ated our captain. When our silver was 
consumed, we obtained a fresh supply, by 
plundering the large habitations about 
the country. I hild lived in the cave 
some time, and had become quite dis- 
gusted at this infamous mode of obtaining 
a livelihood, and determined to seek some 
honest employment. I imparted my de- 
sign to Julio, who endeavoured to dis- 

suade me from U, but he could not fbake 
my resolution. Before my departure he 
made me swear never to betray him, 
which, I confess, I had no intention of 
doing. I passed this castle, and heard of 
a vacant place in your domestic establish- 
ment, which I applied for, Tthough, being 
a stranger, I conceived wimout the least 
chance of success) but was umnediately 
taken into your service. I was reflecting 
soon after upon the sudden alteration of 
my situation in life, when it occurred to 
me that I was now the servant of the 
greatest enemy of Julio's; for in the 
cave I had frequently heard him express 
the greatest hatred towards you, and that 
before long you would suffer for all the 
injuries you had done him. I could not 
help thinking that I was the instrument 
sent by Providence to preserve your life, 
if he attempted it — and I did not doubt 
he would attempt it, from expressions 
which he occasionally dropped, and from 
having acquired some insu;ht into his 
real character by the knowle^e of several 
diabolical transactions in which he had 
been engaged. 

'^ When your brother visited the castle 
some time since, I had not the most 
distant idea that he was Julio, whom I 
had so long been acquainted with ; in- 
deed the dxess in which I had been ac- 
customed to see him in, and the character 
he assumed, were so widely different, 
that I had not the least chance of recog- 
nising him. 

^' On the night of the robbery, having 
retired to bed, I foimd myself very rest- 
less and unable to sleep, when I imagined 
I heard a noise in the lower part of the 
Castle, which being soon repeated, I 
jumped up and hastily dressing myself, 
went softly down stairs without shoes, to 
ascertain the cause. I halted near the 
bottom of the staircase, and by the aid of 
the lanterns that several of them carried, 
beheld my former companions of the 
Cave all busy in plundenng, and among 
them I perceived Julio ; the sight of him 
reminded me of the promise that I had 
made, never to betray him ; indeed, had 
such not been the case, I foresaw the 
impracticability of defending your pro- 
perty from so numerous a gang, it con- 
sisted nearly of twenty men, all tolerably 
well armed, and many of them desperate 
characters. They would, to a certainty, 
have made a great resistance, their lives 
being at stake. I still continued watch- 
ing their motions, and at length observed 
Julio draw a dagger from his bosom, and 
was coming towaras me in the dark-^I 
stepped aside — he passed me and I fol- 
lowed him. I conceived that this was 
the time he had fixed upon to revenge 

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himself t^ putting a iipeedy epd to yout 
life ; but ne entered Alfonso's chamber, 
I suppose by mistake. I had no weapon 
about me, but recollecting Alfonso's 
sword, £ seized it, and as lie was ap- 
proaching the bed, I made a sudden 
thrust at him, and judged that I had 
pierced him through the body — ^he uttered 
a deep groan and fell on the floor. Such 
was Uie state of my mind at this crisis 
that what I did with the sword I know 
not, but I must have dropped it. I felt 
a thorough conviction that I had killed 
Julio, and hastily ran down stairs 
scarcely knowing what I had been doing, 
and found that the robbers had decamped. 
" Upon reflection, I conceived that it 
would be better to affect entire ignorance 
as to what had happened; I therefore 
returned to my chamber, and was soon 
after desired to attend you. The body of 
Julio was not found, as I expected it 
would be, and I was not sorry that I had 
but wounded him. Your determination 
of quitting tbe castle and residing some 
distance nom it, greatly pleased me, as 
you would then be hi ftim the cave, and 
not so liable to any further depredations. 
^^ On our altering the cottaoe, I was 
struck with astonishment at agam behold- 
ing Julio, and from his altered appear- 
ance, concluded he had suffered greatly 
firom the wounds that I had inflicteid. On 
your observing that you were afraid you 
should not be able to depart before morn- 
ing, a faint smile was visible in his coun- 
tenance ; and I resolved, if he attempted 
your life, his own should be the foifeit. 
I ti^erefore prepared to receive him, and 
at length he entered — ^I counterfeited 
sleep, but seeing him in the act of plung. 
ing a dagger in your heart, I shot him 
without Uie least reluctance. Had I then 
known that he was your brother, the re- 
sult would have beat otherwise, but still 
I cannot help filling a satisfaction in the 
end of such a monster ; and in being the 
instrument of preserving the life of the 
most generous and benevolent of men. 

*' 1 have now revealed to you every 
thine I am acquainted with relative to 
the late mysterious transactions at the 
castle, and throw myself entirely on your 
generosity not to betray my secret, by 
bringing the coiners to punisnment. But 
I have formed a plan wnereby we can, to 
a certainty, disperse ^em, and make 
them useful to the community.*' 

The Count here broke out into the 
warmest acknowledgments to Masetti, 
and concluded by saying that he should 
be guided by him in every thing. 

Masetti, having obtained the full ap- 
proval of the Count, attired himself in 
^ same habiliments as those in which 

ha left the cave, and repabed diither. 
On coming to tile entrance of It, he gave 
the accustomed signal, and was instantly 
admitted. The coiners were fflad at a^ 
seeing their former comrade, but when 
he informed them that their leader had. 
been shot, and that in his last momenta, 
he had betrayed them to the Count Taa- 
sini, who was then actually taking m«- 
sures to have them apprehended, the 
greatest consternation overwhelmed them. 
He told them he had accidentally heard 
of this, and had repaired without loss of 
time, to apprise them of their danger. 
He advised them to join a recruiting 
party which was then in that part of the 
country, and they one and tJl declared 
Aat they would instantly avail them- 
selves of the opportunity. The cave 
was soon in great confusion, and they 
were making every preparation to depart, 
when Masetti took leave of them, and 
hastened back to the castle, well pleased 
with the success of his expedition. i 

The inhabitants of the castle were aMi, 
restored to their former tranquillity ^y «b 
discovery of these events.^ The Count 
offered Masetti an hidcpcndence for liflB, 
but he refused it, saying that hia sole 
wish was to live and die in his service. 
Tassini was not strenuous in opposii^ 
his desire, and he continued to live wim 
them, but was always treated with die 
greatest respect, as the preserver of the 
Count, and indeed the whole fom% at 
the Castle of Orcakx. F< & 

" I am but a Oatherer and disposer of other 
men's stuCf."— ^otfoa. 


Amelia wavM her fan with glee. 
And beine in a plajrful mood ; 
She give me airy toy to me. 
And bade me flirt it, if I could. 

The pleasing toil I quick began. 
But jealous pangs my bosom hurt, 
" Madam, I cannot ^tr/ a fan^"* 
But with your leave, FUfdn afirC 


F. K— y, <m the Origin of Gaming ; P. T. PT, 
and several other correspondents, shall be re- 
flected in the Mikror of next week, when we 
shall decide on the various eommanications re- 
ceived during the last fortnight. 

Printed and PuhliMhed by J. LIMBIRD, 
143, Strand, (near SomerMet Hou$e,J and sold 
by all Newsmen and Booksellert* 

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die ittittor 

No. LXXl 


[Pricb 2if. 


Wtitminitn 9lall. 

In pieBenting our leaders with a view 
of the north, or grand entrance of West, 
minster Hall, we shall, we are persuaded, 
•>e rendering an acceptable service, as it 
JB one of me most el^an't specimens of 
English architecture beoueathed to us by 
OBT ancestors. With that nublic spirit^ 
Vol. ni. H 

whicn renders the reign of his present 
majesty the Augustan age of England^ 
this noble edifice has recently been re- 
novated in such a manner as to repres^ii 
the original, or if it differs at all, it it 
in the mote finished accuracy of modem 


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Westminster Hall is geoejoilly belif^ved^ 
to have been built by WilHam Uitm, 
about the year 1097) during his absence 
in Normandy, and it is traditionally 
stated, that on his return fixim tlie 
wars Uiere, he affected disappointment at 
its dhnensions, as being not half big 
enough, and fitter for ms bed chamber 
than the public hall of his palace with 
which it was connected. 

The outside walls of Westminster Hall 
and part of its north end (which was 
yisible during the recent renovation) suffi- 
ciently prove the Hall of William Rufus 
to have been a rude structure ; and the 
difficulty of explaining in what manner 
iuch a span of Roof could have been 
supported before the flying buttresses 
were erected, was done awaj by the de- 
velopement of an ancient triple door-way 
at the northern entrance, indicating that 
the Hall was originally divided by pillars 
of wood or stone, so as to form a nave and 
side-aLsles in the manner of a large church. 

Such as it ^as, the Hall answered the 
purposes of Royal Feasting and National 
Councils, as wdl as for the usual Courts 
of Justice, till the reign d Richard IL, 
when, from the effects of time, and of a 
fire which destroyed the roof, it became 
absolutely necessary to rebuild the Hall, 
or to give it a thorough rqMdr. The last 
was chosen, and executed with so much 
judgment and good taste, as to remain 
one of the best specimens of English ar- 
chitecture ; whioi soon afterwards dege- 
nerated into a detail and ramification of 
ornament, calculated to exhibit the dex- 
terity of the stone-mason, instead of the 
genuine ffrandeur and propriety which 
satisfies we mind while contemplating 
the work of a consummate architect. 

It is not a little singular that the ac- 
tual contract for part of this repair is still 
extant, and is published in Rymer^s 
Fcedera, It bears date the 18th March, 
in the eighteenth year of Richard IL 
(▲. D. 1395), and by it certain masons, 
therein named, undertake to place a well- 
secured /a6/e (entablature or coping) two 
feet of assize in height, on the outside 
wall, and to infix twenty-six souses 
(underprops or corbels) of Caen stone in 
the Hail (no doubt for the support of the 
timber-framed roof), and also to line the 
inside of the wall with Ryegate stone. 
All this was to be finished by Candlemaa 
(2nd February) then next ensuing ; and 
the rest of the work must have proi^eded 
with equal rapidity, as the roof, and even 
the northern portal, was finished (as far 
as we now see it) four jears afterwards, 
when the unhappy misguided Richard 
was driven from the throne, after keep- 
ing hiS'lait Christmas in this Hall! 

. ^ Indeed tfiat the work wae hurried be- 
yond what was proper, sufficient evidence 
appears in tlie settlement, or swerving of 
the eastern tower, where it joins the oMer 
building ; and the masonry of the wall 
which .supported the great northern win- 
dow, was found to have been so badly 
bonded as to create surprise that it should 
have stood so long. 

The inconvenience of Westminster Hall 
being under rq>air, was then felt even 
more sensibly than at present: if there 
was less law, there was more feasting 
in it; and on occasion of a Parlia- 
ment, ▲. D. 1397, the king was underthe 
necessity of building a temporary room 
for a meeting in New Falace-yard. 
This room was open on all sides, and it is 
said (a Lancastrian calumny perhaps) 
that ^' to secure the freedom of debate,'* 
the King placed around it his Cheshire 
Gkiards, with bows bent and arrows 
drawn ready to shoot. Certainly that 
Parliament was very obsequious to the 
King's wishes. How severely he expii 
ated the insult in another Parliament tw« 
short years afterwards, let history ant' : 
Shakspeare telL 

We return to the mor^kem PoHtA'^ 
the Hall. — The evident hitention of iSb» 
architect was to ornament the baseme&t 
story to the utmost extent of his art,aiMl^>. - 
by just gradation, to arrive at a beau^tl , 
simplicity in the battlements of the towesci. 
and the weathering, or coping doone 
of the gable between them. 

The canopied niches which flank tlw . 
lower windows of each of the towers, i^e 
rivals worthy of the basement nidies, 
differing in form and fashion, but In^erio^ 
to none of them in workmanship. The^ 
seem to have been intended for tatelioi^f , 
Saints. .. -t. - 

The Groined Porch of the Hall door. . 
is worthy of notice, surmounted as it itf* ; 
by one of the earliest and finest speci- 
mens of pannelled ornament; oiIt. ^ 
Eastern spandrel of the door-way appeius| 
to hang a medallion carved witn the, ^. 
vorite device of Richard, his own esci|t&*' .• 
cheon displaved and supported by tlitte^ 
Angels, with a chained Hart couch^., 
underatree. Over the Western spaaMt ,. . 
of the door-way, theescutcheon of Edjl^iff,.^ 
the Cotafessor appears in like fash&jp^', 
either in token of his being founder.jij^ 
^tuQ Old Palace, or of Rid)ard*s espemL- 
reverence for itie Sainted King. The 
same or similar devices ^pear pn ^ 
stone moulding around the inside of t^ 
Hall, and Angels supporting escutcheons 
are the most prominent ornaments of the 
deling timbers; which are yet mof!^ 
worthy of admiration for the peculiar 
continuation of the appearance of -pasi^ 

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nellad emameat theie dM)[day«d, whieh, 
in ft geoAal coup ^cbU^ we cannot but 
«ny witfe uft fifom tte gate-way into thfr 

The dimcaislong of the Hall axe eighty 
ynds by twenty-two, and therefore nearly 
finuMaith^i^fa statute acre in area. The 
ridge of thereof is thirty wd^ from the 
fioocy of, which seven yuds reach, to the 
9tmse9 or cmbels, seven mote to the 
AngeU (which range with the side-walls), 
and sixteen yards is the perpendicular 
beu^ of the nx^ itself. 

The roof oi Westminster Hall has 
always iMen admired for its beautiful 
caqpsntering, which supported a massive 
covering of lead for four hundred years, 
and Bcaccely feels the weight of modem 



(Fw the Mirror. J 
FsBi^UAluus, in die Roman chronbl 
Ifae second mon A of their year, so c 
ftont F^brtuty a feast held therein. 
file first affes of Rome, February was the 
Itet DMHith of the year, and preceded 
Jamii^^ till the decemviri made an order 
tet February should be the second 
month of ^ jear, and come atba Janu- 
ary. In this month, 

"Tbe shifting gales with milder influence blow, 
jaoud o'er the skies, and melt the falling snow ; 
The soften'd earth with fettile moisture teems, 
Aadj fined from icy bonds, down rush the sweH- 

Sk Aildn says, ^' the earlier part of this 
Month may still be reckcmed winter, 
though the cold generally begins to abate. 
Tlie da3rs are now sensibly lengthened, 
and the sun has power enough gradually 
to melt away the ice and snow. The 
hard weather geneiaHv breaks up with a 
sadden thaw, attended by a south wind 
and rain, which all at once dissolve the 
now. Torrents of water then pour from 
the hUls, every brook is swelled into a 
Inge stream, which rushes violently into 
die riv^s; the x^ivement of ice with 
a^bidi they are covered now breaks up in 
every direction with the noise of thunder, 
and the floating masses dadied against 
iMBges and bridges, force down every 
tidng that obstructs their passage; the 
bed of the river becomes unable to carry 
off this vast accumulation of water, it 
swells over the banks, inundates the bor- 
deling fields, and sweeps away cattle, 
mSls, hay-stacks, gates, trees, and, in 
duMrt, almost every thing that it reaches. 
The manure is carried off from the fields ; 
h%h banks, with the trees upon them, 
aie undermined and give way ; and, in 
the space of a few hours, incalculable 
kMcs are sustained.** 


''Jkf uttering, the wbids ateve, xrltti blunted point. 
Blow hollow, blustering from the south. Sub- 
The ft-ost resolves into a trickling thaw. 
Spotted the mountains .shine i loose sleet de. 

And floods the country round. Sodden fh>m the 

0>r rocks and woods, in broad brown^eataracts, 
A thousand snow-fed torrents rush at once ; 
And where they rush, the wide resounding plain 
Is left one slimy waste.*' 

Thomson's Seasons, PfirUer, Jine 988: 
Many^ plants emerge from under 
ground in February^ but few flowers as 
yet adorn the fidds and pastures. Snow- 
drops are sometimes fully opened from 
the beginning of the month, often peeping 
out amidst the snow. Mrs. BarbaiUd 
sweetly describes this early effort of Na- 
ture's delicate, flowery tribe thus :^ 

^Iready now the wow-drop dares appear. 
The first pale blossom of th uqripen'd year. 
As Flora's breath, by some transforming power. 
Had changed an icicle into a flower. 
Its name and hue the scentless plant retains. 
And winter lingers in its icy Teins.** 

Ray. in his collection of Pibverbt, haa 
the following relating to this month ^-. 

• Febrmary flll-dike, be It black, or be It white ; 
But if be's the better to like. 
All the moneths in the year curse a fair Fe- 

Snow brings a double advantage; 
it not only preserves the com from 
the bitterness of the frost and cold, but 
enriches the sround by reason of the 
nitrous salt, which it is supposed to con- 
tain. The Alps, and other high moun- 
tains, are frequently covered all the winter 
with snow, soon after it is melted to be- 
come like a garden, so full of luxuriant 
plants and variety of flowers. It is worth 
the noting, that mountainous plants are 
for the most part larger than those of the 
name genus -n^ch grow in lower grounds 5 
and ^at these snowy mountains afibrd 
greater variety of species than plain coun- 
treys — See notes to Ray^s Proverbsypub^ 
lished at Cambridge^ 1670. 

Shakspeare says, 

*' You have such a February face. 

So full of frost, of storm, and cloudiness." 

P. T. W. 


Gaming is said to have been invented by 
the Lydians, when under the pressure of 
great famine : to divert themselves from 
Uieir sufferings, they contrived dice, balls, 
tables, &c More likely, says a learned 
censor, the passage ought to be otherwise 
translated. " The Lydians hating con- 
trived dice, balls, and tables, and in- 
vented gaming, were reduced to creat 
famine, and to extreme sufferincs." 1% 
plain truth, while engaged in this prac- 

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tice, tfaej could think of nothing else ; 
their property, their farms, their looms, 
their nets, their establishments of industry 
were all lying waste ; their time and ta- 
lents were all absorbed in this intoxicating 

At what period gaming was introduced 
into England, it would be difficult to de- 
termine ; but there are few countries 
where it is carried on to a greater extent. 

Montaigne seems to have been well 
aware of the evils of gaming, and gives 
us the reason why he relinquished it. 
" I used," says he, " to like formerly 
games of chance with cards and dice ; but 
of that folly I have long been cured, 
merely because I found that whatever 
good countenance I put on when I lost, I 
did not feel my vexation the less.*' 
More than that, we have seen breaches 
scarcely to be healed between those who 
sat down to the gaming table in perfect 
good humour, but rose up from it in that 
disposition; but who can describe the 
abandonment too frequently attendant on 
this destructive practice ; the friendship 
of sudi men is a confederacy in vice, and 
that th^y cannot depend on each other, 
has been too recently exemplified by its 
fatal consequences : its deteriorating in- 
fluence upon the temper and disposition, 
as well as the pecuniary affairs— its false 
effects, in short, both to the unhappy in- 
dividual who is curst with the propensity 
and to society in generaL Connecting 
cause with effect, it leads to misery, and 
everlasting ruin, even to robbery and 
murder ! 

In gaming. Judge Blackstone says, 
several parties engaged to cast lots to de- 
termine upon whom the ruin shall at 
present fall, that the rest may be saved a 
little longer. Taken in any light, this is 
an offence of the most alarming nature, 
tending, by necessary consequence, to 
promote public idleness, theft, and de- 
bauchery, among those of a lower class ; 
and, among persons of a superior rank, it 
hath frequently been attended with the 
•udden ruin and desolation of ancient and 
opulent families, an abandoned prostitu- 
tion of every principle of honour and 
virtue, and too often hath ended in self- 
murder. To this passion every valuable 
consideration has been made a sacrifice ; 
and it is a passion which has lamentably 
prevailed in our own country, and which 
we seem to have derived from our ances- 
tors, the ancient Germans ; who, accord- 
ing to the account given of them by 
Tacitus, were bewitched with the spirit 
of play to a most exorbitant degree. 
*' They addict themselves," says he, " to 
dice (which is wonderful) when sober^ 
and as a serious employment, with such 

a mad desire of winning or losing, diat, 
when stripped of every thing else, they 
will stake at last their liberty, and then 
their very selves. The loser goes into a vo- 
luntary slavery, and, though younger and 
stronger than his antagonist, suffers hinci- 
self to be bound and sold. And this per- 
severance in so bad a cause, they call the 
point of honour." — " One would think 
(says Blackstone) that Tacitus was de- 
scribing a modem Englishman. Against 
a spirit so frantic, laws can be of little 
avail, because the same false sense of 
honour that prompts a man to sacrifice 
himself, will deter him from appealing to 
a magistrate. Yet it is proper that re- 
stricting and protecting laws should be 
enacted, and that they should be publicly 
announced, and reputedly inculcated, u 
possible to preserve the unwary, if not to 
reclaim those who are on the brink of 
ruin." Father le Compte, in his Travel* 
to China, says, '^ Gaming is equally pro- 
hibited among the common people and 
the mandarins; and yet this does not 
hinder their pla3ring, and frequently losing 
all they have — their lands, houses, chil- 
dren, and even their wives, which are all 
sometimes laid on a single card." — 
Shakspeare says, '^ keep a gamester from 
Ae dice, and a good student from his 
book, and it is wondeifuL" Lord Bacon 
says, '^ a gamester^ the greater the master 
he is in his art, Ae worse man he is.*' 
And Addison says, ^^ could we look into 
the mind of a common gamester^ we 
should see it full of nothing but trumps 
and matadores ; his slumbers are haunted 
with kingS) queens, and knaves.*' 


By Mr. William CAETwaianT. 

Whiles I this standing lake, 
Swath'd up with yew and cypress boughs. 
Do move by sighs and vows. 
Let sadness only wake ; 
That whiles thick darkness blots th« light. 
My thoughts may last another night : 
In which double shade. 
By heav'n and me made, 
O let me weep. 
And fall asleep, 
And forgotten fade. 

Hark I from yond' hollow tree. 
Sadly 9ing two anchoi'et owls. 
Whiles the hermit wolf howls. 
And all bewailing me. 
The raven hovers o'er my bier. 
The bittern on a reed I hear. 
Pipes my elegy. 
And warns me to die ; 

Whiles from yond' gimves. 
My wrong'd love eravei 
My sad company.— 

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GMse, Hyla«, cease thar call ; 
Sach, O saeh, was thy parting groan, 
Breatb'd out to me alone 
When thou di8dain^,4id»t faU, 
Lo thus unto thy silent tomb 
In my sad winding sheet I come. 
Creeping o'er dead bones, 
And cold marble stones. 
That I may mourn 
Over thy urn. 
And appease thy groans. 


(Fw (he Mirror,) 
At a very early period, it was customary 
to spread a cloth, or cover, upon tables 
appropriated for holding refreshments; 
and in the more ennobled ranks of so- 
ciety, we find this jnractice prevalent 
almost among all nations, where dvi. 
lization has polished the manners of ihe 
people; any omission of ^is requisite 
mark of politeness would have been con. 
sidered an insult. 

The use of the table doth among the 
Romans, we are told by Montfauqon, 
b^an in the time of the early £mperors ; 
he adds, that their fabric was fine linen, 
generally much ornamented, with stripes 
of ^ gold and purple, and sometimes 
painted, or wrought with gold, decorated 
at the comers wim golden tags. 

The use of table linen was (according 
to D'Arcy) very rare in England about 
the thirteenth century; but, we find the 
Anglo-Saxons, before the Norman con. 
quest, dined with a dean doth, denomi. 
nated reod sceat, which was by their 
successors termed drapet; this latter 
term we find in sev^al instances in 
" Spenser^s Faerv Queen," evidently 
alluding to linen cloths, now modernized 
into drapery; hence, it is pretty certain 
that table doths were by no means un- 
usual in this country at a very early 

In the life of Saint Ives, we find it 
mentioned that even a doth was laid for 
a poor man. 

Ducange relates a sinffular feudal pri- 
vilege; "that the Lord was entitled to 
the table doth and towel, used at the 
house were he dined; the honour of a 
frequent visit would surdy have made 
him no w^Icdhie guest, when we consider 
the value of these articles at that time. 

The same author relates, that a father 
giving advice to his son, most strongly 
urges him, as a means of future success 
in life, to have his table covered with a 
dean doth. And we find there was a 
violent oomplaintmade against tiie monks 
for putting their visiters to a table, not 
without any cloth certainly, but before a 
dirty one. It appears that table doths 
H 3 

were used by the nobility and gentry of 
great value, the price was seldom low 
than one hundred marks; at that time, 
indeed, almost a fortune for a poor man. 
Fosbroke,in his " Antiquities," writes, 
that damask table linen is of a very 
ancient date, and quotes La Brocquiere 
for a description of some table dotha 
used abroad; he says, " They are four 
feet in diameter, and made lound, having 
rings attached to them, and are, when the 
dinner is finished, drawn up t<^ther like 
a purse, so that not a crumb of the rem- 
nants may be lost." 




Welcome, oh! welcome, stranger dear. 

Upon this passing scene belovir; 
And may thy part be pleasant here. 

Exempt from sorrow^,care and woe. 
Calm on thy mother's bosom rest. 

And she will shie d thee from the stcrm ;-«. 
For sweetly clinging round her breast. 

Thou Shalt her fairest jewel form. 
Thy father's stronger arm shall guard 

Thee too, with her, in whose loved arms. 
Thou dost repose ; and from thee ward 

Each neanng dangers — all alarms. 
And there's another father too. 

In heay'n,high seated on his throne ; 
May'st thou his kind protection know,— 

Be found with those he calls his own. 


;no. xlvl 
eponina anb sabinus, 


Sabinvs was a Iloman, who, during 
the dvil wars, engaged himself in a party 
who were affainst Vespasian, and even 
aspired to the empire. But when the 
power of Vespasian was well established, 
Sabinus only bestowed attention on the 
means, by which he might shake off his 
persecutions ; in a short time he thought 
of one as doleful, as it was new ; he was 
possessed of vast subterraneous passages, 
unknown to the world, and in these he 
determined to hide himself; this melan- 
choly retreat, at least freed him firom the 
insupportable fear of punishment, and 
he bore in his bosom the hope that some 
new revolution would give lum the possi- 
bility of re{^pearing in the world. But, 
amongst the many sacrifices, which his 
situation forced him to make, there was 
one above all which he had at heart He 
had a young, beautiful, sensible, an4 

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Tlrtuouis vife ; he was forced, either to 
lose and hid her an eternal farewell, or to 
propose to her, to hury herself for ever 
in a dark prison, and to renounce liberty,' 
aiociety, and theli^t of the day. Sabinus 
Ipiew the tenderness and the greatness of 
Eponina^s soul, that wife so dear, he 
was sure that she would consent with joy ; 
to follow, and to live only for him, but 
he feared for her the grievances, which 
loo often follow enthusiasm, and which 
even virtue cannot always protect; at 
last, he had generosity enough, not to 
wish to ahuse that of Eponina*s, or 
better speaking, he had only an imper- 
fect idea of the manner that a woman 
could love. He only put his confidence 
in two freedmen, who followed him ; he 
assembled his slaves, and told them that 
he was decided on death: he rewarded 
and discharged them ; burnt his house, 
and afterwards saved himself with these 
two faithful freedmen. No one doubted 
his death. Eponina was absent, but soon 
this false news reached her ears, she 
abused it like all the pecmle; and was 
resolved not to survive Sabinus; as she 
was observed with care by her parents and 
fiends, she chose, with regret, the slowest 
manner of dying, and constantly refused 
all kinds ai)d species of nourishmeq^t. 
However, the two freedmen, who by turns 
went out of the cave for provisions each 
night, got information concerning the 
situation of Eponina, by their master's 
order, and learned that she hadneaily 
reached her last moments. This report 
was no sooner n^de to Sabinus, than, 
(whilst he was blinking himself generous, 
he had only been ungrateful, l^n with 
inquietude, penetrated with recoUet^on) 
he sent one of his freedmen instantly to 
tell Eponina of his secret, aiid the place 
of his retreat. ... 

^ How ^hall I describe the afi^eting 
particulars of the first interview of Epo- 
nina and her husband, when she ^. 
peared before his eye«v pale/tremWing, 
torn to death by the only ^esirfi of livii^p 
ih a dungeon with the^man she ioye^^ i 
What admiration, what gratitude 
ought Sabinus to confess ? w1m« In k 
moment every tJ^ing is chan^d about 
him ! What, a charm does Epoaina 
spread on every object that surrounds 
him ? This vast cavern now ^r^nted 
nothing frightful to the eyes of Sabinus. 
. However, in thinking what would 
henceforth be the dwelling place of 
Eponina, he sighed. Alas! onef can 
only offet A frightful prison fei her, who 
would be worAy to reign in a- pala^. 
; Eponina aiid Sabinus conversed to- 
^^ether, of the meana which ihey ought to 

take for thehr common safb^; W wn% 
impossible that Eponina could disi^^ypear 
entirely from the world without being 
•exposed to dangerous searching ; be- 
fsides, in renouncmg for ever her family 
and friends, she was depriving herself o# 
"the means of serving Sabinus, if any oc* 
casion offered. It was then decided, thai 
she should only come to the cave in the 
night ; but, her abode was a great dis- 
ttance, she must tranrel five leagues on 
foot ; how could she support the ratigue ? 
How would a woman so timid and 
delicate, brought up in .luxury and ef» 
feminac^ ; dare she i so beautiful and 
young, expose herself under the guard 
of a single freedman, to all the dangers 
of a nocturnal and disnal voyage, which 
would recm so often ? also, how would she 
have enough discretion and prudence ta 
conceal from every eye, her proceedings 
and her secret ? How ? she loved — she 
could proceed by experience, force, and 
courage; she was guided by the two 
^rand movements of extraordinary ac- 
tions, ilove and virtue, so rarely united^ 
but sopowerfril, when they are founa 
together. Eponina, in effect, acc(nn- 
plished with exactness all the engage- 
ments which her heart had made ne> 
make ; she came r^ularly each night to 
the cave, and. often passed many days 
the^ having taken the necessary pre- 
cautions that her absence should nofi 
cau^e.any suspidons. 
. The savage and retired life which she 
led in, the world, and the grief which 
they granted to her, {procured for her the 
power of concealing her. proceedings frcnn 
the public, and to escape the observatitms 
of curious and idle persons. To see het 
hujsband, she triumphed .over all ob 
stacks.; neither the severity of ti^e wiik> 
ter, ;iQr the rain, nor odid, could stop ox 
make her late. What a spectacle te 
j^inus, he who saw her trembling, out 
l>f Imatb, hardly able to stand on bet 
delicate and bruised feet, and neverthe- 
h» tryhig, by a sweet sigh, to dissimn. 
late her weakness and her suffering) <xr 
Jlietter i|>e4king, forgetting them befoie 
hitn ! But a new event ought to have 
niade Eponina yet more dear, u possiblew 
to SabinuS) she was going,.^oon to be- 
come a. mothe^. What a new source of 
ha^p^ie^s for hjc^, but at the same time 
^f fear and inquietude ! To what em- 
barrassment^ t^ould obligation deliver 
her, to. conceal her condkion from all 
who surrounded her, and die necessity 
of having th^ assistance which a woman 
in her situation can with so much diffi- 
culty avoid. Biut with a heart so faithfril^ 
and ao passionate^ 4n love, is Epooiaa 

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an. oidiii&7 woman ? If it a piooiabore 
her strengUi, and who can discourage) or. 
oppose her ? JNo,- aho-knows how to 
conceal the knowledge of her important 
secr^ ^m her senrants^ £amily, and 
frieMs. Can 6he waiit means and pru- 
dence ! Shri strives to preserve her re- 
potatioii,' HoBoor, and the life of Sabi- 
nus. I^O'ldoows how to triumph over 
pain, nnd «ven to support it without 
oomplaining. Absent m>m Sabinus, and 
all at wice attacked by a disorder as new 
t&lmrr as violent, she shuts herself up, 
iny0kea in spite of human succours, the 
assistance of heaven, and becomes the 
mother of two children, whose dear ex- 
istence is the satisfaction and the reward, 
9i all that she had suffered. 
. As' Bocna. as night arrived, Eponina 
takiimher diUdren in her arms, escaped 
farm-aa house, and laden with this pre- 
eioiti' fooiden, she arrived at the cave. 
Wh6 can deser3>ethe deep astonishment, 
die transports and the joys of Sabinus on 
ifrtrfng fyfOk Eponina herself, that he 
is a &ther, on receiving his wife and 

.These diildren, the a^cting pledges 
ci the most peifect and purest tender* 
ness, condemmed from their bir& to live 
and to grow in a prison ! Cruel thought ! 
enough to dunp tne hi^piness of Safainus. 
TfliB two children of Eponina were 
brought uJE» in the cave, and did not go 
. out during the space of nine years, the 
time Sabinus was concealed. Time ha^ 
not diminished the assiduity of Eponina, 
1^ made hsx visits more £requent to the 
cave, there she found her spouse and her 
diildzen, become strangers to the world 

prebediling that Aey cohld admke her 
conduct, ^vanced in spite of the crowd 
which surrounded her. Having ^urrived 
at the apartment of Vespasian, she 
threw herself with her two children at 
the feet of the emperor, and implored 
with idl the eloquence of her heart, the 
pardon of her beloved husband, which 
she obtained. 


^uUlt journals. 


QusswAT calculated that a grown per- 
son, when in his natural state, ought to 
bAve about eight pounds of rat. The 
average weight of a man is about one 
hundm and sixty pounds : but as there 
have been very fat people who have 
weighed four, five, nay even six hundred 
poimds, it may easily be imagined, that 
in these cases there must have been a pto- 
^ious deviation ftom. the state of nature. 
There have been seen persons with fat 
six inches deep under the skin ; and simi* 
lar instances have been known among 
brutes. Hogs have been made so fat, 
ihat their skin was fifteen inches above 
tibe bone. An ox, which otherwise would 
weigh five or six hundred weight, may 
be fitted to nearly a ton and a half, 
which is half the weight of an elephant. 
These astonishing deviations from nature 
cannot possibly be attended with bene- 
ficial results ; and of this, physicians in 
all ages have been fully aware. It is an 
obsarvatiim as ancient as Hippocrates, 

and to sode^ ; the universe and happi- that health, when at the highest, as in 

i of Eponma existed only at the bottom 
of the cave of Sabinus. Nevertheless, 
her visits becoming cash day more multi- 
plied and longer, gave suspicions at 
last. She was observed, followed, and 
the unfiHTtunate Sabinus discovered. Two 
tddins, sent by the. emperor, came to 

the fat aihleta^ was precarious, because it 
could not then experience any change, 
unless for the worse. Celsus considered 
a square-built figure, neither toe fat nor 
too lean, as the best Sanetorious ob- 
served, ihat after the process of digestion 
is finished daily, a man ought to be as 

tear him ^om his cave, who did not heavy as he was before it, ^ he is in per- 

GOQceive, on seeing this Mghtful abode, feet health. But how can this hold good 

that any one could, regret and shed tears respecting people, who, after every meal, 

at leaving it. ^ add to their weight a considerable quan- 

" hi this extremity, Eponina, not fail- ^Ity of superfluous juices ? 
lag iti her virtue or courage^ of which In enumerating the dangers to which 

alie iu^ given so many proofs, went to very e(H:pulent persons are exposed, I 

ihe ftAace of the emperor, followed by shaill quote the words of other physicians, 

-iKrtwo young children. The people came without taking anv personid share in 

ife tttiwda round the passage, each one these sinister predictions. Apoplexies 

imihiii^ to see and applaud her ; all the hold a prominent place in the list, llip- 

falaoe resounded with their acclamations pocrates knew from experience, that fat 

which she excited ; and it is thus, that persons more commonly die a suddeil 

note than once hi the abode of flattery, death than lean ones ; aUd^o he says in 

niaaBable virtue obtains the tribute seteral places. Boerhaave l»cribes the 

of . praises which she merits. . Eponina diSpoSit&n of corpulent persons to apo- 

fauensible to hst glory, not even com- plexies, to the obstructed circulation of 

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the blood ibnHigh the TesteU eompresfed 
by the fat. The blood gives way to this 
^essure, and accumulates in those places 
where there is no &t to prevent the ex- 
pansion €^ the vessels. As, then, the 
dhud never becomes fat, the blood accu- 
mulates in its vessels, and expands them 
to such a desree that they burst, which is 
frequently me immediate cause of apo- 
plexy. Haller mentions it as a fact uni- 
vertwHy known, that corpulent persons 
are disposed to apoplexy. The annals of 
medicine relate, that a man who, though 
weighing upwards of six hundred pounds, 
nevertheless possessed extraordinary agi- 
lity, and whose waistcoat would button, 
without straining, round seven men. of 
ordinary dimensions, died in his twenty- 
ninth or thirtieth year, leaving a pregnant 
wife and five children. Louis Coute, who 
measured eight feet round the body, and 
whose fat, after the removal of the skin, 
was, from the outer surface to the abdo- 
minal muscles, between thirteen and four- 
teen inches thick, — in short, a man weigh- 
ing eight hundred pounds died in his 
forty-sixth year of apoplexy. The intes- 
tines were neither larger nor fatter than 
in an ordinary subject. His liver, on the 
other hand, was triangular and indurated ; 
and it was attached for the space of five 
inches to the omentum. No perscm can 
hesitate to believe such evidence, which 
is, moreover, confirmed by the experience 
of all ages. 

Somnolency is another complaint to 
^ which corpulent persons are liable. Boer- 
haave once had an interview with a doctor, 
who had grown fat with frequent unne- 
cessary bleeding, and who was so lethargic 
that he fell asleep at least ten times during 
their conversation. Athenaeus relates of 
Dionysius, tyrant of Heraclea, that he 
was so sleepy, owing to his excessive cor- 
pulence, that it was impossible to keep 
him awake without thrusting pins through 
the fat into his flesh. 

The insensibility and stupidity of cor- 
pulent persons go hand-in.hand with this 
disease ; for the fat covers and buries the 
nerves, which must be touched by sen. 
sible objects in order to our having any 
perception of them. It moreover com- 
presses and paralyses the muscles, the 
. nerves of which lOso it incapacitates for 
moving them. Nicomachus, of Smyrna, 
was by corpulence rendered incapable of 
locomotion; and we have had instances 
in England of persons, who, from the 
same cause, oould scarcely stir from the 
spot. The meagre animals, on the con- 
trary, whie^ might be supposed to be 
weak, such as greyhounds, racers and 
hunters among horses, stags, &c. are re- 
markable ^ meir agility, and appear to 

fly thfouf^. die t&t,^NiW MittUkig 

Ukder the government of O'Biaen, one 
of the old Insh kings, such a spirit of 
justice, virtue, and equity, prevailed 
among the people, that a person who 
carried valuable property about him, and 
even a defenceless female, might traverse 
the realm without fear of injury or mo- 
lestation. ' A young lady of great beauty 
(savs Dr. Warner), adorned with jewe& 
and a costly dress, undertook a journey 
^one, from one end of the kingdom te 
another, with only a wand in her hand, 
at the top of which was a ring of exceed- 
ingly great value ; and such an impres- 
sion had the laws and government of this 
monarch made on the minds of all the 
people, that no attempt was made u{K>n 
her honour, nor was she robbed of her 
clothes or jewels.' 

The incident is thus versified in Mr. 
Moore's Melodies, and it has frumished a 
pleasing subject for the exercise of the 
talents of two of our most ingenious 

Rich and rare were tbe gems slie wore. 

And a bright gold ring on her wand she b<»re ; 

But, oh I her Beauty was far beyond 

Her sparkling gems and snow-white wand. 

* Lady ! dost thou not fear to stray, 

So lone and lovely,through this bleak way 

Are Erin*8 sons so good or so cold 

As not to be tempted by woman or gold ?' 

' Sir Kniffht 1 1 f«el not the least alarm ; 

No son of Erin will offer me harm : 

For, though they love woman and golden store. 

Sir Knight 1 they love honour and \artuc more.' 

On she went, and her maiden smile 

In safety lighted her round the Green Isle ; 

And bless'd forever is she who relied 

Upon Erin's honour and Erin's pride t 

Lady*s Magasnne. 


By the Author of " Confeesions of an 

English Opivm Eaier.** 


A DELICATE child, paleandprematuiely 
wise, was complaining on a not mqnui^ 
that the poor dew-drops had been too 
hastily snatched away, and not allowed 
to glitter on the flowers like other hap. 
pier dew-drops,* that live the whole ni^t 
throu^, and sparkle in the mooo-light 
and through the morning onwards to " The sun," said the child, 
*' has chased them away with his heat— 
• If the dew is evaporated immediately upon 
the sun-rising, rain and storm follow in Se 
afternoon ; but, Jit stays and glitters for a knr 
time after sun-ri*, the day «ontliraes fair. 

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if twaliowed them in his mwih.** Soon 
after came rain and a rain-bow ; wheva- 
npon his father pointed upwaids--^^ See,'* 
tiud he, ^' there stand thy dew-drops glo- 
riously re-set — a glittering jewellery — in 
the heavens; and the downidh foot tram- 
ples on them no more. By this, my 
child, thou art taught that what withers 
upon earth blooms again in heaven." 
Thus the father spoke, and knew not 
that he spoke prefiguring words: fcnr 
soon after the delicate cmld, with the 
morning brightness of his early wisdom, 
was exhaled, like a dew-drop, into hea* 


Ik Swabia, in Saxony, in Pomerania, are 
towns in which are stationed a stranoe 
sort of officers— valuers of author's fiesh, 
something like our old market-lookers in 
this town.* They are commonly called 
tasters (or Praegustatores). because they 
eat a mouthful of every book before-hand, 
and tdl the people whether its flavour be 
^ood. We authors, in spite, call them 
reviewers: but I believe an action of 
defamation would lie against us for such 
bad words. The tasters write no books 
themselves ; consequently they have the 
more time to look over and tax those of 
other people. Or, if they do sometimes 
write books, they are bad ones : which 
again is venr advantageous to them : for 
-^o can understand the theory of badness 
in other people's books so well as those 
who have learned it by practice in their 
ewn ? They are reputed the guardians 
of literature and the literati for the same 
reason that St. Nepomuk is the patron 
saint of bridges and of all who pass over 
them — ^viz. because he himself once lost 
his life from a bridge. 


HiFPEL) the author of the book ^< Upon 
Marriage," says — ^*^ A woman, that does 
not talk, must be a stupid woman." But 
Hippel is an author whose opinions it is 
more safe to admire than to adopt. The 
most intelligent women are often silent 
amonsst women; and again, the most 
stopia and the most silent are often neither 
one nor the other, except amongst men. 
In general the current remark upon men 
is i^d also with respect to women — that 
diose for the most part are the greatest 
thinkers who are the least talkers; as 
from cease to croak when ligJU is brought 
to tiie water edge. — However, in taeXy the 

* " Market-looker*** it a provinoial term a 
know not whether used in London) for the puhlle 
offieers who examine the quality of the pro- 
▼isions exposed for sale. By this town I suppose 
John Paul to meaa Bayreuth—the place of his 

disproporfUmate talking oi women arises 
out of the sedentariness of their labonri : 
secondary artisans, — as tailors, shoe- 
makers, weavers, — ^have this habit as well 
as hypochondriacal tendencies in common 
with women. Apes do not talk, as 
savages say, that tney may not be set to 
work X but women often talk double their 
share— even because they work.— .Xont/on 


(Conchtded from our lasLJ 

Having at length gained the seat allot- 
ted me, and bowed to my companions in 
arms, we began to tune. Sound C if you 
please Miss A., said an old gentleman, 
who was straining every nerve to screw 
up his second vioUn string, but, as gene- 
ndlv is the case, when tunins is the order 
of the day, there was so much noise, what 
with the ladies laughing, the old gentle- 
men coughing, the dandies loud talking, 
and the young ladies flirting, that Miss 
ApoUina Shewoff, who was at the piano, 
instead of sounding C, kept thrumming 
in a most discordant style quite a different 
note, but n'importe e*est egal such trifles 
are not worth noticing ; and if the whole 
of the opera or concert performers are 
rarely in tune, what then must be the 
case with unexperienced amateurs, with 
whom tuning is no slight ceremony ! for 
what with strings snapping or likely 
to give — pinching them-l^flattening and 
sharpening and rosining bows, a consi- 
derable portion of the evening is generally 
consumed. But some persons are, I be- 
lieve, partial to tuning de gusHbus non 
est disputandvm. For my own part I 
must confess, that I am one of those 
fellows, who generally contrive to reach 
the opera in time to see the rosin ride 
swiftly over the horses hair. — Too-too 
sighed the flute. — Twang, twang, the 
tingling harp. — Twie-twee, the violin. — 
Too flat — sharper — too sharp the flute. — 
Sir, pray do not sing while I am tuning, 
said the old gentleman to a young fellow 
who stood near him practising the scale ; 
until wishing to etA all this chaotic din, 
I drew with a tremulous motion my bow 
over the stringsof my viobncello. I now 
to(^ eoorage, and bavins received a most 
afiWble smfie fhwn the &hr Cecilia, who 
was stiU at the piano ; I requested the 
favour of the common chord of A: having 
soon tuned my instrument, I pulkd up 
my gills, and endeavoured to prop up 
my (Soth, which was at this time woefUlly 
disordered by the heat, and prepared 
myself for the signal of attack, with the 
consolation of knowing, that if I should 
ehanee to make a mistake^ the Tower oX 

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^ahUe^ whieh had bxoke \0<m in tile 
room was so powerful, that it would over'* 
whdm all blunders. Silence^ at Itogth, 
being in some degree restored, and the 
leader*s tap having been giv^ we started 
off with the overture to Zauberflote, in 
regular philharmonic time ; the flute was 
mudi too sharp, and the harp as much the 
reverse ; so to save m^ own credit I scraped 
away in a most fortissimo style^ in ordet 
to drown the discord. I have sdwavs found 
this to be a good plan, provided a sharp 
look-out is kept for a pause ; never mind 
some of the accompaniments beic^ three 
or four bars before you, provided ^u^all 
end together. And to efi^ this Mth 
certainty, it is no bad plan to keep on a 
sort of tasto solo, or holding note, while 
the others are scrambling away; or to 
make a good long shake in the Exeter 
atyle^* until you find the last bar ap^ 
proaching. At length having jumbled 
the pianos and fortes together, and occa- 
sionally skipped a note or two, we got to 
the printer's name. The applause which 
followed was, of course, most flattering. 
Mrs. Shewoff immediately came up td 
diai^ me, as being her newest guest, and 
to express how de%hted her Mends were 
at my brilliant execution — such tone^-^ 
10 ricb^'^uch an addition to the piano..^ 
such an acquisition to the party ; while 
a lady, who was leaning on her son's ami 
dose by my side, requested him to ask 
me how long it would take to learn the 
viol-di-samba. Now the idea of my 
violoncello, in the eighteenth century 
being degraded by the ^pellation of ah 
instrument which was in vogue about the 
time when men wore square-pointed shoeft 
and pea-green coats, was really most diSf* 
tressing to my feelings ; but before I had 
an opportunitjT of replying, an old lady 
came up and requested me to tell her 
whether it was Dr. Handel's Water-piece, 
that we had just performed : however, I 
was relieved nom my agony by a gentle- 
man assuring her tliat there was na. ffe 
in that composition ! Q^i eohr aibus 
£ratf &JC thought I to myselfl Wliat 
would Monsani have said, if he had 
heard his flutes termed fifes. These, and 
similar other shrewd remarks, served Ho 
4U1 up the breathmg time allowed before 
a song commenced. The old school 
talked of Corelli, Senuiani, and Handel, 
and Dr. Abell*^ oelebisated perfonnances ; 
while the modems- vaunted the praises of 
Bossini and Bishop. A song seemed 
now to be in goicanl demanc^ but, as 
geneiaUy is, the case among ladies, the 
diffiM^ was to dedde who itoold 
begin ? Amelia I/angnish had ra-a-Aer 
MH sing flrst, because ^ knew: v)»ey well 
• VldeTy».;.wdttb. 

Ihather'd^ Meikl, 1^ Charles Braise-alf 
had not yet arrived to hear her. Fanny- 
felt squeamish, because she felt sure that 
Col Attack-all would qua her. Clara 
Shewofi* pleaded the pain in her chest, 
and the order of Doctor Heaviside pro- 
hibiting singing in crowded rooms, while 
the truth was, she knew that Mr. Tender- 
ear was a severe critic ; and Miss Volti- 
subito, after turning over the leaves of 
many of Bishop's b^t compositions, and 
leading every one to expect that she would 
break the ice, declared her utter incapa- 
city of singing any songs that were not 
Italian ! ! Thus, owing to one lady's 
rathers,, another's cannots, a third's, affec- 
tation, and a fourth's fears, another con- 
siderable portion of the evening was 
wasted. At length a Signora Sotto-voce 
was handed to the piano, at the earnest 
desire of her weak Mamma, in order to 
waste her delicate breath oVer one of the 
most difficult cantatas of RossinL And 
now, Mr. Editor, let me give a gentle 
hint to some <^ your fair readers, not to 
have so high an opinjon of tlieir own 
talents. Nothing is more distressii^ 
than to hear, after the delightful warbling 
of a Stephens, or the scientific execution 
of a Camporesi, the compositions of our 
most favoured masters, most shamefully 
mulidered b^ the want of ear, of voicej 
and time, of many of their attempters. 
lllasteis should not be believed ; they 
induce mothers to persuade themselves 
that their daughters have Syrefas* voices, 
which aided by the -flattery of two or 
three yoong men, lead the daughters into 
a belief, that their ballad voices are equal 
to C«talani's. Thus it was with poor 
Miss Sotto-voce, fcfs when i»he came to 
the dotidy pass^es, that iA to say, the 
upper notes, where Ifhere came in a slmke, 
I turned round «Bd found an t>ld gentle- 
man regularly snoring; and saw many 
Chaperons in a nid-nid-noddin state, at 
inucn as to say, they wished it had been 
a dance or a rubber. I have now to apo- 
logise for having trespassed so miuch on 
your columns. Were I to state the rest 
of the vocal and instruipehtal performers, 
I fear I should betray mysdr ; suflice it 
to say, that Metronomes were very much 
In want, and I thought that Mr. Curtis, 
the aurist, would be very useful to the 
auricular nerves of many of the singers. 
However, a^ I found out that Terpsi^ore 
was to take place of Melpon^ene, and 
that ^ose ladies who had not been asked 
to sing, or would not sing, were very 
jealous of the piaises bestowed upon their 
more favoured sisters, and were therefore 
indined to vote for quadrilles; I thought 
it high time to lode up my child, and as 
Miss Apollina was screech-owling, tHo 

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last stanza of "Honie,' sweet hotae," I 
thought of my pillow and started, resolv- 
ing in my way nome, that as I flattered 
myself thiat I had not quite lost my credit, 
I would send you a sketch of tne even. 
ing*s amusement. Intreating your indul- 
gence for the inaccuracies wmdi currente 
ealamo I may have crept into, 
I remain, 8ir, 
Your most obedient servant, Jeie^iiy. 





Each of the twenty quarters of MosJ;ow 
has a Chctstnui Prislafy or inspector, 
appointed to watch over his district. The 
duties of this office are not less extensive 
than important. Every inspector ought 
to have an exact knowledge of the inha- 
bitants of his quarter, over which a sort 
of parental authority is committed to 
him: he is the censor morum of his 
(niarter; their out-goings and in-obmings 
should be kpown to hiin, and his house 
must not be barred by night or by day, 
but is to be a place of refuge continually 
open to uU that are in danger or distress; 
he ought not to- quit the town for the 
fioaoe of two hours without conmiitting 
ine discharge of his office to some other 
person. , Tne constables, and the watch-r 
men of his quarter, as well as the kvarim 
ainik, or inspectors of the sub-divisions of 
his district, aie under his command, and, 
be is attended on all affaurs of his office, 
hj two sergeants. He has his own ofiice, 
and together with a burgher, endeavours 
to settle disputes and affidrs of minor 

The number of watch-houses in Mos- 
cow in 1806, was 352, and now amounts 
to 360. They are called ^^Art, or bu^a 
in the singular. They are really small 
substantial wooden houses, furnished 
with stoves, and are inhabited by the 

Efttroles or watchmen. Three watchmen 
ve in each butka^ who keep the watch 
Inr night and by day, taking their tunis 
alternately every four hours. By this, 
Odcttlatioii, the number of watchmen for 
the city amounts to 1,080, of which 360 
axe constantlv on di^ty by day as well as 
by night, and the remainder ready to give 
assistance in cases of emergency.* 

The watch-houses are mostly placed at 
ibe comers, of the st^reets, and in public 
situations. Ther watchmen are cfdled 
btUoshnUn; are dressed in a coarse grey 

uniform; are Amished with' Halbertft. 
when OB duty< and 'have a. soidier4ike. 
appearance. Besides iOicir proper desti-. 
nation,' they ace to assist in. taking up 
dflfendera, and in aajr service that theur 
commanders or necisssity xnay itoquire. 

I have admired the expedition with 
which quarrellers or drunkaids a£e 
quieted by &ebe peopk. If words tod 
scolding, oar gentle cOTrectlon have no in- 
fluence the whole watchmen of the butka. 
are immediately^ -summoned, and the dis«. 
turber ci the peace is lodged in safety at 
the watch-house tillh&becomes manage- 
able, and kk the morning his conduct is 
decided on. 

The police takes cognisance of idl 
persons in th& capital ; travellers who 
come and go are subject to certain for- 
i]lblitiM,wmchrenderitextremely difficult 
to conceal the place of theii^. abode, or., 
thek departure iVom the city. To this 
end, every householder' and innkeeper is 
obliged to declare to the police the names 
of those who lodge wiu him,- -or what 
strangers have put up at his house. If 
a stranger or lodger siay oiit iall night, 
the lanmord must inform the police of it, : 
at least on the third day of nis absence 
from his house. The cautionary rule in 
regard toquitting the town are still more 
strict. Those who would leave, must 
public ia the hewspiqpers thek names, 
their itok in life, diree several tinss,' 
and produce the newspapers containing 
the advertistineni, as a testimonial to l3ie 
government, froni whidi they then re- 
ceive' theur pilssports, and without -diese 
it is next to impossible to get out of the 
empire.— X^ott** Character qf the Bus- 


Ix the Spring of 1821, I resided at Ser-^ 
puchof, a distinct town in the government 
of Moscow. The MaslenUsa^ at butter- 
week, which precedes the Carnival, was 
distinguished as in the metropolis bv 
balls and amusements, and even a well- 
ipanag^d masquerade. A sledge parade 
was announced for Saturday, and a cf^- 

jeUner d lafaurchette by Prince , le 

Mariehal de la Noblesse ; and I, among 
Others, accepted the invitation. The 
number of sledges was not great, nor the 
spectacle at all miposing. As the weather 
was cold, every individual present seemed 
to await the breakfast with impatience. 
After being tantalized till two o*clock, a 
shabby entertainment followed. Half of 
&e ladies and gentlemen never sat down, 
but ate and drank whilst standing on 
their feet; some seized a >ccc of fsh 

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with * fork, put it iipcm » pUrte, and 
withdrew from the table ; others, without 
Mremony, got hold of pieces of a pie, 
dirided on purpose, and retired with them 
in their hands. Some got a dram of 
tweet Votki, others a glass of wine, &c 
&«. All I could oome at, in the imiver-^ 
sal scramble, was a little Votki and a bit 
of pie. A gentleman who had been more 
fortunate, and had partaken of two or 
three dishes, seemed to enjoy a triumph, 
when a servant approached him and de- 
nianded two roubles and a half — so mudi 
for each dish, and half a rouble for his 
dram. His astonishing wild state of sur- 
prize, fury, and ind^^tion, and his 
hearty curses, I shall not readily forset. 
He paid the money, and the affiur en£d. 
Application was then made to some of 
the other guests, who absolutely refused 
payment. I was about to quit iitffremd 
nail, when a servant approached me and 
demanded a rouble and a half. I felt 
insulted, and while scolding, desired ^t 

Prince might be told that I had 

been present at a public entertainment, 
and that I should never pay a kopeck, 
and off I went. Every individual pre- 
sent understood that the paltry breakfast 

was given ly Prince ; and, indeed, 

a number of his favourites were not asked 
for payment. His steward was master of 
the ceremonies; his cooks prepared the 
dishes in the assembly-rooms of the 
town ; his servants waited at table, and 
he himself acted as host during die enter- 
tainment. Deservedly he was abused by 
his countrjnnen for this acte iclatarU. 

A nobleman of the highest rank, now 
in his grave, invited his friends to an 
elegant dinner and splendid entertainment, 
in his fine gardens on the banks of the 
Moskva. The most distinguished per- 
sonages of the metropolis were present. 
With surprise, one of the guests was re- 
marked, as he most dexterously conveyed 
a sUver spoon, which he had been using, 
into his pocket. Immediately after din- 
ner, this noble left the party, and, at- 
tended by his livery servants, got into hia 
carriage and drove home. 

A prince of the northern empire hav- 
ing entered one of the magazines at Mos- 
cow, wandered up and down, passed a 
number of articles in review, and de- 
manded their ]^rices. WTiiUt the pro- 
prietors and their assistants were busily 
occupied in shewing a variety of wares to 
numerous purchasers, the said nobleman 
clandestinely, and, as he thought, with- 
out being seen, seized a gUded tea-cup 
and saucer, conveyed it under his doak • 
commenced a general conversation ; pre! 
tended to have forgotten something; ran 
cff with his booty; deposited it in hit 

carriage; re-entered the magazine ;biafia^ 
some trifling article ; departed, and, &• 
lowed by a couple of servants in gorgeous 
apparel, seated himself in his v^icle, 
and, no doubt, dwelt with complacency 
on his triumph, as he waa hurled along 
the -^-. street to his own palace... Jbid, 


A DEATH-BED is, indeed, a test of truth. 
"Who ever heard of a man*s rejecting the 
hopes of Christianity, and becoming a 
convert to infidelity, in his last dread 
hour? Oh, no! — ^if ever he clings 
closely and solely to the Saviour, it is at 
that moment--if ever he realises the idea 
of a Redeeming God, it is then! if ever 
he feels the influence of the Comforter, 
now is the time ! — His good deeds — . 
alas I he estimates them now at their true 
wcHth; vitiated by alloy, their fairest 
light shaded by the mingling of worldly 
motives. He cannot rest there, he cannot 
extract hope from these. But he has 
satisfaction in remembering the sacrifice 
he has made, the secular ^vantages he 
has rejected, for the sake of Him who 
died on Calvary. To Him he looks— 

in Him he hopes to live eternally 

through Him liis aspirations after mor- 
tality are legitimate. Ye infidels, *' come 

and see how a Christian can die.*' FakU 

Errors and Fundamental Truths. 



I BAVB at last read the second volume 

of Mr 's work, and had some hope 

that I should prevail with myself to read 
the first likewise. I began his book at 
the hitter end, because the first part of it 
was engaged when I received the second; 
but I had not so good an appetite as a 
soldier of the guards, who,. I was informed 
when I lived in London, would for a 
matter eat up a cat alive, beginning at her 
tail and finishing with her whiskers. - - - 
I^ send a cucumber, not of my own 
raising, and yet raised by mc. 

SoWe this enigma, dark enough 

To puzzle any brains 
That are downright puzzle-pn>of. 

And eat it for your pains. 

- - - I raised the seed that produced the 
plant that produced the fruit, that pro- 
duced the seed that produced the fruit 1 
8«°t you- , This latter seed I gave to the 
rardener of Temingham, who brought me 
the cucumber you mention. Thus you 
seelrais^iU-thatistosay, I raised it 
virtually by havmg raised its progenitor; 
and yet I did not raise i^ because the 
identical seed from which it mew was 
raised at a distance. .. . 

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Whoerer means to take mj phis will 
find himself Mnrely perplexed in seeking 
Ibr a fit occasion. That I shall not give 
him one,.i8 certain ; and if he steals one, 
he must be as canning and ouick-sighted 
a thief as Autolycus himself. His best 
course will be to draw a face, and call it 
mine, at a venture. They who have not 
aeen me these twenty years will say, It 
may possibly be a striiing likeness now, 
thou^ it bears no resemblance to what 
he was: time makes great alterations. 
They who know me better will say, per- 
haps, Though it is not perfectly the 
tfamg, yet there is somewhat of the cast 
of his countenance. If the nose was a 
little longer, and the chin a little shorter, 
the eyes a little smaller, and the forehead 
a little more protuberant, it would be 
just the man. And thus, without seeing 
me at all, the artist may represent me to 
the public eye, with as much exactness as 
yours has bestowed upon you, though, I 
suppose, the original was full in his view 
when he made the attempt. 

We felt ourselves not the less obliged 
to you for the cocoa-nuts, though they 
were good for nothing. They contained 
nothing but a putrid liquor with a round 
white mmp, which in taste and substance 
much resembled tallow, and was of the 
siae of a small walnut Nor am I the 
less indebted to your kindness for the 
fish, though none is yet come. - - « 

Cocoa-nut naught. 

Fish too dear. 
None must be bought 

For us that are here. 

No lobster on earth. 

That ever I saw. 
To me would be worth 

Sixpence a claw. 

So, dear Madam, wait 

Till fish can be got 
At a reasonable rate. 

Whether lobster or not ; 

Tin the French and the Dutch 

Have quitted the seas. 
And then send as much 

And as oft as you please. 

- - - I forgot to mention that Johnson 
uses the dis^etion my poetship has al- 
lowed him, with much discernment. He 
has suggested several alterations, or ra- 
ther marked several defective passages, 
which I have corrected much to the ad- 
vantage of the poems. In the last sheet 
ne sent me, he noted three such, all which 
I have reduced into better order. In the 
foregoing sheet, I assented to his criti- 
dsms in some instances, and chose to 
abide by the original expression in others. 
Thus we jog on together comfortably 
enon^ : and perhaps it would be as well 
for authors in general, if their booksellers, 
whoi men of some taste, were allowed^ 

thou^ not fo tinker the work themtdveiy 
yet to point out the flaws, and humbly 
to reconunend an improvement. - - - 

^To Maa. Newtok. 

September 16, 1781. 
A noble theme demands a noble verse. 
In such I thank you for your fine oyter*. 
The barrel was magnificently large. 
But being sent to (Hney at free charge. 
Was not Inserted in the driver's list, 
And therefore overlook'd, forgot, or miss'd ; 
For when the messenger whom we dispatch'd 
Inquired for oysters. Hob his noddle scratcfa'd ; 
Denying that his wacgon or his wain 
Did any such commodltv contain. 
In consequence of which, your welcome boon 
Did not arrive till yesterday at noon ; 
In consequence of which some chanced to die. 
And some, though very sweet, were very dry. 
Now Madam says (and what she says must itiU 
Deserve attention, say she what she wiU^) 
That what we call the Diligence, be-case 
It goes to London with a swifter pace. 
Would l>cttersait the carriage ofyour gift. 
Returning downwards with a pace as swift ; 
And therefore reconmiends it with this aim — 
To save at least three days,— the price the same ; 
For though it will not aurrj or convey 
For less than twelve pence, tend whate'er you 

For oysters bi«a upon the salt sea shore, 
PackM in a barrel, they will ehnr^e no more. 

News have I none that I can deign to write,! 
Save that it rain'd prodigiously last night ; 
And that ourselves were, at the seventh hour^ 
Caught in the first beginning of the sbow'r ; 
But walking, running, and with much ado. 
Got home— just time enough to be wet through. 
Yet both are well, and, wond*rous to be told. 
Soused as we were, we yet have caught no cold s 
And wishing just the same good hap to yon. 
We say, good Madam, and good Sir, Adieu I 

Cawper's Correspondents, 



Fob. the first few days after a ship has 
been paid, or received prize-money, it 
bears the greatest resemblance between 
decks to one of the worst streets in a sea- 
port town with the houses turned inside 
out. A fair is held on the main-deck ; 
stalls are fitted out on each side, over 
which preside the most avid and the most 
abject of the children of Israel ; sailors 
roll half-drunk, from stall to stall, with 
a watch-chain dangling from each pocket, 
and a harlot on each hand. At tms time 
the ship is hemmed round with boats (as 
a beleaguered town is with tents^ which 
are not suffered to approach withm a cer- 
tain distance under pain of being fired 
upon ; for if it were otherwise, the ship 
would be entirely taken possession of by 
Jews and women. But at intervau 
some bolder one of these boats darts be- 
neath a portJiole, and introduces unaeea 

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it».jaBei«»^4-«irg0. The nttave only 
4«tecxisd by the pouited muskets of the 
marines, .md betweep each attempt to 
advance they maintain an unintermitting 
course of unintelligible e^cpostulation. 
Jews vociferate without, and Jews respond 
from within. Howl ship of Tarslush 1 
It would seem as if all Israel and Judah 
had been gathered tege^er from Dan to 
Beersheba to spoil the inhabitants of the 
Ides that pass over the great waters. 

Rum is the great article of merchandise, 
which is absolutely but vainly forbidden 
to be brought on board. It is generally 
secreted in smidl bladders about the per. 
sons of the women, which are yet strictly 
searched by the master-at-arms and ser- 
geant of marines, — officers, it may be, not 
proof against every sOTt of bribery. Fe- 
male persuasion and bladders of rum, 
who can withstand ? By these and ether 
means, the vessel is fully supplied wiUi 
i^iiits, and the throng of IxMtts without 
gradually disperses for the day, as their 
oews beomnie hopdess of admission for 
their cargoes. Within,— -night and uni- 
yersal drunkenness come on together. 
Men fighting and swearing, women fig^t- 
ing ana shrieking, Israel sorely oppr^ised 
by reason of ihek extortions uplirang the 
voice of lamentation, kegs of rum over- 
turned upon the decks, hammocks cut 
down, men tumbling down ladders and 
hatchways, with all other disorders of 
darkness, drunkenness, and lewdness, 
from a^ scene of nautical festivity, which 
oppresses a novice with a feeling almost 
amounting to htnror. The impressions 
of such 8cenes,^t is true, wear ofi^, or 
rather wear in,— ibr th^y are not often 
repeated without some assimilation of the 
mind they indurate, — and the delicate 
and elegant child who had left his little 
garden and his poWes, and his evening 
prayer, and his mother^S' good-night kiss, 
to seek adventures which never occur,-!- 
this boy acquires the hardihood, and 
. restlessness, and carelessness, which are 
the much boasted characteristics of a 
British sailor. Say whether this be loss 
or gain ? 

I wave the suff»ings of the child and 
of the parents whilst the change is pro- 
ducing, and ask what they have got by it 
when produced. 

The sketch I have given of the day 
fifter pay-day is not exaggerated, but 
unfinished. I had occasion to walk 
through St. Giles's one Sunday morning 
lately, and was reminded of it. Blen and 
women half-drunk, sick-drunk, dead- 
drunk, vino sopiti, et vino sepulti (our 
own language stints the truth as well as 
the climax), lay or rolled (stand who can) 
about the street,— and there were others 

cDtj^ymg the Bifl^t|, a m0f«. abl^mint 
dffcumsouioe, because the.^bunktfdft ttiay 
be only infirm of ttdnd.' tne others ard 
grievously corrupt , To this Sunday 
morning m St. Giles, may be compared 
the morning which succeeds this festal 
night in the paid ship. But it by no 
means closes the gaieties of the season. 
Morning is grey, indeed, and its aspect 
rather saturnine than jovial ; but ere noon 
the fogs clear away, rum is poured down 
like rain-water, and nature is very natU'^ 
rally invigorated and refreshed. This 
night resembles the last, only that a few 
stndy old quarter-masters and boat- 
swainVmates, now perhaps condescend 
to be only half-seas-over, and having 
procured, by a sort of spuritual influence 
over the master-at-arms, the indulgence 
of keeping in their light after eight beUs^ 
they smoak and soak with great gravi^ 
in a retired comer, whence their aaadm 
may not cast a ray up any hatdiwaT, so 
as to be perceived by the ofiioer of the 
watch-on-deck ; and when he goes faia 
Tounds, it is concealed, without bdn|( 
extinguished, by the superinducticm of a 
large tub wMch held the mess allowance 
of peas-soup. The comfortable compo^ 
sure c^ these veterans is as undisturbed 
by the y^ and furious brawls without, 
as by the fluid which gradually percolates 
through every pore within. A shipmate 
falls £>wn a natchway, and is carried past 
to the surgeon's nute to have his 1^ sec^ 
or his shoulder wrenched back into joint; 
— they never take the pipes from their 
lips : a refractory woman, by 4^e help of 
a rope made fast round her waii|t and rove 
through a block at the end of the main- 
yard, is hoisted up from deck to deck, 
pushed over the bulwark, and let down 
into a boat along-side — diey ccurse her 
for making more noise than a marine in 
a gale of wind, and take up t&eir yam 
where they dropped it. It is generally 
three or four days before anr attempt is 
made to restore the ship to its ordinary 
state of discipline, and few of the women 
leave her whilst she remains in harbour. 


CFor the Mirror, J , 

O. genius 1 what power tliy wand can controls 
Thou mighty magician 1 and spark of the soal 5 
Thy flame will bust forth like the sun-beamt «f 

And bear with their glory, detraction away! 
Triumphant will blaze with the mind-torch of 

And hurl down thy foes to the region* of idi^t. 

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I lMM#«»^Mitfc^t» navtt ana fMM!« 
•vftthout record to blazon your name ; 


Si[a]ltfT«#i| , 

Thy ehraphie-itmi^d luitre transcendent' will 

▲ndthepioiid claim to geniui,-m.wiih justiee 

be thine 1 Utopia. 

* Mr. George Eellarday, a yonn; gentleman 
of very eminent abilities in the GrapMoal de- 
partment, and who from the beautiful.and indeed, 
classical subjects already produced, promises to 
hold no mean rank with those iUustrious BritUh 
Engraver*, Woollett, Oreen, Ryland Heath, 
Pieard, Sharpe, &c. &c. 


Mr. Editor, — It is in my poi»er to 
ftiniish yoiuf correspondent '* Rover" 
with directions for red and green fire, 
bine I. never saw, nor do I know the 
eomposition; the following are the pro- 
portions for red. 

' .40 parts of dry Nitrate of Strontian. 
' 13 do. of finely powdered Sulphur. 

5 do. of Oxymuriate of Potash. 
4 do. of Sulphuret of Antimony. 

The Potash and Antimony should be 
powdered separatelv, and th^ mixed to- 
gether on paper, aner which they maybe 
added to the other ingredients previously 
miwdeied, and all mixed toMther per- 
isedy. Sometimes a little Realgar is 
added to theBulphuret of Antimony, and 
ftequently when.,the fire burns dim and 
badly,^ a very small quantity of very 
findly powdered Gharcoai, or lump black, 
wiR make it perfiecL 


13 parts of Flowers of Sulphur. 
77 do. of Nitrate of Baivtes. 

6 do. of Ox3rmuriate of Potash 

2 do. Metallic Arsenic 

3 do. Charcoal. 

The Nitrate of Barytes should be well 
dried and powd»ed, it should then be 
mixed with the other ingredients, all 

fin^ ^idittl»d, and tiie whole Ititiiiated: 
y&til perfeedy blended. A litde CaUn 
mine may be occasionally added in oidev 
to make the combustion slower; and k is 
above all things requisite, that both thia 
and the red fire, should be well triturated 
and continued until pafsctly mixed. 



( To the Editor of the Mirror.) 
SiR,.^Ob8erving in your 68th Number 
the wish of " Rover,** I inform you the 
composition of the blue fire consists of 
the following mixture. 

Flowers of Sulphur ... 13 parts. 

Nitrate of Barytes 77 do. 

Oxymuriate of Potash, 5 do. 

Metallic Arsenic 2 do. 

Charcoal 3 do. 

This mixture to be burned in a re- 

Av O1.D Subscriber. 



(For the Mirror.) 

In reverend guise this ancient pile survey 
Gh-ded with oaks whose tinted foUage gleame 
With Autumn's j^olden hue. Now leiuui*p^tf 
Betweentheirhosrytmnksthv western ray, " 
As smiles the slowly parting orb of day: 
FuU oq. these lofty halls are flung his beami. 
Where time's ennobling touch has fumish*d 

themes, - ^ ^ 

That rouse-the-sottHhrough eentnriesto stray. 
I see our maiden queen beside me sweep — 
I shrink beneath the lightning of her glaufle, ' 
Or View that lofty form relaxed in sleep. 
Her) niind't vast powers bound up as in a 

Till all these splendid scenes in dimaeic fade, 
Iiost in the glory, of that awful shade. 

The proportion of children bom is 18 males to 17 females. According to the 
observation of Mr. Dupre de St. Maur, in 23,994 deaths, 6,454 of them, were those 
of childr^i, not a year old, and carrying his researches on this subject as fat as 
possible, he concludes, that of 24,0(K> childrenv^bom^ .the numbers who attain to 
different ages, are as follow : — 

Age. No. 

2 17,640 

3 16,162 

4 14,177 

& «13,477 

6 12,968 

7 12,562 

8 12,256 

Age. No. 

9 12,015 

10 11,861 

15 11,40$ 

20 ..10,909 

26 10,259 

30, 9v544 

35 8,770 

Age. No, 

40. 7,929 

45 7,008 

50... ......6,197 

55...... ...5,375 

60. 4,564 

70 2j544 


.. 807 
. 291 
. 103 
. 71 
. 63 
. 47 



100.... 6 or 7 

WiMtsn a child is bom, to what age Biay a person bet, on equal terms, that it will 

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iSbrtOcthatitwillttiUUvc? Thetenctwoquestioni, theKdutiomof whichit 

dJ^thoby M. Pardeux. The Table of M. Parcleux is fonned from lists of 
Annulumts. ^^^^ ^^ ^^^^ 

It may be deduced from the pieoeding obsenratioiis, that wh«i th^inhabitMilMf « 
country amount to one million, the numiber of those of die diffecent ages will m0 
follows:— ' : 

Between 55 and eo years complotea?,Ut 

00 — 65 

— 65 — 70^ 

70 _ 75 l%t 

, 75 — 80 7/ 

80 - 85^ %fi 

85 — 90 . 1^ 

, 90 — 95 205 

Between Oand 1 year complete 38,740 
1 _- 6 119,460 

. 5—10- 
-15 —20- 
-26 —30- 
-45 —50- 


-95 —100 

Above 100 yean 

3 or 4 

The number of inhabitants of a coun- 
try is to that of the fiunilies, as 1,000 to 

By taking a mean also, it is found 
that in 25 families, there is one where 
there are six or more children. 

The proportion of males and females in 
a country, are as 18 to 19. 

It is found that there are three mar- 
riages annually among 337 inhabitants, 
so ihat 112 inhabitants produce one mar- 

The proportion of married men, or 
widowers, to married women, or widows, 
is nearly as 125 to 140, and the whole 
number of this dass of society, is to die 
whole of the inhabitants, as 265 to 631. 

Among 631 inhabitants, there are 118 
married couples, 7 or 8 widowers, and 
21 or 22 widows. 

1,870 married couples give annually 
3S9 children. 

Total 1 Million. 

The number of servants is to the 
whole number of inhabitants, as 136 to 
1,535 nearly. 


Although it was p»rt of the original plan of 
the Mirror, to pire extracts from the most 
expeniire, and most valuable new Works, as 
they appeared, and we have frequently done 
this,yet it has occurred to us, that if we somewhat 
extended this part of our plan, we might be ren- 
dering the Mirror still more attractive ; we 
have, therefore, in the present Number, emu* 
meaeedthe Selector. Authors and PoUishars 
wishing to see a few of the best passages from 
their Works, (for we give no criticisms.nor seek 
after blemishes,) are invited to send copies. 

The interesting Table on the Probabilities of 
Human Life, has confined us to so small a space, 
that we can only say to our Correspondents, that 
many of them who think themselyea forgotten 
will appear next week. 

Printed and PublUhed fty J. LIMBI RD, 
143, ^rand, (n^ar Samersei HouteO •nd mM 
hy oli ^ewMiun and BookMiler^ 

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Cfje Miwox 



[Price 2d 

lEjbe Srcmltu at plo^coiD. 

The Kremlin at Moscow, of which we 
present an interesting and correct view, 
exhibiting the ancient palace of the 
Czars, and the first place of Christian 
worship . in Moscow, consists of three 
divisions — ^the ancient palace, the audience 
chamber, and the new palace. 

The ancient palace is supposed to have 
been commenced in the year 1499, by 
Alevise, the architect, from Milan. The 
sdte had formerly been occupied by a 
wooden palace, which was burnt down in 
1483. Deep cellars and ice cellars served 
for the foundation of this magnificent 
edifice, which was completed in the 
course of nine years, and is now named 
the Palace with the Bdvidere. The 
palace stands at the extremity of the 
Kremlin, and, having received numerous 
additions at difierent periods, exhibits 
▼arious styles of architecture. The top 
is thickly «et with numerous little gilded 

Sires and globes ; and a large portion of 
e front is decorated with arms of all the 
provincfls whidi compose the Russian 
empire. The apartments are small, ex« 
enbng one single room, called the ooun. 
dl chunbof y in which the andeat Otacm 
Vol. ul, I 

used to give audiences to foreign anibas* 
sadors. This palace, in which the Czars 
formerly held their courts, in all the 
splendour of Eastern pomp, was once 
esteemed by the natives, an edifice of un- 
paralleled magnificence, which is now far 
surpassed by the ordinary mansions of 
the nobility. 

In this palace, Peter the Great was 
bom, in the year 1672, a circumstance 
which has only been recently asceitained. 
When Bonaparte penetrated with his 
legions to Moscow, he took up his resi- 
d^ce at the Kremlin, where he remained, 
until the governor of Moscow, Rostopchin, 
preferred sacrificing the ancient capital of 
the Czars, to seeine it in the hands of an 
enemy. We shall, therefore, close this 
article with an account of that dreadful 
confiagration, from the recently published 
Memoirs of General Rapp, wno was Na- 
polecm's aid-de-camp. After the battle 
of the Borodino, in which 60,000 men 
were lulled in a few hours. 

*^ The Russian army retreated towards 
the capital : it made some resistance tit 
Mojaisk, and arrived at Moscow. W* 
tooK this cilj without striking a blow^ 


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ftjurat entered it in the train of the Cos- 
Mck^ discoursed with their /iJhiefe, and 
even gave a watch to one of them. They 
were expressing the admiration which his 
courage excited in them, and the dejec- 
tion mat a series of misfortunes produces, 
when some discharges of musketry were 
heard : it was from a few hundred citiaens, 
who had taken arms. They themselves 
put an end to this useless firing, and con- 
tinued their retreat. 

" Napoleon entered the next day. He 
fixed his quarters in the Kremlin, with a 
part of his guard, and the persons of his 
household ; hut we were so badly accom- 
modated, that I was obliged to take an- 
other lodgmg. I settled myself at some 
distance, in a house which belonged to a 
member of the Nareschkin family. I 
arrived at four o'clock in the afternoon. 
The town was stiU complete : the cus- 
tom-house alone was a prey to the flames, 
which devoured it before any Frenchman 
appeared ; but night came on— it was the 
signal for the fire. Left and right, ever^ 
where there was a blaze ; public build- 
ings, tooaples, private property, all were 
in flames. The conflagration was gene- 
ral—nothing was to escape. The wind 
blew witii violence ; the fire made rapid 
progress. At midnight the blaze was so 
terrific, that my aides-de-camp waked 
me; they supported me; I reached a 
window, from which I behdd the spec- 
tacle, which was becoming frightfriL The 
fire was advancing towards us: at four 
o'clock, I was uiformed that I must re- 
move from my quarters. I left them ; a 
few moments after, the house was reduced 
to ashes. 1 ordered them to conduct me 
in the direction of the Kremlin ; every 
thing was in confusion. I returned back 
and went to the quarters of the Germans. 
A house belonging to a Russian general 
had been appoints for me ; I hoped to 
be able to stay there to recover from my 
wounds ; but when I arrived, volvunes of 
fire and smoke were already issuing from 
it. I did not go in; I returned once 
more to the Kremlin. On the road I 
perceived some Russian artisans and sol- 
diers, who were dispersed about in the 
houses, and were employed in letting fire 
to them: our patroles killed some of 
them in my presence, and arrested a con- 
siderable number." 



(Far the Mirror,) 
AMONa doubtless A very large, or at any 
cat6, a very valuable portion of your rea* 

•«« Minor, No. e»* 

ders, I cheerfully uplift my feeble testi- 
mony, m sincere acquiescence of the 
goodness of intention evinced by your 
mtelligent correspondent, Edear, on 
the nature and efiect of ti^eatrical 
amusements ; nor can I, however I may 
question its policy, at the same time 
refrain from expressing high admiration, 
at the diversified character, and the cor- 
rect feeling manifested in the varied and 
interesting morceaux he has occasionally 
contributed to your excellent miscellany. 
Happy do 1 feel in bearing testimony to 
their merits, not from inherent vanity, or 
the consciousness of a qualified critic, for 
I have no such pretensions to authorise 
my obtruding myself as his encomiast ; 
aware of my inability to do him justice, 
rather am I disposed to tiiink, that what- 
ever I may be disposed to advance in the 
nature of eulogy; may appear immeasur- 
ably below desert. He must, however, 
accept the meed of praise as it is in- 
tended, without too nicely investimting 
the garb in which it is presented. Habi- 
liment weighs not with .the most faithful 
of domestic animab, whose grateful in- 
stinct is mudi more to be admired than 
boasted reason when umilarly exercised. 
But ^ 1 am again to he privileged 
among the select few, 
*' Whose pens reflect their hearts in lostrou* 

Where reason and her sakeUitet in godlike 

attitude enthron*d» 
Beam rays divine in giddy mortals gase. 
Dazzling but to amend— illume— instruct— . 

I must be wary^ and net^Mspass^m the^ ' 
indulgoioe by superfiuous comment, for 
all that I could say, would but echo the 
opinion of the thinking few, and what 
is more tedious than a twice told tale. 

Without farther preface, then, I ap- 
proach tiie subject, not exactiy to Uend 
my views with his, which, in my opinion, 
afford not the shadow of a h<^ as to 
efficacy in loosening the fangs of vice from 
her domination over this immoral pesti- 
lence against which he so feelingfy in- 
veighs a pestilence of all others the 

most pleasingly seductive, and therefore 
tiie most ruinously dangerous as a public 
eviL For my own part, I am not so san- 
guine as to think the human heart so 
accessible to rigid remonstrance, or rational 
argument as many imagine ; its virtuous 
tendencies must be aroused by innate 
impulse, and the hand divine in conj^unc- 

tion for the prejudice in favour of^ and 

partiality for such amusements grocw up 
from inumcy, axtd our first perceptions, 
so famocently— so ddightfuUy lean to 
this species of enjoyment, in entire ig-. 
noranee of its questionable nature, that' 
aftcrreflection ranka its faiiy-Uke iUvi- 
■tonsanwng the faappicsl xecoUK^imi ot 

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(tar existefice. Be it remtmbered, this 
period is one of unsophisticated innocence, 
before the mind is susceptible of its im- 
morality — a period of unstained purity; 
when attractive splendour, and all the 
beau ideal of the stage operate with 
magical efi^ on the surfkceof the heart, 
(for familiarity with its inmost recesses 
is of progressive growth) ere the veil is 
lifted up which obscures its licentious- 
ness. The passion for its delicious gaiety, 
thus fed at intervals, ^' few and far be- 
tween,'* becomes a rooted bias, that spurns 
after control, growing with our growth, 
and strengthening with our strength, till 
the full tide of unbridled youth has by 
inordinate indulgence, blunted and 
blighted the moral susceptibilities of the 
mind, rendering a waxen sur&ce for 
indiscriminate impress, and most natu- 
rally, to those of a pleasurable tendency. 
In this lamentable exigence, a disposi- 
tion to continue a grat^cation that ap- 
peals to the senses, with almosi irresistible 
persuasiveness subdues the cold calcu- 
lations of prudence and morality, as 
restraints which such perverted tastes 
condemn as unreasonably austere. Judg- 
ment is stilled b^ the conviction, that 
personally abstainmg from what the best 
informed are too naturally prone to regard 
as fairly within the privileged scope. of 
amusement, would be debarring our- 
selves from a source of pleasure, which 
discriminative selection characterizes as 
admissible, for no attendant benefit whau 
ever. A scrupulous conscience here and 
there, constituted as society is, can never 
operate to the abolition of theatrical 
amusements in this vast metropolis. The 
argument, that all thinking folks should 
abstain through principle from participa- 
tion, is, viewed in this sense, weak and 
unavailing. The degeneracy of the stage, 
§o long a matter of complaint^ and its 
demoralizing effects, may, in some mea- 
sure, be ascribed to the absence oi such 
as are best qualified to improve its cha- 
racter, and admitting that the evil is 
insurmountable, and not to be borne 
down by the mere force of argument, 
however just and consistent, it seems to 
me, that the presence and chastening in- 
fluence of such enlightened individuals 
is indispensable to <£eck its abuses and 
curb the inroad of yet*greater enormities. 
It is plainly a^^mrent, that play-fre- 

auenters of the ordinary class, will not 
iiink for themselves. Witness the existing 
triumph of absurdity and frivolity over 
the productions of genuine talent ; and 
while we deplore its degrading ascend- 
ancy, we feel.assuBsd they^sQcl^ ^^ g^ti^ 
ficaitipn ai depraved and soasual apatites, 
or at any rate the correction of a taste to 

vitiated is too important to be neelected', 
for it is equally th& fact, that when un^ 
controlled they invariably exercise tt 
sovereignty, which those who administer 
this opiate to the senses — this seductive 
poison, find it their interest to gratify 
rather than oppose. What, let me ask, 
would become of these deluded creatures 
if left to the ungovernable influence of 
depraved passions ? Do not the better* 
informed, in this point of view, become 
their guardian angels ? and, even if they 
fail in eliciting permanent good from an 
irremediable evil, at least they prevent 
its becoming in toto a sink of infamy. 
It seems essential, nay, indispensable, 
that the enlightened few should counte- 
nance the theatres, if, but to prevent their 
descending yet lower in tne scale of 
infamy, and this from notions of christian 
chwrity towards such of their fellow crea- 
tures, as will not be deterred by moral 
considerations from frequenting them. 
Did such abstain, their example would 
scarcely operate at all — whereas, by their 
presence, they can put to flight, ribaldry 
and buffoonery, and foster only such ra- 
tional amusements, as are free from taint 
and impurity, defects which are pregnant 
with the most 'alarming consequences to * 
the thoughtless and inconsiderate* 
Feb. 6, 1824. Janet. 


The following beautiful poem is copied 
from a MS. of a very old date, in the pos- 
session .of a gentleman^ who has kindly 
forwarded it for the Mirror, The Editor 
believes he has seen it in print, and' thinkfe 
it is by Shr John Davies ; but, nbt havtarg: 
that author^s works at hand, he canoot 
say positively. 

Like as the utamask rose you tee. 

Or like tht blossom on a tr«e. 

Or like the dainty flower in May, 

Or like the mominff to the day. 

Or like the sun, or like the shad^. 

Or like the eoord which Jcmas had. 

Even such is man, whose thread is spaa. 

Prawn out and cut, and so is done — 

The rose withers, the blossom blasteth. 
The flower fades, the morning taasteth. 
The sun sets,tbe shadow flies. 
The gourd consumes, and man he diet. 

Like totho ^iws thnt'a npwlyippiiiiffj 

Or like [L ta1(! that's np\v fctf un» 

Or Uke the bird thut'shere to-iifty, 

t)r I'ltii^ tl]* pnarlcd dtw of Ma? . 

Or Hkp tm hitcir. yr like a sfan^ 

Or 1 ike th« i iiif t n ^ o f » *wan ; 

flven such !i niaji, who Uvea bvbTCAtli, 

Ii here, tit>w tbert. ill life and death. ^ 

Th^ 4rr^s w1l lif ^Ej th** lalp is «i^ea. 
The b [ rd i B flown , «if d* w'a i soended, i 
The btiUT is *Uort. Uie i^fafwnyt leiifc 
The Bwaa I neardeiO], maa i life « d«i* 

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LOm !• IIM bukUt kithii bniok. 
Orte ft ilftM maeb like ft look. 
Or llkt Ibo fhutUe !■ wMtror't bftiid. 
Or like the writinf on the sftnd. 
Or like a thoof ht, or like a dream. 
Or like the gliding of the atream ; 
Btob such it man, who lives by hreiUh, 
If here, now there, inlife and death 1 

The bubble*! oat, the look** forgot. 

The fhuttle'i fliuif , the writings blot. 

The thought is pai*,the dream is gone. 

The waters glide, man's life Is done. 
Like to an arrow from the bow, 
Or like swift course of water-flow. 
Or like that titie twizt flood and ebb. 
Or like the spider's tender web. 
Or like a race, or like a goal. 
Or like the dealing of a dole, 
KTen such is man, whose brittle state. 
Is always sabjeet unto fate : 

The arrow's shot, the flood soon speut. 

The time no time, the web soon rent. 

The raee soon run, the goal soon won. 

The dole soon dealt, man's life eoon done. 

Like to the lightning from the sky. 

Or like a post that quick doth hie. 

Or like a quarer in a song, . 

Or like a journey three days long. 

Or like the snow when summer's oome. 

Or like the pear, or like the plum ; 

Kven sueh is man, who heaps up sorrow, 

lives but this day, and dies to-morrow. 

The lightning's past, the post must go. 

The song is short, the joumev so. 

The peardoth rot, the plum doth fall. 

The snow dissolves, and so must all. 


(Fitr the Mirror.) 
I LOTK * draich-yaid walk— a diuich. 
yard, where the nettle and the moss grow 
—where the weU-arranged, green-mantled 
crares, aie hidden from me rude, un- 
Slinking throng — ^where the cheerless jew 

that loves to dwell 

'Midst sculls and coffins, epitaphs and worms, 

liddi to the solemnity of the scene — and 
whfve the moon sheds its hrffliant lustre 
on the monumental tablets, which tell 
that there sleeps one, whose grave has 
been moistened by sorrows and tears — 
that there lies entombed *' amidst the 
wreck of things which were," the blos- 
soms of youdi, and virtue*s fairest buds. 

The communion that we hold, as it 
weie, with the grave, generates the impo- 
rtig conviction, that ere long, we must 
contribute to *^ creation's melaneholy 
earth,*' which works a feeling of no 
ordinary character, and pregnant with 
the principles of Him, '^whogaveusa 
pattern of the most exalted virtue." If 
leflection never found a welcome in the 
bosom of an individual, let him direct his 
•Cern to the consecrated path, and it will 
niui itiNm him with adouble foroe. The 
inilnmty of his tenement of day, be is 
thtsi HMwyeHed to acknowledge.' This 
assocwt io n oi our animated fimme with 
the dust «f, ptrhaps, our dearest friends, 

reonls upon our memorv; and, while 
we mig^t wish to check the inq[mlse 
of our sensations we bend at reflection's 

Here royalty, with all its pi^eantry 
and pomp, serves, in its turn, as £»es the 
wandering bcsgar, but as food for the 
worms, who Sen hold a hieher station 
on eardL Here too, the da&ngs of in. 
terest,andthefrowiiingsofcaze cease to 
reign in man's breast; and, here also 
the discontent of man finds repose. 

With regard to epitaphs, or inscrip. 
tions, we are enabled to trace their origm 
as hx back as in the Old Testament: 
viM. — 1 Sam. vL 16, where mention is 
made of the '<stone of Abel," and the 
inscription upon it was—^' Here was 
thed the blood of righteous AbeL'* 

The quality of these elegies has, like 
off other human practices, varied much 
since their first use. The Spartans al- 
lowed epitaphs only to those who fell in 
combat; and the Romans limited them 
in a ereat degree. But, the most motley 
and narlequm change, has been within 
the last century. 

We will pass by the simple tales of 
the inefficacy of medicine — the fortitude 
with which death was met — and the con- 
soling advice to passers-bv, and ]^esent 
two specimens, which, rar presumption 
and ignorance stand, I believe, unri^ 

In Silton church-yaid, Dorsetshire ^» 

Here lies h piece of Christ, 

A star in dust. 
A vein in gold — a diina dish. 

That most 
Be used in Heaven when God 
Shall feast the just. 

In Newington church-yaid: 

God takes the good, too good to leave. 
The bad he leaves, too bad to take awa^ 

Heaven have mercy cm the poor survi- 
vors of this good man I 

I admire much, some of those epitaphs, 
which, without filling a tablet with 
efihsions, display a superiority equal 
to the sreatness of the individual of 
whom they speak. The few words that 
the Italians have thou|^t proper to 
mark Tasso's grave, (^Here He the 
bones of Taeso^"* ) are suflident to pro- 
claim his pre-eminence over others. Boi- 
leau has laid down this rule: — ^'^ Que les 
inscriptions doivent etre simples, courtes 
et familiaies ;" a rule I mOst studiously 
advocate. Of all epitaphs, pohaps, that 
were ever engraved; and so agreeing with 
BoUeau's id^, the one in St. PauTs Ca- 
thedral, on Sir CSiristopher Wnsn, ia con- 
spicnons. Itcanbeoompaiedtoiiodihig 
but the grand strueturt itself, whk£ 

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glands at an iinmeasuzabU dittanoefrom 
aU others :— 

" 8i monumentum qiuBris ? eireum8pke!"<~- 
Seek'at thou his monumtnt? — ^behold the dome! 
In Westminster Abbey, are monu- 
ments both to Dryden and Handel, with 
the plain " John Dryden^^^ and " George 
Frederick Handel " inscribed upon them. 
In the same abbey also rest the bones of 
others, as far beneath comparison, as the 
glittering star which bespangles the skies, 
u to the golden moon; which, in its 
m^inificenoe, lights the studded canopy 
of hearen, with as much elegy upon 
them as the tablet would admit of. But 
a man of talent and of genius needs not 
his various actions to be engraved on 
stone for them to be known. No, he 
while livii^, implanted them in a far 
preferrable place, where they are neither 
defaced by tune^ nor forgotten by obscu- 
rity, and from whence they are trans- 
canted from generation to generation. 
Tasso^s transcendent genius — ^Dryden's 
brilliant poetic powers — ^Wren's une- 
qualled and stupendous architecture— 
and Handel's sublimity of composition, 
are all ^miliar to the humblest indi- 
vidual, without the aid of monumental 

To pass, however, to another species of 
q^itaphs. If jesting formed a nrincipal 
feature in the fife of any individual, we 
might suppose, at least, that it would 
cease with nis life; but, on the contrary, 
there are those persons, who, regardless 
of all rules of religion and gravity, dis- 
play an utter disr^ard to those feelings, 
which ought to be manifested by the sur- 
vivors ofUie deceased. Indeed, so far 
from any serious ideas being displayed, 
we might (did we not know that a church- 
yard was an hallowed spot,) easily ima- 
gine they were the productions of some 
comic satirist. Did not the fact present 
itself to every visitor of St. James's 
Church, the following inscription would 
be hardly credited : — 

To the Memory of 
&e. &R. &c. 
Mereator FortunatM, 
Natu* Eleventh of— One ThouMmd— 
Obiit Ninth of—One Thousand. &c. 
Men who would thus waste time and 
money ^ and what is of more importance, 
trifle with the sacred cause of death, are 
but erecting monuments of their own 
folly. The following, at Penryn, in Corn- 
wall, speaks but little in favour of the m- 
dividual, whose memory and tnriues it 

Here Ues WUliam Smith and what is 

something rarish, 
He was born, bred, and hang d in 
this parish I 
In Hendon chureh-yard there fs this 
1 3 

epitaph on T. Crosileld, written bv hira* 
self, which is by £v less oenaurable thaa 
many:— . 

Beneath this stone Tom Crosfield lles» 
Wbo cares not now who laughs or tries ; 
He laughed when sober, and when mellow 
Wa sa harum starum heedless fellow. 
He gave to none design'd offence. 
So " Honi 9oit qui nutl y petue." 
I lament much that these trifmtee to 
the dead, should receive any cokmring 
whatever. It is a svstem \oo mnm 
in practice, and is likdy to promote that 
carelessness for death, which is so promi* 
nent in a great bulk of mankind. Every 
possible means should be resorted to, Vk 
order that it should be held in its self- 
important light, which impress upon all 
men the greatest reverence. 

In concluding, I would wish all penona 
to bear in mind the words of a very an- 
cient poet, (Antiphanes,) who lived near a 
hundred years bdTore Socrates. — ^*' Be not 
grieved above all measures for thy de- 
ceased friends. They are not dead, but 
have only finished that journey, which it 
is necestanr for every one of us to take. 
We ourselves must go to that great plaet 
of reception, in wmch they an all ol 
them assembled, and in this general ren- 
dezvous of mankind, live together is 
another state of being." 





CoVnel Patrick O'Blamcy, as honest a teafae- 
As ever took snuff to repel pest or plague. 
Having got a French snuff-box «f ffief^ 

Which to open requir'd much pains, do you tee* 
Always kept a bent sixpence at hana in kiSi 

And call'd it his kev by the wUeh to unloek It: 
As, by niggling and wedging it under the lid. 
He came at his rappee, wnich was under it hid. 
But, one day when be waatid a i^nelifora,. 

He searched for his sixpence^ but all to no end, 
TiU at last 'twixt the aning and poeket he 

found it ; 
Wben in rage he cried, " arKsb, tkt deril •••-_ 

found It ; 
** I'll engage you don*t serve me the saaie triek 

** Forto makfrme be after thushnnting in vala.'* 
So, op'ning the Ud by the help of the tissy. 
And feaking his nose, till his noddle crew dliay 
He chack'd in the coin, and exclaun'd with a 

While rightw^nt the rim down, * So there y o« 

lie snug I 
**And my hide-and-seek friend, I beg leaved 

remind ye, 
•• That the next time I want ye, 111 knew whc» 


T. BaowH. 

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Hfi^RY t^e Sevtttth, while he asserted 
hia authority ovt^r the clergy, found it 
consistent with his policy to employ them, 
rather than his nobles, in state affairs, 
and suffered then] to proceed against the 
LoUank with the utmost rigour. Among 
the victims whom they brought to the 
stfjlfiei was a woman of some quality, 
Jpan Houghton by name, the first fe- 
male martyr in England : she was more 
than eighty years of age, and was held in 
siich reverence for her virtue, that, during 
the night after her martyrdom, her ashes 
were collected, to be preserved as relics 
for pious ^d affectionate remembrance. 
Hier daughter, the Ijady Young, suffered 
a|t^F^^ the same cruel death, with 
emial constancy. .At Amersworth, when 
'^{jillam Tyls\50ith was burnt, his only 
daughter, as being suspected of heresy, 
Wj9 jOfnif^^ed, not' only to witness his 
death, but* with her own hands, to set fire 
to him! 


Among the mart3rr8 of those days, 
Thomas Bilney isone^ whose name will 
ever bfe held in deserved reverence. He 
was-aocused before Tonstal, then Bishop of 
London, in the early part of the reign of 
Henry- Vni. " for asserting that Christ 
^%A our only mediator, not the Virgpuoi 
Mary, nor the Saints; and that pil- 
grimages were useless ; and that offerings 
to images were idolatry." Of these doc- 
trines he was found guilty ; but was per- 
stiaded to recant, and accordingly bore a 
faggot at PauPs Cross. It appears that 
f on»tal, with his woated humanity, fa- 
voured, and wished to save him ; he was 
tfot branded, nor subjected to any further 
p^uni^hment, but pmnitted to return to 

' From mat hour, Bilney had no peace in 
hjunself, and feeling, for two years, self- 
condemned, he resolved by a brave repen- 
tance to expiate an offence for which he 
should otherwise never forgive himself. 
I\3[imediately he departed for Norfolk, and 
began to preach, when Nix, the merci- 
less Bisliop of that diocese, sent to Lon- 
don for a writ to bum him. The Sheriff 
to whose care he wa? committed, happen- 

ed to be <»De of hk idends, and treated;* 

him with kindness. The night before his; 
execution, Bilney put his finger into the 
candle, which was burning before him,- 
more than once, " I fed" said he " by 
experieqce, and have long known by 
philosophy, that fire is naturally hot; 
yet, I am persuaded by God^s holy word, 
and by the experience of some Saints of 
God therein recorded, that in the fiame 
they may feel no heat, and in the fire no 
consumption. And I constantly believe, 
that, however the stubble of this body 
shall be wasted by it, yet my soul and- 
spirit shall be purged thereby — a pain for 
the time — wherecm f<dloweth joy un- 

On the morning of his execution, which 
was in front of the Bishop^s palace, 
having put off the lajrman^s gown, in 
which after his degradation he had been 
dad, he knelt upon the ledge and prayed 
widi deep and quiet devotion, ending 
with the 143rd Psalm, in which he there 
repeated the verse, '^ Enter not into judg- 
ment with diy eervant, O Lord, for in 
thy sight shall no man living be justi- 
fied." He then put off his jacket and 
doublet, and remained in his hose and 
shirt, and so was chained to the stake. 
The dry reeds were then kindled ; and in 
a few minutes, Bilney, trampling over 
death, rendered up his soul in me mlnesa 
of faith, and entoed into his reward. 


Bilney*8 example, in all parts, wafi 
followea by James Bainham, of the 
Middle Temple, the son ^i a Gloucester- 
shire knight. Having been flogged and 
racked, without effect, to makehim ac- 
cuse others of holding the same opinions 
as himself, the fear of death induced him 
to abjure, and bear a faggot. But a 
month had scarcely elapsed before he 
stood up in the face of the congregation 
in St. Austin's Church, with the English 
Testament in his hand, and, openlj^ 
proclaiming that he had denied the truth, 
declared tliat, if he did not return to it, 
that book would condemn him at the day 
of judgment ; and exhorted all who heard 
him, rather to suffer death than fall as 
he had fallen, for all the world's gooft 
would not induce him again to fed such 
a hell as he had borne within him since 
the hour of his abjuration. He was ac- 
cordingly brought to the stake in Smith- 
field ; and there, to the astonishment of 
the spectators, when his extremities weic 
half consumed, he cried aloud, " O ye 
Papists, jre look for mirades, and be- 
hold a miracle ; for in this fire I feel no 
pain ;— it is to me as a bed of roses T* 

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Hi« h6t may be bciliered, without sup. 
posing a mirade, or even recuiring to 
that almost miraculous power which the 
Inind sometimes can exercise over the 
body. Nature is more merciful to us 
ihan man to man ; this was a case in 
which excess of pain had destroyed the 
power of suffering ; no other bodily feel- 
ing was left but mat of ease after torture ; 
while the soul triumphed in its victory, 
and in the sure anticipation (^ its im- 
mediate and eternal reward. 


John Rogers, the protomartyr in the 
Mariab persecution, and at that time a 
Prebendary of St Paulas, had formerly 
been chaplain to the English merchants 
at Antwerp, and had there been a fellow- 
labouier with Tindal and Goverdale, in 
the ffieat work of translating the Bible. 
He had a large family, and, having 
married a German woman, might have 
Anmd means to support them in her 
oountry ; but deeming it the duty of him. 
self and his brethren, he said, to stand 
like true soldiers by the captain of their 
salvation, and not traitorously run out 
of his tents, or out of the plain field 
6om him, in the most jeopardy of the 
battle — he chose to abide the worst ; and, 
in his last sermon at St PauFs Cross, 
CBcfaorted the people to remain in such 
true doctrine as had been taught in King 
£dwaid*s day, and to beware of all pes- 
tilent popery, idolatry, and superstition. 
After long imprisonment and several ex- 
aminations, he was condemned, for main, 
ta&odng that die chuxth of Rome was 
the church <^ Antichrist, and for denying 
transubstantiation. The sentence being 
passed, he requested that his poor wife, 
being a foreigner, might come and speak 
with him as long as he lived ; '^ for she 
hath ten children,*' said he, «< that are 
hers and mine, and somewhat I would 
eounsel her what were best for her to do." 
But Gardiner, with his diaracteristie 
bratality, teftised this, affirming that she 
was not his wife. And when, on the 
day of his execution, he asked Bonner, 
that he nngfat speak to her a few words 
only, b^ore his burning, that monster 
wdulfl not permit it She met him, how- 
ever, with her ten chUdr^, one hanging 
on iike breast, as he went to Smithneld. 
That sight did not abate the cheerfulness 
of his courage; a pardon was ofiered 
him at the stake, if he would recant ; he 
steadily refused it, and washing his 
hands in the flames as they blazed about 
him, took his death with so cahn and 
resolute a patience, that many who were 
pteteut blessed God for the support which 

had been vouchsafed him, and dezfted 
strength from his example. 


These illustrious veterans of the per- 
secution in the reign of Mary, wen 
executed in a ditch, opposite Baliol Col- 
lege, Oxford. Lord williuns, of Thame« 
had been appointed to see it done, with a 
suflicient retinue, lest any tumult might 
be made in the hope of rescuii^ them. 
They embraced eac^ other, kne£, each 
beside his stake, in prayer, and thai con- 
versed together, while toelxwd Williams, 
and the omer persons in authority, removed 
themselves out of the sun. These accursed 
sacrifices were always introduced by a 
sermon. A certain Dr. Smith preach^ 
taking for his text, " If I give my body 
to be burnt, and have not charity, it 
availeth me nothing;*' from whence he 
drew conclusions, as uncharitable as ever 
were distorted from Scripture. Ridley 
desired leave to answer the sermon : he 
was told, that if he would recant his 

opinions, he should have his life, « 

otherwise he must suffer for his deserts ; 
and the Vice-Chancellor, with some bai- 
liffs, as brutal as himself, stopt his mouth 
with their hands, after he had said, ^' So 
long as the breath is in my body, I will 
never deny my Lord Christ and his known 
truth. God's will be done in me !" La- 
timer said, he could answer the sennon 
well enough, if he might ; and contented 
himself with exclaiming, ^' Well, there 
is nothing hid, but it shall be opened ;'* 
a saying which he frequently used. 
Ridl^ distributed such trifles as he had 
about him, to those who were near ; and 
many pressed about hhn, to obtain some- 
thing as a relic They then imdressed 
for me stake ; and, Latimer when he had 
put off his prison dress, remained in a 
shroud, which he had put on, instead of 
a shirt, for that day's office. Till tibien, 
his appearance had been that of a poor 
withoed bent old man ; but now, as if he 
had put off the burthen <^ infirmity and 
age, '^ he stood bolt upri^t, as comely 
a father as one mi^t HghUy behold." 

Then Ridley uttered this jnayer: 
'< Oh, Heavenly Father, I give unto thee 
most hearty tlianks, for t&t thou hast 
called me to be a jHrofessor of thee, even 
unto death. I beseech thee. Lord God, 
take mercy upon this realm of £ngland, 
and deliver me. same from all her ene- 
mies !'* After he had been chained to 
the stake, his, who, dur- 
ing the whole time of his imprisonment, 
haa remained in Oxford, to serve him in 
whatever he could, tied a bag of gun- 
powder tmmd hit neck. Ridley, beisf^ 

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told wlut it was, said, he received it mm 
being sent of Qod ; and asking if he had 
some for Latuner also, bade him give it 
in time, lest it should be too late. Mean- 
time, he spake to Lord^Hfl^illiams, and 
entreated mm to use his influence with the 
Queen, in behalf of his sister and the 
poor tenants; this, he said, being the 
only thing, he blessed God, which trou- 
bled his conscience. When the fire was 
brought, Latimer said, ^'Be of good 
comfort. Master Ridley, and play the 
man ! We shall this day light such a 
candle, by God*s grace, in England, as 
I trust shall never be put out !" The 
venerable old man received the flame as 
if embracing it, and having, as it were, 
bathed his hands in the fire, and stroked 
hi face with them, died presently, ap- 
parently without pain. Ridley endured a 
longer mart3rrdom : till the gun-powder 
exploded, and then he fell at Latimer*s 
feet. As the bodies were consumed, the 
quantity of blood which gushed from 
Latimer^s heart astonished the beholders. 
It was observed the more because he had 
continually prayed, during his imprison, 
ment, that as God had appointed him to 
be a preacher of his word, so also he 
would give him grace to stand to his doc- 
trine until death, and shed his hearths 
blood for the same. — Southey^s Book of 
the Church, ___ 

A. coACfiMAN, in the service of a noble- 
nan, was discarded late at night for 
irunkenness. In staggering homeward 
to his wife, and family of small children, 
he had to pass a lottery office, which was 
still open. Having entered, he advanced 
boldly to the counter, '^ Stand aside, 
fellow, with your paltry adventure of 
twenty.four sous, while I serve these 
gentlemen," said the lady who gave out 
uie tickets^ ^^ Mine is not to be a paltry 
adventure, as you impertinently call it,** 
retorted the drunken man ; and on the 
counter he threw a bright louis d*or, one 
ci eleven he had just received as his 
w^iges. " What are your numbers, and 
how do you stake them ?" inquired Ma- 
dame, winking to the gentlemen at the 
excellence of the joke. He would have, 
he said, a teme sec^ but as to the num. 
hers, he would leave them to her choice. 
The billet, containing three numbers 
jestingly written down, was delivered 

Coachey did not find his way home, 
and was just recovered from his drowsy 
intoxication, when, at a few minutes after 
nine in the morning, he saw, placed in 
front of another lottery-oflSce, tne board 
wiiich displayed the five fortunate num. 

•bers that had started fitmi the wheeL He 
had a frdnt recollection of what had passed 
overnight, and drew from his pocket 
a billet, which agreed in its inscribed 
numbers, with three of the numbers on 
die board. He hastened back to the 
lucky oflSice, and demanded the five thou- 
sand five hundred louis* which had frdlen 
to his lot. They were paid to him punc- 
tually ; but, on the oxhet hand, the young 
lady looked for her present, which is 
customanr on these occasions. ^' Not one 
liard shall you have from me,*' said the 
lucky adventurer. ^^ Mlien I addressed 
myself to you last night for a billet, I 
was as blind as the fortune over whkh 
you preside. To the sharpness of your 
sight I owe my fortune teme see; but 
you were insolent in the delivery. May 
this teach you not to scorn in future the 
venture of the poor man, whom misery, 
and not a thirst after superfluous riches, 
may have led to your oflice to try his 

The capricious goddess still fiivoured 
this man, who was pointed out to me 
in his carriage, with a modest equipage. 
What has intoxicated so many ouers, 
had sobered him, probably for life.— . 
Sweepings of my Study. 


AFREKCHMANwho had been several yeaia 
omfined, for debt, in the Fleet Prison, 
found himself so much at home within 
its walls, and was withal, so harmless 
and inoflTensive a character, that the jailor 
occasionally permitted hhn to recreate 
himself, by spending his evenings abroad, 
without any apprehension of the forfeiture 
of his verbal engagement His little 
earnings as a jack of all trades, enabled 
him to form several pot-house coimexions ; 
and these led him, by degrees, to be less 
and less punctual in his return, at the 
appointed hour of nine. " 1*11 tell you 
what it is Mounseer,*' at Iragth, said the 
jailor to him, " You are a good fellow, 
but I am afraid you have lately got into 
bad company ; so I tell you once for all, 
that if you do not keep better hours, and 
come back in good time, I shall be under 
the necessity of locking you out alto- 
gether." IHdU 

It being motioned that Grimaldi the 
Clown, had a large family, " Then,'* 
said a wag, '^ he makes faces at home as 
well as abroad.** 

Why does a waiter resemble a blood 
horse ? Answer. Because he rune for 

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The Monastic remains of Oreat Britain, 
are among the most interesting of its an- 
tiauities, and thanks to the researches of 
a few individuals, they have lately been 
well explored. Few places were more 
remarkable than Dunwich, in Suffolk, for 
its religious institutions. It had, for* 
merly, two churches dedicated to St. 
l l icnael and St Bartholomew, which are 
.said to have been swallowed np by the 
sea, in 1331. There were also three 
chapels — a house belonging co the 
ICnights Templars, two hospitals, and 
two monasteries, belonging to the Fran- 
.ciscans and Dominicans, or Grey and 
Black Friars: of the remains of the 
former we present a view. This monas- 
tery was founded by Richard Fitzjohn, 
and Alice his wife, and its revenues were 
augmented by Henry III. The area en- 
compassed by the walls of this house, 
which still remain, is upwards of seven 
acres. The monastery had three gates, 
two of which are still standing almost 
entire, and being nearly covered with 
ivy, they have a very picturesque efiect. 
Within the indosure, the onlv building 
now standing, is a bam. Both these 
monasteries were suppressed by Henry 



(For the Mirror.) 

Pait six o*cI&dc — the drowsy walchoian'* 
Proclaims his niffht of napping duty done : 
Past six o'clock — the unpropitious dawn, 

Lit by the jocund king of smiles, the son, 
In mockery of woe leads on the morn. 
Night's veil of rest is rent» and care begun 
And the best feelings of a yonng heart stray, 
In sad confusion with the coming day. 

My maiden aunts, a trio of divlnitfet. 
Gave, two days since, their tip and b«is« 
«« Heaven prosper »ong** such dear affinities. 
Kind caterers In a school boy's worst afflic- 
Such love is worth the keeping, though, t* 
win, it is 
On truth and taste at best a dire infliction: 
Bat compliments and calls — such small dona* 

Ensure us all we want in the vacations. 
My doating grandam, too, of sage threeseore 
Gave Idas and crown and eautton— Gran 
dam, vale. 
And now idl chance of lengthen'd freedom 
Brief candle of my hopes, you bom but paly. 
The due " viatieam^' of Ave months aiore 
Lacks nothing from attentions kind and 
Nought but the weather can prevent, and, lo ! 
The sun perversely shines, and I must go. 

Go — aye, to drudgery of lengthen'd days ; 
Risings at six ; cold duty when we rise. 
Where rigid pedantry forgets to praise. 

And scorns the notice of a weak heart's sigha* 
Where childhood's purest, fondest love decays* 
When education bids us to be wise ; 
Where home seems heaven, and this, our dull 

A painful pilgrimage for information. 

Few weeks have flown since when, with aehinf 

In sleepless turbulence of hopes and joy, 
I mark'd the day of promis'd liberty 

Break in the golden East — when no alloy 
Of envious care marr'd our hearts revelry 
With visions of return ; yet each wild l>oy 
Breath'd a pure sieh bis orphan friend to leave. 
In cheerless solitude at school to grieve. 

Far happier now than I that orphan ; be. 
Left sorrowing alone in regions quiet. 
Whilst play and pantomime and "friends ts 
Have lent their quantum to make np by riol 
Sweet recreations for the memory. 
After strict regimen and classic diet ; 
But Christmas o'er, we school>boys tA% 4 

And leave spare beds and gay adults engagimg 

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Brief ipao« remsliis for partiaf bilt«nietB ; , 
Requeiti prolonged, vain comfort ; and th6 
Hard trial, when a mother's fond lips vress 
The cheek her tears have moisten'd— then 
the vast 
Convolsive throb, which marks her deep dis- 
*' Makes cowards of us all." This aofoiih 
JarvU soon starts, winks knowingly at eook. 
And spoils a school-boy's last and dearest look. 

ProMpect Haute Academy, Feb. 2, 1834. 


It hM been well observed l^ Irving, 
that there is scarcely a trace remaining of 
moTY England. The sports and pastimes, 
which served by anticipation to lighten 
the toils iji months, are given up as a 
waste of time. The observance of holi- 
di^s and bonfire-nights exist no longer, 
save in the declarations of our fiathers. 
Hie rage for refinement is spreading 
wide, and undermining the ancient insti- 
ta^ns of the country. The dance of 
Oberon and his fairies has eiven way to 
tile inventions of witches or devils ;* and 
a love-sick youth is deprived for ever of 
the chanee of a kiss at forfeits. The 
place which gave an hour's importance to 
the poor man's heart, the gay resort of 
old Jack Falstafl^ or the mercer of Abing. 
don, and that prince of bullies, Michael 
Ijamboume, bias degeneeated into a gin- 
•hop, with some few exceptions, which 
must be sought for, far from Ae purlieus 
of fiiahion. But even those are hastening 
to decay; their enemies have united to 
destroy ^em, and the death-blow is al- 
ready given. The decree of &shion has 
forth, and boarding-school misses 

ve pronounced them vulgar. They 
have also foes of a graver kind, who 
would gladly reason us out of happiness. 
The clergy accuse them of encouraging 
blasphemy, by keeping men from church ; 
•nd the ixditician of increasing corrup- 
tion, byincreafing the revenue; whilst 
the doctor attributes to them aU ihe evils 
attendant on humanity, and warns man- 
kind from swallowing poison in the shape 
of Barclay's beer, or Book's blue ruin : 
—its name, alas! how typical of its 

It has yA other enemies : — ^the enthu- 
aiast, who worships nature on Primrose- 
bill, wonders how beings with erect £Eices 
on eoofine themselves to a smol^ room, 

• La volta (the modem waltc) was supposed 
to have been invented by the Devil, and aaaieed 
by Mm and the witches at their annua) meetings. 

when the monanh of eoAaigne achnires 
the country, denounces them as '^ cold- 
hearted worldings" for piefeiring the 
light of a candle to Luna's torch, or the 
smoke of tobacco to the odour <^ a dimg 
heap. They who study botany on their 
louts, or rusticate at Camberwell, con- 
sider a publicJiouse as the seat of vice 
and ignorance; whilst diey who have 
never been inside one in their lives, would 
represent it as a little heU, whose unfor- 
tunate visitants are tempted by Satan 
himselir, in die character of a landlord, 
assisted by his imps, in the shape of pots, 
pipes, punch-bowls, and tumblers. 

Do not believe them, reader ; it is not 
that scoie of ignorance and foUy which 
they represent it to be. I have often met 
with more acuteness from a portly-look- 
ing personage, 

*' Full of flesb, and full of grace. 
With a fine, round, unmeaning face," 

than even when in the company of an en- 
liefatened you&, who *^ pens a stanxa 
when he sliould engross ;" and dkoovered 
much knowledge, both of the world and 
books, concealed behind a pipe and a cool 
tankard. Many a time have I been de- 
cidedly posed in an argument by a little 
man with a round, red £soe, and Ida 
words comkig out slowly, widi a whtf 
between eaeh sentence; and o^ten been 
cut to the heart, alter delivering an «^ 
nion whk an air of superior wisdom, m, 
finding it refuted by an unwashed artificer. 

ThMe, however, are splendid excep- 
-tions ; the generality, I must confess, are 
rather low. They have no idea of a qua- 
drille pariT, and consider waltsing not 
-quite the thing. In spite of Lord Cbes- 
terfield's faitmliction, they will quote 
proverbs, make uitfashionable reBoariDs 
about the bachelor's piece, or snuffing oat 
the olndk, and indulge hi sudi doubk 
erUendre$ as would bnng the colour into 
the dieeks of many a sentimental lady 
who had eloped from her lord and master. 
Of the higher order of works of geniiM 
ihey have no mote conception man Sir 

Billy , but are content with powers 

of « very limked deseriptiaiL Aldemn 
Wood, in their opinion, rivals Aristides ; 
and Sergeant Denman is a second dcevo. 
They consider ^e <M Times to be a 
perfect <RBcle ; and that Haolitt is the 
cleverest feUow alive. What a lesacm. to 
diose who are toiling for fame ! It 
speaks plainer than Sc^io's dream. 

Nor are the accusations of vidbus 
society entirely without foundation. Few 
imitate the hermit in his beverage, or dis- 
cover an extraordinuy partiality to water 
from the spring. Their charge of tip- 
pling (how pr^ty they speak !) is not 

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cntinij fiJae. Some drink themsel^et 
mto good spirits, and are figuratively and 
literally happy; whilst others become 
penitent in their cups, and keep up a 
confessional hiccup tUl they £m asleep. 
Many get drowsy, ahd some disputative. 

My uttle friend S , who is one of the 

most rational disputants when sober, no 
sooner becomes a little fresh, than he gets 
violent and obstreperous, making up in 
noise what he wants in aigument ; ^^ whilst 
St every pause*' he applies with increased 
vigour to his glass, till he gradually sub- 
SMes into dumb forgetfiilness, and re- 
signs the victory to ms adversaries from 
want of power to dispute longer. Yet 
this is not without its advantages. It is 
a sort of Spartan school upon an improved 
principle, where freemen get drunk £or 
the benefit of the community, in order to 
exhibit the odiousness of the vice to those 
who choose to profit hj it For my own 
part, without any consideration of instruc- 
tion, I love to behold a drunken man, as 
a species of show. He has sudi a look 
of superior wisdom lurking about his 
eyes, ne accompanies every word with a 
wink, as much as to say, '•*' mark it.** 
When he disputes, it is the very perfec- 
tion of argument : answer him as you 
please, he repeats steadily what he said 
at first, and is like a radical reformer, 
never confuted — in his own opinion. No* 
thing either seems to trouble him : he is 
the true vanquisher of external som>w, 
and ^' leaves dull earth behind him»*' 

*' -Kings may be blest, but he is f lorions. 
O'er a' the ills of life victorious. 

Who that has ever spent his Saturday 
night in my friend M ■ *s, or any other 
public-house parlour, can forget it ? 1)0 
not the peals of laii^hter, and the sounds 
of harmony^ harshened into discord, stfll 
come upon his ew ? Does he not still 
see the sot, mistmstless of his smutted 
face, endeavouring to preserve his peipen- 
4icalar, and balancing himself ISce a 
mountdbMUik on a wpe ? Docs not die 
taste of his tempting beveraee still linger 
on his palate ? and does he not again 
efijoy that luxurious dose between sleep- 
ing and waking, when the mom's m3rste- 
rious viMoaos bring widi them nothing to 
break upon his slumber but the bells 
going tor a neighbouring church, and 
giving him just enonch of sensation to 
enjoy the luxury of beii^ I 



Near UcKncan, in India, is fort Meliea- 
ur. It is an extensive place, built on a 

remarkably high bank, and decorated 
with numerous Hindoo pagodas and 
bathing ghauts, of the most exquisite 
workmanwip. It is truly astonishing to 
examine the architecture, and particularly 
of one temple, in whidi the correctness of 
desun, and die truly beautifrd execution 
are tar superior to eveiy thing of the kind 
any of the party ever witnessed in India. 
The architect was sent for, and appeared 
a venerable old man of the eommon cast 
of Rajs (masons) ; he was made one of 
the happiest men living Inr old Bas Mul 
Dadda, the Governor of Mehea8ir*s pre- 
senting him at our request (in publie 
durbar) with a rich turiban, doth and 
shawl. I do not recollect ever to have 
seen a picture c£ more exquisite delight 
than was ponrtrayed in the poor fellow's 
countenance, on receiving this public 
mark of (to him) the highest public 
honour that could be bestowed, admow- 
ledging in the midst of his fellow-citirens 
the merit which fifty years of labour had 
at last procured him. His old tjts glis- 
tened with pleasure ; his bent figure be- 
came erect, and every nerve am^ared to 
tremble widi sensations of the purest 
delight. Old Bas Mull Dadda, who is 
of mis own age nearly, and a man of th^ 
hig^iest rank in diis part of the country, 
himself bound on his turban. The most 
extraordinary fact relating to this aged 
architect, however, is, that in all the beau- 
tiful buildings he erected, he never drew v 
a plan for any one (^ the many he erected, 
thou^ the most admirable mathematical 
precision mevails throughout die whole. 

The island of Uooncan Mandata is 
about five miles in circumference. The 
Borthem side of it has been fortified ; one 
wbU near die top is all that now remains, 
of which the gieater part has shared die 
fiite of the rest, being mosdy in ruins. 
The sacrifice rode is situated in the N.E. 
coraer of the island ; it is about seventy 
fleet perpendicular height ; at the bottom 
is a stone besmeared with red paint, on 
which th^ say Maha Deo predpitiited 
kimsdf wnen he disappeared from the 
w«rld. Numft>ars of infatuated victims 
yearly precipitate themselves from this 
lock at the annual fiir, which takes place 
in November. Last year there were only 
two instances : one an old man of sixty- 
five years of ace, potail of a neighbouring 
village, who, fit spite of all that could be 
said to dissuade him, persisted in his de- 
terminadon of sacrificing himself. He 
sat down and ate his dinner with his re- 
lations, appeared to enjoy himsdf at his 
meal, and at three o*dock, having badied 
and attired himself afresh, he i^vanced 
widi the utmost coolness to the edge of 
the rock, spning off, and in a moment 
was dashed to pieces. The other, after 

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ffoing tiiTough the same eeremonies, fol- 
lowed his example. The temple, the 
nstives say, has existed since the creation 
of the world ; it has, however, a modem 
appearance, which they ascribe to the fol- 
lowing circumstance : 

About 160 years ago, a king of Man- 
doo came to Uooncan with the intention 
of destroying all the temples and holy 
places about the island ; he proceeded in 
tiiii impimia design, and ruined all the 
minor places of worship : but on his ap- 
proachmg the erand temple, he was struck 
blind, wlhich he attributed to the anger 
of the god, and desisted. In the hopes 
of recovering sight, he made the Bramins 
magnificent presents ; ordered the temple 
to be enlarsed and ornamented, and re- 
)l>uilt all the places he had destroyed. 
Maha Deo, they say, signified his inten- 
tion (previous to his leaving the world) 
of taking up his continual residence be- 
neath the temple of Uooncan; and on 
the right hand as you enter they shew 
yon a small square recess, communicating 
with a subterranean passage, in whi<£ 
the foolish pilgrims deposit tneir ofibrings 
for Uie sleek and idle Bramins to pocket. 
This passage, according to thehr traditions, 
communicates with the cave at Allahabad, 
and reaches to B^iares and Hurdwar. 
The pilgrims generally come to Uooncan 
previous to proceeding to Hurdwar. On 
the north face of the island is a cave, 
called the cave of echo, which has cer- 
tainly the greatest power in echoing the 
slightest noise I ever heard. When you 
sp«dL low, your words are echoed in a 
loud voice ; and if you fire a pistol, it 
sounds like the firing of a batteiv of 
twenty-four pounders. There is nothing 
more in the island worthy of notice, ex- 
cept the barefaced falsehood of the Bra- 
mins, which is beyond any thing I ever 
Aeard (even from natives). One of them, 
whom 1 ffot hold of to point out the curi- 
osities of the island, on my asking him 
what went on at the fair, had the impu- 
ience to tell me. they had horse-races 
and elephant and tiger fights; now a 
Aorse could not move on any part of the 
•sland, except what I rode over (and that 
was at the imminent danger of breaking 
my own and horse's neck). An elephant 
getting to the place is entirely out m the 
question, unless he dropped from the 
clouds. I asked him in wnat part of the 
island these sports took place : the only 
answei he could give me was, that he 
could not show it, but that he saw them 
there every £Eur for the last forty years. 
The influence the Bramins have over the 
most sensible natives is most astonishing. 
I had an iipportunitv of observing an in- 
stance in Suroop Tewarie, my subadar, 

one of the most intdligent nadres I have 
met with : he actually paid one of Aese 
dr<mes twenty rupees a month to perform 
certain ceremonies for him at Uooncan, 
which I dare say after all were not per- 
formed. I was much surprised when he 
told me of it, for I had formed a much 
higher opinion of his understanding. 

Calcutta JcumaL 


In the davs of yore sneezing was ominous, 
and much more. It was also the All- 
hail ; probably, because the voeal nose 
stood in lieu of a trumpet ora horn, ^^ere 
horns and trumpets was invented.'* If 
St. KiLla sneezes now on the arrival of a 
stranger, it is because Egypt and Greece 
did we same before ; and if you ask me 
what i^ypt and Ghreece have to do with 
St. Kil£t, I must tell you some other day, 
as it would make rather too long a note, 
and as notes are not the fashion in your 
fashionable joumaL The Greek and 
Roman poets say of a beauty, that die 
Loves and Graces sneezed a welcome at 
her birth. Therefore, St. Kilda sneezes 
a welcome on a stranger's arrival; or 
imagines it, which is the same thing. 
The opinion remains when the practice is 
fbreotten, just as he who falls asleep on 
its nighest mountain awakes a poet, be- 
cause Hesiod did the same before on Par- 
nassus ; or because — but 1 must not quote 
Latin ; and, therefore, the learned may 
consult the first Satire of Persius. The 
other learned, who do not care for Per- 
sius, may consult Scoockius or Strada, or 
the Dissertation of Mons. Morin, if they' 
wish to be still more learned in the matter 
of sneezing. But lest they should not 
like diat trouble, I must even drain a 
few drops <^ ink on the subject, as neither 
Strada nor Scoockius is just now any 
more within my reach than theirs. As 
to Clement of Alexandria, I shall pass 
him by, as he knew nothing about the 
matter. He talks like an apodiecary on 
the subject ; and when did ever any apo- 
thecary talk to any purpose? The Greeks 
and Romans thought better of this busi- 
ness ; and more like die philosophers, 
which they have always shown them- 
sdves. Salve ^ said the the old Roman 
to his sneezing neighbour ; ZiyOi, said the 
Greek. Because sneezing was dangerous, 
says the apothecary. Poini du tout ; it 
was the excuse for a compliment. '^ Ster- 
nutamentis salutamur," says Pliny; it 
is a duty in well-bred society. The Em- 
peror Tiberius insisted on this compli- 
ment firom all his courtiers, even on a 
journey, and in the country : which is a, 
proof that it was a court etiquette, dls« 

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oented with on occMJoni of familiar in. 
4Braourie. As we mutt not tead Apukiua 
or Petronius, it ii luffident to saj, that 
m the latter, Eumolpus ^^ salvere Oiton% 
obet,** ai Monsieur Giton hi^pened to 
aneeie under the bed ; and that, in the 
former, a similar compliment is paid to 
the baker's wife in a parallel case of 
malapropos. So much for coirpliments. 
But me oonmlimentis borrow^ from the 
omen, sajrs Clement of Alexandria. He 
Has borrowed, himself, from the Rabbins. 
It was an omen of death, say the Rab- 
bins, from the creation. Jacob prayed 
that it might be altered. It was altered ; 
and hence the custom of saying Tobun 
Chaum, Ixmg life, when a man sneezed. 
You may consult Buxtorf if you want 
the Hebrew characters for Tobim Chaiim. 
As to what Mr. Charles Sigonius says, 
that this compliment originated in the 
time of Pope Gregory, in consequence of 
a mortal pestilence attended by sneezing, 
it only proves that he had never read his 
classics, and was equally unlearned in 
Babbinical knowledge. This story has 
been told by all the old women, and is 
told still, because it was very variously 
related in the Gentleman's Magazine some 

J ears ago. Let us hope that the New 
lonthly will put the old women right 
Pope Gr^ry lived in 750 ; and Jacob 

nil the world knows how long before 
that he lived. 

To return to our compliments. When 
the Emperor of Monomotapa sneezes, the 
whole city is in an uproar. As he did 
not borrow from Pope Gregory, I suppose 
we must go back to Jacob at least for the 
origin of this outcry. Doubtless, our 
friends of St. Kilda liave it from the same 
source : because Jacob's stone was brou^t 
from die phuns of Lus to Spain, thence 
to Ireland, whence it was transferred by 
Fergus L to Dunstofinage, whence Ken- 
neth carried it to Scone, to be forcibly 
adduced by Edward to Westminster 
Abbey, where it may now be seen for one 
ybiilfatg and ninepence — thanks to the 
libetalTty of the Church ! 

But when the Lama sneezes, then, in- 
deed) all Asia feels it to her utmost verge 
and limit: the sound travelling from 
nose to nose till it is reverberated from 
the great wall of China. The French 
conuder it boisterous to say '^ God bless 
you " on these occasions ; so much does 
Fnnce differ from Tartuy. It is only 
permitted, in the Code de Politeue^ to 
pull off your hat and make a silent bow. 

Aristotle, heaven bless him, is rather 
dnl) on diis point, considering that he 
was a natural philMopher, and somewhat 
more. Sneez&g, saith the Stagyrite, 
p i os o ods from tMbNun, and is a mark of 

vigour. The brain expels offensive or 
superfluous ideas throu^ the nose, saya 
he. It were to be desired that this were 
the usage still ; as now-a-days they are 
apt to find vent through the mouth, to 
the vast annoyance of liege subjects. Andy 
therefore, we salute the bram when it 
sneezes its energetic tokens of evacuated 
foUy and incumbrance. Enough of the 
Aristotelian philosophy ; and as to what 
Polydore Virgil says, it is as little to the 
purpose as the preoication of Clement of 

If they make sneezing a state concern 
in Monomotapa and Tartary, so they do 
also in Mesopotamia (or did), and in 
Siam. Mlien tne Utter potentate sneezed, 
a general reioicing took place in all that 
triangle which intervenes between the 
Euphrates and the Tigris ; so that the 
whole nation was in a perpetual uproar 
whenever his Majesty cnanced to have a 
cold. Hence it was not allowed to take 
snuff, lest the whole business of the state 
should fall into disorder. In that district 
of Pluto's dominions, which is set apart 
for the Siamese, the judge keeps a ledger 
of his prospective subjects. OccasionaUy 
he consults his tablets, impatient for the 
arrival of the next comer ; and thus on 
whosesoever name he fixes his fiery eye, 
the fated individual's nose responds in 
sympathetic sneeze. Hence it is, that 
the men of Siam bless each other from 
the foul fiend, whose influence is marked 
in impending omens on the echoing nose* 
^^New Monthly Magazine. 


(For the Mirror,) 

. "He ne'er could ope hii munf. 

But out would pop a brace of puni." 

This sort of wit, however light and fr{« 
volous some thinking people imagine it. 
has. nevertheless, been frequently used 
by the gravest of mankind. It requires, 
however, like irony, to be handled dex- 
terously: a bungler at this weapon is 
generally laughed at, and becomes con. 
temptible in me opinion of his hearers ; 
but when it is at once delicately and 
pointedly aimed, it never fails to entertain 
good society. That leviathan. Dr. John« 
son, is said to have afllrmed, that a man 
who could make a pun, would pick a 
pocket ; but the Doctor luts proved him- 
sdf a filch by his own practice, and has 
incurred, like all other punsters, the 
eternal punishment which that quick, 
sighted poet. Dean Swifr, describes in 
his " Art of Punning.'* Lords, Minis- 
ters, and Commons, Barbers and Law. 
yer's^erks, Man-Milliners, Dustmen, 
and Nightmen, {dulcet homines^ as Lingo 

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would My>) now wanton with tlie leading 
fltrings of punning. I cannot agree with 
a certain publication, that panning is a 
nuisance : it shews the invention of t)ie 
mind, and alwajrs pleases when not offen- 
sirely personal, or contemptibly weak and 
unperoeived. Nevertheless, Air. Editor, 
if you think the following jokes of a 
punster (now defunct !) will either add to 
the glory of panning, or expose its fal- 
lacy, they are at your service. 

He observes of a young lady who 
eloped with a feather merchant^ that she 
took winff to G^retna Ghneen. He is con- 
tinually stunning one's ears with one 
Rapin who invented knockers. On look, 
ing into a Mirror, he makes many wise 
reJlecHons, and frames his own jokes 
upon it And on seeing a man who went 
up with Mr. €hreen in his balloon, faU 
dawn, he pronounced him atlescendant 
of that famous Aeronaut. On a man 
whose feet smelt, (not of the rose) he 
called it a fetid smell. And on striking 
a boy on the head with the handle of an 
umbrella, till he cried out, he would ex- 
claim, that he hit him to some tune — ^to 
a tune of HandEi., On a tree, he begins 
with — ^let us branch off into some sub- 
ject — ^hav*n't you got sap enough already 
— I beg leave to mssent, &c. and boughs 
with ddference to your opinion, and stalks 
away, because he cannot stem your elo- 
quence: all these are common enough, 
and such as any young puppy of a pun- 
nikin might baric at. Of a person who 
made a bad cure <^ an eye, he said he 
eii|^ to be ktsh'A through the world, ot 
thrown down the c€Uaracts of Niagara, 
for being such a sony pupil of his master. 
And pulling his pocket handkerchief OMi, 
he says, he hankers chiefly after such and 
such things. On seeing a man before a 
looking glass, tie his neckcloth well, he 
exclaimed vel you tie in speculum ! Some 
old hair bottomed chairs put him in mind 
of a poem of Lord Byron's, because they 
were coarse hmr. He would rather let 
all foreign ha^hs alone, particularly those 
of Iloltand^ hecausc he would get Neither 
LfiTids nor monty for his loan, though 
his credulity might get a Polish. He 
says ha had &tou/ notions of marrying a 
^rriper^j daughter, but her father was 
against the match, so they thought of 
hofrping o& to the north. Then he has 
seen lovera amhj a cypress tree. He 
talkis of his ftiead, Mr. Eel, who lives in 
Skinner^s Street. He asks Lucy for a 
light, and says he is in Ituv via (luck's 
way !^ from thence he would ii^fer Luci- 
F£]i f On seeing a church, he says, he 
has very tapiring ideas, for he should 
like to be the chancellox of England: 
tuch jokes deserve a hoAer, tot Aey put 

one in a texriMe f^f On passtng k 
river, he said, he had dhers notions of 
throwing himsdf in, because the Bank 
was to issue no more paper currency. 
He hears reports, that a house which was 
polled down and rebuilt, was haunted ; 
but remarks, that it was only a story 
raised. He says, that a man that will 
fish all day, ought to have a rod fat pnr^ 
suing such a line of conduct : so says 
Theodore Hook ! When he goes skait. 
ing, he says, he commences on fundar 
fn^n/a/ principles and it is but justtcff 
for him to crack his jokes there. On 
seeing a lady who wor* a cap called the 
late queen's cap, he remarked, it must 
be a mob cap. He talks of his friend 
the cheesemonger being a mighty fine 
sort of man, and when he is stdus, he 
says, he is always so-lo(w). He says, 
Mr. Rayner wiU be a Reigner at the 
English Opera. Miss Wood, of die 
Haymarket, has been long used to the 
boards, and has played a good deal ; but 
observes, that no one dared ever yet to 
Umch Wood, Mr. Liston once compiained 
to the Manager of Drury Lane : some one 
said, go to El-liston, and he will listen 
to you. He says, that Miss Tree ought 
to be called a palm tree from the applause 
she gets : and that Miss Dance has taken 
a trip to Bath. That Miss Chester is at 
Majichester. That Miss Love has a great 
deal of cwpW-ity. And that Mrs. Chatter^ 
ley knows she has a tongue. A man told 
him once that he was no pun ster, on 
which, he could not sHr a pun! He 
blows, he told him, ih% flies : and says Old 
Maids axe verging (read virgin) on the vale 
of life. He talks ofhis friend the >^tf2^ 
keeping the even tenor of his way, that he 
Wares well, although he is bow^d down 
with age. He talks of George the Third, 
Wilks, Wat Tyler, and darned stockings, 
in one breadi, because they are men d^ ! 
And says the best language for punning is 
the Punic. With him a strong man is a 
MtisselmBXi. And he calls a flower pot 
an Elector of Middlesex, because it is a 
Land holder. Says, our immortal Sheri^ 
dan was too fond of wine : it was by his 
wit he got his bread, though Mr. Whit^ 
bread often proved crusty and opposed 
him. ^"^ Fadlisdecensus Avemff'' aajsloB, 
to a friend who slipped down the stairs of 
a modem HeU, in Pall Mall. He will 
tell you of a Bear he once saw Breunn^! 
Shakspeare's Commentators are comm&n 
*tatoes. He deplores die catastrophe of 
the man who was <wMulted by a donkey, 
and says all flesh is grass, and a great 
deal of it scurvy crass. He has seen coaU 
heavers laugh till they were ftfac* in the 
face. And when he sees laymen lower' 
ing beer in a pabIic.;hou8e emta^ he says. 

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k if a tign that ^mt has fatten. Drink, 
ing, he says, makes him lean^ because 
he leans a^diost every iMMt and wall that 
lars his passage, which is unconrnicmly 
grating to his feelings. And when he 
gets up a rope ladder^ he says, he is an 
upright man, and cannot fail rising in 
the world. If any one talks of our first 
pazents, he says, he was on Uie eve o£ 
mentioning them, and if he was able^ he 
would give so and so a good earning, 
plague on such jokes say I. A celebrat^ 
poet, he says, ought to write more^ for he 
has written little long enough, almost till 
he wa^ done brown. He talks of Mr. 
WestcoU^ who is a relation of Mr. Coates : 
such observations would be on]y making 
breaches into nonsense, I trow sirsj it 
would, was his reply. He exclaims, 
requiesCAT in pace over a dead puss, 
Ikoeks cut lumen ademptum^ when he 
sees the engines running. And thanks 
Mr. Peel for the Repeo/ of the Marriage 
Adw Beta. 

August^ 1823. 

iKiseful Someisttc I^Cms. 


Hops being last season a very unproduc- 
tive crop, are now of course proportiona- 
bly dear; it may, therefore, not be amiss 
to state, for the information of private 
families, who practise economy, and brew 
their beer, that Gentian root has been 
used with the greatest success for a sub- 
stitute. The proportion of Gentian to 
each bushel of malt, varies from one 
ounce to an ounce and half, to which a 
quarter of a pound of hops should be 
added. This root is to be carefully cut 
into thin slices^ and if boiled in a quan- 
tity of water for some time, before it is 
added with the hops in the usual manner, 
it will ensure the extraction of the bitter 
principle; although, by many who have 
used it, it is merely sliced, and put into the 
boiling wort precisely in the same method 
that hops usually are, and it is almost 
impossible to distinguish beer so brewed, 
from that where hops are wholly used ; 
if any thing, the Gentian imparts a more 
grateful bitter. A few hops added in the 
cask when the liquor is stopped down, will 
impart the full flavour of the hop. The 
quantity of the root may be diminished 
or increased, so that the bitter may sui^ 
the taste, and a little experience will ena^ 
ble those who use it to do so. Generally, 
perhaps, one ounce with four ounces of 
hops, vdll be found suflident for each 
bushel of malt. The Gentian root may 

be had at about \\d. per ounce ; but, if 
bought by the pound, it is considerably 
cheaper. p. g. 


Take ot Mucilage of Gum Arabic, 2 ou 

Simple Syrup, \ os. 

Peppermmt Water, l|os. 
Mi« the above together. 

To the JBdiiorofthe Mirror. 
Croydon, January 28, 1824. 
Sir, — I am a regular subscriber to your 
valuable little work the Mirror; and on 
perusing that dated January 3, 1 find you 
have greatly erred in prescribing (under 
the head ^^ Useful Domestic HintSy**)^ 
remedy '^ In case of danger arising from 
having drank water when warm." You 
advise half an ounce of camphor to be 
dissolved in a gill of brandy, and taken at 
intervals of tmee minutes. Surely you 
must have intended half a dradun; for, if 
you refer to the properties of camphor in 
the Pharmacopeia, you will find the dose 
to be from one to five grains, and in large 
doses twenty grains and upwards ; and that 
excessive doses produce syncope, anxiety^ 
retchings, convulsions and delirium. 

A CoKSTAXT Reader. 


(To the Editor of the Mirror.) 

Sir, — Observing in a monthly sden- 
tiiic journal, an article on the subject 
of making butter in winter, I beg leave 
to furnish a few particulars on that sub- 
ject, as practised in Russia, since the 
year 1816, and which may, perhaps, 
be of some service to those who may 
be induced to make the enerimeat 
either in summer or winter. Being in 
that country in the year 1817, I wag 
intbrmed by a Russian nobleman, that 
the proprietor of an extensive estate (also 
a nobleman of high rank) had discovered 
a new mode of making butter, and had 
received letters patent from the Emperor 
as a reward for the discovery, and which 
he stated as being at that time in full and 
successful operation. The process con- 
sisted in boiling (or rather that spedes of 
boiling called simmering) the milk for 
the space ot fifteoi minutes in its tweet 
state—observing at the same time not to 
use suflicientheat to bum the milk; it la 
then churned in the usual manner.— He 
also stated, that no diflSiculty ever o^ 
curred in procuring butter immediately^ 
and of a quality far •aperior to that mw 

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confess myself under pirtkular obliga»i 
tions to yote for the very remarkab!^ 
eatmtenance you have ihiwn me upon 
this occasion.'* 

Two fWends, one a native of Lanca- 
shiie, the other an Hibernian, being in 
conversation together, the latter asked the 

, . . - former, "what death he would wish to 

was considered more healthjr, as they sup- ^^ jm rpjje answer was, " Let me die 
posed the boiling or scaldmg to destroy ^^'^ .- .. ^ . . 

whatever animalculae it may h^ve con. 

Ipom milk which had underffone vinous 
tonentation: and that in addition to its 
superior flavour, it would preserve its 

Dualities much longer than that made in 
le ordinary mode; that the additional 
advantages were, that the milk, being 
left sweet, is possessed of almost the same 
value for ordmary purposes, and by some 


If the above process should upon expe- 
rhnent prove of sufficient importance, so 
as to bring it into eeneral use, particu- 
larly in the winter, it would perhaps be 
to tne advantage of those who may prac- 
tise it to have meir milk scalded in vessels 
calculated to stand in the kettle or boiler, 
by which mode the danger of burning the 
milk would be avoided, for it is ascer- 
tained that milk only bums on the edges 
of its surface, or where it comes in con- 
tact with the sides of the vessel in which 
it is heated, which can never happen in 
double kettles, or where one is placed 
within the other. 


** I am hut a Gatherer and disposer of other 
men's stuff."— "^o^^on. 


JoHif, Duke of Bourbonnois, published 
a dedaration, in 1414, '^ that ne would 
go over to England, with sixteen knights, 
and there fight to extremity, in order to 
avoid idlenessy and to merit the good 
graces of the fair lady whose humble 
servant he was." 

A person talking to Foote of an ac 
fluaintance of his, who was so avaricious, 
tnat he lamented the prospect of his 
funeral expenses, and who yet had cen- 
sured one of his relations for his parsi- 
mony; " Now, is it not strange,*' con- 
tinued he, " that this man would not 
take the beam out of his own eye, before 
he attempted the mote in other people's ?" 
" Why, so I dare say he would," cried 
Foote, if he was sure of selling iJie ^tan- 

When Mr. C. Yorke was returned 
member for the University of Cambridge, 
in 1770, he went round to thank the 
members who had voted for him. Among 
the number was one remarkable for hav- 
ing the largest and ugliest face that ever 
was seen. Mr. Yorke, in thanking him, 
said, " Sir, I have a great reason to be 
4haDkful to my ^ends in genend, bat 

" Och ! my 
dear," repUed honest Pat, " that you'll 

I death of the righteous." 
ff," replied honest Pat, 
never do oi long cu ye live,* 



Rosy red the hills appear 
With the light of morning. 
Beauteous douds, in aether clear. 
All the East adorning ; 
White thro' mist the meadows shine: 
Wake, my Love, my Valentine ! 
For thy locks of raven hue, 
Flowers of hoar frost pearly. 
Crocus-cups of gold and blue, 
Snow-drops drooping early. 
With Mezeron springs combine t 
Rise, my Love, my Valentine! 
O'er the margin of the flood. 
Pluck the daisy peeping ; 
Thro' the covert of the wood. 
Hunt the sorrel creeping ; 
With the little Celandine, 
Crown my Love, my Valentine. • 

Pansies, on their lowly stems, 
Scatter'd o'er the fallows; 
Hazel-buds with crimson gems, 
Ghreen and glossy sallows. 
Tufted moss and ivy-twine, 
Deck my Love, my Valentine. 
Few and simple flow'rets these ; 
Yet to me less glorious 
Garden-beds and orchard-trees ! 
Since this wreath victorious 
Binds you now for ever mine, 
O my Love, my Valentine. 


Edgar is requested to send to our office for a 

Lector Speculi shall he attended to. 

The favours of P. T. /T., J. D. S.. Btta-Pi, 
A. B., J. H, fF.t F. S„ T., and some half dosen 
articles on the stage, with valentines addressed 
to evei7 lady's name from Amelia to Zenobia, 
have been received. 

The Prophetic Dew Drops versified. The 
Chemical Student, and Jacobus M our next. 

Errata in our last.—P. 106, col. 1, 1. 10 from 
bottom, for " Senuiani,** read " Geminiani j** 
col. 2, 1. 8 from bottom, for " Melpomene," read 
•* Buterpe ;" p. Ill, col. 1, 1. 7, for ** Kettarday/' 
rearf"Kellaway." ^^^ 

Printed and Published by /. LIMBIRD, 
143, Strand, Cnear Somerset House,) and sold 
b^ all ^owsmen and Booksellers^ - 

Digitized by VjOOQIC 

%\tt Mixvov 



[Price %i. 

Burns*0 iPtausioleum at iBumfrtesf. 

LonG had the genius of BarnB been 
universally acknowledged, and his poems 
been read and admired, from the Liand^s 
£nd to John o*6roat*s, before there was 
any trihute to his memory. While living, 
he had been treated with the most cruel 
neglect, and insulted with the situation o« 
an exciseman, for, to a man of his genius 
and feeling, such an office was an insult, 
when death released him from the fanes 
of poverty on the 22nd of July, 1796, m 
the 38th year of his age. He died poor, 
but *^ owing no man ;** for the indepen- 
dence of his spirit, and the exemplary 
prudence of his wife, not only preserved 
him from debt, but from every sort of 

Eighteen years had his fame, like a 
lolling snow-ball, continuaUy augmented, 
when two gentlemen stepped forth to 
erect a monument to his memory. Their 
names deserve record. It was to William 
Guerson, Esq. of Baitford, Dumfrieshire, 
and Alexander Key, Esq. of Golden, 
square, London, that the memory of 
Bums and the public are indebted for the 
Mausoleum, or which we this week give 
an engravings Wlien once projected. 

Vol. uu K 

frirds were soon supplied to complete It. 
It is a beautiful sepulchral monument, 
which, for symmetry and cbasteness of 
design, has scarcely its equal in any age 
or country. An inscription in Latin was 
deposited in the fust stone, of which the 
following is a translation : — 

In perpetual honour of 


decidedly the first Scottish poet of his age, 

whose exquisite verses in the dialect 

of his country, 

distinguished for the strength and fire 

of native genius, 

more than for the acquired accomplish • 


of polish and erudition, 

are admired by all men of letters 

for their humour, pleasantry, elegance^ 

and variety ; 

his townsmen and others, who love polite. 


and cherish the memory of so eminent 

a genius, 

caused this Mausoleum to be erected 

over the mortal remains of 

The Bard. 

Of this edifice, 


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planned^y ThaniM F. Hurst, 

at' IxnidoQ, aschitect, 

^ first stone was ]aid by 

William MiUer, Esq. 

Pioyincial Oxaod Master o£ the Southern 


of Free-Masons in Scotland, 

in the reign of Oeorge III. 

during the regency o{ George, 

Prince of Wales, 

Joseph Gass, Esq. being Provost of 


on the 5th day of June, 

in the year of light, 5815, 

of our Lord, 1815. 

(For the Mirror,) 
If we would mark the several periods 
and countries, in which manufactures 
and commerce have flourished, we must 
follow the course of the arts, which com- 
merce has always accompanied, and in a 
ffreat measure that of power, which sel- 
dom fails to attend it, when we should 
find that the progress of all the three has 
been from east to west, beginning near 
the land of Palestine. 

The first people who were induced by 
llieir situation to apply to arts and com- 
merce, were those who inhabited the 
coasts of the Red Sea and the Arabian 
Gulf, so convenient for transporting 
goods from the Indies ; though it is most 

rbable, that goods were first carried 
land on camels. These people were 
tie Arabians or Ishmaelites, and espe- 
cially the Edomites. Their trade was 
chiefly with Eg3rpt, which by that means 
was nch and populous. Upon the con- 
quest of Idumea, by David, the scattered 
remains of that industrious people fled 
to the coast of the Mediterranean sea, 
where as Sir Isaac Newton conjectures, 
they took Sidon, the inhabitants of which 
buflt Tyre, which being found more com- 
modiously situated for trafiic, soon became 
more famous than the moUier country, 
llie T3rrians finding an immense vent 
for their commodities along all the coast 
of the Mediterranean sea, among people 
who had just begun to be civilized, (and 
whom their intercourse with them, more 
than any other circumstance, contributed 
to civiUze,) grew rich, populous and 
powerful to an incredible degree ; and 
notwithstanding they were subdued by 
Nebuchadnezzar, they were only driven 
from the continent. They built a city 
equal, or superior, to the former on an 
island opposite to it, where they con- 
tinued uieir commerce with the same 
advantages, till they were finally sub- 
dued by Alexanda the Gieiit. 

Before thk &tal event, the Tjna^ 
had founded many colonies on the og^ 
of Europe and Anica, particularly &- 
thage, which by the intimate connexion 
it always kept up with its mother ooun<* 
try, ani the free access the Carthaginians 
had to Oie remotest parts of Europe^ 
grew to a far greater height of opulence 
and power than commerce had been at- 
tained by any nation before them. The 
taking of Tyre removed the seat of the 
same commerce to Alexandria, where the 
Ptolemys were great encouragers of com- 
merce, and found their advantage in it. 
For the produce of the customs of Alex- 
andria is said to have been two millions 
of our money annually. Alexandria 
maintaineji the same rank in point of 
trade and commerce during the earlier 
period of the Roman empire, but yielded 
to Constantinople; the riches acquired by 
commerce long preserved the remains of 
that power wMch had a very different 

During the ravages committed by the 
northern barbarians, in their invasion of 
the Roman empire, two rival states, 
Venice and Grenoa, rose from the most 
inconsiderable beginnings, and by their 
commerce with Constantinople and Alex- 
andria on the one hand, and the western 
states of Europe on the other, arrived at 
immense riches and power ; so as to be 
a match for the Turks, when they had 
put an end to the Constantinopolitan em-* 
pire. Within this period, viz. in the 13th 
century, the business of exchange and 
banking was begun by the Lombards 
and Jews; an invention of infinite ad- 
vantage to the trading part of the world, 
which was now become very extensive. 
Before thb time, commerce had made s 
considerable progress westwards, and 
many towns in Germany, England, the 
Low Countries, and France, called the 
Hanse Towns, entered into a league for 
carrying or a very extensive commerce, 
which they did with vast advantage, till 
their haugntiness and warlike enterprises, 
gave umbrage to the powers of Europe, 
and engaged them to put an end to the 
confederacy. Venice and Genoa were 
ruined in part, by their mutual jealousy 
and wars ; but what diverted almost the- 
whole course of trade out of its former 
channel, and which makes the most re- 
markable revolution in the whole history 
of commerce, was the discovery of a 
passage to the East Indies, round the 
Cape of Qood Hope, by the Portuguese, 
and of America, by the Spaniards. 
These discoveries they were enabled to 
make, by means of the compass, which 
then first begun to be appHed to naviga- 
tion; diougn that prq)erty of the hHid 

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stone, on which the u«e of it depends, 
had been known a considerable time be- 
fore. For about a century and a half, 
these were the only considerable naval 
powers in the world ; but the arrogance 
and ambition of the Spaniards after the 
conquest of Portugal, excited the hatred 
and industry of the Dutch and English. 
The former, first became a free, then 
a commercial, and in a remukably 
short space of time, a rich and potent 
state, and much superior to their former 
masters. The English, in the reign of 
Elizabeth, began to follow their foot- 
steps, and by a steady perseyevance, and 
the help of many natural advantages, 
they have been continually increasing 
their commerce and naval force, till it is 
at this day hx superior to that of the 
Dutch, or that of any other state in the 
world. The success of the Dutch and 
English has excited all the states of 
Europe, in proportion to their abilities 
and opportunities, to engage in commerce. 
This emulation has rused such a spirit 
of industry, pnmioted so many new ma- 
nu^Bctures, occasioned the establishment 
of so many new oc^nies in all parts of 
the known world, and brought such au 
amasing accession of ridies uid power to 
the states of Europe in general, as must 
hare appeared incredible, but a few cen. 
turies ago. And little did the ancient 
Greeks and Romans imagine that the 
tUvisi toto or6e Brittanni^ and the poor 
barbarous and ignorant neighbouring na- 
tions, would ever make me figure they 
now do, and go so infinitely beyond 
whatever they had attained to in respect 
to science, conmierce, riches, power, and 
I may add, happiness. As to the com. 
merce of England, though it was by no 
means inconsiderable in several periods 
of the more early part of our history, 
tfiat were particularly favourable to it, 
and though it was encouraged by several 
of our wiser princes in those times ; yet 
tin the period in which I have introduced 
the mention of it, it never was so con. 
siderable as to deserve being taken notice 
of in this very general view of the pro- 
gress and revolutions of commerce. 



(For thg Mirror.) 

Iir a garden where flowret* were blooming wild, 
One arid and sultry morning. 
There restlesily wander'd a delicate chiUi, 
Whoie sense was too early dawning 4 

•* Ah Father The cried. 

As the buds he eyed. 
That languidly droopM before them ; 

'* The dew-drops to day, 
Have been snatch'd away 
Too toon, and we're leftto deplore them! 

• See Mirror, No. 70. 
K 2 

Alas ! not permitted to glitter on flow'rt 

As happier dew-drops have been. 

lliat have spaikted at eve, in the moonii^^t 

Like fairy lamps over the seene ; 

And liv'd thro' the night 

Andtbe morning bright. 
On the buds, till the noon of the day; 

But the heat of the sun. 

Or his wrath has undone 
These poor dew-drops, and chas'd them awayl* 
Thus bad muruiurM the child, when a deeting 

Bore down from the darkening sky ; 
And a rain-bow appear*d, ere the closing hoir 
Asa beautiful arch upon high. 

" See thy dew-drops f?.ir 
In the rain-bow there. 
More brillia.itly iitet than b«^fore ; 

So, that wiiich fades here. 

In a purer sphere 
Will re-bloom to be blighted, no more r* 
While thus spoke the father, how little he knew 
That his words as pretiguring fell, 
Or that the fair intant soon fading from view 
Ah would witness their truth but too KtU! 

For this child uf light. 

In the morning bright 
Of his wisdom too early given ; 

By sickness assailed. 

Was even exhaled 
As a dew-drop from eaith into heaven ! 
F«6. 16M, 1824. 

B. S. C-. 


(For the Mirror,) 
Some persons, whose reading and expe- 
rience nave brought them in contact 
nther with bad women than good, and 
who, perhaps, have read the story of a 
woman who ^poke very well without a 
tongue, a story which is attested by Wil- 
cox, Bishop of Rochester, and was read 
before the Royal Society, in a letter ftom 
Lisbon, dated September 3, 1707; and 
which gave occasion to the foUowing 
epigram: — 

That without a tongue a woman could 
Chat and prattle, ta^k aloud : 

As a fact I must receive it.— 
But that a woman with a tongue 

Could hold her peace, ana hold it long ; 

Pshaw ! I can't believe it. 

Some such persons, may have been of 
opinion, that a woman never could be 
absolutely good unless her head were 
entirely off; and hence have deduced the 
origin of the sign, which is still to be 
seen at several oil shops, particularly in 
St. Gileses, midway between the church 
and Tottenham-Court Road; at another 
in Bishopsgate-street ; at a third, in Kent- 
street-road ; and at a fourth in Ix)ndon. 
road ; .^t the last shop, however, the 
husbaAd fairly divides the sign with 
his wife ; for it is the " Good Wan" on 
one side, and the " Gootl Woman" on the 
other. But, when we are told, that this 
sign has never appeared but at an oil- 
shop, and that it is commonly believed, 
that the first-mentioned house has been 
in the same trade, and with the same 
sign, or something like it, ever since the 

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dayi of Charles I.; we may, perhaps, 
conclude, that the sign was orighiaUy, 
at thai distant period, nothing hut an 
Italian oil-jar, whidi heing very hadly 
painted, and heoome mudi worse hy 
decay, might have heen likened hy the 
customers to a headless old woman with 
her arms a-kimho ; and might really have 
been as much like one as what it was in- 
tended for. Then, we may suppose, the 
next occupier of the house, either deceived 
himself, or humouring the mistake of 
others, might, when he renewed his sign, 
really turn it into a woman without a 
head. Or, even supposing the mistake 
to have been made by the sign-painter, 
from being unable to distinguish the 
figure he had to copy from, have we 
not read of stranger metamorphoses, and 
of stranger errors in drawing ? 

In yain declar'd he ii«*er went ottt. 
But business always went about ; 
In vain declar'd he shunn'd the girls, 
And cared not for their smiles nor spells. 
*• You rogue !" says Jane, *' all's false you've said. 
Last night you cried hat rolh in bed ! 
Nay, villain, vow'd, as there's a Sunday, 
You lov*d her, and would keep Saint Monday!** 


(For the Mirror.) 

Miss Monday, as the gossips tell. 

Was deem'd a comely pleasing girl : 

For shape and manners, air and grace. 

The boast, and charmer of the place. 

Not Scandal's tongue her name could taint ; 

Indeed for virtue, deem'd a saint! 

Yet Miss, the kindest, best of souls. 

Was partial — very fond of rolls ! 

▲nd as some things are thought propitious, 

ffot rolh by her esteem'd dehcious I 

Now, so it fell — the baker's shop. 
Where oft Miss Monday made a stop. 
Was kept by two new married folks. 
On whom the tattlers made their jokes. 
*Twas said that John (the man of dough) 
Was never known astray to go ; 
From mom to night would work and sing. 
Content and happy as a king : 
No wish beyond his shop to roam. 
So dear to him was wife and home 1 
And then his partner, little Jane, 
Of John, nor business, did complain ; 
She found him what she told him free. 
All that a man, good man, should be I 

But curse on Envy's evil power. 
Hot rolh were made their joys to sour ; 
Hot rolls for which Jtfi»» Monday came. 
Set John and John's wife, in a flame I 
She thought Miss Monday wink'd her eye 
And John, (her Johnny) heav'd a sigh I 
She thought she saw him squeece her handi 
And Miss too near the oven stand I 
She thought (but that he did deny) 
She heard him whisper," by andbyeV* 
And therefore told the wicked elf 
•* Next time, I'll serve that girl myself." 
' ** You shan't," says John. — " I will," says Jane, 
" And always when she comes again. 
Ill have no winks nor sciueezing here. 
And so you know my mind, my dear." 
John bit his lips,— -Jane bang'd the door I 
The reign of quiet was no more. 
And sure, as if to blow the coals, 
Miss Monday came again for rolls ! 
And said, not thinking ill nor strife, 
She never eat such in her life 1 
And therefore told her sister Fan, 
•* My baker is Kdarling man /" 

In vain did John caress his wife 
And twore he prised her more than life : 



(For the Mirror.) 

I'm a boy of all work, a complete little servant, 

Tho' now out of place, like a beggar I rove ; 
Tho' in waiting so handy, in duty so fervent. 

The heart (could you think it?) has tum'd 
away Love ! 
He pretends to require, growing older and older, 

A muse more expert his chill fits to remove ; 
But sure ev'ry heart will grow colder and colder. 

Whose fires are not lighted and f uel'd by Lovet 

He fancies that Friendship, my puritan brother, 

In joumies and visits more useful will prove ; 

But the heart will soon find, when it calls on 


That no heart is at home to a heart without 


He thinks his new Porter, grim featur'd suf 
Will falsehood and pahi from hit mansion re- 
prove ; 
But pleasure and truth will ne'er ask for ad. 
If the doors of the heart be not open'd by 

Too late he will own, at his folly confounded. 

My skill at a feast was all praises above ; 
For the heart, though with sweets in profusion 

Must starve at a banquet unseasoned by Lovd 

The heart will soon find all his influence falter 

By me, by me only that influence throve ; 
With the change of his household, his nature 
will alter. 
That heart is no heart which can live withoat 


(To the Editor of the Mirror.) 

Sir, — I am induced to make a few ob- 
lervations, from observing in No. 70 of the 
** Mirror** two recipes for " Red and 
Green Fire.*"* In bodi, five proportions 
of oxymuriate ^or more properly chlo- 
rate) of potash are required, and directed 
to be well and perfectly triturated with 
the other ingredients. Now this prepa- 
ration of potassa is very highly inflam- 
mable, and, of course, very dangerous to 
handle. This, the attempt to substitute 
it for nitre, in the manufacture of gun. 
powder, at Essone, in the year 1788, «an 
prove ; I have no doubt that many, see- 
ing the directions, would be inclined to 
make these " Firesy* (espedally as they 
are exceedingly expensive to purchase,) 
and in the trituration, cause memselves 
very considerable danger from explosion : 
I myself am an instance of this. I have 
fou^ however, that by substituting ten 

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parts of nitrite of potassa, for fiye of the 
chlorate, all danger is obviated, and the 
brilliancy of the mixture very little, if at 
all, dimmished — A Chemical Student. 


If ancient Poet* Argun prise. 
Who boasted of a hundred eyes. 
Sure greater praise to her is due 
Who looks a hundred ways with two. f f 


(To the Editor of the Mirror.) 
Sir, — ^Your intelligent correspondents, 
who have favoured us with an account of 
the mistakes in the Scotch novels, have 
overlooked one, which, perhaps, if it came 
£rom an Irish instead of a Scotch author, 
would be termed a buU. It occurs near 
the end of the third volume of Waverley, 
when the procession, which bears Fergus 
M^Ivor to execution, has passed through 
the court-yard. After describing the 
aeene veiy futhfully, he says, " the 
court-yard was now entirely empty. 
Waverley was standing in the middle of 



(For the Mirror.) 

Smca enstom (whose tyrannic sway 
P<»ets, like others, must obey) 
Commands upon St. Valentine, 
To write our lovely maid a line. 
Pleading the ansruish of the heart, 
Transpierc'd by cruel Cupid's dart ! 
That frensy will distract the mind. 
If to our suit she prove unkind : 
That life without her, is but vile. 
Our only hope awaits her smile : 
And various other arts to move, 
Well known by those who're skili'd In love, 
With vows of purest constant flame. 
To woo the lass to change her name : 
Obedient then to custom's rite, 
M yValentine 111 thus indite. 

Ye sisters of Parnassu^ hill ! 
Teach roe to write witli potent skill ; 
Oh I deign to hear my ardent pray'r. 
Poetic genius let me share : 
With lyric numbers fire my verse, 
Gnuit that I may as Pope rehearse: 
In polish'd strains like his divine ; 
Then will applauding fame be mine ; 
Without your aid the winged horse, 
(*Tis Pegasus I mean of course) 
Will quickly throw me from his back. 
The meanest of the rhyming pack ; 
No more to dare his fiery rein. 
Nor tempt Parnassu^ steeps again 1 
The scofflngs of the critic crowd. 
Would instant tell my fall aloud ; 
In pity then, avert my lot, 
Your kindness ne'er shall be forgot, 
Your patronage 1*11 not abuse. 
But constant prove to ev*ry muse. 
Vouchsafe then, matchless sisters nine, 
T* adopt me for your Valentine ; 
Then, as in duty bound, I'll pray, ) 

A nxions my debt of ^titude to pay, \ 

in send you one a piece next courtmg day. ' 

No. IIL 


Fame, register of time, 
Write in thy scrowle, that I, 
Of wisdome lover, and sweet poesie, 
Was cropped in my prime. 
And ripe in worth, tho' greene in years did die. 

Henry Headley was the only son of 
the Rev. Henry Headley, Vicar of North 
Walsham, in tJie County of Norfolk. He 
was bom at Irstead, in Norfolk, in the 
year 1766. The reputation of Dr. Parr, 
as master of the grammar school at Nor- 
wich, induced Mr. Headley to place his 
son under his care, under peculiarly fa* 
vourable circumstances. As the consti- 
tution of young Headley was naturally 
delicate, much of the time, which his 
school-fellows spent in robust exercises* 
he devoted to writing, and many of Uie 
wild and tender effusions of his fancy, 
proved the poetical bias of his mind. 

On the 14th of January, he was ad- 
mitted a commoner of Tnnity College, 
Oxford, under the tuition of the Rev. 
Charles Jesse ; and at the following elec- 
tion on Trinity Monday,. May 27t^ was 
chosen scholar of that society. His situ- 
ation at the University was as favourable 
as he could desire ; for it not only allowed 
him ample scope for the expansion of his 
genius, and the induleence of his literary 
habits, but presented hum with living 
examples of classical taste, and learned 
research, which he could not behold with.' 
out enthusiastic admiration. Among 
these bright examples was the Rev. Tho- 
mas Wharton, wdl known to the public 
by his writings : he was at that time 
Senior fellow of Trinity Colleoe, where 
he usually resided: and Headley, as a 
scholar of the same College, was favour- 
ably situated for the contemplation of 
Mr. Wharton*s character, general man- 
ners, and habits of life. As his friends 
found that no subjects were more aeree^ 
able to Headley than anecdotes of Whar- 
ton, they often fed his curiosity with a 
treat he so much enjoyed. The infor- 
mation they gave him, and the perusal 
of his various publications — ^his poems— 
his observations on Spenser — and his 
history of English poetry, stimulated him 
to give his mind that direction which 
marked the course of his subsequent 
studies, and induced him to prefer *•*- the 
monuments of banished minds*' as exist- 
ing in old English poetry to all other 

The various objects which the appear . 
ance of the University of Oxford pit« 

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Mnted, could not faB to produce a pow- 
erful efiect on his imagination. The 
delightful gardens and puhlic walks; the 
various seats of learning and piety, where 
heroes had been taught the lessons of 
honour and virtue, sages had planned 
their systems of philosophy, and poets 
had indulged their flights of fancy — ^the 
survey of the gothic battlements and 
lofty towers *' mantled with the moss of 
time** — the crisped roofs, the clustered 
columns, and the mellow eloom of the 
painted windows, were all objects so 
closely connected with the study of the 
by-gone times, as to give a deep tincture 
to his mind ; they were pcrfecdy conge- 
nial with his taste, and contributed to 
mature and refine it. 

Kindred minds will invariably ding 
together, wherev« they meet. Happily 
finding in Trinity College several of its 
members, who were young men of talents, 
learning, and amiable manners, he had 
little difficulty in forming an aquaintance. 
Among the select number of his associ- 
ates was William Lisle Bowles, who has 
since distinguished himself as an eminent 

His long vacations, far from being 
passed in idle rambles tram home, were 
devoted to his studies, and the anxious 
discharge of his domestic duties. It is 
of importance to observe such traits as 
these in his character, especially at a time 
when men o£ litecary pretensions appear 
by their actions, in too many deplorable 
instances, to deem it the privilege of 
genius to hold the important demands of 
ordinary life in utter contempt. At this 
time his father was confined. by an iUness 
which terminated in his death : the im- 
pression made upon the mind of his 
afifectionate son, by a nrospect so melan- 
eholy, may be collected firom the begin- 
ning of his poem to Mprti. 

From these tad seenes, where care and p4e 

Darken with deepest clonds the coming day, 
Where duty breathes in vaiti its lengthened sigh. 
And wipes the stagnant tear from sol-row's eye, 
0*er all its hopes views hovering death prevail. 
And mourns the social comforts as they fail ; 
Say, can a novice muse, though you inspire. 
In artless thanks awake the sadden'd lyre ? 

In 1786, he produced the first collected 
fruits of authorship by the publication of 
Im poems and other piecef. Most of them 
had appeared in the Gentleman's Maga- 

In the following year, at the age of 
twenty-two, he published " Select Beau^ 
ties cf Ancient English Poets^ with re- 
marks.*^ Such a work was highly com- 
plimentary to these pioneers of our lite- 
rature, as wellas honourable to the author. 
The plagiarisms of many of our modem 

flippant scribblers from these writers aie 
80 many abundant proofs of the msnt, 
which even they attach to them. 

He was an occasional contributor of 
many ingenious pieces to the (senile' 
man's Magazine^ under the signature of 
C. T. O., and wrote an Essay in the 
Olla Podfida^ a periodical work, pub- 
lished in Oxford, in 1788, by the Ilev. 
T. Monro, which contains some excellent 
observations on ancient and modem tm- 

[e left Trinity College, after a resi- 
dence there of nearly tluree years. For 
some months after his departure from 
Oxford, the inquiries of his college friends 
for his place of residence were in vain s 
it at length appeared, that he was married, 
and had retired to ]!^latlock, in Derbyshire, 
pleased with such a sequestaed retreat, 
and the wild scenery of the country whidi 
accorded with the romantic turn of his 

The symptoms of a consumptive ten. 
dency in his constitution, which had been 
increasing for some years, were now so 
strongly confirmed, and he became so 
alarmingly indisposed, that his physician 
advised nun to take a voyage to Lisbon. 
Thither he determined to proceed inmie- 
diately, and his college friend, William 
Ben well, excited by the mosVafiTectionate 
S3rmpathy, hastened to London, and todk 
leave of him under circumstances of dis- 
tress, which may be more easily imagined 
than described. Though hurassed by 
an incessant cough, and unaccompanied 
by any one he knew, Headley had the 
resolution to undertake the voyage : he 
sailed in May, 1788 ; but on landing at 
Lisbon, so far was he from feeling any 
effectual relief, that he found himseix 
oppressed by the heat of the climate. A 
few days would probably have terminated 
his life, but for the unremitting kindness 
of a friend, to whom he had an intra, 
ductory letter, and who procured hinci 
every facility of deriving the desired 
benefit f^m the change of climate. His 
malady had, however, made too great 
progress to he stopped ; and as he found 
that nothing was to be gained frmn a 
residence in Portugal, he returned to 
England in August, to his house in Nor- 
wich. After suffering to such a degree, 
as to put his patience to a very severe 
trial, he died on the 15th November, 1788, 
in the twenty-third jear of his age, and 
was buried near his parents, and two 
sisters, in the church of North Walsham, 
in Noriblk. 

Mr. Headley was of middle stature, 
thin, and delicately formed. His features 
were remarkablv expressive: when in 
health, his cheeks glowed with the tints 

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of the damask rose — and genius and sen* 
aibility weie written in his &ce. 

There was a charm in his society which 
all acknowledged who came witnin the 
sphere of its influence. The stream of 
his conversation was rather rapid than 
diffiise — rather brilliant than profound. 
He caught the peculiarities of different 
diaracters with amazing quickness, and 
described them with matchless humour ; 
he excelled in original and lively sallies 
of imagination ; yet was his wit free from 
malevolence, for he was perfectly good- 
natured, and his ridicule was as often 
turned upon himself, as levelled against 

The Rev. Henry Kett, (from whose 
Memoir of Headley, the present notice is 
chiefly abstracted,) observes, that active 
benevolence was a prominent feature of 
his character, and recollects but one in. 
stance of his anger. His resentment was 
roused by an unfounded insinuation, that 
he preferred the company of some of his 
acquaintance o£ another college, because 
thi^ were of superior rank to his friends 
at Trini^. This gust of his passion was 
violent, wough short. Such a noble mind 
as his could recognize no predilection for 
associates, but that which depended upon 
merit alone. He was hig^ spirited with- 
out arrogance, and elevated without pride. 
Nothing could be more abhorrent from 
his disposition than the cringing of the 
sycophant, or the abiect servilities of the 
natteret. Although he had smarted under 
the discipline of his old master, (Dr. Parr) 
he recounted many instances of his kind- 
ness, and he would not have paid him 
the compliment of a dedication of his 
poems, had he not regarded him as a 
person of transcendent worth : to such 
worth alone, he made his obeisance ; aiid 
when Headley offered up the incense of 
his praise, it was the sacrifice made by 
gemus upon the altar of gratitude. 

^When suffering the attacks of indis- 
position, he riiowed great firmness of 
mind, and cheerfulness of temper. There 
was, indeed, a buoyancy in his disposi- 
tion, that elevated him above the pressure 
of his malady, and which seldom failed 
to display itself in the most agreeable 
manner, on the appearance of any one of 
his friends, who might truly exclaim, 
in the words of his favourite poet, Shirley, 


▲ amile shoot graceful ui>ward» from hit eyes. 
Am if they had gain'd a victory over grief. 

To be ixyMluded in owr next. 


As this is leap year, an explanation off 
the term, and when it originated, may not 
be deemed irrelevant, m unaooeptible to 
our readers. 

The time our earth takes to make one 
complete revolution in its orbit round the 
sun, we call a year. To complete this 
with great exactness, is a work of con- 
siderable difficulty. It has mostly been 
divided into twelve months of thirty days. 

The ancient Hebrew months consisted 
of thirty days each, excepting the last, 
which contained thirty-five. Thus the 
year contained 365 days. An intercalary 
month, at the end of 120 years supplied 
the difference. 

The Athenean months consisted of 30 
and 29 days alternately', according to the 
regulation of Solon. This calculation 
produced a year of 354 days, and a little 
more than one third. But as a solar 
month contains 30 days, 10 hours, 29 
minutes, Meton, to reconcile the dif- 
ference between the solar and lunar year, 
added several emholismie^ or intercalary 
months, during a cyele^ or revolution of 

The Roman months, in the time of 
Romulus, were only ten of 30 and 31 
days. Numa Pompilius, sensible (sf the 
great deficiency of this computation, added 
two more months, and made a year of 
355 days. 

The Egyptians had fixed the length of 
their year to 365 days. 

Juuus Caesar, who was well acquainted 
with the learning of the Egj^tians, waa 
the first who attained to any accuracy on 
the subject. Finding the year established 
by Numa ten days shorter than the solar 
year, Julius Csesarsupplied the difference, 
fixed the length of the year to be 365 
days, 6 hours, and regulated the months 
according to the present measure. To 
allow for the six odd hours, he added an 
intercalary day, every fourth year, to the 
month of February, reckoning the 24th 
of that month twice, which year must, of 
course, consist of 366 days, and is called 
leap year. From him it was denominated 
the Julian year. 

This year is also called Bissextile in 
the almanacks, and the day added is 
termed the intercalary day. 

The Romans, as has been observed, 
inserted the intercalary, by reckoning the 
24th twice, and because the 24th of 
February, in dieir calendar, was called 
sexto calendas mairiiy the second sixth of 
the calends of March, and hence the 
year of intercallation had the appellation 
of Bissextile. We introduce in leap year 
a new day in the same menth, namely, 
the 29th. 

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To aacertain at any time, what jear is 
leap year, divide the date of the year 
by four, if there is no remainder it is leap 
year. Thus 1820 was leap year. But 
1819 divided by four, leaves a remainder 
of three, showing that it is the third year 
after leap year ; and, as 1821 divided by 
four, leaves one, it was, consequently, 
the first after leap year. 

But the true solar year does not contain 
exactly 365 days^ 6 hours, but 365 days, 
5 hours, 48 minutes, and 49 seconds ; 
which to calculate for correctly requires 
an additional mode of proceeding ; 365 
days, 6 hours, exceeds the true time by 11 
minutes, 1 1 seconds, every year, amount- 
ing to a whole day in litde less than 130 

Notwithstanding this, the Julian year 
continued in general use till the year 
1582, when Pope Gregory XIII. re- 
formed the calendar, by cutting off ten 
days between the 4th and 15th of October 
in that year, and calling the 5th of that 
month the J5th. This alteration of the 
style was gradually adopted through the 
greater part of Europe, and the year was 
afterwards called the Gr^orian year, or 
New Style. 

In this country, the method of reckon- 
ing according to the New Style, was not 
admitted into our calendars until the 
year 1752, when the error amounted to 
nearly 11 davs, which were taken from 
the month of September, by calling the 
3rd. of that month the 14th. 

The error amounting to one whole day 
in about 130 years, (by making every 
fourth year leap year,) it is settled by an 
act of parliament, that the vear 1800 and 
the year 1900, which according to the 
rule above given, are leap years, shall be 
computed as common years, having only 
365 days in each; and that every four 
hundredth year also. If this method be 
adhered to, the present mode of reckon- 
ing will not vary a single day from true 
time, in less than 5,000 years. 

The beginning of the year was also 
changed, by the same act of parliament, 
from the 25th of March to the 1st of Ja- 
nuary, so that the succeeding months of 
January, Februaiv, and Mar(3i, up to the 
24th day, whicn would, by the Old 
Style, have been reckoned part of the 
year 1752, were accounted as the first 
three monUis of the year 1753. Hence 
we see such a date as this, January 1st, 
1757-8, or February 3, 1764-5: that is 
acc(nrding to the old style, it was 1764, 
but, according to the new, 1765, because 
now the year begins in January instead 
of March. 


When, Cookey when, shall I afain. 

Delightful is the thought, 
Eat from thy dish, such charming flah. 

As that thy mistress bought. 

When shall my eyes behold such piet 

As stood upon thy table : 
When, Cookey when, shall I again. 

To eat such things be able. 

When raspberry jam, or slice of ham. 

Mince scollop, tarts, or jelly ; 
When, Cookey when, shall I again 

With these things fill my belly. 

Such dainty bits, which so befits 

My appetite so keen, 
Nice plieasant's legs, and such poach'd eggs 

The like was never seen. 

A good stew'd eel, some roasted veal. 

Or e*en some potted hare. 
Though I'm no glutton, a leg of mutton 

Shall make the bill of fare. 

Then tell me Cookey, tell me pray, 

When I shall call again. 
Don't leave me out, but your first root 

Send quick for me, your swain. 

DusTT Bos. 


An excuse for not accepting the invitation kA a 
Friend to make an excursion with him. 

An Original Poem, hy the late Dr, Jenner, 



The hollow winds begin to blow. 
The clouds look black, the glass is low ; 
The soot falls down, the spaniels sleep. 
And spiders from their cobwebs peep. 
Last night the sun went pale to bed. 
The moon in halos hid her head ; 
The boding shepherd heaves a sigh. 
For, see, a rainbow spans the sky. 
The walls are damp, tne ditches smell, 
ClosM is the pink-ey'd pimpemell. 
Hark ! how the chairs and tables crack. 
Old Betty's joints are on the rack ; 
Loud ^uack the ducks, the peacocks cry ; 
The distant hills are looking nigh. 
How restless are the snorting swine. 
The busy flies disturb the kiiie ; 
Low o'er the grass the swallow wings 
The cricket, too, how sharp he sings ; 
Puss on the hearth, with velvet paws. 
Sits, wiping o'er whisker'd jaws. 
Through the clear stream the fishes rise 
And nimbly catch th' incautious flies ; 
The glow-worms, numerous and bright, 
lUum'd the dewy dell last night. 
At dusk the squalid toad was seen. 
Hopping and crawling o'er the green ; 
The whirling wind the dust obeys. 
And in the rapid eddy plays ; 
The frog has chang'd his yeUow vest. 
And in a russet coat is drest. 
Though June, the air is cold and still ; 
The yellow blackbird's voice is shrill. 
My dog, so alter'd in his taste, 
Quits mutton-bones, on grass to feast ; 
And see, yon rooks, how odd their flight. 
They imitate the gliding kite. 
And seem precipitate to fall- 
As if they felt the piercing ball. 
T'will siu-ely rain, I see with sorrow ; 
Oar jaunt must be pat off to-morrow. 

LU GoM. 

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The grand and venerable Bar-gate of 
Soutlumipton is universally admired. To 
the entrance of the town it givn^ a most 
Imposing appearance, which is increased 
b J the great width of the street, the ele- 
gance of All Saints* church, and the 
numerous bow-windows of the houses, 
some of which are ancient, and others 
modem; affording, altogether, a coup 
tTceil not to be exceeded by that of any 
town in England. 

The principal and indeed only approach 
to Southampton from the land, is by an 
extensive and well-built suburb. It was 
formerly separated from the town by a 
very broad and deep ditch, which has been 
filled up within the memory of several per- 
sons yet living. The ditch appears to have 
been double, having a low bank between 
the two fosses. On this bank, to the east 
of the Bar-gate, butts are marked for the 
purpose of exercising the youth in archery. 
This ditch seems to have been originally 
cut so deep as to admit the sea at high- 
water, and thereby completely insulate 
the town. Hanova-buildings to the east, 
and Orchard-street to the west of the Bar- 
gate, occupy the site of the ditch, which 
was GNMsed by an arched bridge leading 
to the large and extremely beautiful gate 
called emphatically the Bar. This, it 
may be observed, was anciently the name 
of those edifices now called gates ; while 
the word Gate signified the street or road 
leading to thenar. At York this ancient 

phraseobgy prevails to this day : Mickk* 
gate leads to Mickle-gate Bar, Walm- 
^te to Walm-gate bar, and so of the rest. 
To return to the Bar: its north 6ont tt 
of rather uncommon form, being a sort of 
semi-octagon, fianked with two lower 
semi-circular turrets, and crowned with 
large and handsome open machicollations. 
The arch of entrance is highly pointed, 
and adorned with a profusion of mould- 
ings, which now end abruptly; a part of 
the flanks of the arch having been cut 
away to enlarge the carriage way, whick 
was inconveniently narrow. 

The footways on each side are modem 
perforations throu&h the old flanking 
towers, and the brickwork entirely coven 
the ancient walls; but by inspecting the 
sides of the principal arch, it seems as if 
there had formerly been arches opening 
laterally into these towers: if so, the 
scenery must have been singularly magni- 
ficent. The arches and front hitherto 
described, are (though probably four 
hundred and fifty years old) moderxi, 
when compared with the central part of 
the gate ; which is of early Norman work, 
if not more ancient than the Conquest. 
Its plain and massive round arches, which 
are considerably wider than the outer 
pointed odc, are a full proof of this. 
Within this most ancient part, another 
addition has been made towturds the town, 
forming a plain and flat front; which, 
though never very handsome, was much 

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injured in the begbmipf of tne oentni^, 
by a most awkwud attraapt to adom it. 
The points of its ancient windows are 
obliterated, a painted rustic covers the old 
wall, and Queen Anne, in long embroi- 
dered stays, and a gown whose folds 
would disgrace even the barbarity of 
Saxon sculpture, ejthibits her jolly fat 
face ^m a GK)thic niche in the centre. 
The battlements have, however, escaped 
the ravage of improvement, and an ancient 
alarm bSl hangs in a niche formed for it, 
between two ofthem. 

Over the arches is a spad/oaa town- 
hall, fifty-two feet long and twenty-one 
fieet wide, to which we ascend by a com. 
modious stone staircase. Towards the 
top of this, a large pointed arch is visible. 
The hall is lightea by the four windows 
to the street, which within-side retain 
their andant form, and are rather hand- 
some. At the bottom of the hall, another 
pointed «rch appears, which opens into a 
small lumber room : the face of the arch 
in this room is very handsome. The 
court of justice is not older than Queen 
Elizabeth's time. A room for the grand 
jury communicates with the hall, and is 
liented by windows towards the suburb. 
The grand-jury room is entirely modem- 
i^, but a small and dark room adjoin- 
ing has in it a very curious round arch, 
with ornamental smaller segments of 
circles within it, and a small colunm on 
each jamb, in the style of tho early 

The leads are spacious, and from them 
the gradual increase of this noble gate 
is easily traced. The original gate is 
flanked by two semicircular towers to- 
wards the country: between these, and 
projecting beyond them, the present 
beautiful exterior front was added: the 
front towards the town appears the most 
modem of alL 

Sfie ^elector ; 




*''• An easy death and a fine funeral,^ is 
a proverbial benediction amongst the 
lower orders in Ireland. Throughout 
life the peasant is accustomed to legard 
the manner and place of his interment as 
matters of the greatest importance ; ^' to 
be decently put in the earUi, along with 
his own people,*' is the wish most fre- 
quently and fervently expressed by him. 
When advanced in life, it is usual, par- 
ticularly with those who are destitute and 

friendless, to deer themielvef the eoiii« 
mon necessaries of life, and to hoard up 
every trifle they can collect for the ex- 
penses of their wake and frtneraL Look- 
ing forward to their death as a gala given 
to them by their acquaintances, every 
possible preparation is made for rendering 
it, as they consida, '^ creditable ;** tbev 
shroud and burial dress are often pro- 
vided many years before they are wanted ; 
nor will the owners use these garments 
whilst living, though existing in the most 
abject state dP wretdiedness and rags. It 
is not unusual to see even the tombstone 
in readiness, and leaning against the cabin 
wall, a perpetual '' memento mori," that 
must meet the eye of its possessor every 
time he crosses his threshold. 

An old beggar woman, who died near 
the city of Cork, requested that her body 
might be deposited in White Churui 
burial-ground. Her daughter, who was 
without the means to obtain a hearse, or 
any other mode of conveyance, deter- 
mined herself to undertake the task, and, 
having procured a n^, she fastened the 
coffin on her back, and, after a tedious 
journey oi nu>re than ten miles, frdfllled 
her mother's request. 

An Irish funeral procession will pre- 
sent to the English traveller a very novel 
and singuly aspect. The coffin is car- 
ried on an open hearse, with a canopy 
supported by four .pillars, not unlike the 
car used at Lord Nelson's funeral ; it is 
adorned with several devices in gold, and 
drawn by four horses, and is, perhaps, 
more impressive to the beholder than the 
dose earavan-like conveyance used in 
England ; but what is gained in solem- 
nity by the principal feature, is suddenly 
destroyed by the incongruity of the rest 
of the train, generally composed of a few 
post-chaises, the drivers in their daily 
costume of a long great coat and skmdied 
hat. In addition to these, I have seen a 
jgig, in which the clergyman (I imagine, 
by his being equipped in a white scarf 
and hat-band) drove a friend ; aflferwardi 
came a crowd of persons of all descrip- 
tions on foot. No noise, no lamentations 
were to be heard ; but the figure in the 
flowing white scarf brandishing his whip, 

Skve it, at a little distance, vary much 
e effect of an electioneering prbcessi(»u 
The open hearse is common through- 
out Ireland, and that used by the poorer 
classes becomes perfectly grotesque, firom 
the barbarous paintings of samts and 
angels with which it is bedizened. The 
concourse of persons who attend the fune- 
ral of an opulent fanner, or a resident 
landlord, is prodigious. Not only those 
to whom the deceased was known, but 
every one who meets the procession, tunp 

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to accompany it, let hii haste be erer so 
great, for a mile or two, as nothing is 
accounted more unlucky or unfriei^y 
than to neglect doing so. 

The funeral of a gentleman acknow- 
ledged as the head of a dan, (now an 
event o£ rare occurrence, and almost solely 
confined to the county of Kerry,) is one 
of those sights it is impossible to behold 
without feeing sublime sensations. The 
vast multitude, winding through some 
romantic defile, or trailing along the base 
of a wild mountain, while the chorus of 
the death-song, coming fitfully upon the 
breeze, is raised bv a thousand voices. 
On a closer view, tiie aged nurse is seen 
sitting on the hearse beside the coffin, 
with lier body bent over it ; her actions 
dictated by the most violent gri^, and 
her head completely enveloped in the 
deep hood of her large doak, which falls 
in broad and heavy folds, producing alto- 
gether a most mysterious and awful figure. 

Then at every cross-road, such roads 
being considered symbolic of their faith, 
there is a general halt ; the men uncover 
their heads, and a prayer is offered up for 
the soul of their departed chief. 

The Irish funeral howl is notorious, 
and, although this vociferous expression 
of grief is on the decline, there is still, in 
the less dvilized parts of the country, a 
strong attachment to the Custom, and 
many may yet be found who are keeners, 
or mourners, for the dead by profession. 
— Croker^t Researches in ite SotUh of 


Having a curiosity to hear the keen 
more distinctly sung than over a corpse, 
when it is accompanied by a wild and 
inarticulate uproar as a chorus, I pro- 
cured an elderly woman, who was re- 
nowned for her skill in keening, to 
recite for me some of these dirges. This 
woman, whose name was Harrington, < 
led a wandering kind of life, travd- 
ling from cottage to cottage about the 
country, found every where not merely 
a wdcome, but had numerous invita- 
tions, on account of the vast store of 
Irish verses she had collected, and could 
repeat. ' Her memory was, indeed, ex- 
traordinary; and the dearness, quick- 
ness, and el^ance with which she trans- 
lated from the Irish into English, though 
unable to read or write, is almost incre- 
dible. Before she commenced repeating, 
she mumbled for a short time, probably 
the b^inning of each stanza, to assure 
herself of the arrangement, with her eyes 
dosed, rocking her body backwards and 
^nranis, as if keeping time to the measure 

of the verse. She then began in a kiod 
oi whining irecitative, but, as she pro- 
oeeded, and as the composition required 
it, her voice assumed a variety ot deep 
and fine tones, and the energy with which 
many passages were delivered, proved her 
perfect comprehension and strong feeling 
of the subject ; but her eyes always con- 
tinued shut, perhaps to prevent interrup. 
tion to her thoughts, or her attention 
beiM engaged by any surrounding object. 

The following keen was composed on 
Sir Richard Cox, the historian, who died 
in 1773:— 

*•*• My love and darling, though I never 
was in your kitchen, yet I have heard an 
exact account of it. The brown roast 
meat continually coming from the fire; 
the black boilers continu^y boiling ; the 
cock of the beer-barrel for ever running ; 
and if even a score of men came in, no 
person would inquire their business ; but 
they would give them a place at your 
table, and let them eat what they pleased, 
nor would they bring a bill in die morn- 
ing to them. 

*^ My love and friend, I dreamed 
through my morning slumbers, that your 
castle fell into decay, and that no person 
remained in it. Tne birds sung sweetly 
no longa, nor were there leaves upon the 
bushes : all was silence and decay ! — the 
dream told me that our beloved man was 
lost to us — that the noble horseman was 
gone ! the renowned 'Squire Cox ! 

'^ My love and darling, you were nearly 
rdated to the Lord of Clare and to 
O'Donovan of Bawnlehan ; to Cox with 
the blue eyes, and to Townsend of White 
Court. This is the appointed day for 
your funeral, and yet I see none of them 
coming to place even a green sod over 


His Majesty was coming one day from 
the St. Florienzo at Weymouth ; the wind 
and tide met ; and the people on shore 
were very apprehensive that the barge 
would be swamped. The next morning 
some officers waiting on the kinp; to con- 
gratulate him on his escape, saymg, that 
his majesty must have been in ereat fear. 
The king thanked them for their kind 
concern, at the same time saying, that he 
had not experienced any fear, for, let 
what would be said of the family, there 
were no cowards am(Hig them, whatever 
fools there might be. When ihe Talents 
came into power, they turned out every 
body that they could, even Lord Sand- 
wich, the master of the stag-hounds. 
The king met his lordship in his ride 
soon after. *' How do, how do," cried 

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hii ini^flity ; << to Uiey have turned 70a 
off; it was not my fault, upon my honour, 
for it was as much as I could do to keep 
my own place.** — Brasbridge^s Fruiis of 

On the approaching marriage of Mr. 
BoUand, the barrister, with die eldest 
daughter ^ Mr. Bolland, of Clapham, 
Mr. Fish, an old friend of the family, 
called one morning, a short time before 
the intended union took place : when he 
was gomg away, the young lady attended 
him to the door ; he held out his hands 
to her, and asked her which she would 
have. She, a little embarrassed by the 
question, put his hands together, and 
playfullv said she would have them both. 
He good-naturedly told her, that he com- 
mended the prudence of her choice, as 
there was a note in each, which he meant 
to present her with, not only for ihe re- 

rzt he bore her father, but also in token 
his approbation of her choice: the 
notes were for a thousand pounds each. 
Four months af^wards this same Mr. 
Fish dined with Mr. Bill, an apothecary 
in Bridge-street, in company with Mr. 
Alderman Smith, Mr. Blades, and two 
or three other gentlemen. In the course 
of the afternoon Mr. Fish said, that he 
had a relation, a most pleasing and re- 
spectable young woman, whomhe much 
wished to see comfortably married ; and 
that if a proper person should come in 
his way, he would himself give her a 
portion of five thousand pounds. <' I do 
not know who you could find more eligible 
than the gentleman now at the head of 
the table,** said the alderman, who knew 
there was a partiality between the parties, 
which only prudential motives prevent^ 
them from cultivating. " If Mr. Bill 
can obtain her consent,** said Mr. Fish, 
*' he shall have my money.'* " Sir,'* said 
Mr. Bill, " you make me the happiest 
of men:" the lady's health was then 
drunk, and the evening passed off with 
great hilarity. The next day Mr. Bill 
presented hinaself at the lady's house, 
and the marriage took place soon after, 
Mr. Fish paid the portion according to 
his promise! — Ibid, 

Da. Johnson once said, that he could 
write an essay on a broomstick; and 
there is no doubt but he could, for a man 
of genius can do any thing. He would 
have found a topic in every path of his 
imagination. He would have moralized 
on the sterility of the sun-bumt heath. 

and have descanted on the rich beaaty oT 
the blue heather-bells. He would have 
traced the " bonny broom," from its first 
blossom in the shrub to its last stump in 
the besom. But we doubt if he could 
have described the manner in which " ihe 
water comes down at Lodore," with half 
the whimsicality and spirit displayed in 
the following humourous representation, 
written by Dr. Southey, whidi we extract 
tram " A Collection of Poems, chiefly 
manuscript, and from living authors. 
Edited, for the benefit of a friend, by 
Joanna Baillie :" 

The Cataract of Lodore, Described in 
Rhymes for the Nursery^by (me of (he 
Lake Poets, 

•* How does the water come down at Lodore V* 
*' Here it comes sparkling. 
And there it lies darkUny; 
Here smoking and frothing. 
Its tumult and wrath in, 
It hastens along, conflicting strong ; 
Now striking and raging. 
As if a war waging. 
Its caverns and rocks amoDg» 

Rising and leaping. 
Sinking and creeping. 
Swelling and flinging. 

Showering and springing. 
Bddying and whisking^ 
Spouting and frisking. 
Turning and twisting 

_ Around aad around. 

Collecting, disjecting 

With endless rebound : 
Smiting and fighting, 
A sight to delight in. 
Confounding, astounding, 
Pizqring and deafening the ear with its sonod. 

Receding and speeding. 

And shocking and rocking. 

And darting and parting. 

And threading and spreading. 

And whizzing and hissing. 

And dripping and skipping. 

And whitening and brightening. 

And quivering and shivering, 

And hitting and splitting. 

And shining and twining. 

And rattling and battling. 

And shaking and quaking. 

And pouring and roaring. 

And waving and raving. 

And tossing and crossing, 

And flowing and growing, 

And running and stunning. 

And hunying and skurrying. 

And glittering and flittering. 

And gathering and feathering. 

And dinning and spinning, 

And foaming and roaming. 

And dropping and hopping. 

And working and jerking, 

And ifuggling and struggling. 

And heaving and cleaving. 

And thundering and floundering. 
And falling and brawling and sprawliog. 
And driving and riving and striving. 
And sprinkfingand twinkling and wrinkling. 
And sounding and bounding and rounding. 
And bubbling and troubling and doubling 
Dividing and gliding and sliding, 
An.l grumbling and rumbling and tumbUnr. 
And clattering and battering and shatteriSf , 

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Aai giMminf and gtreamlng, and itreamlnf 

and beaminfc, 
And rushing and flushing and broshiog and 

And flapping and rapping and clapping and 

And curling and whirling and purling and 

Retreating and meeting and beating and sheet- 
Belaying and straying and playing and spray- 

Advancing and prancing and glancing and 

Recoiling, turmoilinff, and toilinr and boiling. 
And thumping and flumping and bumping and 

And dashing and flashing and splashing and 
And so never ending but always descending. 
Sounds and motions for ever and ever are 

All at once, and all oVr, with a mighty up- 
And this way the water comes down at 



•• Now o'er one half the world 

Nature seems dead, and withered murder, 

Alarmed by his sentinel the wolf. 

Moves like a ghost — ** Macbktr. 

The wind of November whistled shrill 
and cold among the rocky precipices that 
jutted over the mountain road m>m Ales- 
bury towards Northumberland, as at ihe 
decune of day two travellers on horseback 
were crossing with weary pace the long 
ranee of ridges towards the great elbow 
of the Susquehannah, and, notwithstand- 
ing that the clouds lay heavfly on the 
dark and distant mountain tops, and the 
shadows of approaching night gathered 
rapidly, they paused upon the northern 
extremity of the last eminence, dis- 
mounted, and appeared to be taking a 
survey of the country around them, a 
country embodying some of the most 
rand and sublime scenery in nature. 
To the north and south, one vast extent 
of forest lay outstretched, broken and 
diversified by hill and valley, now dimly 
seen, but not less interesting in its aspect 
In one direction was to be seen seven 
stupendous pyramidic piles; pushing 
their pine-crowned summits through the 
black clouds, they seemed fit habitations 
for the fierce spirits of the restless ele- 
ments, and one could almost fancy the 
angds of the tempest gathering to their 
aimil dwellings in those unvisited realms, 
an universe of stormy clouds ; while in 
the west a peaceful river flowed away in 
calm and unbroken solitude through its 
devious course. Such was the scene the 
tmvelkn were left surveying when twi- 

light foUowed the deeUning tnn, and the 
d^ary night came swift upon the tzansient 

At a long three miles from this, on a 
dim and narrow road, was a smaU public- 
house, called, in those days, the *-*• Inn of 
the Forest.'* There was a thin settle- 
ment from this some miles on, consisting 
chiefly of men of the rudest past in life, 
often honest and kind in their way, but, 
nevertheless, who brooked not the con- 
troul of law, and, living far off from dty 
and town, enjoyed their game, and were 
themselves die only umpires of each 
other's rights and wrongs. Such as these 
made up the company that gathered in 
the tavern that night ; and as the winds 
blew louder, and Uie weather grew colder 
without, so did their noise and rioting, 
and the turbulence of their spirits in- 
crease within. 

Mingling with this tumultuous assem- 
bly, around the bar-room fire, and the 
long card-table stretched out before it, 
were now to be seen the two strangers ; 
they were wrapped up in ftur hunting 
cloaks ; and while one of them took part 
in the boisterous laugh, and played his 
game at the card table, and drank freely, 
the other stretched himself to sleep in a 
comer. The more sociable stranger soon 
acquired the confidence of his new com- 
panions ; and as he himself professed to 
be a tavern-keeper, he gainea the especial 
favour of his landlord, a black-whiskered, 
downcast, dark-lookingman, upon whose 
countenance the stamp of vice was fixed, 
and who was the loudest and most cla- 
morous in the circle, and drank, and 
played, and boasted, and cursed with a 
idnd of frenzied infatuation. 

Their rioting was kept up throughout 
the midnight hours; and while the 
wearied and inebriated suests one by one 
dropped asleep, and wnile without the 
storm sung in melancholy and plaintive 
sweetness Uirough the seued pme-trees, 
that single stranger kept one Uttle circle 
he had gatibered around him by the fire, 
in fixed and wakeftil attention to harrow- 
ing tales of hell-devised murders, and 
feaniil retributions, and walking ghosts, 
and marvellous facts brought to the light 
of day by supernatural agencies ; and de- 
tailed a thousand instances to prove that 
* Murder, though it hath no tonjrue, will speak 

With mostouraculofus organ." 

In \ain the host endeavoured to turn, at 
every period, the subject. In vain he 
stirred the dying embers, and invited the 
guest to sleep. In vain he trembled and 
turned pale ; the traveller seemed invin- 
cible, and at every change, murder and its 
bloody consequences were still his ^eme, 
and still his eye was fixed on the dis- 

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quieted featorei of the host. It was dark 
and penetnrtiDg ; and hk voice grew 
hoarse as he bid them hearken to the 
screeching wind. It seemed to him, he 
said, to be burdened with a voice. In 
the words of Macbeth, ^^ still it cried 
SLEEP KO MORE to all the house.*' 
The company started and listened, some 
thought they heard a voice, and others 
fimcied thev distinguished those very 
words. Wnat could it mean? was the 
inquiry that went round. ^^ Hark, said 
the stranger, heard you not that ! listen ! 
.— Holland ! Holland ! Holland ! a mo. 
ther and six innocent children, murdered 
by vour hand, summcm you to the grave 

with them!** A heavy charge, said 

he, as he turned towards the host, who, 
stwtled at the awful import of the words, 
rose in wild agitation, and clenching his 
fist, hallooed as to the voice, '' If I slew 
you it was at another's instigation, and 
the money I got for it I buried in the 
rapids of the Susquehannah !" ^< Yet 
for that crime," said the other stranger, 
who had till now laid silent and appa- 
rently asleep, ^' by virtue of a state's 
warrant, and in the name of the common- 
wealth of Pennsylvania, we arrest you, 
Dubois Holland, to answer at the bar of 

Sour country !" and as he said it, he de- 
berately rose, drew a pair of double- 
barrdled pistols from his cloak, and 
calmly laid them on the table before him, 
while the other, throwing aside his loose 
garments, stood before the astounded 
man, in the garb of an officer of justice, 
completely armed with dirk and pistols. 

Resistance was in vain ; the murderer 
was seized, and carried to the skirts of 
the adjoining wood, where he was mounted 
on horseback, secured, carried thirty 
miles, and lodged in jail before ten o'clock 
the next morning. 

This was the plan adopted and ex- 
ecuted by members of a weak village 
police, in a country where the supremacy 
of the law had often been maintained 
rather by stratagem than open force, and 
by whicn was brought to justice and the 
scaffold, one of the most bloody villains 
that ever hung upon a gallows ; a man 
who had murdered, according to his own 
confession afterwards made, a mother 
and her orphan family, for a price paid 
him by a relative, wno was die next neir 
to & small estate. 


The followinff interesting and novd ob- 
servations on me long-doubted scenenr of 
Troy, are extracted from the ingenious 

Topographical Dissertation of Dr. Ctaap* 
bell on the Scenery of Ossian's Poems, 
by which he has placed the Celtic poet on 
firmer ground than that on wtiich Dr. 
Johnson left him : — 

^* Here I would be understood as 
writing of a hilly country, which, of 
course, is less liable to such revolutions 
as are known to have frequently occurred 
in low and level countries ; such, for in- 
stance, as the overflowing of Earl Grood. 
win's estate, on the coast of Kent, now the 
Goodwin Sands ; and the abandonment 
of the sea in the upper part of the Le- 
vant, particularly in the supposed neigh- 
bourhood of the Troad. A proof of wis 
is, that opposite to the Isle of Tenedos, 
where Homer informs us that the Oreeks 
pulled their ships and galleys upon the 
Dardan beach, were is not any beach to 
be seen; but, on the contrary, a bold 
rocky coast, the lowest of whose cliffs is 
many feet above the level of the sea.* 
This fact I observed in person, and only 
mention4t to prove some great mutation 
of nature in tnat vicinity, or that Homer 
was ignorant of the locality which his 
Muse embraced— « circumstance rather 
improbable, from tibe father of the poets 
having been a native of these parts. I 
am of opinion, that the abandonment of 
the waters in the upper part of the Le- 
vant, is, in some measure, corroborated 
by the sacred writings, even though 
Ovid's Story of Hero and Leander should 
not be admitted as auxiliary evidence«in 
this poetical case, which I think should 
be amnitted ; for, it is not possible that 
the enamoured swimmer could have made 
such sure and constant passages through 
the waters of the Hellespont, had the 
cuirents ran with the same velocity in his 
days, as they ran at in those of Lord 
B3rron.f If I rightly understand th© 
saicred writings on one point, it is clear 
to my mind that the ships of Solomon 
sailed from the ports of T3rre and Sidon 
to the islands of the Eastern seas, to 
bring home the gold of Ophir and pea- 
cocks' feathers ; and they found a ciian- 
nel where are now the scorching sands of 
the Isthmus of Suez. This course, how- 
ever, is conjectural, arising from my 
hurried observations, for there may have 
been canals to the Red Sea ; but the rise 
o( the waters in the English Channel is 
matter of historical record— ^nno 1100. 
I would farther observe, that the Cornish 
traditional story of a country named 

* Mr. Hobhouse, vhom I bave consalted on 
the subject, agrees with me on the appearance 
of the coast. 

f I would engage to swim frem shore to ihoM 
of the Hellespont in two-thirds of the time 
Lord Byron took to effect that romantic object. 

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Leones, (which extended ftom the Land*8 
End of Cornwall round by the Scillj 
Isles, thence to Ushant, and Guernsey 
on the -coast of France^ embracing the 
western part of the English Channel,) 
appears to me in every feature of pro- 

Perhaps Strabo alluded to the country 
of Lieones, instead of the Scilly Isles, 
when he wrote of the Tyriaus and Pheni- 
cians trading thither for tin..-.This I 
know, that on my visit to the isles or 
rocks of Scilly, I could discover no traces 
of mines, whether ancient or modem.**~- 
CampbeWs Ossian^ p. 20 and 21, vol, L 


Bless me — ^wbattwo nondescripts together! 
The She—% pile of ribband, straw, and feather. 
Her back, a pillion— ail abore, and on it, ^ 
▲ church bell? cradle? tower? — no, 'faith, a 

bonnet ; 
Aye, and an actual woman in it — able, 
Roose bat her tongue, to make that tower a 


Now for the He^ the fellow nondescript— 
Whence has that mockery of man been ship't ? 
Have Ross or Parry brought him to console 
The Quidnuncs for the passage to the Pole ? 
While on her iceberg howls some Greenland 

Robb'd of herpretty monster — till next thaw ' 
No, Paris has the honour, " ah que out** 
** Voilar — the air, grare,shrug, smell of Paris! 
France gave his step trip, his tongue its phrase. 
His head his peruke, and his waist its stays ! 
The thing is contraband — let's crush the trade ; 
Ladies insist on't — all is best home-made ! 
All British — from your shoe-tie or your fan, 
Down to that necessary brute, call'd — man ! 
Now for the compound creature— first the wig. 
With every frizzle struggling to look big t 
On the rough cheek the fresh-dyed whisker 

The thousandth way of dressing a calfs head ! 
The neckcloth neat — where starch and whale- 
bone vie. 
To make the slave a walking pillory t 
The bolster'd bosom — ah, ye envying fair. 
How little dream ye of the stuff that^s there 1 
What straps, ropes, steel, the aching ribs com- 

To make the Dandy beauti fully less. 
Thus fools, their final stake of folly cast. 
By instinct, to straight waistcoats come at last I 
Misjudging Shakspeare — thisescapM thine eye. 
For though the brains are out^ the thing won't 


(For the Mirror,) 

The Company of Parish Clerks having 
first appropriated this church to the 
Vhrgin, as advanced by Maitland, is a 
tale imaginary and groundless. In the 
vestry book, the churdiwardens arc called, 
in the year 1529, Churchwardens of our 
Ladie of Lamheyth, and in the following 
year of our Lady of Lamheth, Bishop de 
Olanville was admitted to the rectory of 

the church of St. Mary de Lamhee. lil 
was under the same denominatioB granted 
by William Ruftis to the Prior and coft* 
vent of Rochester cathedral; and in 
Doomsday Book, the entry is, ^^ the manor 
of 8t. Mary is, what is called LamheL*' 
The first register book is headed, Lamb« 
hith, 1539; the second volume. Lam* 
beth, 1669, and St. Maxr Lambeth, doea 
not appear till the third volume, in ihe 
year 1718. The age of the present struct 
ture appears from satisfactory evidence, 
to be that of Edward the Third. «^ In 
the Bishop*s registers at Winchester, is a 
commission to proceed against sudi of 
the inhabitants of Lambeth, as refused to 
contribute to the rebuilding and i^airs 
of the church, dated 1374.*' «^ TYaw 
years afterwards, there was another com- 
mission to compel the inhabitants to build 
a tower for their church, then newly built, 
and to fumishit with bells." The north 
and south aisles, (as appears by the tabka 
of benefactions,) were built in or aboat 
the year 1505. The west end of the 
church was rebuilt in 1523, cbiefty at the 
expense of Archbishop Warham and 
Jctm Fox, L.L.B. Archdeacon c^ Win^* 
cheater. T%is church has little remark* 
able in it, except the figure of a pedlar 
and his dog, painted in one of the win- 
dows. Txadition says, that the parish 
was obliged to this man for the bequest 
of a piece of land which bears the name 
of Pedlar's Acre. This huid the parish 
has long retained ; but the circumstances 
originaUy connected with it are unknown. 
At what time this memorial was first put 
up there is no minute^ but such a portrait 
certainly existed in 16B8, there being in 
the Churchwarden*s accounts of that year 
an entry of ^^ two shillings, paid to the 
glazier for a panel of glMS for the win. 
Sow where the Picture of the Pedlar 
stands.*' The present '^ new glass Ped.* 
lar,** was put up in 1703, at the exi»ense 
of two pounds, but was removed firom 
where it was then placed, in 1816, (when 
the diurdi was repaired and beautified) 
to where it now remains, being mutdi 
more conspicuous. 'The land ffiven was 
anciently called " The Church Hoopys,'* 
or ^^ Hopes,*' signifying an isthmus, or 
neck of land projecting into the river. 
The name of Pedlar's Acre does not 
occur before the jeta 1690. In Lambeth 
church have been several valuable monu- 
ments of noble and genteel families, now 
swept away by modem improvements. 
A particulsr account of such monuments 
as remain may be seen in Dr. Ducarel's 
History of the Parish, and in Denne* 
Addenda: some few have been erected 
since those accounts were written, amongst 
which may be named, that of Ardibi^op 

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GomwilUt, Aldennan Ooodbehere, hig 
widow and son, and that of Madame 
Storace. Bishop (of Ely) Thirlby was 
boned here, anid was accidentally dis- 
coTered when Archbishop Comwallis 
was buried, in March, 1783. The prin- 
cipal circumstances that occurred were, 
that the body, which was wrapped in 
fine linen, was moist, and had evidently 
been preserved in some species of pickle, 
which still retained a volatile smell, not 
unlike that of hartshorn; the face was 
perfect, and the limbs flexible ; the beard 
of a remarkable length, and beautifully 
white. The linen and wooUen garments 
were all well preserved. The cap, which 
was silk, adorned with point lace, was 
in &shion like that represented in the 
pictures of Archbishop Juxon. A slouched 
hat, with strings &stened to it, was under 
the left aim. There was also a cassock 
10 &stened, as to appear like an apror 
with strings, and several small pieces of 
the Bishop*s garments, which nad the 
appearance of a pilgrim's habit. In the 
cnurch-yard is the tomb of that celebrated 
naturalist, John Tradescant, who, with 
his son, Hved in this parish. The elder 
Tradescant may be considered as the 
earliest collector in this kingdom of every 
thing curious in natural history, and to him 
we are indebted for the first introduction 
of botany among us. The father is said 
to have been gardener to Charles the 
First. Both of them seem to have been 
indefatigable in the search of knowledge, 
and were great travellers: the father is 
supposed to have visited Russia and most 
parts of Europe, Turkey, Greece, many 
of the Eastern countries, Egypt, and 
Barbary, out of which he introduced 
multitudes of plants and flowers un- 
known bdfbre in our sardens. Trade- 
8cant*s collection after his death, which 
happened about the year 1656, came into 
the possession of the famous Elias Ash- 
mole, by virtue of a deed of gift, and is 
now deposited in the Ashmolean mu- 
seum at Oxford. The monument of the 
Tradescants was erected in 1662, by 
Hester^ relict of the younger. It is an 
altar tomb : at each comer is a large tree, 
teeming to support the slab. At one 
end is a hydra picking at a bare skull, 
possibly designed as an emblem of envy : 
on the other are the arms of the family. 
On one side are ruins, Grecian pillars 
and capitals; an obelisk and p3rramid; 
and on the opposite, a crocodile and va- 
rious shells. This monument being mudi 
injured by time, was liberally restored at 
the parisn expense in 1773, but the 
sculpture has, notwithstanding, sufiered 
io much by the weather, that little 
Idea can now be formed on inspection of 

the north and south sides; this defect Is, 
however, happily supplied by two fine 
drawings in the Pepysian library, at 
Cambridge. The epitaph was as follows; 

Know stranger ere thoa pa^s, beneath this stone 
Lye John Tradescant, grandsire, father, son ; 
The last dv'd in his spring : the other two 
Liv'd till they had travelled Art and Nature 

through ; 
As bv their choice selections may appear. 
Of what is rare in land, in sea, iu air ; 
Whilst they (at Homer't Iliad in a nut) 
A world of wonders in one closet shut : 
These famous antiquarians that had been 
Both gardeners to the Rose and Lilly Queen, 
Transplanted now themselves, sleep here ; u4 

Angels shall with their trumpets waken men. 
And fire shall purge the world, they henee shall 

And change this garden for a paradise. 

O. L. I. 

Sfie <Sat1^erer« 

" I am but a Gatherer and disposer ^f other 
men's stuff. — fFootton. 


Will Buckram, a tailor, play*d soldier so 

The Adjutant placed him in the awkward 

^^ Attention! eood Buckram (the Ser« 

geant bawu out,) 
Do Atand like a soldier, and turn your 

toes out." 
" Why, good master Sergeant, pray 

what is the use," 
Says Buckram ^^ of standing erect like a 

goose \ 
'' If I hold up my head, and cock up my 

Pray how can I see Toes Out^ orToes ' 



On a country Maiden, who <Red of a 
consumption at the age of 21. - 

Death's icy hand in life's hit mom. 
Untimely chill'd the purple tide ; 
IITien, like a rose bud rudely torn. 
She droop'd, she lingered, and she diied. 



Venedota reached us too late, bat he shall 
have a place in our next, along with nrach good 

We shall, next week, give a general answer 
to Correspondents. 

Printed and Publisned by J. lIMBfRD, 
143, Strand, (near Somerset HouseJ and sold 
iy all Newsmen and Booksellers. 

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[Price 2d. 

No. HI. 

St. Albans, an ancient town in the 
county of Hertford, and situated twenty- 
one miles from London, is celebrated in 
the early history of this country. It was 
the Verulamium of the Romans which 
the British heroine Boadicea laid in ashes, 
after she had caused 70,000 Romans to 
bite the dust ; here also had Cassibelaunus 
been defeated by Cassar, and it was in 
the yidnity of this town that two memo- 
rable engagements were fought between 
the rival houses of York and Lancaster. 

These are events which would be suffi- 
cient to render St Albans memorable, 
* tad the town not received that certain 
passport to posterity, a notice by Shaks- 
peare, in his Play of Henry the Sixth. 
In the second part of this PUy, Act. II. 
the scene is laid at St. Albans, where 
King Henry, Queen Margaret, Hum- 
phrey, DuKC of Gloucester, Cardinal 
Beaufort, the Duke of Suffolk and others 
are then residing. AVhile in conversation 
aui inhabitant of St. Albans approaches, 

-Vox. III. |i 

crying out '' a miracle.** The Duke ol 
Suffolk inquires what miracle, and ia 
answered by an inhabitant. 

Inhab, Forsooth, a blind man at SU 

Alban's shrine, 
Within this half-hour, bath received hit 

A man that ne*er saw in his life before. 

The Mayor enters, with his Brethren^ 
accompanied by SiMpeox, borne by 
two men in a Chair ^ and Ms Wife. 
The King, the Queen, and severai 
others question him, 

Q. Mar. Tell me, good fellow, camest 
thou here by chance, 
Or of devotion, to this holy bhrine? 
Simp, God knows, of pure devotion; 
being calPd 
A hundred times, and oftener, in my sleep 
By good St. Aioan; who said,— 5»»n/)- 

coXy come ; 
Come, offer at my shrine, and I will ho^/ 


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m/e. Most true, fors<»th; and tnamy 
time and oft 
Myself have heard a vMce to call him so. 

ThefeUwo f^ads lamenesi^ and says he 
was bom blind, 

Glo. A subde knave ! But yet it shall 
not serve- 
Let me see thine eyes : — ^tVink now ; — 

now open them: — 
In my opinion, yet thou see'st not well. 
Simp, Yes, master, clear as day; I 

thank Ood and Saint Alban. 
Gh, Say*st thou me so? What colour 

is this cloak of ? 
Simp, Red, master; red as blood. 
Glo, Why, that's well said: what 

colour is my gown of? 
Simp, Black, forsooth; coal black, as 

K, Hen, Why then, thou know'st what 

colour jet is of? 
Suf, And yet, I think, jet did he never 

Glo, But cloaks, and gowns, before 

this day, a many. 
Wife. Never, before this day, in all 

his life. 
Glo. Tell me, sirrah, what's my name ? 
Simp. Alas, master, I know not^ 
Gh. What's his name? 
iSimp. I know not. 
Glo. Nor his? 
Simp. No, indeed, master. 
Glo, What's thine own ntmt? 
Simp. Saunder Simpcox, an if it pkase 

you, master. 
i^o. Then Saund^, fth thou there, th^ 
lyiftgest knave 
in Cnristendom. If Ihou hadst been 

bom blind. 
Thou might*st as well have kndwn our 

names, as thus 
To name the several colours we do wear. 
Sight may distfaigtiish of colours; but 

To nominate them ail*8 hnpossible — 
]\Iy lords. Saint Alban here hath done a 

And would you not think Aat cunning 

to be great^ 
That could restore this crmple to his legs ! 
Simp. Alas, master, what shall I do? 
I am not able to standi 

The Beadle is Sent for^ and he is or- 
dered to whip the fellow until he leaps 
ove¥ a stodl^ which he does^ and thei^ 
runs away followed by the people^ ieho 
cry^ " A Miracle ! a Miracle /" 

This scene is founded on a story re- 
lated by Sir Thomas More, who states, 
that he learnt it from his father; the 
impostor's name is not mentioned, but it 
is stated that he was detected by Hum. 

]^Tey, Duke of Gloucester, in the way 
mentioned by Shakspeare. The shrine 
of St. Albans is in the church — one of the 
most venerable piles of ecclesiastical an- 
tiquity in the environs of London, ^inee 
by a fine of £400. it escaped the destruc- 
tion which befeU nearly all the conventi- 
cal churches in the rekn of Henry VIII. 
The church is in we shape of a long 
cross, and consists of an embattled bell- 
tower, a nave, choir. Lady Chapel, and 
two transepts. The different parts of this 
church exhibit in their construction and 
ornaments, characteristic varieties of the 
diflerent styles of church architecture, 
from the rude Saxon to the florid Gothic; 
the tower, the eastern parts of the nave, 
and Uie two transepts being built in that 
style called by some writers Saxon, by 
others, early Norman, of Ae age <rf 
Henr^ the First ; the remainingi»rt in 
the Gothic or pointed style. This dis- 
similarity of style in the parts of the 
church seems to argue a different era in 
the time of their construction : and it is 
thought that it was successively erected 
in the reigns of Henry I., Edward L, and 
Henry III. 

The dimensions of this church are 
large : the length from the west doer to 
the high altar is 411 fee^ and then into 
the east end of the Lady Chapd 189 feet ; 
in all 600 feet. The breadth of the 
transept is nearly 32 feet, its extreme 
l^th 174 feet. The ttaVe witli its aisles 
is 74 feet and a half broad. 

Humphrey iPlantagenet, Duke of Glou- 
cester, was buried in this churdi, thou^ 
his remalfis were not discovered untih 
towards the dose of the seventeenth cen- 
tury, when some workmen digging a vault, 
struck against a small stone st&urc^e of 
four or five steps, which on examination, 
was found to lead to a more ancient vault. 
In this vault they found a leaden coffin, 
containing the Duke's body, embakned 
in a liquor of a brown colour. In con- 
sequence of this, the staircase with the 
vault and all its contents were opened 16 
the view of the public, and a trap door 
being placed over it, " Duke Humphrey's 
Vault in St Albans' Abbejr," became a 
mine of wealth to the parish clerk lor a 
long series of years, until, at length the 
Embalming liquor became exhausted, by 
exposure to the air, and all t!he bones of 
the skeleton were either mouldered into 
dust or carried away. High on the wafl 
that doses the south aisle, and hear the 
shrine of St. Alban, are Qie Duke's arms 
surmounted by a coronet, and 'baieath 
an appropriate inscription. 

The view of St. Albans is cdpied from 
an ancient drawing by Levens a disciple 
of Rembrandt. 

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(Tolk0 EdUor of the Mirror. ) 

Sir, — The Manual Finger or Dumb 
Alphabet* I have sent, in hopes that you 
win insert the same in your inddy-circu- 
lated and respectable paper, that, toge- 
ther with the following remarks, may 
stimulate eTery parent and schoolmasfer 
in Great Britain to endeavour to relieve 
that class of unfortunates — the Deaf and 
Oumh — against whose universal education 
so much prejudice has been excited, by a 
set of men who have done every thing in 
their power to depreciate and vilify, one of 
the greatest men France ever produced — 
the late Abb6 de P £i>6e. This great and 
ever to be lamented priest was, on his death, 
succeeded by his pupil, the late Abbe Si- 
card, who suoceeoed bun in his office, as 
well as in the possession of all his books 
and manuscripts, as appears by his own 
l a n guage in hw ^'Course of Instruction of 
one bom Deaf and Dumb,** which he pub- 
lished ; wherein he say9^'^ Receive our first 
2u>mage O thou! who was die creator of 
that art which has produced such wonders. 
Oh ! how dear to us ought to be Uie name 
Cff ^lis holy priest, of tnis friend to huma- 
nily, who b^eved himself, with mudi 
reason, called by providence to this use- 
ful and difficult apostleship, devoted him- 
self entirely to this work so worthy the 
tender piety which animated him all his 
Jife time. They will bless him for ever 
as their father, ui4 thankful posterity will 
unite with them in honouring his me- 
mory, and in recommending him to the 
respect and homage of all generations.— 
For mvself who have the honour to be his 
immediate successor, I who was a wit- 
ness of his seal, and whom he charged 
when dying to be the promoter of nis 
work — u i have added to his success^ 
endeavours, if I have extended this sub- 
lime discovery, if I have made of it a 
complete system, a theoir, the principles 
of wnich are now invariable, I must de^ 
dare that I haye only worked for Uie 
glory of a master so justlv celebrated, 
and that we owe to him all that maybe 
found useful in diis book. Here is the 
spirit of those oral lessons diat I received 
from his friendship ; in publidiing them 
I only acquit, as univeraai legatee, a 
sacred dd>t. %t is sufficient for me to 
liave the magnifk^ent title of disciple of 
l3kiB prodigious genius, who had no guide, 
no model, an^ whose irst master-pieces 
astonished the city whidh was witness of 

* The Finger A\phaj>«t is in the hands of our 
VngniTer, ani sbsfiite fhren as toon as it is 
•otof them. E>. 

them, ana learned Europe to whom his 
fiune introduesd them.** 

This is die diaractet the Abb^ Sicard has 
given his master ; a character which ht 
was richly entitled to. Only let us see 
what this priest did to fulfil the trusts 
Imposed upon him, and what additional 
glory he has added to his former laurels, 
by representing to the worid at large by 
every possible means, in the biographical 
-works published in France, and with the 
assistanceof teachers of theDeaf and Dumb 
Asylums in this country, to induce all the 
Encydopodias in Great Britain to misre- 
present die character of the gocd Abb6 de 
TEp^e, and state that his system was 
good for nothing that be taught his pur 
pils ^^ wonds by signs** and not ^^ wofds by 
things,** and suppressed all his valuable 
books and manuscripts. This is the um- 
vertal legatee, who on the death of the 
donor did all he could to vilify his cha^ 
racter; and after doing ao to a moi^ 
shameful extent, by attempting to impose 
upon the public a fabricated letter whidk 
)ie says die good Abb6 wrote to him, 
therein he acknowledged that he tau^ 
his pupils only to write, under the di^ 
turn of signs, without their knowing 
cither ouasticm or answer, and after all 
such fallacies, he had the impudence Ip 
add anoAer, the greatest of all, in tl^ 
following words ; — ^* But does it become 
a acholar to push his master so hard, 
above all when he told me finequentj^ 
that his success satisfied all Europe, and 
^lat so mat a ^ory ou^t to be sufi|- 
cientfbr those who wished to imitate him ;** 
Jidding diis modest confession, moreover, 
^ I have found the glass, and you are de- 
stined to make the spe^ades !** 

To prove the follaor of this assertion, 
1 refor the reader to the books published 
by the good Abb6 de l*£p«e, in which 
tnere is not a single sentence to justify 
the imputation of so gross a cahmmy. X 
am in. possession ofall the works of the 
s;ood Abb^ de I'Ep^ extant, and lately 
lent the volume to a teacher at an Asy- 
ium, wbece none but the Deaf and Dumb 
are taught, the last edition of it to read, 
he having never read it before, when he 
joetumed it me with a note, in whidi hp 
tiianked me for the perusal, as he says, «^ 
^^de r£pee*8 excellent and compreheur 
sdve little work which I have nem witjti 
great pleasure and advantage, and ip 
which the true method qf instructing the 
Dgafand Bwnb is clearly ewhibitedJ''' 

This gentlenqan*s /(^pinion of the oeod 
Abb4*s method, is very different from 
that of Dr. Watson, although equally 
capable of judging of its merits or de- 
merits* Dr. Watson declares to have 
passed a heavy censure on the good Abb^*s 
L 2 

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method of educating the Deaf and Dumb, 
and endeavours to justify himself through 
the stories of Sicaid. To refute the as- 
sertions of Dr. Watson, Sicaid, and the 
Encyclopedias, that the good Abb6 
taugut his pupils ^^ words by signs," and 
not ^^ words by things,*' and that his pu* 
pils were so ignorant when they returned 
to their parents, as not to be able *'*' to put 
a single question of their own accord, or 
answer by more than one word to those 
put to them." Let us refer to the first 
chapter, 2nd edition, of the Abb6 de 
r£p^*s ^S\fethod of educating the Deaf 
and Dumb ;" where he says — " It is not 
by the mere pronunciation of words in any 
luiguage, that we are taught their signi* 
fication. The words door, window^ See 
in our own, might have been repeated 
to us hundreds of times in vain; we 
should never have attached an idea to 
them, had not the objects designated 
by these names been shown to us at the 
same time. A sign of the hand or o5 the 
eye, has been the sole means by which we 
learned to unite the idea of these objects, 
with the sounds that struck our ears; 
whenever we heard these "sounds, the 
same ideas arose in our minds, because 
we recollected the signs made to us when 
they were pronounced." This clearly 
proves that the Abb^ taught his pupils 
•' words by things ;" and in a letter of 
the Abba's published in this book, it is 
shown that his pupils could answer ques- 
tions in writing, as well as, if not better, 
•than any scholur of Dr. Watson's or Si- 
card's, as by the following question, 
which was put by the late learned Dr. 
fiinguet, when he visited the Abb6 for 
the purpose of ascertaining to what ex- 
tent his system had been carried. After 
minute examination in every respect, and 
being perfectly satisfied of the utility of 
his method, he appeared to have, as it is 
said, '* only one desire left," which was to 
know whedier the Deaf and Dumb scho- 
lars '^who displayed such sagacity in 
rendering ideas, communicated by me- 
thodical signs were able to define a meta- 
physical idea." The Abb6 adds i — 

" To satisfy him in this point, I wrote 
upon the table, JVhat do you understand 
by a metaphysical idea 9 Wliile I stood 
conversing with him, in no pain about 
the result of the question, one of the 
scholars presents a solution of it in these 
terms: — ^^ By metaphysical ideas, I un- 
derstand ideas of things which are inde- 
pendent of our senses, which are above 
our senses, which caimot be perceived by 
our senses, which nowise- affect our 
senses l» »» 
Can Dr. Watson's' pupils answer this 

question? I have seen many of thenu 
biit never met with one who could. 

The following observation of an author 
on this very interesting subject merits at- 
tention. He says, ^^ There is room, to 
suspect, indeed, that some of those who 
have been engaged in it, so far from imi- 
tating Bonnet, de I'Ep^, and others, by 
allowing the world at large the knowledge 
of their advances, or the benefit of their 
improvements, have, rather, like Heinick, 
and the teachers at the Asylums of the 
present day, been desirous of keeping 
them in obscurity and mystery : and, (to 
borrow the comparison, of a recent writer, 
upon an occasion not very dissimilar,) 
like the Jewish Talmudists, who dealt in 
secret writings of allowing no person to 
be professed practical conjurers, but the 
Sannedrim themselves.** 

As soon as the Abbe de I'Epee had 
published his ^^ Method of Education,*^ 
the tranquiUitv of all other teachers was 
disturbed, ana produced the same effect 
as all new inventions which alarm interest 
and contradict prejudice: the natural 
consequence of ail new discoveries and 
improvements being always offensive at 
the beginning, thereby making it ex- 
tremely difficult to destroy habits deeply, 
rooted and upheld by prejudice. 

To convince the public that the edu- 
cation of the Deaf and Dumb is not be- 
yond the means and power of conmion 
charity schools, and to stimulate other 
schools to try where there is an object 
to be found, I shall quote an extract 
from the Liveipool " Report of the Coml 
mittee of the Methodist Day and Sunday 
Schools for the year 1822," just pub- 
lished. " Since the publication of theur 
last report, the committee have had their 
attention directed to the very melancholy 
situation of those children of the poor 
who are deprived of the fiEtculty of speech. 
The lectures of Mr. Humphreys of Clare- 
mont, near Dublin, on this subject, first 
roused the state of the committee to the 
deplorable state of the Deaf and Dumb, 
and led them to an active inquiry as to the 
probable number of such objects amongst 
the poor in this town. The result was sudi 
as to induce them to believe there were con. 
siderably more than one hundred in such 
circumstances. The mode of instruction 
pointed out by Mr. Humphreys, though he 
considered it as only applicable to those 
institutions solely set apart for the instruc- 
tion of mutes, appeared to the committer 
so plain and simple, that they were anx- 
ious to try the experiment upon a few 
children; but they were for some time 
discouraged from the attempt, by the fejffs 
of those who seemed best acquainted with 

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the subject, lest giester harm than good 
should be the result. - But finding no im- 
mediate prospect of the formation of an 
establishment for the purpose of instruct- 
ing such very interesting objects of chari- 
table feeling, they endeavoured to procure 
the best printed instructions on this sub- 
ject. In prosecuting their inquiries for such 
publications, how were they astonished to 
find the work explanatory of the art— the 
i^mple, the ble^ed art m instructing the 
Deaf and Dumb, by the late venerable and 
ever to be admired Abb^ de TEp^, had 
been as far as possible suppressed, and the 
profbssed teachers, both in France and this 
country, had not only made it a subject of 
mystery, but had actually in most in- 
stances enjoined those admitted into their 
seminaries in order to learn the system, 
not to teach it to others, under a heavy 
penalty ! On applying for the works of 
the Abbe de TEp^ not a copy could be 
purchased either in London or Paris, 
although a considerable edition of a 
translation into English' of the good 
Ahb^*s 'Method of teaching the Deaf 
and Dumb,' was printed a few years 
since in London. After diligent inquiry 
among the booksellers for a copy, none 
c«uld be procured ; and one of the com- 
mittee was informed, that the whole edi- 
tion was bought up a few days after it 
was announced, and thus suppressed. 
Fortunately the committee met with the 
work of Mr. Arrowsmith on the 'Method 
of teaching the Deaf and Dumb,' and 
this publication so convinced them of its 
practicability, that they inmiediatcly in- 
quired and fbund out four or five mutes 
in the neighbourhood of their schools. 
They determined to take the advice of Mr. 
Arrowsmith, and to instruct them along 
with the other boys, in the first instance, 
merely teaching tncm the use of the Ma- 
nual Alphabet, but in other respects giving 
them no advantage over the other chil- 
dren with whom they mixed. In less 
than six months after their admission, 
four of these children could go through 
their Manual Alphabet, had learned the 
names and uses of various things, and 
could write a fair legible hand. Their 
improvement in writing was hi beyond 
any instance before met with in children 
who could hear and speak. Four of 
these five children still remain in the 
school ; the eldest a girl, and the most 
nromising of them, i^r having learnt to 
write a fair copy, was taken away by her 
friends who were Roman Catholics, on 
which account they would not allow her 
so continue longa m the sdiooL Of the 
lemaining four, one boy has learned to 
wefive diuing the last few months, and is 
icmarkably clever at his employment and 

#ell pleased with it Another who is a 
cripple fVom an adfdent he met with 
when a little child, seems only fit for the 
occupation of a tailor, in which he is 
likely to make sufficient pn^ess to ena 
ble him to get a livelihood. Of the others 
no experiment has yet been tried beyond 
teaching them their letters and to write. 
The committee, however, are so much 
encouraged to go on, from the success that 
has already crowned their exertions, that 
' they shall not hesitate for the future, 
to take any mutes into their schools along 
with children who can hear and speak, 
being confident that in the general schools 
they ean teach them whatever it is neces- 
sary the children of the poor should know ; 
namely, their duty to God, their parents, 
and meir neighbourhood; by training 
them up in habits of industry, and in- 
structing them in their civil and religious 
obligations, preserve them from many of 
those moral lapses to which uninstructed 
youth are liable. To go more into detail 
on this very interesting subject, would 
occupy more room than the limits of an 
annual report would allow; but the com- 
mittee cannot conclude their observations 
without acknowledging their great obliga- 
tions to Mr. Arrowsmith, the author of 
the book of instructions before referred to, 
(and who b at present engaged in a trans- 
lation of the entire works of the Abb6 de 
I'Epee, which it is hoped will very soon 
be published,) for his very valuable and 
extensive correspondence, with the com. 
mlttee as well as for his personal atten- 
tion to them both here and in London." 

This fully justifies and proves the uti- 
lity of the plan, suggested by the re- 
viewer for the Quarterly Review, No 
52, published in March, 1822, in re- 
viewing the work of Mr. Arrowsmith, 
wh(« says, '' The national metropolitan 
schools, conducted upon Dr. Bell's plan, 
are opened not only for the instruction of 
children, but likewise for the reception ot 
young men, who may be sent thither in 
order to become practically acquainted 
with the details of a system of tuition, 
which they may afterwards introduce in. 
to other seminaries. We earnestly sub- 
mit it to the consideration of the gover 
nors of the Asylum for the gratuitous in» 
struction of the Deaf and Dumb Pooj; 
whether this establishment might not be 
opened with great advantage for a simiht 

'' A residence for two months at this in. 
stitution would, we are almost certain, ena- 
ble any young person of ordinary capacity 
to acquire a competent knowledge of the 
system there pursued. It would not 
surely, be unreasonable to require of all 
the teachers of the national schools, at I fUBf ' 
L ) 

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in populous diatricts, a pieDwmtkm which 
woula qualify th^n to undertake the in- 
itruction of the Deaf and Dumb with the 
other children of the more indigent classes. 
Our common seminaries might then be- 
come available for educating children of 
parents in better circumstances. This 
would relieve the public from the enor- 
mous additional expense, at present unne- 
cessarily incurred in boarding as well as 
instructing them: and it would save 
the pupils themselves from the danger, by 
no means imaginary, of contracting tast«s 
ahd habits, inconsistent, as we have said, 
with their subsequent situations. If opu- 
lent individuals, to whom die expense is no 
object, give this pref(^ence to institutions 
exclusively devoted to the instruction of 
the Deaf and Dumb, let their wishes by 
an means be gratified. Schools <^ this 
description will always offer to caprice or 
prejudice, in fiivour of the occult system 
of instructing the Deaf and Dumb, the 
means of ample indulgence." 

Intending to resume the subject, I 
shall only now observe, that the Alphabet 
may be taught a Deaf and Dumb Child 
by any person who knows the 26 letters. 
Words will suggest themselves — senten- 
ces will foUoW' — and a language be ac- 
quired in i^ite of all prejudice. 

No apology is necessary for being so 
prolix; the subject alone demands the 
particular attention of every one, in be* 
naif of the objects it is intended to bene- 
fit. Yours, 


Avoid law-suits: they are fires which 
men have mudi ado to extinguish when 
once kindled. 

It is a great act of life to know how to 
sell air; — that is^ to take advantage by 
giving good words. 

Beware of uttering biting jests; the 
more truth they contain the greater wounds 
they give,the greater staiarts they cause,and 
the greater scars they leave behind them* 

If thou shouldest have the misfcnrtune 
to be obliged to beg pardon, do it quiold^^ 
to avoid the blame of obstinacy. 

There is as much diiferenee between «• 
and ott^selves, as between its and others. 

Contradict not, to vex others ; it shows 
an ill temper, and provokes most persons, 
but profits nobody. 

Always take the most pleasant view 
of a dubious event; at least, side with 
hopes; for, why should we call in simer- 
nunieraty ills, antedate those suflfenngs 
which we shall too soon undergo, and de- 
stroy the happiness of the .present tim^ 
with superficial views ox futurity. 

If thou hast knewledge^ let othait 
light their candle «t i^ 

Broach not thv odd qjuniont to toch 
as are not fit to hear them. Thou wilt 
do them nogood by it, peifaapshurt; and 
mayest well expect discredit and misdkdef 
from it to thyuM, An ill-placed paratdox, 
and an ill-timed jest, have mined naany* 

Sudi is human li£e, that thou wilt 
frequently have need of all the manl 
virtues, especially of patie&ce. Fat we 
ace obnoxious to so many infelidtieB and 
imbecilities, that if thou dost not accuse 
tom thyself to receive and sufier them, as 
thou dost to eat and drink, ^aaa. titult 
find constant tioubk, instead of tiMU 

Be prudent and wary, and take heed ef 
beii^ caught, and presume not too mudi 
on thine own sufficiency. Men axe evety 
jot as easily imposed upon as beasts, 
bkds, and fishes^ whilst th6 eagerness af 
apatite su8p«ids the iexerciae of reason. 
A treat, a bottle of wine, a womsn, are 
the same thing to us, IM a wdrm^ a grain 
of com, or a bit of fl^idi, is to those ani- 
mals. Wt snap at the bait Withont ev«r 
dreaming of thetn^ the fltaaie^ or the 

Never put it in any one's head to do 
you a mischief, by aecquainting him tiiat 
it is in his powec. 

Those are thought to have Tead much, 
who fi>eak of it oflfen, which is only a 
sign of not digesting idMt they read.— > 
Praise is no match for blame and obloquy, 
fat wae the scales even the malice of snan- 
kind would throw in the casting weight. 

If a fool knows a secret, Ire tells it be- 
cause he is a fok>l ; vrhen a knave knows 
one, he tells it ^^lenfeverit is his Interest 
to do so : — but women tiad young men 
are verv apt to tell whiit secrets diey know, 
from the vanity of having been 'trtwrtfid. 
Trust none of these 

Mm is the only animal tliat is en- 
dowed with the power of laughter : per- 
haps he isthe^i^ one that deserves to tie 
laughed at. 

The naost fadguii^ ill>4nlmQers ia that 
which proceeds from an eacecss ^ipatke^ 

Though ffood breeding and poUienesi 
are generally diowght the same, ihey are 
qualities vferydififcierifc. Pobiengss ib the 
influence of "a natulsal refinement; pootU 
breeding tiie fbnn df an art^dal dviHty. 
The last but festnd&s vs from givwg 
offenee; ^ first emoowers us to ^e 
j>leasure. PoHtenete is the ha^y nix- 
tuBe of gteatness wiA benignity; it Is a 
sunshine frotai tiie sovl, on me lo(^ 
womLs, and aedons. ^hod UtetUmp ig 
often «i«uBfiiee withtfut 'depth; and lAe 
the^ittnttt*s^^d«iit»«n dmk imiiBfa§i 

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§pnmii9 a gioMi ev« ^e oiHfdds, even of 
vice and nM4»i-f piritedness : whereai po* 
ii/ene^t, liketh^chijstal, is taiAsparent 
«8 well AS shiny; »nd alwi^s appeaif 
lovelier, thie fuller light it is placed in. 

If the spring put forth no blossoms, in 
summer thoe will be no beauty, and in 
autumn no ^it; so if youth be trifled 
away without improvement, riper years 
may be 09Qtemptible, and old age miaer- 

I^loiophers assert, that nature is un- 
limited in her (^>erations; that she has 
inexhaustible treasures in reserve; thai 
]aM>wledge will always be progressive $ 
and that all future generations will con- 
tinue to make discoveries, of which ufe 
bave not the least idea. 

T. Bbown. 


(For the Mirror.) 
Among the Athenians, it was a mark of 
nobility to have the ears bored, or perfo- 
rated ; and among the Hebrews and Ro- 
mans, it was an indication of servitude. 
8uetonius speaks of the beauties of Au- 
gustus's ears; and iElian, describing 
the beauties of Aspasia's, observes she had 
short ears. Martial also ranks large ears 
among the number of deformities. Seve- 
ral naturalists and physicians have held, 
that cutting off the ear rendered persons 
barren and unprolific ; and this idle no- 
tion is what first oeeasitmed the legislators 
to OTder die ears of thieves, &c to be cut 
off kst they should jvoduee their like. 
Loss of one ear is a punishment, enacted 
by 6 and 6 Edward V I. for fighting in a 
church-yard : 

"EarletM on high stood unabafhed Defoe, 
And Tutchin flagrant from the scourge below.** 
^ Pope. 

The ear.rings worn by the East In- 
dians, both men and women, are of an im- 
mense size, among whom it is the fashion 
to lengtiben out the ears, and to enlarge 
the hole by putting in pendants of the size 
of saucers set with stones. In the West 
Indies, Columbus named a certain coast 
Oreja, because he found people with holes 
in ^eir ears big enough to pass an egg 
through. They likewise make holes in 
their Ups and nostrils, and hang pendants 
at them ; which is also pi^actised by the 
'Mexicans and other natipns. Ear-picks 
are instruments of ivory, silver, and any 
other metal, somewhat in form of a probe, 
for cleansing the ear. The Chinese are 
partlcularlv fond of entertaining thenif 
sdv^ witn picking and. tickling their 
ears; this the^ do either fior Ihemself es^ 

or interohaogpahly 4or one MM jtf H HL and 
have a great numba of instruments of 
peculiar shapes and structore, invented 
tor the purpose.* Qut Sir Hans Sloans 
very justly observes, that the use of them 
seems vei^ prejudicial ; for, that among 
many pe(^ in England, who applied tP 
him on account of deafiiess, the uur greater 
part were thrown into theur complaints by 
too often mcking their ears, t^A theielHr 
bringing humovrt^ or ulcerous disposi- 
tions on them. See PkU. TVotw., N^ 
246, page 406. A feUow with only one 
ear, went into a haberdashers, and askq^ 
the woman how much she wou}d diaigp 
for a shoe string, that would reach from 
one of his ears to the other, she said, one 
penny, and began $o take measure, and 
finding but one, exclaimed, and said s^ 
could not see the other ; upon which th^s 
fellow said he had Idi it naile4 to a pil- 
lory, at York ;— the poor woman sonelf 
repented her bad bargain, and determin^ 
in future never to sell hier goods by thjs 
«w measure. 

P. T. W- 


To the Editor of the Mirror. 

SiE, — Before I proceed in the retrospec- 
tive notices, to which I ^uded in my 
last communication, permit me to present 
to the readers of the Mirror a short 
account of an ancient wreadi of gold, re- 
cently discovered in the vicinity of Cada 
Idris, in Merionethshire, togetner with a 
few observations naturally suggested by 
the occasion. 

It was on the 2nd of last September, 
that a gentleman, residing near Cader 
Idris, while grousing in that neighbour- 
hood, discovered the valuable relic in 
question. At first he was totally ignorant 
of its nature, and conceived it to be no- 
thing more than a mere iron chain. How- 
ever, upon sending it to a gentleman in 
London, it has been ascertained to be 
pure gold, and, consequently, in all pro- 
bability, one of the wreaUis anciently 
worn by the Welsh chiefs as marks of 
distinction. Its weight is twelve ounces, 
and when ^Uy extended, it measures 
nearly four feet, and, according to an 
assay that has been made of it, its in- 
trinsic worth is twenty-five pounds ; but, 
of course, its value as a piece of antiquity 
is considerably greater. It remains at 
present, in the possession of thegentlenuin 
last alluded to. 

This, as far as I have been able to as« 

* This oustom, (at well as the one with nf, 
of picking teeth after dinner J 1 should think 
** more honoured in the brsadh than the obscr- 

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eertain the fact, makeg the fourth of these 
curioue insignia, that have been dis- 
eorered in Wales during the last hundred 
and forty years. The first was found at 
Harlech, in Merionethshire, in 1692, and 
is of the same length as that I have just 
described, but weighing only eight ounces. 
Mr. Pennant, in his Tour in Waies^* 
describes it as ^' a wreathed rod of gold, 
about four feet long, with three spiral 
fiuTows, with sharp intervening ridges, 
running its whole length to me ends, 
which are plain truncated, and turn back 
like pot-hooks." This torfft<e«, or /orcA, 
(to adopt the Welsh name) is, I believe, 
now the property of Sir Thomas Mostyn, 
Bart Of comparatively late years, two 
others have been found, one at Dolau 
Gothi, in Carmarthenshire, and the other 
near Caerwys, in the county of Flint. 
The former of these, which is still in the 
possession of the family of Dolau Cothi, 
appears to be the largest and most re- 
-markable of the whole, resembling rather 
a chain than a wreath. Its length is 
sufficient to encircle the neck several 
times, and at one extremity of the chain, 
when found, was the figure of a serpent, 
also of gold, of very mie workmanship, 
and which is now, I believe, in the pos- 
session of the Antiquarian society. Ilie 
wreath or chain is, in other respects, of a 
simple but neat construction, and each 
link is about an inch in extent : the gold 
is remarkably pure. Of the torch found 
near Caerwys, I am unable to give any 
particulars ; but it must have been con- 
sidered of value, as the present Lord 
Grosvenor gave as much, I believe, as 
three hundred or four hundred pounds 
for it. It is at present, of course, in his 
Lordship's possession. 

Such is a cursory account of all these 
ancient remains, which I can find to have 
been discovered in Wales. Mr. Pennant 
notices one of silver, some years ago in 
the possession of the Rev. Mr. Prescott, 
of Cambridge, and represents it as a very 
beautiful one, of considerable length, 
composed of links of silver wire, elegantly 
twisted, and fastened at the ends by 
clasps.*)- ' 

It seems beyond a doubt, that the cus- 
tom of wearing the torques, whether of 
gold or silver, is of very high antiquity, 
and that it was formerly known to other 
nations besides the first inhabitants of 
this island. The earliest notice appa- 
rently relating to it, occurs in the book of 
Numbers, (chap. xxxi. ver. 50), where 
the sacred historian, in enumerating the 

SaUs taken in the conquest of the 
wianites, mentions « chains and brace- 
• VoLii. p.133. 
t Tonr tn Walw,Tol.n .p. 134. 

lets," and, at it would appear 6om the 
context, <^ gold. The most positive 
scriptural testimony on the subject, bow- 
ever, is that of the prophet, Daniel, who 
says that a chain of gold was, in his time, 
a mark of high rank at Babylon.* The 
Roman writers also make several allusions 
to the torques, and especially as having 
been common amongst the Ghiuls. Livy, 
in particular, tells us (lib. 36 chap. xL), 
that Publius Cornelius, in a triumpA 
over the Oauls, took as many as 1470 of 
these ornaments ; and Propertius ascribes 
the use of one to Britomartus, a celebrated 
chiefiain among the same people. Man- 
lius Torquatus, too, the Roman general^ 
it is well Imown, was so called ^m the 
torques he won from a distinguished 
Gaul, whom he had vanquished in single 
combat. There is ground for believing 
also, that the practice was not unknown 
to the Romans themselves. Virgil, when 
describing the games celebrated by ^neas 
in Sicily, seems expressly to allude to it 
in the following passage :— 

Cornea bina femnt prsefixa hastilia ferro: 
Pars laeves humero pharetras ; in pectore sammo 
Flexilis obtorti per collum circulus auri. 

JEn. V. 657. 

But Pliny, the elder, speaks still more 
explicitly on the point ; for he informs 
us (lib. 33, chap, ii.), that the Romans 
bestowed wreaths or chains as military 
rewards; those of gold on their aux- 
iliaries, and those of silver on their own 

The earliest account we have of the use 
of the torques or torch among the Britons 
is, that by Dio Cassius, who speaks of a 
very large golden one, which was worn 
by the celebrated Boadicea, in the middle 
of the first century. Af)«T this period 
there are no particular notices, of which 
I am aware, until we come to the wars 
between the Britons and Saxons, in the 
fifth and sixth centuries. Aneuiin, a 
poet of the northern Britons, who flou- 
rished during this era, and was himself a 
warrior, describes the march of three 
hundred and sixty-three chieftains to the 
batUe of Cattraeth, all decorated with the 
torques. The original lines have been 
thus translated by Gray : 

To Cattraeth»8 vale, in glittering row. 
Twice two hundred warriors go : 
Every warrior's manly neck 
Chains of regal honour deck, 
WreathM in many a golden link. 

IJywarch Hen, a cotemporary bard and 
a fellow countryman, also tells us, that 

Snn«?«f%^^*^' ""' !*'• I *"** ^' See also the 
Songof Solomon chap. i. ver. 10. though, in thit 
laU«r instance, the chain does not seem to have 
been worn as a martial «abkm. 

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}ie had twenty-four sons, who were dis- 
tinguished by the same martial emblem : 
Four and twentv sons have I had. 
Wearing the golden wreath, — leaden of armies. 

From this period until the twelfUi cen- 
tury, the Uylrch continued to be worn 
amo^the Britons, and their descendants, 
the Welsh. But about the time last 
mentioned, &e custom was evidently on 
the decline ; for we find, that Llywelyn 
Aurdorchog, a chieftain of north Wales, 
who lived during this period, acquired 
his designation of Awniorchog (Auro^ 
iorqwUiuJ from the circumstance of wear, 
ing the torques^ a distinction that would 
not have b^ made, had the practice re- 
mained as general as in more ancient 
iimes. Hence it may reasonably be in. 
ferred, that the wreath recently found had 
lain on the spot, at least, for more than 
six centuries; and it was, in all pro- 
bability, lost in one of the conflicts for. 
merly so frequent in the vicinity of Gader 

Although the usage in question has so 
long ceased, the memory of it is retained, 
in aproverbial expression, still common 
in Wales. This is " Mi dynav y dorch 
d ihiJ*^ (I will pull the torques with thee), 
impljring a resolution to make any obsti- 
nate struggle ; from which we may con. 
dude that it was a peculiar disgrace to 
an ancient British warrior to lose his 
torch^ and that, accordingly, he never 
parted with it until after the most deter, 
mined resistance. 





(For the Mirror,) 

Haii.. St. David I the day of St. David I 
HaU St. David I and Wales O I 
The hells shall ring. 
And the girls shall sing. 
And dance on the hills and the dales, O. 
Hail, St. David I brave St. David I 
HaU to the land of the leek$, O ! 
For the leeks prevailM, 
When the Dane$ cutaiVd, 
And made them repent of their freaks,0. 
Hail, St. David ! brave St. David t 
And his mountain* of high renown, G I 
And those mountains shall be 
Like liberty's tree. 
What Detpotg can never ^/Z dowit '**« 
Hail, St. David I brave St. David! 
Llewellpn and bold Olendower, O^ 
And this shall be told, 
Like the Britons of old, 
The Taffies remain to this hour.O. 
Hail, St. David I brave St. David I 
And all of the leekAoving band, O I 
May ioy spread its sails 
For the native of Wales, 
And their PHnee is the King of this 


(For (he Mirror.) 

Dira cometa micans. 
Tempora mutantur.&c.—TAe times are 
changed, and so are we. 
Thb Y say " the world's tum'd upside down," 
Strange things, indeed, are doing ; 
There's Ferdinand's regained his crown. 
And •••• as yet unwooing. 
The farmer with his loaded wain. 
Now draws some money from it ; 
Old times he hopes will come again. 
If not— tis all the comet. 
There's Tree in trowsers treads the stage 
And Young's assumed the sock, sir ! 
There's Fisher, scarce yet •* half of age," 
And who has not heard Bochsa ? 
There's Catalani re-appears. 
Much fame may she reap from it ; 
Some say, 'tis true, she gets in y^uri. 
Oh I no — tis all the comet. 

There's Wisdom tilts at all she meets. 
For Folly's tum'd her teacher ; 
And Irvmg still finds crowded seats. 
Oh r what a wondrous preacher. 
The country's come to town for health. 
And strange, health flies not from it ; 
And matches made for love, not wealth—- 
Oh ! sure 'tis all the comet. 

'TIS said, the tides Diana sways. 
And who'll deny it? no man ; 
So surely have the comet's rays 
The same effect on woman. 
There's Delia leaves her early bed. 
Say, what can drag her from it ? 
And out at window pops her head. 
To gaze upon the comet. 

How clear, how bright, I see it move, 

'Tis more than I'd expected. 

Yon radiant star? that's Venus, love. 

Your own fair self reflected. 

•• Oh ! fair, false star," young Delia crles^ 

As slow she turns her from it ; 

" Yet one more look," she says and sighs. 

And quite forgets the comet. 

Why still, fond maiden, linger there 

Go, sleep, for know, between us. 

You're not the first by many a fair 

Who've been deceived in Venus ? 

Then let it not your slumbers break. 

Yet leara this moral from it — 

Tis Venus makes the young heart ache. 

And not, I ween, the comet, Alpbbus. 


To the Editor of the Mirror. 

Sia, — Can any of your numerous corres- 
pondents inform me where or what are 
the arms of Wales ? We are acquainted 
with her badge of the leeks, and the 
Bohemian feathers, which form the crest 
of the English princes of Wales; but 
had her ancient princes no coat-armour ? 
or did Edward find the means of banish, 
ing it all from memory ? Wales, indeed, 
has no college of anns, and, therefore, no 
heraldry like either England, Scotland, 
and Ireland ; and a rogue of a wit at 
Cambridge would even persuade us that 
she has no ApoUo ! A Welsh scholar. 

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He WM a girnt atolwr of gooa pictw»| 
bii taste ai a connoSuciur suggeated to 
him the foDowing appropriate dfiscriptiim, 
and his gallantry prompted him to con- 
vert it into a high and very elegant com- 
pliment to a lady :— 

•* Slaves to the laws of taste, let some admire 
Paulo's bold stroke, or virid Titian's fire ; 
With critic sicill, and just precision, traee 
Poussin's learn'd air, or soft Correggio'a jjiace ; 
In route amaze let others trembling stapa» 
And feel the darlc sublime of Rosa's hand ; 
Be mine the task, their varied styles to Tiew, 
And mark their blended be autiet met in you I" 

The excellence at which he aimed in 
his poetry, and to which he may be fairly 
said^to have attained, consisted in the 
display of vivid images and vigorous ex- 
pressions, faithful ddineations of nature, 
and rich melody of versification. The 
following specimens may serve to confirm 
these remancs, and it will not be easy to 
find two poems of the tind, superior to 
them, in point of sweetness and tender- 
ness. The former has much of the manner 
of Shakspeare, the latter of Pope : — 



No noise I heard, but all was stiU as death. 
Save that at times a distant dying note 
Of spirit unseen, or Heaven's minstrelsy. 
Would indistinctly meet my ravish'd ear ; 
Such as was never heard from harp or lute. 
Or waked into a voice by human hand. 
Ah, Philomel, the strain was thine ! 


Ye pamper'd favourites of base mankind. 
Whether with riches, poor, or learning, blind. 
From your distracted views, oh, pause awhile. 
And hear a brother's tale without a smile ; 
And let contrition note how much is due 
To all the generous cares I owe to you. 
Whilst flatt'ring pon^ secure ineumbrous state. 
His scanty crumbs withheld and barr*d his gate 
Nor suQeadeign'd with scorn's averted eye 
The cheaper tribute of a selfish sigh. 
The neediest suppliant of sorrow's train. 
For bread I hungering sought, and sought m 

Each petty solace thus by you denied 
With sleepless watch Fidelio supplied ; 
When winter, wet with r«in,mytr«nbling beard. 

having produced an IndifTerent poem, the 
following epigram made its i^>pearance : — 

•* We have heard of Ap-shenkin, Ap-reece, and 

But whoever heard of Ap-ollo in Wales ?'* 

Can this he tolerated, however, of the 
country of the bards ? Where are the 
ghosts of all that Edward slaughtered, 
and of so many beside ? 
** Hear from the grave, great Taliessln hear I" 
My wish is, Mr. Editor, (I am no 
Tafiy though,) that ApoUo may shine 
out in Wales ; and that we may have 
Welsh novels, too, to place by the side 
of the Scotch, is the earnest desure of 


No. IV. 

(Coneluded from our ktst.) 

It would be difficult to find a person 
actuated by keener sensibility than Mr. 
Headley ; his mind was aconrdingly the 
genial soil in whidi friendship took a 
rapid and a deep root, and soon bore the 
most delicious fruits. His heart beat 
with all the tenderness, and his actions 
displayed «U the energetic (Parities of a 
son, a brother, a husband, and a friend. 
When his life was vereing towards its 
dose, and the fire of his imagination 
began to be wedcened by his si^erings 
under a disorder, which it is singular 
enough, generally seizes as its victims, 
the most accomplished, interesting, and 
amiable of our iqiedes, his S3rmpatibdes 
continued to be ardent and energetic : 
the kindness ei his friends was still one 
of his favourite and prevailing topics of 
conversation, and he only ceased to recount 
the instances of their attachment, when 
he ceased to breathe. 

Considered as tkpoet^ he displayed some 
of the mature fruits, as well as tne tender 

blossoms of genius. His verses were for . „ ^ 

the most part pleasing, elegant, spirited, JiT ^*"^"« ***'' ^? *«**» flf!]?*^* ^*?'^' , 
And nf>rv#ma *»!»♦ »^Uii Jt ^uf « ^«.,»' ^ When my grey locks at night the wild wind rent 
and nervous, but gener^y of a pensive Like withered moss uponl monument, 
cast -, ms fltrams were those of the plain- What could he more ? against tiw pitiless storm 
tive ni^itingale, rather than of the cheer- ^^ ^^"^ ^^^ little aid to keep me warm ; 
fill httk : his poetry was the exact picture Sl^f" uTi:.*?iFir'"^ '*'"^% l***/*^*'"^^"!' 
of his mind-the'hnage of his gLuine S'lthtnSStr&^r^Sftr'"^ '•'^' 
feelmgs: it arose naturally out of the That marks the features of his honest race, 
different situations of his life : he was ^^^ ^^^^ uplifted eye in vain he moves, 
bom, and occasionally resided near the '^'^ K™*P* *<> ^oc^ •*»«*>«¥««» l»«wi be loves. 
BM ; he delighted, therefore, to describe This is ki far bettor taate, and with 
fliose «cai«, amid which, in his days of more correct feding, than Lord Byron's 
health, he had rejoiced to ramble poem on a sunilar subject, which wiU 

•* Ob those lov'd shores where Yare, with cease- occur to the memory of most of our jea- 

.i*?^?^P' ders. Headley was a scholar of no oidi- 

nary attainments : he was familiar with 

Mnatht daik bo'son of the Milnl deep." 

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the Ofeek tngedfams, and weU skSbA 
in Latin compoeitioni and his wo^ are 
eoridied with critical and iUustnitiTe re- 
marks drawn from these and other dassi- 
tal seuroes. 

His coUeotion of the iufenip-nine bio- 
graphical sketches of the old Englii^ 
. poets, may be considered as a rich cabinet 
of exquisite portraits, finished with all 
the truth and spirit of a Vandyke. They 
possess a peeiuiar delioacy of touch and 
fidelity of character. The colours are 
vivid, and the features discriminated with 
^e greatest precisicm. We have only to 
xegret that there are no more compositions 
of the kind£rom the same masterly hand. 

We cannot better conclude this me- 
moir^ than with die following stanzas to 
the memmy of Headle^, by the Rev. 
Waiiam lisle Bowles, M..AL, which do 
much credit, bath to the head and heart 
of the author :-» 

f o every gentle mute hi vain allied « 
In youth's fuU narly morning Headley died I 
Ah I tonl^ kad HclmeM left her vising trace, 
Bneful kai w«a«Q each decay tng nrace ; 
Untimely sorrow toucb'd his thoughtful miea J 
Despair upon his languid smile was seen 
Te% leBlgwatloAt musing on the gnure^ 
rWben new ao hopeeonld cheer, no pity save,) 
And virtae that bcaroe felt its fate aerare^ 
And pale affliction dropping soft a tear, 
For friends Itelov'd ftom whom ahe soon must 

Brealh'd a fead tdace on his aching heart. 
Nor ceas'd he y«t to stray, where, wiodiiiff wild. 
The Hi use's path his drooping steps beguu'd. 
Intent to rescue aome neglected rhyme, 
Laae-blMtttiag, from the moimiinl watte of 

And ettll «aich acatter'd iw««t,that seMn'd to 

Like fiowers upon some long.forsaken pile. 
Par from the marmuriAg crowd, unseen, ke 

!l^ch charm congenial to his sadden'd thought, 
when the grey mornillttmM the mountain's side. 
To hear the sweet hird's earliest song he hied : 
Wlien neiAoset eve to the -fold*s distant hell 
I48ten'd,and bade the woodauid vales farewell ; 
Musing in tearf id mood, he oft was seen 
The last that Ifaiger'd on the fading green. 
The waving wood, higli e'erthe cliff reclin*d. 
The murmuring waterfall, the winter's wind. 
His temper's trembling texture seem'd to uv&t. 
Like airs of sadness the responsive lute. 
Yet deem net hence the sociail spirit dead, 
Tho' from the worlds hard gmse Ms feeMngt 

Firm was his friendship, and his faith sincere. 
And warm as pity's, bib unheeded tear. 
That wept the ruthless deed, the poor man^ 

By fortune's storms left cold and desolate. 
Farewell! — ^yethethis humble tribute paid 
To idl thy virtues, from that soeial $hade 
Where ^Nuee we 80joum'd.--'I alas I remain 
To moamtbe hoiir»ofyonth<y<t mourn in vain) 
l^fled neglected.—wisely thou hast trod 
The b<fCter path ; and that high meed, which God 
OrdainM -for vhiue.tow'riBgfrom the dust, 
8kldl'bl«sa>thy laboma' apiirtt t pare and just I 


Madame Ako«i.ica Catalaitt, who 

was bom at Sinigaglia, in the Romaa 
States, in 1780, was educated at the con- 
vent of Oubio, where her exquisite voice 
soon rendered her so conspicuous, that the 
nuns, jealous of her superiOTity, succeeded 
in getting her prohibited &am singing in 
the church. At the age of fourteen, she 
quitted the convent, aM made such rapid 
progress in music, that she soon ventured 
to compete with the two famous singers, 
Marchesi and Cresentini. She shone suc- 
cessively at the theatres of Venice, Milan, 
Florence, and Rome; and was dien in. 
vited to Lisbon, where die remained four 
3rear8, with a pension of twenty-four 
thousand cruzados. She next proceeded 
to Madrid, with letters of recommenda- 
tion to the queen, who loaded her with 
favours. One concert which she gave in 
that capital produced upwards of three 
thousand guineas. England was the next 
theatre of her exertions; and during her 
first stav here, she is said to have earned 
more than £50,000. She afterwards 
visited all the diflerent courts of Europe, 
and was every where received with a de- 
gree of distinction and Hberality never 
before, perhaps, experienced by any 
public sin^. 

At Berlm, she received a coinplimen- 
tar^ letter from the King of Prussia, 
written with his own hand, accompanied 
by the mnd medal of the Academy. 

The Emperor of Austria presented her 
with a superb ornament of opal and 
diamonds; and the magistracy of Vienna, 
to manifest their sense of her diaritable 
contributions to the institutions of that 
capital, struck a medal to her honour. 

The Emperor and Empress of Russia, 
on her departure from St. Petersbursh, 
embraced her at parting, and loaded her 
with rich presents, consisting of a girdle 
of diamonds, and other ornaments. Dur- 
ing the four months she remained in St. 
Petersburgh, she realized fifteen thou- 
sand guineas ! 

The late Kins of Wirtemberg was so 
captivated with ner singing, that on his 
^th, which happened soon after her 
arrivsJ at Stutgard, her name was among 
the last words he uttered. 

One of the most striking characteristics 
of Madame Catalani's voice, is — force. 
Indeed, distance is absolutely indispen- 
sable to the true enjoyment, to forming a 
true notion of this wonderful woman's 
powers. All her effects are calculated to 
operate through a vast spacSe; and on 
persons near to her, the impression is 
often overpowering. At a rehearsal at 
the Argyll Rooms, youns Linley was so 
astonished with the gnuideur with which 

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the song of Delia Superha Roma burst 
f^m her lips, that forgetting his own 
l^k, he played a wrong note, and on 
oeing rebuJced for it by the fair syren, he 
fainted, and dropped from his seat ! 



*' The peculiar beauty of the British 
constitution. Sir, consists in this," said 
an opposition member to M. Cottu: 
«■' eyery man, however humble his origin, 
may aspire to the highest honours of the 
state. Thus it is mat industry and ta- 
lents are excited : all men feel an interest 
in the fabric, and therefore no men league 
to overthrow it" The senator might 
have extended his eulogium. This apti- 
tude for high places is not confined in 
England to the senate, the pulpit, and 
the bar. The posts of fashicm are as 
open to attack as the office of Lord High 
Chancellor ; and it is not a little amusing 
to observe the straits to which people of 
ton are driven to avoid a contact with les 
Bourgeois. Bath, in the days of Beau 
Nash, was a resort for the great : so was 
Tunbridge Wells.: — the North-paiade 
and the Pantiles are now deserted. ^^ The 
Moor is at the gate," and no Christian 
dm be seen there. Ranelagh, the ct- 
devarU " third heaven" of beauties of 
high life, is levelled with the dust In 
vain did ihe Court make it unfashionable 
10 be seen there before eleven. The East 
outbid the West, and would not enter till 
half-after that hour. Fashion withdrew 
in disgust, and Ranelagh perished. A 
very few years ago, an autumn at Brigh- 
ton was by no means an unfashionable 
afiair. But, alas ! in rushed all Cheap- 
side, with the addition of Duke*s-plaoe. 
Coy fashion took flight, and, when the 
coast was dear, resettled upon the Steine 
at Christmas. This had all the appear- 
ance of a decisive victory. But not so : 
hardly were her tents pitched, when the 
populous East " pourwl from her frozen 
loins" an army of brokers, brewers, and 
broad-doth venders, to shiver for a month 
upon the East Cliif. Old Dixon, of 
Savage-gardens, was destined to be added 
to the frost-bitten fraternity. His neigh- 
bour Culpepper, who must likewise follow 
the fashion, called upon the worthy citi- 
zen, and found him in a sorry nankeen 
kind of tenement, on the Marine-parade, 
gazing upon vacancy from out a bow- 
window, which let in the winds from 
three points of the compass, until they 
inflated his carpet into the shape of a 

demi-balloon. « WeU,'/ said the vlshor 
to his host, " I never thought yon, of all* 
people, would have chosen to put in to 
Brighton at this time of the year." '' I 
did not choose to put in," answered 
Dixon ; " I was driven in by stress of 
wife. I reidly do not know what people 
of distinction are to do next ; for if turkey, 
chine, plum-pudding, ealante-show, and 
twelfth-cake will not keep citizens in 
town, nothing will. To what Libyan 
desert, what rocky island in the watery 
waste, is high life now to retreat ? Saint 
Hdena may do, the distance is too great 
to allow of men of business frequenting 
it; they cannot well run down from'' 
Saturday to Tuesday: but I deddedly 
t^ink that nothing short of it will be 
effectuaL The Island of Ascension is 
too full of turtle : the whole court of al- 
dermen would be there, to a dead cer- 

There is a dancing-establishment in 
Ejng-street, St James's-square, called 
Almack^s, The proprietor of the man- 
sion is named Willis. Six lady pa-* 
tronesses, of the first distinction, govern 
the assembly. Their fiat is decisive a» 
to admission or rejection; consequently 
*^ their nods men and gods keep in awe." 
The nights of meeting fall upon every 
Wedne^ay during the season. This is 
selection with a vengeance, the very 
quintessence of aristocracy. Three-fourths 
even of the nobility knock in vain for ad« 
mission. Into this sanctum sanctorum^ 
of course, the sons of conomerce never 
think of intruding on the sacred Wednes- 
day evenings; and yet into this very 
" blue chamber," in the absence of the 
six necromancers, have the votaries of 
trade contrived to intrude themsdves. I 
proceed to narrate the particulars. 

At a numerous and respectable meet- 
ing of tradesmen's ladies, hdd at the 
Knig's-head Tavern in the Poultry, Lady 
Simms in the chair, it was resolved, in 
order to mortify the proud flesh of the six 
occidental countesses above alluded to, 
that a rival Almack's be forthwith esta- 
blished, to meet on every Friday evening : 
that Mr. Willis be tieated with as to mt 
hiring of his rooms: that the worthy 
chairwoman, with the addition of Lady 
Brown, Lady Roberts, Mrs. Chambers, 
Mrs. Wells, and Miss Jones, be ap- 
pointed six lady patronesses to govern 
the establishment: that those ladies be 
empowered to draw a line of demarcation 
round the most fashionable part of the 
city, and that no residents beyond that 
circle be, on ^y account, entitled to sub^. 
scriptions. The six lady patronesses 
who originated these resolutions, dwell in 
the most fashionable p^rtx^f the city, viz. 

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Lady Simnifl, in Comhill, Lady Brown, 
in Mansion-house-street, Lady Roberts, 
In Birchin.lane, Mrs. Chambers, in 
Throgmorton.street, Mrs. Wells, in Copt- 
hall-court, and Miss Jones, in Buckles- 
bury. It is astonishing with what 
rapidity the subscriptions filled ; and the 
governesses of the establishment have 
acted with great circumspection in con- 
fining the amusement to none but their 
upper circles. The chief members are 
warehousemen and wholesale linen-dra- 
pers, with, of course, their wives and 
daughters. The original plan was to ex- 
clude all retail trades ; but, as this would 
have made the ball rather too select, the 
scheme was abandoned. Orocers dealing 
both wholesale and retail, silversmiths, 
glovers, packers, dyers, and paper-stainers, 
are admissible, provided their moral cha- 
racters be unimpeachable, and their resi- 
dences be not too eastward. Some discord 
has arisen in consequence of black-balling 
a very reputable pawnbroker in £ast 
Smithfield. West Smithfidd is within 
the line of demarcation, but not East ; 
and the exhibiter of three blue balls, who 
has been thus rejected, complains loudly 
that he is thrust aside to make room for 
a set of vulgar innholders and cattle- 
keepers from Smithfield in the West 
But to squalls like this ^e best-regulated 
establishments are liable. The line of 
demarcation includes Bow-lane, Queen- 
street, and Bucklersbury, on the south 
hide of Cheapside ; and King-street, the 
Old Jewry, and St. Martin*s-le-Orand, 
on the north; but not a step beyond. 
The consequence is, that in the regions of 
Fore-street, Cripplegate, and Moorfields, 
northward, and in those of Watling-street, 
Old Fish-street, and Tower-royal, south- 
ward, a great mass of disaffection has 
been engendersd. Wardmotes have been 
called, select vestries, have been sum- 
moned, and special meetings have been 
convened ; but Almack*8 on Friday flou- 
rishes notwithstanding. In the delivering 
out of subscriptions, I have heard it 
whispered that some tokens of partiality 
are discernible. Undue preferences are 
alleged to be given, which, if done in the 
way of trade, would force the obliged 
party to refund his debt for the equal 
benefit of himself and the rest of thfe cre- 
ditors. Lady Simms*s husband is a lot- 
teryroffice keeper in Ck)inhill, and ^' they 
do say" that young men have but slender 
prospects of admission if they omit to 
buy their sixteenths at his shop. Lady 
.Brown*s lord and master is a wax-chan- 
dler in Mansion-house-street ; let no mati 
wno hopes to visit Almack's on Friday 
>eek his .spermaceti in any other shop. 
Sir Ralph Roberts is a wnolesale iron- 

mom^ in BirchinJane; I have never 
heavd that he is open to corruption in the 
way of trade ; but he and Lady Roberta 
have six grown-up daughters, and the 
subscriber who fails to £uice with them 
all in one night, may look in vain for a 
renewal of his subscription. Mrs. Cham. 
bers*d helpmate is a tailor. A rule ha^ 
recently crept into the establishment that 
no gentleman shall, be attired otherwise 
than in the old school of inexpressibles 
terminating at the knee. This regulation 
rwhich I believe originated wim Mrs. 
Chambers) has been productive of much 
confusion. The common attire of most 
of the young men of the present day it 
trowfers. l%ese are unirormly stopped 
at the door, and the unhappy wearer is 
forced either to return home to redress, or 
to sufier himself to be sewed up by a 
member of the Merchant Tailors* Com- 
pany, who attends in a private room for 
that purpose. This ceremony consists in 
doubling up the trowsers under the knee, 
and stitoiing them in that position wid| 
black silk : the culprit is then allowed to 
enter the ball-room, with his lower man 
strongly resembling one of those broad 
immoveable Dutch omtains who ply in 
the long room at the Custom-house. It 
sometimes happens that the party, thus 
acted upon by the needle, little antici- 
pating such a process, has worn white 
under-stockings, and a pair of half black- 
silk upper-hose reaching but to the com. 
mencement of his calf. The metamor. 
phosis, in these cases, is rather ludicrous, 
inasmuch as the subscriber reappears with 
a pair of black and white magpie legs, 
.and looks as if he had by accident stepmd 
ande deep into a couple of ink-bottles. 
These poor fellows are necessarily forced, 
by the following Friday, to furnish them, 
selves with a new pair of shorts. I am 
afraid Mrs. Chambers is at the bottom of 
all this. I have never heard of any cor. 
nipt motive having been assigned to Mrs. 
WeUs ; and Miss Jones is a maiden lady 
of forty-four, living upon a genteel inde. 

(To be coneluded in our nejft.) 


As a party were proceeding up the rivet 
on Sunday, in passing Isharan, their at.< 
tention was attracted by the cries of a 
child, and on drawing near the shore they 
were redoubled. Near her there was 
lyinff a heap of ashes, not quite extin- 
guished, and which appeared like the 
remains of a recent concremation. A 
number of diildren were standing near 
her, and at a little distance three or four 

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grown-up people looking on rery eon. 
tentedlj. An inquiry was made by a 
humane individual of tlie party uom 
whence the cause of her distress pro- 
ceeded, and it was some time befcne an 
answer could be obtained* At length it 
wtas ascertained that the ariies were diose 
of the foneral pile on which the mother 
of this unfortunate child had immolated 
herself along with the dead body of her 
husband, and that the lamentations of 
the child were occasioned by this cause. 
This circumstance certainly is a singular 
one, but I have no doubt that it is true, for 
the account of it was given me by one of 
the party, and by the individual who 
interested himself in the nuumer I have 
just described. 

In the course of eonversation on the 
subject, the following circumstance was 
-mentioned as a proof ot the good efiects of 
i^efriendljf interference of Eun^eans in 
preventing the hmnolation of human vic- 
tims. A bearer who had lived for a long 
time in a femily was taken ill, and was on 
the point of being carried to the banka of 
the river, for the purpose of being given 
-over to the Mendfy care of ^ Oviges to 
be conveyed to heaven: before he was 
•conveyed there, however, he requested to 
be allowed to speak to his old n^tress; 
•and on being talen to her, he begged her 
to interfere to procure for him a re^te of 
three days. On her interfering, some re- 
marks were made bv his friends as to ^ 
^expense which would be incurred if tfaey 
were to comply wi^ this request. His 
mistress promised to pay all the expenses 
that might be incurred, and ihe result is^ 
that the man, who was so near death five 
^r six years ago, is nowaHve in OaloiMa^ 
in the daily execution of his business. 

These circumstances are thus nanatcd, 
to prove that the frien^ interposition of 
individuals is of i nfi n ite ly more value 
than all the official interposiMon of ma- 
^trates; and that the prejudices of tlie 
natives, although they may be eradicated 
by kindness, can never be forcibly rooted 
out with any prospect of succe86.«.-Ca^ 


Pope, notwithstandhig his diminntiTe 
and mishapen figure, is said to have been 
not a little susceptible of even personal 
vanity ; as he was one day asking Swift 
what people thought of him in Ireland ? 
** Why,»^ said Swift, ^ They think that 
you are a very little man, but a very 
great poet." Pope faistandy retorted, 
with some acrimony, " And, in England 
they think of you, exacdy the reverse.** 


The Princess Amelia, sister to his late 
majes^, being in the rooms at Bath, re- 
marked a certain Captain in the army, of 
a most uncommon heic^ht. On inquiry, 
she was not only told his name and 
family; but, likewise, that he had been 
or%inally intended for the church. 
** Bather, I should suppose, for the stee* 
pier replied her royal I 


On her kavinff opened a Gtrle te me, 

ivKt «ach a form, with wiMt «f Mid. 

And wreaths of roaes, I ^aO set 
Wait my last moments, and unfold 

'fhe gates of Paradtseto mel 
Heaven spealcs in signs. The watery bow. 

To banish fear fpom«artfa t 


The celebrated Dr. Franklin, of Ame. 
rica, once received a very useful lesson 
from the excell^t Dr. Cotton Mather, 
which he thus relates, in a letter to his 
son. Dr. S. Mather, dated Pessev. 31ay 
12th, 1781. " The last time I saw yow 
fether was in 1724. On taking my leave, 
shewed me a shorter way out of tihe 
house by a nanow passage, which was 
crossed by a beam over Jiead. We wer^ 
still talking as I withdrew, he accompa- 
nying me behind and I turning towards 
him, when he said hastily * Stoop, 
stoop!* I did not understand him till I 
found my head hit against the beam. He 
was a man who never missed an opportu- 
nity of giving instruction ; and upon this 
he said to me, < You are young, and 
have the world before you : l^on to stoop 
as you go through it, and you will miss 
many hard thumps I' This advice, thus 
beat into my head, has frequentiy been of 
use to me; and I often think of it when 
I see pride mortified, and misfortunes 
bcought upon people by their cairyimr 
Aeir heads too higL" ^^ 

— — — ..._u •»••• trviMM »M» »D waS'^iTeo J 
And ihou Maria, to foreshow 
The beauty that inhabits Heaven ! 


fixvBEK RouzT, of Virginia, was in- 
debted to General Washington about one 
Aousand pounds. While he was Presi- 
dent ot the United States, one of his 
agents brought an action fbrihe money— 
i.,A jgjj^ ^^ obtained— 4md oxecution 

issued a^dnst the body of die defendant, 
who was taken to jail, flchadaeonsidflr. 
«ble hmded estate, but thisrluBd of pro- 

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peapty ciOUidt ht sold in VireSnia for 
debts, unless At the discretion of the pro- 
prietor. He had a large family, and for 
the sake of his childmi, preferred lying 
in jail to selling his liuid. A friend 
hinted to him, that, perhaps General 
Washington did not know any thing of 
the proceeding, and that it might be 
vrell to send him a petition, with a state- 
mentof his circumstances. He did so, 
and the very next post from Philadelphia 
(after the arrival of his petition in that 
city), brought him an order for his im. 
mediate release, together with a fiill dis- 
charge, and a severe reprimand to the 
agent for having acted in such a manner. 
Poor Rouzy was in consequence restored 
to his family, who never laid down their 
heads at nieht without presenting prayers 
to heaven fpr their '^ beloved Washing, 
ton.*' Providence smiled upon the labours 
of the gratefid family, and in a few yean 
Rouzy enjoyed the exquisite pleasure of 
being able to lay the one thousand pounds 
with the intetest, at the feet of this truly, 
truly great man. Washington reminded 
him that the debt was discharged. Rouzy 
replied, the debt of his faimly to the 
Father of their country, and preserver of 
their parent, could never be discharged ; 
and the General to avoid the pleasing 
importunity of the grateful Virginian, 
who would not be denied, accepted the 
money — only, however, to divide it 
among Rouzy*s children, which he did 
immediately. Axd&ew. 


(For the Mirror,) 

Miu Editor,-^ In Si^t Saviour's 
Church, Soudiwark, you will find the 
first twelve lines of the poem (in your 
last Mirror) entitled " Man." They 
compose an epitaph upon Richard Hum- 
ble, nis two wives and children, which 
PennflDt calls a pretty and moral inscrip- 
tion. This church is filled with reli^, 
bat now fast decaying, and there the con- 
tcmpiad ve lokerer may pass in pleasing 
reverie many an hour. P. T. W. 



CRALDROfra three, youMl pleiiBe to send. 
To an old and constant friend : 
Mind yon let the mettsure lack. 
Half al}a8hel in each sack. 
Fori never like to see. 
Honest ttieunne Kent to me. 
Please to send some tiles and atones, 
B r ote c n phrtes, and Imobs, and honn, 
Iiestthe coak should be too cood* 
And consume as fast as wood. 
Bid your men pick out the small 
Coah, and dust, and send 'em all : 

Then when mixM with briekt and slatM, 
please me well in pollsh'd grates. 
Let your ticket bear a name. 
Whence the diamonds never came ; 
. And the rojrue who metes 'em swear. 
That my measure's full and fair. 
Don't forget to charge enough 
For your Toad of parery stuff. 


Take of nitrated silver, t. e, lunar caus- 
tic, five scruples; hest gum arabic, six 
scruples; sap green, one scruple; fresh 
rain water (boiled) two table spocmsfuL 

Dissolve the gum arabic and sap green 
in the water ; then add the lunar caustic, 
which should be previously rubbed to 

Keep the ink in a phial with a glass 


Take of caustic soda (marine or mineral 
fixed alkali, natron), one ounce; to be 
dissolved in four table spoonsfiil of boH. 
ing rain water. To be kept in a well- 
stopped phiaL 


With the Preparatory Liquid, by mebns 
of a feather or a camel*s-hair bru A, wet 
that part of the linen on which the Per- 
manent Ink is to be used. When it is 
quite dzy, rub it smooth with the bowl 
of a table spoon, and, with a common 
pen, write with the ink, but on such part 
of die Imen only as has been wetted with 
the soda solution. Expose it to the air 
for a few minutes ; and if it be when the 
sun can shine on it, the blackness will be 

The above quantity of the ink is suffi- 
cient for the usual purposes of a family 
of five or six persons for seven years. 


Take gum-ammoniac, one drachm ; assa- 
foetida, half-a-drachm ; dissolved and 
mixed in six ounces of penny-royal 
water ; add to this mixture half an ounce 
of syrup of safiWrn, and take two spoonsful 
twice or thrice a day. 

*'1. am but a Gatherer and disposer of other 
men's stuff." — PFotton, 


Addressed to n Ymm§ Lady who Vftm 
going to be married to a Mr. Grey, 

Thy beauteous graces oft I've told. 

No fairer form than thine, 
Tresses mmre rich in flowing gold, 

^o eyes of brighter shine. 

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"WTiere arc thy blooming graces sped ? 

My spirits droop sway, 
With aU thy virgin graces fled, 

To see the turning GRAY. 

was living at Crendon when Aubrey firtt, 
went to Oxford, which was about the 
year 1642. 


(For the Mirror.) 
Oh Maria, Maria, the sprmg is advan- 

All nature is blooming, birds sing on each 
spray ; 

How blest should I be with a form so 

And a heart like your own on sweet Va- 
lentine's day. 

The thought how extatic my love to dis- 

To you, dearest maid, and St. Val to 
declare it ; 

In thy bosom to place, 1 wou'd offer a 

With a promise the thorns should ne er 
rankle or tear it. 

But if you shou*d doubt me and place no 

Oh pluck not the rose from the stfem of 
the tree : 

But leave it to wither, and drop leaf by 
leaf, ^ ^ 

As a punishment due for its falsehood to 
thee. ^ — ^ 

Latoue Mauboueg lost his leg at the 
battle of Leipsic After he had suffered 
amputation with the greatest courage, he 
saw his servant crying, or pretending to 
cry, in the comer of the room. " None 
of your hypocritical tears, you idle dog," 
said his master; " you imow you are 
very glad, for now you will have only one 
boot to clean instead of two." 


Beauties and faults so thick lie buried 

Those I could read, if these were not so 



Why all not faults, injurious Mitchell, 

Appear? one beauty, to thy blasting eye ? 

The Professor of Hebrew at Oxford, 
frequently made mention of " radical 
words." After the sermon two bed 
makers were walking together out of the 
church, when one was neard'to observe, 
" I say, Jack, how he touched up the 
Radicals, didn't he ?" 


(For the Mirror,} 

*ro call the folks to church in time 

I chime ; 
When mirth and pleasure's on the wmg 

WTien from the body parts the soul 

I toll. 

The industrious Aubrey tells us, that 
Shakspeare took the humour of the Con- 
suble, Dogberry, in Much Ado about 
Nothing, from an actual occurrence which 
happened at Crendon, in Bucks, during 
one of the poet's journeys between Strat- 
ford and London, and tliat the Constable 


To the Editor of the Mirror. 
Sib,— The Guard of the Exeter and 
Plymouth coach leaves London (we 
will suppose) on Monday evening,^ he 
arrives at Exeter on Tuesday evening, 
starts for Plymouth on Wednesday morn- 
ing, and reaches it the same evening. 
Leaves for London on Thursday morn- 
ing, and arrives in Bull and Mouth 
street on Friday evening 

He has been absent from London four 
days and four nights, during which time 
he has travelled fowr hundred and forty^ 
four mUes, and rested two nights and one 
day. This he continues to do eveiy four 
days, or about ninety-one times m the 
course of a year, amounting in that time 
to forty thousand four hundred nUles and 
upwards. ,. , v 

There are guards now on the road who 
have held then* situations upwards of ten 
years, and during that time fallowing for 
illness and other casualties J they must 
each have travelled the astonishing ntun- 
ber of four hundred and four tfiousand 
miles. A. B. 

Sbv^ual articles given to the Printer for inser- 
tion this weelt are unavoidably deferred to our 
next. . 

Alphew was received. . , ,, - 

T. E. Cooper shall be heard in behalf of 
British Seamen. If he turns to the article be 
will find it was not original, but part of the 
Soirit of Public Journals. 

• PHnted and Published by J. LIMBIRD» 
143, Strand, (near Somerset HouuJ andsoM 
by alt Newsmen and Booksellers^ 

Digitized by VjOOQIC 

C|)c Mivtm 



No. rxXIV.] SATURDAY, MARCH 13, 1824. 

[Price 2d. 

mmtua «l9^abn for tfyt fitof onK fiundi. 

I V our last mtmber, we gave an intereeU 
ing article on the subject of educating the 
Deaf and Dumb ; and we now add from 
the same correspondent, an Explanation 
of the Finger^ or Manual Alphabet, with 
an engraving. 
Vol. in. M 

Sin, — The yerj name of one born 
Deaf and Dumb, to a person unac 

auainted with the system of educating 
bem, conveys an idea painful in the 
extreme, but wheo explained how simple 

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and easy it appears. The reasons for 
it are so clear, that it is astonishing men 
of moderate education, who can hear and 
see, should not conceive of themselves^ 
the moment the subject is mentioned, 
that their eyes have been the prindpal 
means by wnich they were taught The 
Deaf having their sight, are as capable of 
comprehending a language as we are. 

The Manual, or Finger Alphabet, of 
which we give an engraving, should first 
be taught the Deaf and Dumb ; and as 
soon as the child has acquired a perfect 
knowledge of the Alphabet, and can tell 
each letter as well printed as by his fin- 
gers, by placing the letters D, O, G, (or 
any other word,) then by showing the ani- 
mal, the child's eyes convey to his mind 
the same nodon of the animal signified, 
and wiUi equal certainty as the sound we 
give the letters, dees in our heads through 
our wrs. I have lately met with a letter 
on the subject, written so long since as 
1662, by the great philanthrophist Dr. 
Wallis of Oxford, to Mr. Beverley, from 
which letter alone and the Manual Alpha- 
net, so many mutes have been taught. I 
am induced to send you an extract from 
it, confident as I am that an insertion of 
it in your widely circulated and respect- 
able publication, will be the means of 
affording relief to the minds of many 
parents who may have a child thus born, 
when they see how simple and easy it is to 
instruct a mute, and that they are capable 
of being taught not only a language, but 
the bless^ truths of Christianity. 

After reading an extract which we 
shall give in our next, none but sceptics 
will be found to deny, that the Deaf and 
Dumb can be as well eiducated by parents 
or common schoolmasters, as at the Asy- 
lums established for the purpose. 


(To the Editor of the Mirror,) 

Siu, — Permit me to offer a word or two, 
through your next number, in answer to 
the inquiry of your correspondent, " I. 
Sam Wely," respecting the " Arms of 
Wales," though 1 regret that I cannot 
speak quite decidedly on the subject. 
That armorial bearings were known to 
the Cymry^ or natives of Wales, at a 
very remote period, is to be proved from 
the office of Arwyddvardd^ or Herald- 
bard, which existed under the Druidical 
Institution. Originally, this person per- 
formed the part of a Herald at Arms, 
by bearing a flag of truce between con- 
tending armies, on which occasion he ge- 
nerally wore a white dress, to denote the 

sacredness or purity of his character. In 
after ages, ma duties were to pourtray 
arms, to draw out pedigrees, and to re- 
gister all family occurrences of impor- 
tance. Hence uie accuracy, with which 
the Welsh genealogies and other domestic 
records have been preserved from the 
earliest times. It is certain, therefore, 
that coat armour was conunon in Wales 
many centuries ago. The founders of 
the Five Royal Tribes of Wales, and of 
the Fifteen Tribes of North Wales had 
their peculiar armorial bearings, and 
some of these personages lived as early as ; 
the ninth century. But I do not think 
there ever were any arms peculiar to - 
Wales as a nation ; and this may have 
been owing to the turbulent and divided 
state of the oountnr which was sddom, 
if ever, united under one dominion fbr 
ten years together. 

If I may be allowed to pass, for a 
moment, " from grave to gay," I would 
admit with your correspondent, that 
Apollo, to a certainty, was never in 
Wales, notwithstanding that Wales has 
her Parnassus as weU as Greece.* But 
the fact is, (if I must confess it) that the 
Welsh bards and classical deities were 
never on terms of familiarity, not even 
as speaking acquaintance. The former, 
on (lie contrary, were under no obl^ation 
to any celestial worthies whatever, but, 
like Arachne, drew all their resoarees 
from themselves, and invoked only their 
own Awen.-f I know no exception to 
this practice. — By the bye, I may here 
observe, en passant^ that there were no 
bards " slaughtered " by Edward. ^ is 
but justice to the memory of that prince, 
to remove this blot from his character. 
The popular notion on the subject had its 
origin, no doubt, in the well known 
effusion of Gray. 

I heartily concur in the wish expressed 
by your correspondent, that " Apollo," 
although an alien, " might shine out in 
Wales " in the form of a novel-writer, to 
emulate the far-famed Sir Walter. But. 
where is the Cambro-Briton, who shall 
have the hardihood to say to that, re- 
doubtable knight, in the words of the 
celebrated It^an, *•'' Jo anchi sono pit' 
tore f " Venedota. 

March S, 1824. 

• This is Cader Tdris, in Mi^rioncthshire, 
alluded to in my last letter, of which the tra- 
dition of the country relates, that whoeyer falls 
asleep on its summit infallibly awakes a poet. 
How often the experiment has been itiad!eiam ^ 
not now prepared to say. 

•f ,4toen means poetical genius or inspiration, 
and it is not very improbable, that it may have 
formed the root of ^onidett one of the names 
of the Muses. If so, these ladies may have 
had more to do with Wales than 1 have above 

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From Selina Countess of HunMngdon^ 
to the Rev. Wm, Dodd, 

yoH, andevi^ cause yon to glory In tri* 

May you thus rejoice in ^e truth and 

El^e foUowing letter has been put mto ^^ ^* S?* Tou haye so long 

our hands by a friend; we know not !^l^,'ilJ^«H ^ °^^' ""^^ ^ 

^ethe?. it 1^ CTcr speared in print^ TZIJL TL "mLT ^avwrnr^ grace 

but of its being «nuiS%md authentic, ill"^*!!;,^^^*^ tT^ *^^ 

we areconTinlC w we are that it will !^?? J^ntT^iT*** . *? ^^I? ^"^ 

be highly acceptable to our numerous £i^*P?Si\f t T?*.."'''^^^^ "^ 

read«S. "^There is no date to the letter, fc^* ''L^^^ ^^"^ ^3^ ^ 

but it is evident that it was written afte^ ^^^"'^l^^T'^ ""^ """^ ^ ^^"^ 

the reverend divine had committed the ^»*; Should he answer die affectionate 

crune for which he suffered, and, indeed, ^ ^. Xt^ T'^'f^I ^^^i^ /"* 

after his condemnation. Dr. D^dd was ?^V»°d ™t arm of mfinite consohition 

tried at the Old Bailey, Feb. 24, 1777, 
for forging a bond in the name of die 
Sari of Oiesterfield, and was executed 
on the 27th of June in the same year. 

be stKtehed out for your strength and 
eternal blessedness, how little will Ae 
appendages appear which to mere suffer- 
mg natuitt are so bitter; and how thank* 
fully will you see justice and mercy thus 
^ „ ^ ^ . ^ °>®* together and mixed in that cup, so 

KEY. Sib,— From the first h^^nng of severe i» the eyes of others, or should 
TOUT unfortunate situation, I could not the tender oompassioBS of royal meit^ ba 
look for any less supplies of support and extended to save fiiom the present sufifer- 
comfort for you, than to him who chose ing hour, yet hi life, <» in the more 
for our sakes to be numbered widi trans- remote event of death, tliis grace only 
gressors. You are master of every ra- must be the one cwisfr of praise, through 
tional and scriptural argument, and ia tune and eternity, for you. It is this I 
this perhaps, inferior to few. And I would most . kflfectionately recommend 
eamestlv pray God that these may have you day and night. And it is in him 
their place and times of consolation for who is able to do abundantly above al! 
you. But reason, Sur, or the wisest con- we can ask or think, I would wish to 
durions drawn from even twith itself leave you, and b^ to remain a sympa* 
neither removes the stings of guih, nor thizin^ friend, and Reverend Sir ywaf 

possess the soul with that peace, which 
ever surpasses the best informed under^ 
standing. O ! no, nothing but that voice 
•f Almighty power, that spoke from thf 
cross to your suffering companion there. 
Can be your point now ; and we all Uke 
him, must pass sentence upon ourselveS) 

humble servant, S. Huntingdon. 

LiTHOO&APHT, the art of printing 
from stone was first discovered in the year 

. . -, ^ « 1800,« bv Aloys Senefelder, a performer 

and say, we mdeed receive the due reward of one 01 the German Theatres, who ob- 

of our deeds; how soon then the welcome served that calcareous stones had the 

request. Lord remember me, &c. reached - - 
the heart of our divine ' " 

speedy the reUef ; how L _^ ^^^ ^^ _^ ^^^^ ^^ ,^ 

plete the comfort. The meaning of my was possible to obtain a series of impres- 
nrayers and tears for your grie^ would sions. He thus became the inventor of 
have no other knguage, but, " Go and the Lithographic art, which has excited 
do thou likewise." Forgive and do not so much curiosity lately by the specfanens 
wonder you should find my views so imported from Germany and France. 
lunited as this seems for your only relief. The stones made use of are principally 
Were life extended to its latest possible found in Bavaria, they possess rather a 
period, the alone solid or well grounded lime quality, are exceedingly hard, at 
hope of happiness must subsist purely the same time porous. The surface of 
by this interior blessing, as makmc the the stone being ground level with fine 
little good we have on earth have all its sand until a grain appears, it is sent 
safety, and all the various evils of a to the artist, who with a chalk com- 
paiserable world, wisely or rationally sup- posed principally of grease, makes the 
ported by it. Thus every thing unites to drawing on the surface similar to draw- 
render the importunity ef your suffering ing on paper. He has nothing more to 
heart, the happy subject of this mercy. •"^-^ — '^ " > .. . 
This mercy once obtained will bear you 
through the fluctuating emotions, and 
various views of life and death, which so 
immediately and naturally operate upon 
M 2 

perform but send it to the" printer, 
who throws a solution of about one 

• The art has heen but few years in ffenerol 
use in England, and not till very lately any 
great improvements made. 

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twentieth part of acid with water over 
the whole surface, when a fermenta- 
tion taJces place and fixes the drawing 
sufficiently strong to allow of as many as 
^000 impressions to be taken from it. 
it is then fixed in the press made ex- 
fnressly for this art, and charged with the 
printing ink, which ^being composed of 
nearly the same materials as the chalk,^ 
only adheres (while the stone is kept wet) 
to the drawhig, the impression is produced 
by a scraper, which is drawn over the 
surface, and thus by wetting the stone 
every impression, and charging the same, 
the stone is able to take so many im- 
pressions ; if it is an ink drawing, up- 
wiurds of double the number may be taken, 
provided care and attention is paid. 

The great progress which this art is 
making in this country, and the curiosity 
it has excited, has induced me to lay the 
above sketch for your inspection, hoping 
you will give it room in your valuable 
miscellany as soon as possible. X. Z. 


HBARD yoa yon pibroch sound sad in the gale. 
Where a band cometh slowly with weeping and 

wail ; 
Tis the chief of Glenara laments for his dear. 
And her sire, and the people, are call'd to the 


Glenara came first with tl^e mourners and 

Her kinsmen they foUow'd, but moum*d not 

aloud ; 
Their plaids o*er their bosoms were folded 

They march'd all in silence— they look'd on the 


In silence they reached over mountain and moor. 
To a heath where the oak tree grew lonely and 

Now here let us place the grey stone of her 

Why speak ye no word I' — said Glenara the 


'And tell me I charge ye t ye clan of my spouse, 

* Why fold ve your mantles, why cloud ye your 

brows r 
So spake the rude chieftain — no answer is made, 
But each mantle unfolding, a dagger display'd. 

1 dreamt of my lady, I dreamt of her shroud,* 
Cried a voice from the kinsmen, all wrathful 

and loud.; 

• And empty that shroud, and that coffin did 

Glenara I Glenara ! now read me my dream I' 

O pale grew the cheek of that chieftain,! ween. 
When the shroud was unclos'd and no lady was 

When a voice from the kinsmen, spoke louder 

in scorn, 
nVas the youth who had lov'd the fair Ellen 

of Lome.) 

dreamt of my lady, I dreamt of her grief, 
dreamt that her lord was a barbarous chief. 
On a rock of the ocean fair Ellen did seem, 
Glenara I OlenaT* now read me my dream.' 

In dust low the traitor bat knelt to the grottnl, 
And the desert reveal'd, where his lady wat 

From a rock of the ocean that beauty is borne. 
Now joy to the house of fair Ellen of Lome. 




(For the Mirror.) 

SwBBT girls shall I tell ye the way to get 
married ? 
**0 yes, to be sure. Sir," — methinksyou ex- 
claim ; 
** *T1s a iea$f we confess tiiat our wishra are 
" And why not ? — pray where is the wonder 
or blame ?" 

Lovely dears, neither wonder nor blame need 

'Tis the rights of your sex, (one and all) to 

love man I 
Who wa%born to protect, not to injure or sliji^t 

And therefore get married as soon as yoa 

And yet, shall I tell you the way to allure him ? 
Then give up some whims, little fancies aM 
Lay your bait-hooks with care, if you hope to 
secure him. 
And spread not too freely, yuarwt>e« and 

Tho' your lips like two spell-nets, are pr^nant 
with kisses. 
Those lips can for trifles, too frequently 
vont ! 
Tho* your eyes like two diamonds, sparkle with 
Those eyes (anayouknow it,) can/rown be- 
yond doubt. 

Then your tongues, pretty tongues I which can 
talk so endearing, 
(0 yes I and can sting too, whenever they 
please I) 
Let me beg you to keep now and then, out of 
And give up a little, that power — to teax6! 

Sweet creatures remember to keep him in 
The man that adores you. must now and 
then rule I 
For though to your beauty and charms, we are 
Jlffectation and pride may tKe warmest 
heart cool. 

** Well, then," you may say, « Mr. Censor, pray 
teUus, *^ ' 

** What is it you want us in reason to do ?" 
•• What is it?»»— I'll tell ye, and be not too jea- 
The task is most easy, yes, easy for yon. 
Let smiles and good nature be ever about ye. 

And be not too often, hy flattery carried ; 
Shew this, and proud man, no, he canUlive 
without ye! 
And /Am dearest girls, is the way to get 
married, Ux opi a . 


The practice of Huskanawing was » 
solemnity which formerly tooK place 
among the Indians in Virginia, once. 

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every ftmrteen or sixteen ^cacrs. It 
was an institution or discipline that all 
young men must pass und^ before they 
could be admitted to be of the number of 
great men, officers, or cockarouses of 
the nation. The following is the manner 
in which it was done : — 

The choicest and briskest young men 
of the tribe, and such only as have ac- 
quired some treasure by their travels and 
hunting, are chosen out bv their rulers 
to be Huskanawed^ and whoever refuses 
to undeiso this raocess, dares not remain 
among them. The ceremony is perform- 
ed after the following manner: — After 
the performance of several odd prepara- 
tory ceremonies, the principal part of the 
business is to carry them into the woods 
and there to keep them under confinement 
and destitute of all society for sevoal 
months, giving them no other sustenance 
but the infusion or decoction of some 
poisonous intoxicating roots; by virtue 
of which physic, and tiie severity of the 
discipline which tiiey undergo, they be- 
come stark mad: in which raving con- 
dition they are kept eighteen or twenty 

buring this time, they are shut up 
night and day in a strong indosure made 
on purpose, in shape like a sugar loaf, 
and every way open like a lattice, for tlie 
air to pass through. After shutting them 
up in this cage ml the doctors find they 
have drank sufficiently of the Wyaocean^ 
{tA they call this mad potion) they gra- 
Gually restore tiiem to their senses, by 
lessening the intoxication of their diet, 
and then bring them back into the town, 
whilst still wild and crazy, through the 
violence of the medicine. 

The undergoing this discipline is, 
with them, the most meritorious thing 
in order to preferments to the greatest 
posts in the nation, which they daim as 
tiieir undoubted right at the next pro- 

The ItkUaru pretended that this vio- 
lent method of taking away their me- 
mory, is to release the youth from idl 
childish impressions, and from that 
strong partiality to persons and things 
which is contracted before reason takes 

They hoped by this proceeding toroot out 
all the prepossessions and unreasonable 
prejudices which are fixed in the minds 
of children; so that the young men 
when they come to themselves again, may 
use their reason freely without being 
biassed by custom. "" 

Thus also they become discharged from 

the remembrances of any ties of blood, 

and are established in a state of equality 

and perfect freedom, to order their actions 

M 3 

and dispose of their persons without any 
other control than that of the law of 
nature. Historicus. 

Bermondaey^ May 5, 1823. 



In the smiling mQrn of Spkino, 
When the woods were fresh and green : 
And the wild-birds, round did sing. 
Like the Genii of the scene ; 
Then, my heart, was woo*d and won*. 
Then, its sweetest hopes begun 1 

When the Summer's glaring ray, 
Wak'd to life the opening flowen ; 
And the glorious Ood ofday, 
Smil'd upon, the new-deck'd bowers ; 
Then, my bosom's fluttering guest, 
Own'd itself, too sweetly btest I 

When rich Autumn's golden hue, 
Gleam'd upon the ripened com ; 
And a milder lustre threw. 
O'er the blushes of the mom ; 
Then, my heart's best hopes betray'd. 
Like Autumnal leaves did fade I 

When cold WiNTBa'a icy breath. 
Froze the stream, and stript the spray ; 
And the chilling hand of Death, 
Swept the llng'rihg birds away ; 
Then, my heiut's fond hopes all o'er, 
Wither'd, sunk, to bloom no more I 


It is not as in England, where, when an 
article is offered for sale, it is immediately 
purchased, or at once rejected as being 
too dear, but here there is along haggling 
and cheapening of every artide succes- 
sively offered. The relation of my trans- 
actions with a man, will serve to shew 

the general mode of doing business He 

bids me call again, which I do several 
times without doing any thing. He 
wishes to be the last I do with, but aU 
cannot be last^ and aU have wished to be 
ao. After a few days I get him to pro- 
ceed to business ; he objects to the price 

of the article I offer — he will not buy ^ 

try to induce him, but do not offer xm 
nuke any reduction. Says he, '^ You are 
over dear, Sir ; I can buy the same gudes 
ten per cent, lower : if ye lik to tak aff 
ten per cent. I'll tak some of these." I tel 
him that a reduction in price is quite out 
of the question, and put mv sample ot 
the article aside ; but the Scotchman wants 
it—" Weel, Sur, it's a terrible price, but 
as I am oot oMt at present, 1*11 just tak 
a little till I can be supplied cheaper, but 
ye maun tak aff five per cent." " But, 
Sir," says I, " would you not think me 
an unconscionable knave to ask ten or even 
five per cent, more tlum I intended to 
take ?" Ae laughs at me — " Hoot, hoot, 
man, do ye expec to get woatye^askl 
Gude Lord, an was . I able . co get .half 

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whatIask,Iinmld8oonberich.Come, gcrili^5 to your Wl'U gang wi ye and 

^;, ?Ugieyewithintwa«iahalfof t«k a glaaB of wine.'* 

your ain price, and gude laith, !nan. yc'll - 

be weU paid." I teU hkn that 1 nevsr 
make any reduction from the price I first 



(Concluded from our last.) 

count-4«y siller without discount ; na, 
na, Sir, that's not the way here ye maun 
deduct five per cent." I tell him that I 
make no discount at all : " Weel, Sir, 
I'll gie ye nae money at a'." Rather than 
go without a settlement, I at last agree to 
take off two and a half per cent, from the 
amount, whidi is accwrdingly deducted. 

demand, and that an adherence to the rule 

saves much trouble to both parties. 

« Weel, weel," says he, " since yon 

maun hae it a' your ain way, I maun e'en 

take the article; but really I think you 

are over keen." So much for buying and About eight o'clock on evwy Jf^nOay 

selling: then comes the settlement. " Hoo evening, during the season, (fiw 1 ^aKU^ 

mucUe discount do you tak aff, Sir:" youthedty has its seasons--" a N^gw 

" Discount ! you cannot expect it ; the has a soul, your Honour,") a laacge nuas 

account has been standing a twelve- of hackney-coaches may be seen plying 

month." *' Indeed, but I do expec dis- about die purlieus of Cheapade, ttie same 

'• having been hired to convey our oty 

fashionables to the scene of feslivily. 
Dancing commences predsely v& nine^ 
and the display of jewels would not dk- 
credit the pansh of Marykbone. The 
large room with the mirror at the lomsx 
toS. is devoted to quadrilles. Walt»t 

uuuiiv, w-«^ » . o-^ were at first proscribed, as foreigii. Mid 

I have ten shillings doon against ye for consequendy indecent : but duee m tht 
short measure, and fifteen shillings for six Miss Robertses discovered accid^* 
damages." " Indeed diese are heavy tally one morning, while two of die othei 
deductions ; but if you say that you shaU three were tormenting poor Mozart mto 
lose to that amount, I suppose that I must an undulating see-saw on die pboo, diat 
allow it." " Oh, aye, its a right then, diey waltzed remarkably wdL Thcr^ 
Sir, eight shillings and four-pence for thenceforward was less rigidly eofcnnoed. 
pack sheet, and thirteen shillings for car- Yet still the practice is rather scouted b? 
riage and postage." These last items the more sober part of the c oimn nn it y. 
astonish me: "What, Sir," says I, " are Lady Brown bridles, and heartily regrett 
we to pay all die charges in your busi- that such filthy doings are not coi^^^ 
ness ?" But if I do not allow these to be to Paris : while Lady Simms dianks Ood 
taken off, he will not pay his account ; so diat her daughter never danced a single 
I acquiesce, resolving within myself, that waltz in die whole course of her life, 
since these unfair deductions are made at This instance of self-denial ought to be 
settlement, itwould be quite fair to charge recorded, for Miss Simms's 1^ kg is 
an additional price to cover die extortion, shorter than her right. Nature evidendy 
I now congratulate mysetf on having meant her for a waltzer of die first water 
concluded my business with the man, but and magnitude, but philosophy has ope- 
am disappointed. " Hae ye a stawmpe," rated upon her as it did upon Socntet. 
asks he ; "A stamp, for what ?" ^^ Just There is a young broker named Garfeer, 
to draw ye a bill," replies he : ^' A hill, who has no very extensive connexion, in 
my good Shr ; I took off two and a half Mark-lane, but he has notwithstandhig 
per cent, on the faiih of being paid in contrived to waltz himself into msubserip- 
ca^." But he tells me it is me custom tion. He regularly takes out Haniet 
of the place, to pay in bilk, and sits Roberts, and, aftor swinging with her 
down and draws me a biU at three months round the room till the youi^ woman k 
after date, payable at his own shop. "And sick and front, he performs m like £eat 
what can I do with diis ?" " Oh, ye may with Jane Roberts, and successively with 
tak it to Sir William's, and he'll dis- Betsy. The exhibitor of samples, when 
«ount it for you, on paying him three this is well over, is as giddy as a goose, 
months interest ;" " and what can I do He therefore retires to ta& m litde lm:adi; 
with his notes ?" *' Hell gk ye a bill but in about ten minutes letums to the 
in London at forty-five days." So, Sir, large apartment like a giant refreshed, 
after allowing you twelve months credit, diaps hu hands, calk oat " Zitd iltti'* 
and two and a half per cent discount, and to die leader of the band, and starts afroh 
norbitant charges which you have no with Lucy, Charlotte, and Jenoiina Ro- 

' in three consecutive quadrilles. 

claim on us to pay, I must be content 
with a bill whkm we are not io cash for 
fe« mondis and a half. " Wed, wed, 
ml now. Sir," says he. *« If yos are 


The pertinacity of thk young man is 
indeed prodigious. When the 

p e ri en o ed quadiiBers are bowled out cf 

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the r!ng, he may be seen 8|>iBiuiig by 
himself, like an Arabian Dervise. He is 
no great beauty, his head being several 
d^rees too big for his body; but this 
disproportion does not extend further, 
for Lady Roberts says there is not a better 
hearted young man in all Portsoken 
Ward. According to the rules of the 
establishment, nobody is admitted after 
ten o'clock, except gentlemen of the com- 
mon council: their senatorial duties are 
paramount. About three Fridays ago an 
odd incident occurred. One Mrs. Fer- 
guson and her daughter alighted at the 
outer door from a very dean hackney- 
coach, delivered her caid to Mr. Willis, 
and swept majestically past the grating 
up stairs into the ball-room. On a more 
minute inspection of the document, it was 
discovered to be a forgery. VHiat was to 
be done ? The mother was sitting under 
the mirror, and the daughter was dancing 
for dear life. Lady Simms, Mrs. Wells, 
and Miss Jones (three make a quorum) 
laid their heads together, and the result 
was a civil message to Mrs. Ferguson, 
requesting her and her daughter to abdi- 
cate. Mrs. Ferguson at first felt disposed 
to " shew fight;" but, feeling the current 
too strong, had recourse to supplication. 
This was equally vain ; the rule was im- 

Ctive : indeed, according to Sir Ralph 
erts, as unalterable as the laws of me 
Sweeds and Stertions, The difference 
was at length split A young stock- 
broker of fashion had just driven up 
from Capel-court in a hackney cabriolet. 
Mamma was consigned to the pepper- 
and-salt coated driver of the vehicle ; and 
Miss Ferguson was allowed to dance her 
dance out. Lady Brown undertaking to 
drop her safe and sound in Friday-street 
in her way homeward, at the conclusion 
of the festivity. 

The managing committee meet monthly 
at the King's Head in the Poultry, pick- 
ing their road on a pavement strewed 
with live turtle, " with what appetite 
they may." Precisely at two o'clock Mr. 
Wfllis makes his appearance, with a 
large blue bag full of application cards, 
accompanied by proper certificates : these 
latter consist of the portrait of the candi- 
dates, a statement of their stature, age, 
&c Each of the female candidates sends 
also her right shoe, to exhibit the size of 
her foot. I doubt whether the latter cus- 
tom be any thing more than BrtUum 
Fulmen, For certain it is, that I have 
seen feet at Almack's on a Friday, that 
never could have passed the ordeal of 
criticism. The gravity with which claims 
are here discussed, would not discredit a 
meeting of Privy Coimcillors to debate 
on the Recorder's report. lAttle Miss 

Fifield was recently debated upon. Her 
residence in Bond-court, Walbrook, just 
placed her out of the select line, or at 
Lady Roberts denominated it, on the 
wrong side of the post; and the com. 
mittee were upon the point of passing to 
the order of the day, when Willis, with 
tears in his eyes, exclaimed, " liidies, 
have meicy upon her ; she is but young ; 
and her poor uncle, who is now dead and 
gone, kept the Grasshopper tea-shop, at 
5ie comer of Paul's Chain." The ap- 
peal was not to be resisted, and little Miss 
Fifield got her subscription. It would 
be unp^onable to omit mentioning aii 
incident, which, in the glorious days of 
immortal Rome, would have entitled our 
Lady Patronesses to six civic wreaths. 
The Lord Mayor of London, at the third 
meeting in last June, drove up to the 
door in his gorgeous private carriage, but, 
not having brought his ticket with him, 
his Lordship was refijsed admittance, 
and was constrained to finish the evening 
at half-price at the Tottenham-street 
Theatre. I have aheady mentioned the 
generating of a mass of disaffection in the 
excluded fauxbourgs. Lady Pontop, the 
wife of Sir Peter Pontop, a coal-merchant 
in Tower-royal, is among the loudest of 
these malcontents. This lady, who has 
been nicknamed the City Duchess, has 
been heard to utter threats about ^^ knock- 
ing up Almack's," and mutters some- 
thing about establishing a rival concern. 
The Ladv Patronesses, however, laugh 
to scorn these s3anptoms of rebellion, and 
say that Cheapside has not lived to these 
days in comfort and credit, to be bearded 
by Tower-royal ! A slight accident oc- 
curred last Friday se'nnight, which might 
have been attended with heavy effects. 
Young Carter, the broker, was quadiil- 
ling with Jemima Roberts : he had passed 
the ordeal of the Mount Ida step, wnerein 
the shepherd is destined to foot it several 
seconds with three rival goddesses, and 
had looked as stiff and as sheepish as 
yoimg men usually do at that effort, 
when he came suddenly and unexpectedly, 
dos-a-dos^ against huge Miss Jones, who, 
though denominated a single woman, 
would make three of the or£nary size of 
the softer, part of the creation. The 
consequences were obvious: the lady, 
weighty and elastic, stood firm as a rock, 
and " the weakest went to the wall," 
young Carter, the slender broker, being 
precipitated head-foremost against the 

Before the conclusion of the evening's 
diversion, the ladies and their partners 
walk the Polonaise round the room. Last 
Friday evening the order of march was 
suddenly impeded. Miss Donaldson, the 

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grocer's daughter, having insisted upon 
taking the precedence of Miss Jackson, 
whose father sells Stiltons, tiiat mock the 


e with the semblance of pine-apples, at 
te comer of St. Swithin*s-lane. The 
matter was referred to the Patronesses, 
who gave it in favour of Miss Jackson, 
inasmuch as, at dinner, cheese comes be- 
fore figs. I am aware that certain caustic 
tradesmen, who dwell eastward of the 
magic circle, are in the habit of throwing 
out sarcasms upon those who choose to go 
so far west in quest of diversion. '^ If 
you must have a ball," say these crabbed 
philosophers, '^ why not hold it at the 
liondon Tavern, or at the George and 
Vulture, Lombard-street ?" But surely 
this is bad reasoning. If the pilgrim 
glows with a warmer devotion from visit, 
ins the shrine of Loretto, well may a 
Miss Dawson or a Mr. Toms move with 
a lighter heel, when kicking up a dust 
upon the very same boards, which, on 
the Wednesday preceding, were jumped 
upon by a Lorn John or a Liady Arabella. 
New Monthly Magazine. 

POOR robin's propuect. 

Whbn girls prefer old lovers. 

When merchants scoff at gain. 
When Thurtell's skull discovers 

What passed in Thurtell's brain ; 
When farms contain no growlers. 

No pig-tall Wapping-wall, 
Then spread your lark-nets, fowlers. 

For sure the sky will fall. 

When Boston men love hanter. 

When loan-contractors sleep. 
When Chancery-pleadings canter. 

And common-law ones creep ; 
When topers swear that claret's 

Tlie vilest drink of all. 
Then, housemaids, quit your garrets. 

For sure the sky will fall. 
When Southey leagues with Wooller, 

When dandies shew no shape. 
When tiddlers* heads are fuller 

Than that whereon they scrape ; 
When doers turn to talkers. 

And Quakers love a ball. 
Then hurry home, street-walkers. 

For sure the sky will fall. 

When lads from Cork or Newry 

Won't broach a whisky flask. 
When comedy at Drury 

Again shall lift her mask ; 
When peerless Kitty utters 

Her airs in tuneless squall. 
Then, cats, desert your gutters. 

For sure the sky will fall. 

When worth dreads no detractor. 

Wit thrives at Amsterdam, 
And manager and actor 

Lie down like kid and lamb ; 
When bard with bard embraces. 

And critics cease to maul, 
Then, travellers, mend your paces 

For sure th? sky will fall. 

When am, who leave off barimw 

With butter-caps to play. 
Find in their heaas no disziness. 

Nor long for " melting day ;*• 
When cits their peit Mount-pleasants 

Deprive ofpoplars tall, 
Then, poachers, prowl for pheasants. 

For sure the sky win fall. IM. 


(From the German.) 

Is it a wonder — ^with his pelf; 

That Tom his fidends remembers not ? 

For friends are easily forgot 
By him who can forget himself. 

Here lies, thank God, a woman who 
Quairell*d and storm*d her whole life 

Tread genUy o'er her mouldering form. 
Or else you'll rouse another storm. 

EPITAPH ok a miser. 

Here lies old father Gripe, who never 

cried, '•^ Jam stttis^^'' 
'Twould wake him did he know you read 

his tomb-stone gratis. 

I never dine at home, said Harry Skinner; 
True! when you dine not out, you get 
no dinner. 

O lovely May ! thou art a kiss 
From heaven to earth, of nuptial bliss ; 
A kiss that hails a blushing bride, 
"Who soon shall feel a mother's pride. 

Thou addest daily to thy store thy gains. 
Will a gold fleece give to a sheep man 


He laid him down and slept — and ftom 
his side 
A woman in her magic beauty rose, 
Dazzled and charm'd he called that wo- 
num "bride," 
And his first sleep became his last 

A bishop's blessiko. 
With cover'd head, a country boor 
Stood, while the Bishop bless'd the poor— 
The mitred prelate lifted high 
His voice—" Take ofFyour hat"—" Not I 
Your blessing's little worth," he said, 
" If through Uiehat't wont reach the head." 

Of all Job lost, his history tells us plain, 
God gave bun doubled portionsback again, 
God did not take his pi2 guy wife — 'tis true, 
MTiat could the patif^nt man have done 
with tuio f 

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"We are indeltted for the following extraordU 
nary tale (for such we deem it, notwithstand- 
ing the credulity of the author) to a very 
clever work, just published, entitled Sajfingt 
and Doing»t from the pen of Mr. Theodore 

In the vicinity of Bedfoid.squaie lived 
a respectable and honest man, whose 
name the reader will be pleased to con- 
sider, Harding. He had married early; 
his wife was an exemplary woman ; and 
his son and daughter were grown into 
that companionable age, at which children 
repay, with their society and accomplish, 
ments, the tender cares which parents 
bestow upon their offspring in their early 

Mr. Harding held a responsible and re- 
spectable situation under tne Government, 
in an office in Somerset-House. His 
iicome was adequate to all his wants and 
ivishes ; his family was a family of love ; 
mid, perhaps, taking into consideration 
tfce limited desires of what may be fairly 
called middling life, no man was ever 
more contented, or better satisfied with 
his lot, than he. 

Maria Harding, his daughter, was a 
modest, unassuming, and interesting girl, 
full of feeling and gentleness. She was 
timid and retiring; but the modesty 
which cast down her fine black eyes, could 
not veil the intellect which beamed in 
them. Her health was by no means 
strong ; and the paleness of her cheek — 
too frequently, alas ! lighted by the hectic 
flush of our indigenous complaint — gave 
a deep interest to her countenance. She 
was watched and reared by her tender 
mother, with all the care and atteQtion 
which a being so delicate and so ill-suited 
to the perils and troubles of this world 

George, her brother, was a bold and 
intelligent lad, full of rude health and 
fearless independence. H is character was 
frequently the subject of his father's con- 
templation; and he saw in his disposi- 
tion, his mind, bis pursuits, and propen- 
sltics, the promise of future success in 
active life. 

With these children, possessing as they 
did the most enviable characteristics of 
tleir respective sexes, Mr. and Mrs. 
Harding, with thankfulness to Provi- 
deuce, acknowledged their happiness, and 
their perfect satisfaction with the portion 
assigned to them in tliis transitory world. 

Jnaria was about nineteen, and had, as 
natural, attracted the regards, and 

tnence gradualiv chained the afibctions, 
of a distant relative, whose ample for- 
tune, added to his personal and mental 
good qualities, rendered him a most ac- 
ceptable suitor to her parents, whidi 
Maria's heart silently acknowledged he 
would have been to hety had he been 
poor and pennyless. 

The faUier of this intended husband of 
Maria was a man of importance, pos- 
sessing much personal interest, through 
which, George, the brother of his intended, was to be placed in that 
diplomatic seminary in Downing-street, 
whence, in due time, he was to rise 
through all the grades of office, (which, 
with his peculiar talents, his fidends, and 
especially his mother, was convinced he 
would so ably fill,) and at last turn out 
an ambassador, as mighty and mysterious 
as my Lord Belmont, of whom I have 
had occasion to speak in another part of 
this collection of narratives. 

The parents, however, of young liang- 
dale and of Maria Harding were agreed, 
that there was no necessity for hastening 
the alliance between their families seeioff 
that the united ages of the couple, did 
not exceed thirty-nine years ; and seeing, 
moreover, that the elder Mr. Langdale, 
for private reasons of his own, wished his 
son to attain to the age of twenty-one 
before he married ; and seeing, moreover 
still, that Mrs. Langdale, who was little 
more than six-and-thirty years of age 
herself, had reasons, which she also meant 
to be private, for seeking to delay as much 
as possible, a ceremony, the result of 
which, in all probability, would confer 
upon her, somewhat too early in life fo 
be agreeable to a lady of her habits and 
propensities, the formidable title of grand- 

How curious it is, when one takes up 
a little bit of society, (as a geologist 
crumbles and twists a bit of eartn in nis 
hand, to ascertain its character and qua- 
lity,) to look into the motives and ma- 
nceuvrings of all the persons connected 
with it ; the various workings, the inde- 
fatigable labours, which all their little 
minds are undergoing to bring about 
divers and sundry lit£ points, perfectly 
unconnected with the great end in view ; 
but which, for private and hidden objects, 
each of them is toiling to carry. Nobody, 
but those who really understood Mrs. 
Langdale, understood why she so readily 
acquiesced in the desire of her husband 
to postpone the marriage for another 
twelvemonth. A stranger would have 
seen only the dutiful wife according with 
the sensible husband ; but I knew her, 
and knew that there must be more than 
met the eye, or the ear, in that sympathy 

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of feeling between her and Mr. TjungdaUi, 
which was not upon ordinary occasions 
80 evidently di^^layed. 

Like the waterman who pulls one way 
and looks another, Mrs. Langdale aided 
the entreaties and seconded the commands 
of her loving spouse, touching the sea- 
sonable delay of which I am speaking ; 
and it was agreed, that immediately after 
^e coming of age of Frederick Langdale, 
and not before, he was to lead to the 
hymeneal altar the delicate and timid 
Maria Harding. 

Theafl&irgotwhisperedabout; G(eorge*s 
fortune in Bfe was highly extolled — 
Maria*s excessive happiness prophesied 
by every body of their acquaintance ; and 
already had sundry younger ladies, daugh- 
ters and nieces of those who discussed 
these matters in divan after dinner, b^un 
to look upon poor Miss Harding with 
envy and maliciousness, and wonder what 
Mr. Frederick Langdale could see in her : 
she was proclaimed to be insipid, inani. 
mate, shy, bashful, and awkward ; nay, 
some went so fiur, as to discover that she 
was absolutely awry. 

Still, however, Frederick and Maria 
went loving on ; and their hearts grew as 
one ; so truly, so fondly were they at- 
tached to each other. George, who was 
somewhat of a plague to the pair of lovers, 
was luckily at Oxford, reading away till 
his head ached, to qualify himself for a 
d^ee, and the distant duties of the 
office whence he was to cull bunches of 
diplomatic laurels, and whence were to 
issue rank and title, and ribands and 
crosses innumerable. 

Things were in this prosperous state, 
the bark of life rolling gaily along before 
l3ie breeze, when Mr. Harding was one 
day proceeding from his residence, to his 
office in Somerset-place, and in passing 
along Charlotte-street, Bloomsbury, was 
accosted by one of those female gipsies 
who are found begging in the streets of 
the metropolis, and especially in the par- 
ticular part of the town in question : 
"*' Pray remember poor Martha the gipsy," 
said tne woman : '^ give me a haBpenny 
for charity, Sir." 

Mr. Harding was a subscriber to the 
Mendicity Society, an institution which 
proposes to check b^gary by the novel 
mode of giving nothing to the poor: 
moreover, he was a magistrate — moreover, 
he had no change ; and he desired the 
woman to go about her business. 

All availed him nothing ; she still fol- 
lowed him, and reiterated ^e piteous cry, 
" Pray remember poor Martha the gipsy." 

At length, irritated by the persever- 
ance of the woman — for even subordinates 
in Govenunent bate to be solicited im- 

portunately—Mr. Harding, ermtrxry to 
his usual custom, and contrary to the 
customary usages of modem society, 
turned hastily round and fulminated an 
oath against the supplicating vagrant. 

" Curse !" said Martha : " have I lived 
to this ? Hark ye, man — ^poor, weak, 
haughty man ! Mark me — look at me !" 

He did look at her ; and beheld a coun. 
tenance on fire with rage. A pair of eyes 
blacker than jet, and brighter than cQa. 
monds, glared like stars upon him ; her 
black hur dishevelled, hung over her 
olive cheeks ; and a row of teeth whiter 
than the driven snow displayed than* 
selves from between a pair of coral lips, 
in a dreadful smile, a ghastly sneer of 
contempt which mingled in her passion. 
Harding was riveted to the spot; and, 
what between the powerful fascination of 
her superhuman countenance, and the 
dread of a disturbance, he paused to listen 
to her. 

" Mark me. Sir," said Martha ; " yoa 
and I thaU. meet again. Thrice shdl 
you see me bef(»e you die. My visiting! 
will be dreadful; but the third wiU be 
the last!" 

There was a solemnity in this appeal 
which struck to his heart, coming as it did, 
<mly from a vagrant outcast. Passengexs 
were approaching ; and wishing, he kneir 
not why, to soothe the ire of the angry 
woman, he mechanically drew firom his 
pocket some silver, which he tendered to 

" There, my good woman — there," 
said he, stretching forth his hand. 

^^ Good woman !" retorted the hag. 
'^ Money now? I — ^I that have been 
cursed ? 'tis all too late, proud gentleman 
—the deed is done, the curse be now on 
you." Sayinff which, she tossed her 
ragged red cloak across her shoulder, and 
hurried firom his sight, across the street 
by the side of the Chapd, into the recesses 
of St. Giles's. 

Harding felt a most extraoidinary sen- 
sation : he felt grieved that he had spoken 
so harshly to the poor creature, and re- 
turned his shillings to his pocket widi 
r^;ret. Of course fear of the fulfilment of 
her predictions did not mingle with any of 
his feelings on the occasion ; and he jno- 
ceeded to his office in S<» 
and performed all the official duties «f 
reading the opposition newspapers, dis- 
cussing the leading politics of the day 
with the head of another department, and 
of signing his name three times, before 
four o'clock. 

Martha the gipsy, however, although 
he had poohpoched her out of his memory, 
would ever and anon flash acroM his 
nund ; h^ figure was indelibly atamped 

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upon his lecdlection ; and diough, of 
conne, as I before said, a man of his 
fimmess and intellect could care nothing, 
one way or another, lor the maledictions 
of an ignorant, illiterate being like a 
gmsy, still his feelings.~whence arising 
I Know not — ^prompted him to call a 
hackney-coadi, and proceed en voUure to 
his hoose, rather than run the risk of 
•ncountering the metropolitan sibyl, un- 
iet wtxoait forcible denunciation he was 
actually labouring. 

There is a period in each day of tiie 
lires of married people, at whic^ I am 
giyen to understand, a more than ordi- 
nary unreserved communication of fects 
and feelings takes place; when all the 
woiM is shut out, and the two beings, 
who are in truth but only one, commune 
together freely and fully upon the occur- 
rences of the past day. At this period, 
the eke sacred secrets of the drawing- 
room coterie, ai^d the tellabie jokes of the 
afW-dnmer convivialists, are mutually 
interchanged by the fond pair, who, by 
tile barbarous customs of undvilized Bri- 
tain, have been separated during part of 
die preceding evening. 

Then it is, that the husband informs 
his anxious consort how he has forwarded 
his worldly views with such a man — how 
he has carried his point in such a quarter 
-~what he thinks of the talents of one, of 
the character of another ; while the com- 
municative wife gives her view of the 
same subjects, founded upon what she 
has gadiered from the individuals com- 
posing the female cabinet, and explains 
why she thinks he must have been de- 
ceived upon this point, or misled upcm 
that. And thus, in recounting, in argu- 
ing, in discussing and descanting, the 
"falaaded interest oi the happy pair are 
atrcngthened, their best hopes nourished, 
and, perhaps, eventually reidized. 

A few fnends at dinner, and some re- 
freshers in the evening, had prevented 
Harding from saying a word to his be- 
Joved £liza about the gipsy; and, 
perhaps, till the ^^ witching time*' which 
I have attempted to define, he would not 
have mentioned the occurrence even had 
4hey been alone. Most certainly he did 
not think the less of the horrible vision ; / 
and when the company had dispersed, 
and the affectionate couple had retired to 
zest, he stated the circumstance exactly 
as it had occurred, and received from his 
fair lady just such an answer as a pru- 
dent, intelligent, and discreet woman of 
sense would give to such a communica- 
tion. She vindicated his original deter, 
mination not to be imposed upon — 
wondered at his subsequent willingness 
to give to such an undeserving object. 

while he had three <tt four soup-tickets in 
his pocket — ^was somewhat surprised that 
he had not consigned die bold intrudCT to 
the hands of the beadle . and, ridiculing 
the impression which the hint's appear- 
ance seemed to have made upon her hus- 
band'ls mind, narrated a tour performed 
by herself with some friends to Norwood, 
^en she was a girl, and when one oi 
those very women had told her tortune, 
not one wcffd of whicii ever came tru&~. 
2z:d, 1l * lascussion of some length, ani- 
madverting stnm^y upon the weakness 
and impietv of putting faith in the say- 
ings of suoi creatures, she fell fast asleep. 

Not so Harding : he was resdess imd 
worried, and felt that he would give the 
world to be able to recall the curse which 
he had rashly uttered against the poor 
woman. Helpless as she was, and in 
distress, why did his passion conquer his 
judgmoit ? Why did he add to the bit- 
terness of refusal the sting of malediction ? 
However, it was useless to regret thai 
which was past — and, wearied and morti- 
fied with his reflections, he at length fol- 
lowed his better half into that profound 
slumber, which the length and subject 
of his harangue had so comfortably in- 
sured her. 

Themomingcame,and brightly beamed 
the sun — that is, as brightly as it can 
beam in London. The office hour ar- 
rived ; and Mr. Harding proceeded, not 
by Churlotte-street, to Somerset-House, 
such was his dread of seeing the ominous 
woman. It is quite impossible to describe 
the efiect produced upon him by the ap- 
prehension of encountering her: if he 
heard a female voice behind him in the 
street, he trembled, and feared to look 
round, lest he should behold Martha. 
In turning a comer he proceeded carefully 
and cautiously, lest he should come upon 
her, unexpectedly; in short, wherever he 
w^it, whatever ne did, his actions, his 
movements, his very words, were con- 
trolled and constrained by the horror of 
beholding her again. 

The words she had uttered rang inces- 
santly in his ears ; nay, such possession 
had they taken of him, that he had 
written mem down, and sealed the docu- 
ment which contained them. '^ Thrice 
shall you see me before you die. My 
yisitings will be dreadful ; but the third 
will be the last." 

" Calais " was not imprinted more 
deeply upon our Queen's heart, than 
these words upon that of Harding ; but 
he was ashamed of the strength of his 
feelings, and placed the paper wherein 
he had recorded them at the very bottom 
of his desk. 

Meanwhile Frederick Langdale was 

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unremitting in his attentions to Maria ; 
but, as is too often the case, the bright 
sunshine of their lores was douded. Her 
health, alwajrs delicate, now appeared still 
more so, and at times her anxious pa- 
rents felt a solicitude upon her account, 
new to them ; for symptoms of consump- 
tion had shewn tnemselves, which the 
faculty, although they spoke of them 
lightly to the fbnd mother and to the 
gentle patient, treated with such care and 
and caution, as gave alarm to those who 
could see the progress of the fatal disease, 
which was unnoticed by Maria herself, 
who anticipated parties and pleasure and 
saieties in Ae coming spring, which the 
doctors thought it but too probable she 
might never enjoy. 

That Mr. Langdale'sptmc^to, or Mrs. 
Langdale's excessive desire for apparent 
juvenility, should have induced the po«t- 

Sonement of Maria's marriage, was, in- 
eed, a melancholy circumstance. The 
agitation, the surprise, the hope deferred, 
which weighed upon the sweet girPs 
mind, and that doubtins dread of some- 
thing unexpected, whicn lovers always 
feel, bore down her spirits and injured 
her health ; whereas, bad the marriage 
been celebrated, the relief she would have 
experienced from all her apprehensions, 
added to the tour of France and Italy, 
which the happy couple were to take im- 
mediately after their union, would have 
restored her to health, while it ensured 
her happiness. This, however, was not 
to be. 

It was now some three months since 
poor Mr. Harding's rencontre with Mar- 
tha ; and habit, and time, and constant 
avocation had conspired to free his mind 
from the dread she at first inspired. 
Again he smiled and joked, again he en- 
joyed society, and again dared to take 
the nearest road to Somerset-House ; nay, 
he had so far recoveied from the unac- 
countable terror he had originally felt, 
that he went to his desk, and selecting 
the paper wherein he had set down the 
awful denunciation of the hag, delibe- 
berately tore it into bits, and witnessed 
its destruction in the fire, with something 
like real satisfaction, and a determination 
never more to think upon so silly an 

Frederick Langdale was, ^s usual, with 
his betrothed, and Mrs. Harding enjoy- 
ing the egotism of the lovers, (for, as I 
said before, lovers think their conversa- 
tion the most charming in the world, 
because they talk of nothing but them- 
selves,) when his curricle was driven up 
to the door to convey him to Tattersall's, 
where his father had commissioned him 

to look at a horse, or horses, which he 
intended to purchase ; and Frederick was, 
of all things in the world, the best pos- 
sible judge of a hone. 

To thu sweeping dictum, Mr. HarA. 
ing, however, was not wUling to assent ; 
and, therefore, in order to have Ae fhU 
advantage of two heads, which, as the 
proverb says, are better than one, the 
worthy fiither-in Jaw elect proposed ac- 
companying the youtii to the auctioneer** 
at Hyde-Park-domer, it being one <k 
those few privileged days when the la. 
bourers in our public ofiices make holiday 
The proposal was hailed with delight by 
the young man, who, in order to shew 
due deference to his dder friend, gave die 
reins to Mr. Harding, and bowing dieir 
adieux to the ladies at the window, away 
they went, the splendid cattle o( Mr. 
Langdale prancing and curvetting, fire 
flaming from their eyes, and smoke 
breathing from their nostrils. 

The dder gentleman soon found that 
the horses were somewhat beyond his 
strength, even putting his skill wholly 
out of the question, and in turning into 
Russell-street, proposed giving the reins 
to Frederick. By some misunderstand, 
ing of words in the alarm whidi Harding 
felt, Frederick did not take the reins 
which he (perfectly confounded) tendered 
to him. They slipped over the dashing 
iron between the horses, who thus freed 
from restraint, reared wildly in the air, 
and plunging forward, dashed the vehide 
against a post, and precipitated Frederick 
and Harding on the curb-stone : the ofiT- 
horse kicked desperately as the carriage 
became entangled and impeded, anid 
struck Frederick a desperate blow on the 
head. Harding, whose right arm and 
collar-bone were broken, raised bimaplf 
on his left hand, and saw Frederick wel- 
tering in blood apparently lifeless before 
him. The infuriated animals again 
plunged forward with the shattered rem- 
nant of the carriage ; and as this object 
was removed from his sight, the wret<med 
fiither-in-law behdd, looking upon ^e 
scene with a fixed and an unmoved coun- 
tenance — Martha, the Gipsy. 

It was doubtful whether the appear- 
ance of this horrible vision, coupled as it 
was with the verification of her propheor, 
had not a more dreadful efiect upon Mx. 
Harding than the sad reality before him. 
He trembled, sickened, fainted, and feU 
senseless on the ground. 

(To be concluded in our next.) 

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No. XIX. 


When I hear a man complain of ennui^ 
of UBdium vita^ or accuse a London life of 
sameness, I am convinced that either the 
oody of such a one is diseased, which 
deran^ his intellect, or that there is a 
void m the mind which he has neiUier 
activity nor the talent to fill up. A same- 
ness in Ixmdon ! Preposterous ! Every 
street, every square, every public walk, 
and every theatre, presents novelty and 
variety. The very shops with their shop- 
men and shopwomen, their proprietors 
and customers, ofier a world of informa- 
tion and a wide field for remarks. 

Neither the degante, who canters 
through the streets to be admired, the 
dehauch4 who half sleeps over his cur- 
ricle horses, or by the side of his tilbury- 
groom, nor the rich subject for the gout, 
who lolls stupidly in his carriage, see 
much of this ; but the man who studies 
his fellow-creatures, and whose active 
mind finds employment in all classes of 
life, .can draw experience and knowledge 
ham every character and horn every scene 
in the eventful drama of existence. Such 
a man must be able to pass from the 
senate to the cofiee4iouse, from the gay 
lounge of morning amusement to the 
busy scene of a Stock Exchange, and 
firom taking the living portraits of titled 
idlers at auctions and in ice-shops, to the 
toil and bustle of trade and commerce. 

The court end of the town and the 
city, St. James's and St. Giles's, the 
puny efforts of coxcomb's table wit and 
the broad farce and vulgar cant of the 
river boatmen, or the stage coachman, 
must all be examined and sifted by such 
a one. He must quit his spring poney, 
or his (lennet, in oraer to see men nearer, 
and mingle widi the pedestrian train in 
their walk from Oxford-street to St. Mary 
Axe. Shops, countenances — ^but above 
all, manners, will all pass by him like 
the magic lanthom. Without light it 
would produce no effect ;— without a ray 
of genius he would see nothing but unin- 
teresting men and women, crowded streets, 
busy and imposing tradespeople, bv whom 
he is pressed and iostled, without deriving 
any Iwnefit from his intercourse with the 
world, or his collision with mankind. 
But, blest with observation, life itself 
seems compressed for him into the abridg- 
ment of a momin& walk. 

Or if he take his horse or. his open 
carriage, returning from the city about 
four or five o'docK, and follow the duch- 

esses, and eoimteiaes, the smart com- 
moners' wives, and tradeswom^ ; in short, 
the ladies of every description, with all 
the titled and untitled beaux, to the parks 
and &ivourite rides, what diversity of 
character will he find ! The ruffian at 
Tattersall's, the half-pay officer hanging 
out for an invitation, the mercenary 
beauty fishing for a gudgeon, the adven- 
ture hunter castine about by chance, the 
park saunterer, me dinner hunter, the 
beau, or belle, on their road to an assig- 
nation, the minor or the young female on 
the road to ruin, the yawning time-killer, 
the reader on a bench under a tree, rooks 
and sharpers on the look out, the author 
feasting on his own brain, and the alder- 
man in such a state of repletion that a 
doctor must inevitably be called in, tiie 
gaping countryman and the pert studier 
of fashion — surely these are subjects 
enough for contemplation. 

Then siippose a man has quitted his 
house in Grosvenor-square, and after a 
ride in the park and a morning visit or 
two, where his only dread is to find any 
one at home, strikes into Bond-street, 
and pursues his course down the Strand. 
How many various characters will he see 
in one linen-draper's shop ! The superb 
dame who is there from idleness, and 
buys every thing, the fickle, troublesome 
fashionable, who shops from vacancy of 
mind and habit, and who turns over every 
thing without the least intention of pur. 
chasing, the boarding-school miss who 
looks wistfully at a rich aunt, but cannot 
soften her aunt into the purchase of a lace 
veil or a French shawl, the arch cyprian 
who eyes an embroidered gown and the 
linen-oraper, or some chance male custo- 
mer in tne shop, with equal fondness — 
and, lastly, the adroit shop-lifter, with 
Argus eyes on every side, endeavouring 
to seize the opportunity of taking off 
some article of value whilst the attention 
of those serving in the shop is occupied, 
or whilst a shopman is dispatched to hand 
down some parcel to be looked at. 

From the linen-draper or the jeweller, 
let him call in at a confectioner's and 
take an ice. There will he again see an 
endless variety of character ; the pert, but 
pretty, shopwoman, who is the loadstone* 
of her customers;^ the lounger talkine 
nonsense, and drawling out his halu 
formed sentences ; the appointed beau or 
belle looking with eagle-eye alternately 
at the clock and the street-door with irre- 
sistible impatience ; some happy couple 
in a corner, or by themselves m the soup 
room, making the most Oa the stolen hali 
hour ; the fungous glutton devouring his 
mock turde and perspiring over it like an 
ox ; the poor genUeman making his scanty 

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tepast on a. bason of gravy soup, and 
passing away his time until the hour of 
memorialing the, of 
cooling his heels at the Admiralty, or of 
groaning in a great man's anti-chamber, 
and seeing some never-to-be-granted &- 
vour, arrive. 

There also observe the young man 
fearful and anxious in his appearance, 
who is to meet his lawyer, and to learn 
what writ is out against him, and at 
whose suit, and who arrives in a hackney 
coach with all the windows up.- Finally, 
see '' the school-boy with his satchel on 
his back," devoid of care and drawn to 
this central point of rendezvous like a 
fly, merely by the fruit and sugar. 

From a rendezvous ice-^op, or cofiee- 
house, supposing Ae inquiring prome- 
nader now to take a turn in the Mall of 
St. James's Park. How many different 
parts are acted there I Here he will see 
the gay Life Guardsman casting his net 
for female game on every side, and sigh- 
ing for some belle to whom this *•*• soldier 
tired of war's alarms," may recount the 
action of Quarires Brcis^ and in whose 
bewitching society he may make up for 
the rigours of past campaigns. There he 
may behold a foreign demirep who, by 
the agency of a poodle dog, has a happy 
talent of forming acquaintance with those 
whom she has never seen before. On one 
hand is a chevalier eTInditstrie hunting 
simultaneously for a wife and for a dinner. 
On the other hand, the lovely wife of 
many husbands, affecting the sentimental, 
and reading '' Zimmerman on Solitude," 
or Moore's poems, without turning over 
a sinffle leaf for a whole hour together, 
but throwing her line fyr an admiring 
novice who may seat himself beside her 
on the same bench. 

Too often may we see the weather- 
beaten and scarred veteran, whose laurels 
are as faded in his country's remembrance 
as the verdure of the sapless elm under 
which he sits : see him occupy the whole 
bench with his legs stretched on it ; mark 
the disappointment of his brow — the di. 
minished fire of his eye, and regret that 
his fate has been so hard. Now my lady, 
too late for her distracted swain, leaps out 
of her carriage and runs down the alley 
of trees : — vous etea trop iard, ma belle ; 
a letter must explain the delay. At last 
the idle, over-fed footman makes his ap. 
pearance : he is sent on a message of ur- 
gency, but he takes his time — a few lies 
will account for his loitering and amusing 
himself, and in order to do his duty as a 
confidential messenger, he thrusts his 
fingers into the billet and reads its con- 
Quitting the Park and procee^ng down 

the Stnuid, what crowds aitt lad Uiae hf 
business or by pleasure I The major 
part are drawn by the- former: but 
^' fronti nulla fides :" there are masks, 
blinds, and decoys amongst them. That 
pretty brunette who trips so nimbly, as 
if in haste with a band-box in her hand, 
has been up and down the Strand half a 
dozen times. The band-box is a lure :-. 
see tiie alderman taken by it. Will he be 
in the wrong box? — nmu n^en savons 
rien. Had ms been dressed like a west 
end ci the town cyprian, the sngar-baker 
had not been caught. That fellow disguis- 
ed as a Qu!^r, too, is no Quaker at alL 
He has an oil-skin bundle of sample^^ 
Ais is a blind. Follow him dose. He 
is sticking to the skirts of a countryman, 
who is gaping and staring into every 
window. He will follow him to St. 
Dunstan's church. The clock and the 
iaise Quaker strike their blow at the same 
time. Giles Jolter's pocket-book and 
watch are no longer in their master's 

It would be quite endless to recount 
the variety of London, from all these 
scenes to the painted halls of the great, 
the evening brilliant assemblies, the sales 
by the candle, and the candle-light beau- 
ty's sale, down to the lowest pitdi of 
life, the roofless wanderer and the mom- 
twinkling coflee-shop. Iiet any num 
complain of sameness amidst such variety 
if he can. — But, surely, from every one 
of tiiese scenes, moral and useful l^sona 
may be drawn, if the eye and the brain 
of the draftsman be dear enough to profit 
by his models. 




In Bond-Btreet Buiidings, on a winter's nighty 

Snug by bis parlour nre a gouty wight 
Sate aU alone, with one hand rubbing 

His leg roll'd up in fleecy hose. 

While t'other held beneath his nose 
The Public Ledger tin whose columns grab- 

He noted all the sales of hops, 

Ships, shops, and slops. 
Gum, galls and groceries, ginger, gin. 
Tar, tallow, turmerick, turpentine and tin ; 
When lot a decent personi^ge in black 

Entered, and most politely said, — 
" Your footman, sir, has gone his nightly track,. 

To the King's Head, 
And left your door ajar, which I 
Observed in passing by. 

And thought it neighbourly to give you notice."* 
"Ten thousand thanks-.^how very few get 

In time of danger 

Such kind attentions from a stranger. 
Assuredly that fellow's throat is 
DoomM to a final drop at Newgate. 
He knows, too, the unconscious elf. 
That tbere*8 no soul at home except myMtC." 

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"Indeed P replied the itrangeir, looking grave, 

*<Theo he's a doable knave. 

He knows that rogues and thieves by seoret 

Nightly beset unguarded doors : 

And see how easily might one 

Of these domestic foes. 

Even beneath your nose 
Perform his knavish tricks, — * 
Enter your room as I have done, 
Blow out your candles — thu* — and thus 
Pocket your silver candlesticks. 

And walk off — thu*.'* 
So said — so done — he made no more remark, 

Nor waited for replies. 

But marched off with his prize. 
Leaving the gouty merchant in the dark. 



HoDoB held a farm, and lived content. 
While one year paid another's rent. 
But if he run the least behind. 
Vexation stung bis anxious mind ; 
For not an hour would landlord stay. 
But seize the very quarter day ! 

That cheap the market I scant the grain I 
Though urg*d with truth, was urg'd in vain ; 
The same to him, if false or true. 
The rent must come, when rent was due ; 
Yet that same landlord's cows and steeds. 
Broke Hodge*s fence, and cropt his meads ; 
In hunting that same landlord's hounds 
Spread over Hodge*s new spread grounds ; 
D«g, horse, and man, alike o'erjoy'd. 
While half the rising crop destroy'd ; 
Yet tamely was the loss sustain^. 
Save once, and then, when Hodge complain'd. 
The 'squire laughM loudly while he spoke. 
And paid the bumpkin with a joke. 

But luckless still poor Hodge's fate \ 
His worship's bull forc'd ope a gate. 
And gor'd his cow, the last and best: 
By sickness he had lost the rest. 
Hodffe felt at heart resentment strong, 
The heart will feel that suffers long ; 
A thought, that instant took his head. 
And tlius, within himself, he said — 
•• If Hodge, for once, don't fling the 'squire. 
The village post him for a liar ;" 
He said — and cross his shoulders throws 
The fork, and to his landlord goes. 

" I come, an' please yoa,to unfold 
What soon or late you must be told ; 
My bull, (a creature tame till now,; 
My bull has gor'd your worship's cow ; 
Tis linown what shifts I make to Iirr>, 
Perhaps your Honour may forgive." 
Forgive I the 'squire reply'd and swore. 
Pray of forgiveness cant no more. 
The'law my damageshall decide* 
And know that I'll be satisfy'd, — 
Think sir, I am poor, sir-^as a rat ! — 
Think I'm a justice 1 think of that ! 
Hodge bow'd again, and scratch 'd his head. 
And recollecting, archly said. 
Sir, I'm so struck, when here before ye, 
I fear I've blundered in my story ; 
'Fore George ; but 111 not blunder now. 
Yours was the bull, sir I mine the cow I 
His Worship found his rage subside. 
And with calm accents thus reply'd : 
I'll think upon your case to night. 
But, I perceive, 'tis altered quite. — 
Hodge tbrugg'd, and made another bow ; 
' Ant please you^ wbere's the justice now ? 

K. S. 


The white bear of OreenlAiid and Spitz- 
bergen, is considerably larger than the 
brown bear of Europe, or the black bear 
of North America. This animal Uvqi 
upon fish and seals, and is not only seen 
upon land, in the coimtries bordering 
upon the N<Mrth Pole, but on floats 3i 
ice several leagues at sea. The following 
relation is extracted from the '^ Journal 
of a Voyage for making DiseoTeries to- 
wards the North Pole." 

'^ Early in the morning, the man at 
the mast-head gave notice, that three 
bears were making their way very fast 
over the ice, and that they were direct, 
ing their course towards the ship. They 
had, without question, been invited by 
the scent of the blubber of a sea-horse 
killed a few days before, which the men 
had set on fire, and which was burning 
on the ice at the time of their approach. 
They proved to be a she-bear and hei 
cubs, but the cubs were nearly as large as 
the dam. They ran eagerly to the fire, 
and drew out from the flames part of the 
flesh of the sea-horse that remained un.> 
eonsumed, and ate it voraciously. — The 
crew from the ship threw great lumps oi 
the flesh of the sea-horse, which they 
had still left upon the ice, while the old 
bear fetched away smgly— laid every 
lump before her cubs, and dividing it 
gave each a share, reserving but a small 
portion to herself. As she was fetching 
away the last piece, they levelled their 
muskets at the cubs, and shot them both 
dead, aqd in her retreat they wounded 
the dam but not mortally. 

"It would have drawn tears of pity 
from any but unfeeling minds, to have 
marked the affectionate concern expressed 
by this poor beast, in the last mOTaents 
of her expiring young. Though she was 
sorely wounded, and could but Just crawl 
to the place where they lay, she carried 
the lump of flesh she had taken away, as 
she had done others before, tore in pieces 
and laid it down before them ; and when 
she saw that they refused to eat, she laid 
her paws first upcm one and then upon the 
other, and endeavoured to raise them up : 
all this while it was pitiful to hear her 
moan. When she found she could not 
stir them she went off*, and when she 
had got at some distance looked back and 
moaned; and that not availing her to en 
tice them away, she returned and smel- 
ling round them began to lick their 
wounds. She went off a second time as 
before ; and having omwled a few paces 

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looked again behind her, and for some 
thne stood moaning. But still her cubs 
not rising to follow her, she returned to 
Aem again, and with signs of inexpressi- 
ole fondness, went round one and round 
Ae other, pawing them and moaning. 
Finding at last that they were cold and 
lifeless, she raised her head towards the 
ship, and groaned a curse upon the mur- 
derers, which they returned with a volley 
of musket balls. She fell between her 
cubs, and died licking their wounds." 

mseful Somesttt Wntsi. 


Put a table-spoonful of bay-salt into 
nearly half-a-pint of cold spring water ; 
and after it has steeped therein for twenty- 
four hours, (now and then shaking the 
phial), cause a small tea-spoonfuU to be 
poured in the ear most affected, every 
night when in bed, for seven or eight 
nights successively. 

A Correspondent who was Umnented 
for several weeks violently with what is 
caUed a stomach-cough, and at last was 

Suite relieved by the following prescrip- 
ion, most earnestly recommends it to the 
notice of all sunilarly afflicted: — Puri- 
fied storax and the piL ruffi. of the shops, 
equal quantities; make them into a 
mass, Tmich form into pills of a conve- 
nient size with magnesia. Take three at 
goine to bed, and two in the morning, 
undl the cough is gone, which will take 
place in a few davs, and the effects in 
giving ease will be immecUaie. Should 
the bowels be affected, the quai\tity may 
be reduced. 

^ I am hut a Gatherer and disposer of other 
men's stuflF." — fFotton. 


On a tomb-stone in Calcutta church-yard. 

The deceased kept an earthenware shop. 


AT. HT, Hi S : ST— 

OneU : £ : Skat . . 
He, Ri, N. eg, Bayc— 

O! mab,'v.*Syli, FetoL- 



Ayb . . . Year. 

. Than . 

BcL— — Ayi 

s Heso • 


. Fand . 

No, WS. He : stur 

N'D to Ear, 

TH, h, Ersel 

Fy ! EWE : EP . . . 

In : 6. F. R : I E : N 

D. S. L 

Et, mea D 

V : I. 

Sea: Batey. 

O! — V: rg . . . 
R i E .... Fan . 

. D . D . 

RYY. O ! V. RE 

Yes. F . O . R W : H 

. ATa. 
Vai . . . . LS . a . flo. 

O ! do. F. Tea. R. 
SW : Hok : No : WS: 

Buti . nar . U. 

No! Fy: Ear, SI : N... 

SO: Metal: 

L . Pit . c 

HERO : . . r . Bro, a 

D. P. 

ANS. Hei 

N. H. 

Ers. Hop. ma t 

V^ • B • 

£a : Oai . . . N . 


P. T. Pr*s MuUum in Parvo has been n- 
ceived.and we shall insert a portion of it in oar 

Alpheus in an early nnmber. ^ 

The Anecdote of Milton is not tmri in CoU 
lefM Relics qf Literature, the story is traced to 
Its source. 

Did Ergo ever hear Mathews, or read Joe 
Miller? if 8o» he would find his old joke better 

Ciavis*s " Sonsie Lassie" would be (Sreek %• 
nine-tenths of our readers. 

Fuanymuxty should leave Cromwell alone. 

Dr. Pangloss is stale and indelicate. 

E. Bobadil ought to know that extravaganee 
and humour are not inseparable. 

The Beggar^* Tale\% not without interest, 
hut that interest Is not sufficiently strong for as. 

As we trust there are no readers who doubt 
the existence of Jesus Christ, we think it unne- 
cessary to print Alfreds* argumants to prove il; 
though we admire the feeling in which his coow 
munication is written. 

The Cotmferbalanee is indelicate. 

We shall be glad to hear from Vyvyan on the 
terms he proposes. 

Lislett will be a welcome contributor. 

We have mislaid the Stanaias on seeing the 
King's Squadron, but shall, we doubt not, find 
them in a day or two. 

Judgments deferred on J. H. /T., A Friend 
to the Drama, P. Staunton, 8 — r, A. West- 
minster, and several other corr«8pondent8. 

Printed and Published by J. LI M BIRD, 
143, Strand, (near Somerset House J und s^l^ 
H all J^ewsmen and Bookt£llers. 

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No. LXXV.] SATURDAY, MARCH 20^ 1824. 

[Price 2d, 

©tan motton*a ;JHonument. 

Maxt of OUT readers have no-doubt ▼!- 
sited that novel and beautiful exhibition 
the Diorama, a detailed account of which 
fint appeared in the Mirror. The view 
of Trinity Chapel in Canterbury Cathe- 
dral, is the most remarkable and the most 
complete pictorial illusion we ever wit- 
nessed ; and we have met with many per- 
sons, who while they acknowledged the 
talent that could present the interior of 
a stately edifice with its walls, its aisles, 
its pillars, and its roof, have been com. 
pletely incredulous as to the steps leading 
to the Chapel, and the wornnen who 
appear asleep in the foreground. These 
say our doubting friends are real steps, 
and althou^ the figures may not be actual 
living individuals, yet they must be stuffed 
effigies. In this, however, we can assure 
every unbeliever that he is mistaken. The 
whole view is one j>lam sur^e, and the 
iUusion is the trmmph of art: and in 
inresenting our readers with the most stri- 
King object in Trinity Chapel, which has 
had the honour of being so strikingly dis« 
Vol. Ill, N 

played upon canvass, we shall be rendering 
an acceptable service. 

Trinity Chapel, which is built behind 
the high altar of St. Anselm^s Chapel 
in the Cathedral, formerly contained the 
rich and much adored shrine of Thomas-a- 
B<^ket, where pilgrims used to worship, 
and even kings to kneel. The pillars of 
the Chapel were built to form a circle 
round the eastern part of the shrine, and 
between them all the monuments except 
one are placed. That of Dean Wotton, 
who died in 1566, is on the north side of 
the Chapel at the foot of the monument of 
Henry IV. The Dean is represented 
kneeling on his tomb, his hands clasped, 
and raised in the attitude of prayer ; a 
desk is before him, on whicli is an open 

The whole is an excellent piece of 
sculpture, particularly the head, which is 
said to have been taken from the life, and 
executed at Rome during his stay there. 
The countenance is highly expressive. 
The Vmd appears, in his Doctor's robes, 


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bttre-headed, and with short curly hair 
and beaid. 

Dean Wotton was an eminent stktes- 
man, and we should suSpect a most acoom* 
plished courtier, fat he continued in office 
during four reigns, when there were as 
many chas^ges of religion. 


(To the EdUor of the Mirror.) 

Sis«*-^b8efving in the Mirror an 
inquiry, respecting the Arms of Wales, I 
forward the following particulars from the 
best Authorities. 

The Ensign of Cadwallader, the last 
King of the Britoins, was a red Dragon. 
Henry the Seyenth wore it as the dexter 
supporter to his anns, he likewise adopted 
as tne Badge of Wales a dragon passant^ 
wings elevated gtu upon a mount vert. 
It is ttmi the device of the red Dragon 
this Monarch created the Pursuivant of 
Arms, Rauge Dragon. Upon the great 
seal of James Ijhe First appeared the 
banner of the Arms of Cadwallader, viz. 
Ast. a Cross^ pattet fikhe'e or^ to show 
the descent horn the Welsh Blood RoyaL 
J. L. F. 

(far 0ke Sdiior of the Mirror.) 

Si^...^ correspondent in your last 
Number, wishes to know the Arms of 
Wales. The ancient Armorial Bearings 
of that .Principality, are quarterly Ghi 
and Or, in eacli quarter a lion passant 
guaidant countercnanged. The follow, 
ing badge also appertains to Wales, Us 
may be seen in Berry's Encyclopaedia 
B^aldica, a voluminous work now in 
course of publication) viz. upon a mount 
vert, a dragon passant, wings elevated, 
Gules. E. F. 


(For the Mirror.) 

TuE Benefit of Clergy, is a legal phrase, 
or technical term, which we often hear, 
and sometimes repeat, widiout under- 
standing its precise meaning. The dark 
cloud of barbarism which succeeded the 
downfall of the Roman empire having 
nearly effaced literary pursuits, the 
attention of the nobility, and the body of 
the people placed above labour, was 
wholly absorbed bv military exercise and 
the chase, whUe tne regular and sec^ulor 
dei^, became, for ages, with some ex- 
oeptions, almost the sole depositaries of 
booki, and the komed lanyuges. At it 

is natural t0 respect what we do not 
imderstond, the Monks turned the ad- 
Tantage to good account, and it graduallj 
became a principle of common law, that 
no derk, tnat is to say, no priest, should 
be tried by the civil power. 

This pnvil^^was enjoyed and abused 
without restriction, till the reign of 
Henry the Second, when the council, <ir 
parliiunent of Clarendon, or the sense of 
the nation, were provoked by murder, 
rape, and other crimes, to set bounds to 
eedauastic lioentioas&ess, by asakWlt 
regulation on this subject, biift a IMr t^ 
necessary was evaded by the iiwolefi^liri^ 
Becket, and the base pusillaalAiil^/^ 
King John, and his successor. '^' 

During a period equally c ^_. 
to the monarch and the clergy^,, li^^ 
vision, artful, because it seemed tl0^ 
the face of a ranedy, was euMlfl^M 
which any person tried f<nr f<^Mijr « 
found guilty, was pronounced testae ;!^_, 
empt from punismnent si legH I^^M-f^ 
rtczM, if he was able to read'a^-^' 
priest. From this finesse the. lJk#Sl| 
derived a considerable anoluinent,^ ^f 
teaching prisoners to read, which,hb|ryllw^ 
odious or bloody their crimeSy-^ti^Mfiii^ 
them from the penal^ of the laws, IMS: 
also answered another Important pqtjiilfy^- 
as by these means, men of the moSidili» 
perate characters, were thus uaadekA- 
humble and obedient tools of the chunl^. 
This lucrative monthly remained,- tii|. 
it was provided against in the twinfh^- 
seventh year of the reign of Edwai^^m 
Third: but the noxious- weed grewv^ 
in a shade of ignorance and coBfiiflAw * 
during the bloody contents of ^e hM^' 
of Limeaster and York, till it received 
a considerable cheek under: -Edwaid the 
Sixth, when it was determined that no 
person convicted of manslon^iter shaU 
claim the benefit of clergy, imless he is 
a peer of the realm, or a derk^in priest^ 
orders: and, by the ninth dt James &e 
First, it was entirely takoi away ftom 
those delinquents. 

Persons at all conversisnt in legal 
points, or general reading, will, peihapa, 
smile at this article on a subject whidi 
they consider as generally understood; 
but I have frequently met with persony, 
who imagined that the words, withoot 
benefit of clergy, implied that a criminal 
should have no spiritual guide, i^ien no 
more is meant, than that his being, aide 
to read or write, shall not in any tauutad^ 
exempt him from punishment, and ^wt 
he shall not be entitled to any of t^eae 
privileges formerly enjoyed by me clei^ 

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(Far the Mirror.) 

The Aiondeliaii marbles^ Oxfoid mar- 
bles, or Parian dironide, are ancient 
Btcmes (at has been suppcMed,) whereon 
is inscribed a dironide of liib city of 
Athens, engraven in capital letters in the 
island of Faros, one of the Cydades, 264 
yean before Jesus Christ. 

They take their first name from 
Thomas, Earl of Arundel, who procured 
them out of the east, or from Henry his 
grandson, who presented them to the 
University of Oxford. The Arundelian 
marbles in their perfect state, contain a 
chronological detail of the principal events 
ot Greece during a period of 1318 years, 
beginning with Cecrops, B. C. 1582, and 
ending idth the Archonshipof Diognetus, 
H. C 264t but the chronicle of the last 
ninety years is lost, the inieiiption is at 
present so much corroded and efiaced, 
that the sense only by 
very learned and industrious antiqt^aries; 
or, more properly speaking, supiplied by 
their conjectures. This chronicle, and 
many of the other reUo^vi^ antiquity, 
real or pretended, were purchased in Asia 
Minor, in Greece, or in the islands of the 
Archipelago, by Mr. 'VTilliam Petty, 
who in the year 1624, was sent by Tho- 
mas, Earl of Arundel, for the purpose of 
making such collections for mm in the 
east; mey were brought into England 
about the beginning of the year 16279 
and placed in the eudens belonging to 
Arundel house in London. Soon after 
their arrivid they excited a gena»l curio- 
sity, and were viewed by many inquisitive 
and learned men; among others by Sir 
Robert Cotton, who prevailed upon Selden 
to employ his abilities in expUining the 
Greek inscriptions; the foUowing year 
Selden published a small volume in 4to., 
including about thiity-nine inscriptions 
copied from the marbles. In the turbu- 
lent reign of Charles I. and the subsequent 
usurpation, some of the marbles were 
defaced and broken, and others stolen or 
used for the ordinary purposes c^ archi- 
tecture; the chronologim marble in 
particalar was unfortunateh^ broken and 
deffliced. In 1667, the Hon. Henry 
Hoirard, afterwards Buke of Norfolk, 
the grandson of the first collector, presented 
these supposed remains of antiquity to 
the university of Oxford. JSelden's work 
becoming very scarce. Bishop Fell en- 
gaged Mr. Prideaux to publish a new 
edition of the inscriptions, which was 
printed at Oxford in 1676. In 1732 
Jlr. Maittaire obliged the public with a 
more comprehensive view of the marbles 

than either of 'his predeofussors; la^t|y« 
Pr. Chandler publisned a new and im- 
proved copy of the marbles in 1763, in 
which he correctdl^the mistakes of- the 
former editors; and in some of the in- 
scriptions, particularly that of tlie Parian 
chronicle, supplied the tucunai by. many 
ingenious conjectures. The Arundelian 
^ooarbles have generally been regarded as 
a curious monument of antiquity: they 
were, however, discovered in some in- 
stances to be inconsistent with the most 
authentic historical accounts; Sir Isaac 
Newton and several other modem philo- 
sophers paid little or no regard to them, 
and their authenticity has been severely 
questioned by Mr. Robertson in a disser- 
tation, entitled the Parian Chronicle. In 
this dissertation much ingenuity as well 
as judgment and a great extent of ancient 
learning are displayed. His doubts, the 
author observes, arise from the following 
considentions* First, " The characters 
have no certain or unequivocal marks of 
antiquity." Second, " It is not pro- 
bable that the chronicle was engraved for 
Srivate use." Third, " The chronicle 
oes not appear to have been engraved by 
public authority." Fourth, " The Greek 
and Roman writers, for a long time after 
the date of this work^ complam that they 
had no chronological account of the affairs 
of ancient Greece.'» Fifth, " The chro- 
nicle is not once mentioned by any writer 
of antiquity," Sixth, " Some of the 
facts mentioned in the chronicle seem to 
have been takeu from writers of later 
date." Seventh, " Arachronisms ap- 
pears in some of the epochas, which we 
scarcely suppose a chronologer of the 
120th Olympiad would be liable to com- 
mit." Eight, " The history of the dis- 
covery of me Parian -ohronide is obscure 
and unsatisfactory." Nmth, " The lite- 
rary world has been frequently imposed 
upon by spurious books and inscriptions; 
and, therefore, we should be extremely 
cautious with regard to what we receive 
under the venerable name of antiquity." 
These several articles have been replied 
. to by Mr. Hewlett, in his Vindicatiott of 
the Parian Chronicle, but 'the objections 
are of a nature very difficult to be re- 
moved, fhe marbles are now fixed in 
the school in Ox^otrd* 


( To the Edited of the Mirror,) 
Sir, — According to a former statement 
of your Mirror it appears, that the num- 
ber of Valentines sent to tho receiving 
houses within the district of the /too- 
peunu pott in 1821, exceeded 900^000, 

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the amount of which Is £1,66C 18*. 4rf. ; 
which we may call the CiAzena' Amii- 
Tcrsary tribute, in aid of Government. 
But as a considerable number, perhaps a 
^owihoi these equivocal, anonymous, 
or sometimes quizzical overtures are 
charged three^pence, an increase of 
£208 6s. 8rf., or one eighth more is pro- 
duced—making £1,875 sterling. To 

which,iftheverylowestimateof£468l55^ ^uaas^epayrB«a,««u r...«.„^ 
for duty on paper be added, the whole breathing, 

emolument flowing into the treasury for Chatte as that fair oueen, wLo found tlie ail or 
one day's Folly in London only, will endless wreatVnig. ...'..._ 

amount^to£2,a43 15..!! AU of which Constani^ 
is collected with a few pounds additional 

Grateful as streams, that in some deep recess, 
With riUs unhop'd the panting traveller bless. 
Is he, that links with me his chain of life. 
Names himself lord.aud deigns to caU me WiFS. 


(In Imitation of the above.) 
Beautiful asyoongday, when the sweet sea- 

son s waking, 
Joyous as the bird of song when the gay mofn 

is breakhig, 
JIfi/d as Zephyr's softest sigh, on Florals li 

expense to Government, for extra letter 
carriers. With respect to country Valen- 
tines, the circumstances differ too much 
to say any thing of certainty about it, 
seeing the postage would vary with the 
distance: and while some were charged 
as single^ others from the manner of 
/oWin^, would be accounted double, oi 
even triple. Therefore, waviug niceties, 
the number would be, probabfy, in pro- 
portion to the population, and the sway of 
the Blind Divinity is ttm»er«a//y acknow- 
ledged to bear. Then accordmg to a late 
Census, the population of England, 
Wales, and Scotland, to say nothing of 

as Apollo's flow*r, which blodmt bat 
in his beaming. 
Fond as the moon of that bright star, upon her 

path-way gleaming. 
Graceful as the slightest reed upon the greeo 

bank waving. 
Courteous as the rippling stream, which thst 

green bank is laving, 
Yet great in soul, and high in e 

the bliss, of life. 
Is she, the gentlest of her kind, I proodly esQ 

MyWitb. , ,„ , 

J. W., Jan. 

imind,t&e duav. 



(For the Mirror.) 

waicB iM*« .^w -T. --, J - It is hardly possible to view thc«n 

ihAthot biS ofihe-Miatory passion (!r&. nection of society withour comfor^ wMi 

land) amounted to 12,652,144, out of " *— '"" ** "" " " 

which 864,845 were assigned to London, 

being between a fourteenth and fifteenth 

part of the whole twelve millions and a 

half. Therefore, without sdckling about 

excess of postage, or double and triple 

letters, if the whole supposed number be 

out hailing it as a blessing almost indls^ 
pensable to our existence. 

You will not expect that in mustering 
my ideas upon any subject, I tdunin 
reinforce them with the sanction of die 
musty ancients, or the trite modems ; or 
that I should embellish my sentimenta 

found to amount to the enormous total of 
£33,640 12«. 6d.l\l as Folly's free-will- 
offering in one day every year to support 
the State. The expression in one of 
Dibdin's songs, that 

» Puppies now prop up the Nation!" 
wants but the alteration of one word to 

fied with simply expressing them upon 
any given subject, and shall be much 
prouder of their meeting the pre-concehed 
ideas of my readers, man, if they w«jc 
upheld by a host of literati ; with wh^ 
opinions the idea of corroboratioD would 
despoil me of all pretension whatever to 
originality. So vast a range of thpn^t 

make it suit the present case ; for our and sentiment is accessible in the psSsnt 
follies, are Teailly^alvable considerations day to ahnost every class in socioyj Iff 

to the Receiver' General: and none but a 
cynic would be angry if the whole 
National Debt should be paid off by 
means equally innocent. T. S. 


From the Greek. 

Faithful as dog, the lonely shepherd's pride. 
True as the helni, the bark's protecting guide, 
Firm as the shaft that props the towering dome. 
Sweet as the shipwrecked seamen's land, and 

' Lovely as child, a parent's sole delight. 
Radiant as mom that breaks a stormy night, 

the universal diffusion of the piess, that 
it is scarcely reasonable to expect nbfd 
sparks of genius — ^they may perha|» pi^ 
sent themselves in a somewhat vara^ 
form, but the basi.» is in most cases ea^ 
traced and defined; new ideas aie 10 
scarce, that they should deservedly to- 
mortalize the projectors. I sptta!k W^ 
myself, for I cannot hope to taSat » 
slightest pretensions — but they occa^9* 
ally present themselves, although W 
angel visits " few and far between** 
Being naturally of a livelv ieta 
ment, 1 confess myself much delij 

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1b mingliBg with the busy worid, and 
IMrtidpating (moderately mind you) In 
Its multi£ariou8 attractions; not that I 
dislike occasionally to indulge a little in 
the sombre mood, but I consult my glass 
too often not to Imow, that the hue of the 
rose is as important as that of the lily in 
the estimation of the sweet somebodys, 
whose good opinion I would not forfeit for 
wwldsl-at least just at present ; I know 
not how £ur my wilfulness may extend by 
and bye : I am not in the least ambitious 
to appear 

'Sicklied o%r with the* pale cast of thought '-- 
not I, time enough for that when care 
with his ftirrowed cheeks raps at my door 
in good earnest — ^my desire is, to keep 
him it arms length as long as possible — 
and kf he needs will assail me, to be well 
prepared for the encounter. 

But I was about to gossip a little about 
the sweets of society — retoumons a n6ire 
sfkjet — I confess I am not much given to 
reflection ; but I do now and then indulge 
a little, and cannot say it has ever opera- 
ted prejudicially on my happiness, for 
although it may have occasionally ei^^n- 
dered a little dissatisfaction with self, 
this has been more than counterbalanced 
by the whispering counsels of conscience, 
my in£Edlible arbitress in points of a ques- 
tionable character. In verity I bdieve 
there is a seas<Hi for all things, but I do 
love to study human nature beyond all 
other occupations whatever ; for it alone 
conveys practical instruction, being just 
of that specific character which we most 
need to curb and facilitate our inter- 
course with each other. Learning cuts 
but a sorry figure without this qu^ifica- 
tion ; it is theory without practice, and 
we should be the tamest creatures imagin- 
able had we no other mediiun than books, 
to become fomiliarized to each other. 
No, no, this would never do ; I have a 
thousand times commiserated the awk- 
ward, well-intentioned gaiety of the stu- 
dent, (who deraly conscious of having 
sufiered the Muses to supersede the 
Graces) feels himself iU-quaMed to cope 
with the bold pretensionless stripling in 
the minutia of the gay world; but 
whose society would be inmiitely preferred 
to the obtrusive frivolity of his brainless 
oi^nment. It would be invidious in us 
to evince a preference by any other mode 
than polite attention; and this should 
challenge the best efforts of the well- 
informed, whose sound judgment would 
soon expel the trifler &om tne field. 

Society cannot be enjoyed with true 
fftisio by other than a weu-stored mind, 
for the intelligent will seek kindred spi- 
rits, in ordorthat their treasures may 
not be uselessly dissipated; and that 

they may be similarly recompensed in 
return : how liopeless would this expec- 
tation be rendered, did they resort to the 
illiterate or uninformed, whose preten» 
sions are common place or sensuaL CuU 
tivation of intellect wiU be unavailing^, 
unless attended to for the advantage cr 
amusement of others, it must neither be 
ne^ected nor hoarded, for the difiusioo 
of acquirements procures not merely re- 
spect and esteem, but the display of 
Bunilar excellencies in return, and thus 
renders mutual gratification of the most 
prepossessing character. But if such re- 
sults accrue from general society, £ur 
happier is the associating of nearer and 
dearer friends ; how joyous the recogni- 
tion of those we love and esteem acci- 
dentally amidst strangers; social diat 
speedily restores past events afresh to the 
imagination in all their natural vivid, 
ness ; occurrences, grave or gay, succeed 
each other in rapid continuity, beguiling 
us in turn of sighs or smiles, and cement 
a fresh enduring attachments or partial- 
ities. Memory summons at will the 
minutest particulars of events which may 
have requured years to consummate ; and 
not merely the events, but the sensations 
which accompanied them — and who will 
saj that even grief may not be delicious, 
with a valued friend at hand to pour in 
the balm of consolation—a friend whose 
heart may throb in unison witli your own, 
and on whose affectionate disposition vna 
kindly offices you can confidently rely in 
ev»y exigence. 

lliese and a thousand other advantages 
are contingent on society ; there are some 
evils to avoid, it is true, but what they 
are, a sound discretion will readily dis- 
criminate; slander and detraction are 
perhaps the most prevalent, but these 
hatefril qualities will be shunned by a 
mind trained for rational enjoyment; 
compassionate regret will deaden their 
inffuence, which will be superseded by 
liberal and enlightened sentiments, on 
whatever topics the imagination may pre- 
sent for discussion. 

That solid acquirement, and its cheer- 
ful and graceful diffusion may be the 
qualification of every reader of your very 
interesting publication, is the sincere wish 
of your obliged Janet. 

January 31, 1824 


We took boat one afternoon, with two 
English gentlemen, for Scutari^ to sec 

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tfie iMwliiig Dervishes. The Mo8(|iie 
was rery pl^n ; having taken our seats 
in the gaueiy, we widted for some thne, 
while the Dervishes were oigaged ki 
drinking, as our guard, a captain of the 
Janizaries, informed us, to excite them- 
selves to go through the strange exhi- 
Mtibn that followed. A young man of 
the order then mounted on a flight of 
steps without the door, and summoned, 
in av^ry'loud and mournful voice, for 
nearly^half an hour, the faiUiful to attend. 
The Dervishes all enterefl, and, ranged 
in a long line, began to rock their bodies 
to and fro in simultaneous movement.. 
But this motion soon became more rapid, 
and AUa and Moha^^ned, at first pro- 
nounc^ in a low and sad tone, burst 
from tlielr lips with violence. They then 
all threw oflr their outer garments, sprang 
from the g;round, and threw their arms 
frtriously about. As l^eir imaginations 
became more heated, some stripped ihem^ 
Selves nearly naked, others foamed at the 
tnouUi; one or two old men, exhausted, 
sunk on the ground, and the cries of God 
and ^e Ptopnet might be heard a^ off, 
It was a singular spectacle of enthusiasm 
and hypocrisy combined; but whi^t en- 
sued was mpre disgusting, for they took 
red-hot irons and applied them 'ta their 
!e^ and feet, and. other ^arts of their 
bodies, still howling out amidst dieir pain 
die name of the Eternal, in whos^hbnour, 
they wouM have their credulous assembl]^' 
beheve, they su^red ail this. A^reat 
part of the Dervishes are notorious uber- 
tines and profligates, as the better in- 
formed Turks are often heard to' call 
them. They consist of various orders ; 
some live u^ monasteries^ others lead a 
"wandering* iiffe Arqugh difierent parts of 
the empire, chiedy. subsisting on we hos- 
pitality of the faithftil. In the island of 
Cyprus vl pact with a young Dervise of 
tms kind; his, featiures. were feir and 
effeminate j^ and his long bidr fi^ in ring- 
lets on his neck and bosom ; on the latter 
he wore several pieces of stained glass, 
fancifully.. disiK>sed; bis appearance be- 
tpketk^juiy tislng .bat devotion. Others 
'are to be seei^ rdvisfg^about with. thick 
disheveHed' btdr, ^M looks, and half 
nalced ; these piofe^ poverty aUd self- 
denial, and are held most in reverence by 
the people. Many of these -men, how- 
ever, are sincere tdfushers and examples of 
their religioti, m^ foadHhe lifeof pi^ms, 
or fix on some secluded spot, where 
they live abstemiotuly, and repay with 
their counsels the simple presents of the 
people. The most eminent of them are 
termed Santons, and have bandsome mo- 
fiuments built on their graves; la the shade 
■••f iS99Bf which are efct 9£te^ regarded 

with peenliax watntimi^^New 


Thb fast of Ramadan, t^ GoMtantiBo. 
pie, is as rigidly kept as thal^ the Jews : 
the "Turk finds it severe eoou^ to ze* 
main from one tun.4et to the- next^widi. 
out a morsel; thai co£fee and his pipe 
arc indeed his solace, for thestf ate per- 
mitted. With what tumultuous joy did 
^ bdievers depbrt Ihemsdves in a 
eo&e-hoase not tax from > the English 
palace. . T3iey daaoed> wil^y in groupa 
to the {Sound of the ^guitax said tambour, 
emhraieed one another as they talked of 
ihe. night neariat band, vrhm the.ftnt 
appearance of .^ new mecm should an* 
Boo^bce that: Banwdan: was over, and 
Beisam wasvbcguD.- ,It came at last $ en 
that n%ht every . mtnsiret of the gumd 
mikaq^ttes waa ilbimmed, .from top to 
bottom witbiiinAmefaUe rows of lan^ps. 
You QOttld ditftingnisb those: of Achmed, 
SnleiiTiartich, ' aodo St.>.Sophia ; it was a 
peeulias and. splendid eijght ; and the vast 
cityiaDd its people seemed to be hushed 
i]L^ieatillnes& jof midnight, waiting for 
the sisnal of festivity. The Imauna 
from the tops of ^e : highest minazets 
eageriy ibent theo^iooka to catich the firat 
^lutipse of jthe new moim ; the momeat 
It waa; perceived, loud and jojrfol shouts, 
wHcfa jpreMl instantly'aU over the ct^, 
announced! that the hour Gt indulgence 
-was come, and fbU OMnpensatian &t all 
their denials. It. was really pleasing to 
•observe, the next day, the loon c^ kmd- 
ness. anid .a^mnst fntemal feeling which 
-dieyoast, OIL cadi: ether. The poor man 
.isjofren: seen .at ^diis period to take. die 
■hand, and. kiss the chesk ot therich and 
fasogh^,; wharetramthe salutation as to 
•his.equal, a. brother in the glorious foitfa 
of ?thdr Prqphet4 A^henr alike to &e privi- 
fegesiof MssjHiEadise. Delight was pic- 
tured in every ^ countenance ; every one 
put onJhis finfiitamjarel, and the sound 
.ofvin4<^^as^^'eii'ia oa every side, min- 
^ gled? Wilii soi^ inlionour of. their re- 
ligion; >We.8re too apt to divest the 
Tuiks' of . domestic virtues, yet one cannot 
butbe^strudc with their extreme fondiieas 
fovLtheieJchildren; .beautiful beings they 
ofreik aie,. bqrond those of any other 
■oaoKitBp ', im. PrtmascHs, I have many 
tunas istoppcd in the streets to gaie at 
children of .six or eight years of age, 
whose: extseme IoveIii£ss it wasimpos- 
flible hot to admire; and afrerwaraa in 
Tri^cditza, Ixannot tfotget how the love 
of a' Tm^didi dady to W two youngest 
diildten, .ri«it«d we nmider of heiMir, 

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THE Mirror. 


her son and danghter, and her most inti- 
mate firimd. The popnlation of Gon- 
stantinople has been much overrated; 
according to General Sebastiani*s calcula. 
tion, while he was ambassador, it does 
not exceed four hundred thousand ; and 
the suburbs of Pera, Oalata, Scutari, &c 
with the line of yiUages along the shores 
of the Bosporus, contain eight hundred 
thousand more. A considerable part of the 
ground the dty coyers is taken up with 
gardens. The areas of the mosques are 
generally planted with trees, and a foun- 
tain, sometimes richly ornamented, stands 
at the entrance, for a Turk seldom enters 
without first washing his feet, and, laying 
aside his shoes, he treads in his soft slip- 
pers. The solemnity of l^is people at 
their devotions is very striking ; whether 
ki the mosque or in the open air, they 
i^ypear entirely abstracted firom all around ; 
and you would think from the expression 
ti their features, that tne spirit and the 
senses were alike devoted to this sacred 
du^ ; they are generally silent, save that 
llie sound of .Aila, 'pronounced in a low 
and humble tone, is often heard. The 
mosque are in general unadorned, and 
the architecture quite simple; the name 
of CKkL and passages from the Koran are 
inscribed in gold Mfeers on the walls. A 
lofty corridor goes all round the interior 
of the building ; the circular space in the 
middle, where the pulpit of the Imaun 
stands, is lighted by a dome at the top. 
The assembly range themselves beneath 
the corridor <m mats and carpets; the 
greater part of the time is occupied in 
-prayer. — Ibid, 


The condition of the women in Turkey 
has little resemblance to slavery, and the 
.pity given to it by Europeans has its 
source more in imagination dian reality. 
From their naturally retired and indolent 
habits, they care less about exercise in 
the ap&a. air than ourselves. They are 
very fond of the bath, where large parties 
of them frequently meet and spend the 
greater part of the day, displaying their 
rich drcanes to each other, conversing, and 
taking refreshments. From this practice, 
said the little exposure to the sun, the 
Turkish ladies nave often an exquisite 
delicacy of complexion. They oftoi sail 
in their pleasure-boats to various parts of 
the Bosphorus, or walk veiled to the 
favourite promenades near the cemetery, 
or in,ihe burdens of Dolma Batcke, with 
'ihtflf attendants; and they sometimes 
wall^ disguised through the streets of 
the'dity, wi^out any observation. The 
sment of an il&glish wife over her 

own hoaseh^ does noe «qual that of the 
Turkish, which is absolute, the husband 
scarcely ever interfering in the domestic 
arrangements, and in case of a div(»ce her 
pcortion is always given up.-~/6Mi. 


The practice of eating opium doss not 
appear to be so gener^ with the Turks 
as is commonly bdieved. But there is a 
set of people at Constantinople devoted 
to this drug ; and the Therialus, as they 
are called, have diat hollow and livid 
aspect, the fixed dulness of the eye at one 
time, or the unnatural brightness at an- 
other, which tell too plamly of this de- 
structive habit. They seldom live beyond 
thirty ; lose all appetite for food ; and as 
their strength wastes, the aaving for the 
vivid excitement of opium increases. It 
is useless to warn a Theriakee that he is 
hurrying to the grave. He comes in the 
morning to a large cofiee-house, a well- 
known resart for this purpose, close to 
the superb mosque of Suleimanieh. Hav- 
ing swallowed his pill, he seats himself 
in the portico in front, which is shaded 
by trees. He has no wish to change his 
position, for motion would disturb his 
happiness, which he will tell you is in- 
desoibable. Then the most wild and 
blissftil reveries come crowding on him. 
His gaze fixed on the river beneath, co- 
vered with the sails of every nation; on 
the majestic shores of Asia opposite, or 
vacantly raised where the sBded minarets 
of Suleimanieh ascend on high : if exter- 
nal objects heighten, as is allowed, the 
illusions of opium, the Turk is privileged. 
There, till the sun sets on the scene, the 
Theriakee revels in love, in splendour, or 
pride. He sees the beauties of Circassia 
striving whose charms shall most delight 
him ; me Ottoman fleet sails beneath his 
flag as the Captain Pacha : or seated in 
the divan, turbsned heads are bowed be- 
fore hhn, and voices hail the favoured 
of Alia and the Sultan. But evening 
comes, and he awakes to a sense of wretch- 
edness and helplessness, to a gnawing 
hunger which is an effect of hu vice ; 
and nurries home, to sufier till the morn- 
ing sun calls him to his paradise again. 
— /Wrf. 



I WAS once at the farm of Shorthope, on 
Ettrick head, receiving some lambs that 
I had bought, and was going to take to 
market, with some more, the next day. 
Owing to some accidental delay, I (lid 
not get final delivery of the lambs till it 

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wai growing kie ; and being obliged to 
be at my own house tiwtnight, I was 
not a little dismayed lest I shcmld scatter 
and lose my Umbs^ if darkness orertook 
me. Darkness did overtake me by the 
time I got half way, and no orcQnary 
darkness for an August evening. The 
lambs having been weaned that &y, and 
of the wild black-&ced breed, became 
exceedingly unruly, and for a good while 
I lost hopes of mastering them. Hector 
managed the point, and we got them safe 
home ; but both he and his master were 
alike sore forefoughten. It had become 
so dark, that we were obliged to fold 
them with candles ; and after closing 
them safely up, I went home with my 
father and the rest to supper. When 
Hector's supper was set down, behold he 
was wanting ! and as I knew we had him 
at the fold, which was within call of the 
house, I went out, and called and whistled 
on him for a good while, but he did not 
make his i^pcarance. I was distressed 
about this ; for, having to take away the 
lambs next morning, I knew I could not 
drive them a mile without my dog, if it 
had been to save me the whole drove. 

The next morning, as soon as it was 
day, I arose and inquired if Hector had 
come home. No ; he had not been seen. 
I knew not what to do ; but my father 
proposed that he would take out the 
lambs and herd them, and let them get 
some meat to fit them for the road ; and 
that I should ride with all speed to Short- 
hope, to see if my dog had gone back 
there. Accordingly, we went together to 
the fold to turn out the lambs, and there 
was poor Hector sitting trembling in the 
very middle of the fold door, on the in- 
side of the flake that closed it, with his 
eyes still stedfastly fixed on the lambs. 
He had been so hardly set with them 
after it giew dark, that he durst not for 
his life leave them, although hunery, 
fatigued, and cold ; for the night nad 
turned out a deluge of rain. He had 
never so much as 1^ down, for only the 
small spot that he sat on was dry, and there 
had he kept watch the whole night. Al- 
most any other colley would have dis- 
cerned that the lambs were safe enough 
in the fold, but honest Hector had not 
been able to see through this. He even 
refused to take my word for it, for he 
durst not quit his watch though he heard 
me calling both at night and morning. 
It cannot be supposed that he could 
nderstand all that was passing in the 
little family circle, but he ceitainly com- 
prehended a good part of it. In particu- 
lar, it was very easy to discover that he 
rarely missed aught that was said about 
himself, the sheep, the cat, or of a hunt. 

When aught of that nature came to be 
diflcufned, Hector*s attention and impa- 
tience soon became manifest. There was 
(Nue winter evening, I sud to my mother 
that I was going to Bowerlu^e ror a fort- 
night, for that I had more conveniency 
for writing with Alexander Jjaidlaw, than 
at home ; and I added, '^ But I will not 
take Hector with me, for he is constantly 
quarrelling with th^ rest of the dogs, 
singing music, or breeding some uproar.** 
— " Na, na," quoth she, " leave Hector 
\i ith me ; I like aye best to have hhn at 
hame, poor fallow." 

These were all the words that passed. 
The next morning the waters were in a 
great flood, and I did not go away till 
after breakfast ; but when the time came 
for tying up Hector, he was wanting. — 

" The d 's in that beast," said I, « 1 

will wager that he heard what we were 
saying yesternight, and has gone off for 
Bowerhope as soon as the door was opened 
tlus morning." 

" If that that should really be the case, 
I'll think the beast no canny," said my 

The Yarrow was so large as to be quite 
impassable, so that I had to go up by St. 
Mary's Loch, and go across by the boat ; 
and, on drawing near to Bowerhope, I 
soon perceived that matters had gone pre- 
cisely as I suspected. Large as the Yarrow 
was, and it appeared impassable by any liv- 
ing creature. Hector had made his escape 
early in the morning, had swum the river, 
and was sitting, '* like a drookit hoi,'* 
on a knoll at the east end of the house, 
awaiting my arrival with great impa- 
tience. I had a great attachment to wis 
animal, who, wi£ a good deal of absurd- 
ity, joined all the amiable qualities of his 
species. He was rather of a small size, 
very rough and shagged, and not far firom 
the' colour of a fox. — Blackufood^s Maga^ 



Mat gazing angels ever keep, 
Strict charge around thy bed; 

And o'er those eyes now elos'd in sleep. 
Their shadowy pinions spread. 

Sweet innocent ! thy pleasing dreams 

With wearied Israel's vie; 
Rivers of milk and honey streams 

The Land of Promise nigh,^^ , 

But, Oh ! when reason's light shalnldne 
And beauty's bud sh^ blow 

Guide to thy steps may Faith divi 
The real CanaMi wiew. 

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The Guildhall of the city of Bath was 
formerly in the centre of the High-street, 
but the Corporation finding its situation 
inconvenient, and its offices incommo- 
dious, resolved on erecting a new building 
€dt the same purpose on the east side of 
the High-street ; the first stone of which 
was laid on the 11th of February, 1768 ; 
but in consequence of the exorbitant de- 
mand made by the inhabitants for leases of 
the houses necessary for the object, a 
total stop was put to the building for some 
years, after the walls had been built to 
the height of fifteen feet. 

In 177^ it was determined to complete 
the hall, but the first design was relin- 
quished, and a new one adopted, which 
was made by Mr. Thomas Baldwin the 
Architect, and hnmediately carried into 
effect This building, of which our en- 
graving is an accurate view, is of the 
composite Older ; at each end is awing 
fifty-two feet long, where the com, poul- 
tevy fish, and vegetable markets are held. 
There is also a watch-house at one end, 
and a lock-up house at the other. The 
basement story of the hall is occupied by 
a noble kitdien and offices ; the ground- 
floor consists of a vestibule, a justiciary 
room, with a drawing-room for the Mayor, 
and several other apartments for different 
officers. A grand staircase leads to the 
banqueting room, which is eighty feet 
long, forty wide, and thirty-one feet 
high. On the west side of this apart- 
ment is a council room. In the hall 
there is a curious relic of Roman anti- 
quity, a head of Minerva which was dug 
up in Stall-street, in the year 1725. 

Bath was a Roman city, and was then 
called Aqua Salis-Fonie* Caiidi, It is 
a corporate town 107 miles from London, 
and contains a population of 31,496 per. 


The longest law-suit ever heard of i& 
England, was between the heirs of Sir 
Thomas Talbot, Viscount Lisle, on the 
one part, and the heirs of Lord Berkel^ 
on the other, respecting certain possessiDUt 
not far &om Wotton-under-Edge, in the 
county of Gloucester. It conmienced at 
the end of the reign of Edward IV. and 
was depending till the reign of James I., 
when a compromise took place, it having 
lasted above 120 years. 


When Mrs. Robinson published her 
Sappho and Phaon, she wrote to Mr. 
Boden, the newspaper editor, in the fol- 
lowing terms: — Mrs. Robinson would 
thank her friend Boden for a dozen pufis 
for Sappho and Phaon. By mistake of 
the two-penny post this note was delivered 
to Mr. Bowden'the pastrycook in the 
Strand, who sent this answer: " Mr. 
Bowden*s respectful compliments to Mrs. 
Robinson, shall be very happy to serve 
her, but as Mrs. R. is not a constant 
customer, he cannot send the pufis for 
the young folks without first receivhig 
the money." 

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IbtUntCtu amu^ementjs. 

JNo. L 


Plato said arithmetic uid goemetry 
were the two winos of the mathematician, 
by which he might soar to an almost 
inde&dte height. If the oon^arison of 
Plato>he continued, it may be asserted 
that arithmetic is the mathematician's 
right ffdQg, because geometrical demon- 
stratid&s would frequently affi>id but little 
satisfaction to the mind, if they could not 
be reduced to numerical relati<His ; a cir- 
cumstance which justifies the conmnHi 
practice of commencing scientific pursuits 
with common arithmetic. The -science 
itself f resents an extensive field for spe- 
culation and curious reseaxvfa; but we 
shall ffoflifie ourselves to such thin^ as 
are host Ciyci:^ted to excite the curiosi^ 
of yo\|i;^rpers<«8, who, when diey find 
that arirastftmd Of wnusement is within 
their reach, may be induced to put forth 
their native energies, in pursuit of the 
useful and important, as well as the light 
nod amusing. 

They, it will be admitted, have been 
peculiarly happy who have successfully 
combined instruction with relaxation, and 
who have contrived to teach important 
. truths^ under* the sembhmce of diversion. 
Sometimes persons are, for a mom«i^ 
put to a stand by problems the most 
fiimple and amusing, thoii^ they ase 
tiiemselves deeply versed in; science, be- 
cause they have not been accustomed to 
think upob subjects which, perhaps, ap- 
peared too trifling to engage their thought. 
The solution, however, must depend upon 
elementary calculation, the natural pro- 
perties of certain bodies, or arithmetical 
combinations. The sagacity and pre- 
tended knowledge of the person who pro- 
posed them are subjects of admiration, 
though nothing is easier than to under- 
stand and to execute what excites our 
astonishment, and with a little consider- 
ation things still greater. 

Puzzling questions have, at all times, 
formed a part of the amusements of the 
most polished nations ; and they have 
been received with avidity, even by young 
persons, when presented under the agree- 
able form of an enigma of recreation; 
and it may be affirmed, judging from 
experience and&cts, that we are some« 
times conducted to the higher parts of 
abstract studies, by the flowery path of 
experiments, which we, at first, consi- 
dered as objects of mere cimosity. 

We are always gratified when we om- 
come an obstacle, and comprehend a diffi* 
culty that has checked the |«ogress of 
others, or have unveiled a mystery con. 
c^ed from persons possessed <^ appa- 
rently mf»Fe penetration than ourselves. 
As a specimen of aritimietical recreations, 
we shall give what has been called a 
puzde : it is a sort of toy that has induced 
many to learn the eariy and fundamental 
rulesof arithmetic, who would unwillingly 
have applied to books or the slate. % . ; 
The whole art of arithmetie^ is ^xim* 
prehended, in all its various medifica- 
ticms, of the four rules. Addition, Sub- 
traction, Multiplication and, ^Division. 
And of these, addition and subtraction 
may be said to be fundamental^ as mul- 
tiplication and division, are only short 
methods of addition and subtjcaetion. 

There have been various ttieehanical 
helps to the attainment of tiie early rules 
|n arithmetic Sir San^uel Moriand, in 
the reign of Charles II., invented two 
arithmetical machines, of which-he pub- 
lished an account, uimI^ the titie of '^ The 
Description and Use of two Arithmetic 
Instruments ; together with a shoit Trea- 
tise, explaining the ordinary Opemtions 
of Arithmetic," &c presented to his 
Most Excellent Majesty, Charies IL, by 
S. Morland, in 1662. This work is illus- 
trated with twelve nlates, in which the 
different parts of tne machine are ex- 
hibited; and from these we learn, that 
the four rules above named are very rea- 
dily worked, and, to use the autiior's own 
words, without charging jth& nwnory, 
disturbing the mind, or exposing the 
operations to any uHoertainty. . The ma- 
chines referred to were manufactured and 
sold by Humphrey Adanson, in the Tower 
of London. 

About thirty years ago, the jnceseat 
Earl Stanhope invented two machines fbr 
tile like purposes as those for which Mr. 
Morland's were intended; and we have 
it upon unquestionaUe antiiori^, that his 
lordship, wnen proposing a plan to par- 
liament for the reduction of the national 
debt, actually verified the truth of all the 
calculations by means of these instru- 
ments. The smaller of the two machines, 
intended for addition and subtraction, is 
about the size of an octavo, vdhime, and 
by means g^ dial plates and indices, move- 
able with a steel pin, the operations, to 
any extent, are pemnmed with undevia- 
ting accuracy. The second, and by fiur 
the most cioious instrument, is about 
half the size of a common table writing- 
desk. By this, problems in multipliau 
tion and division are solved, witiumt the 
possibility of a mistake, by the simple 
revolution of a small wineh.^ The mul* 

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ti^er aadtmiltiMieaad, in one case, and 
tne diTiBor and mvidend in' the other, are 
&Bt properly arranged ; then, by turnhig 
the winch, the product or quotient is 
found. What appears Tery ^ctraordinary 
to roectators, is, — that in working sums 
in division, if the operator be inattentive 
to his business, and attempts to turn the 
handle a single Irevoluticm nunre than he 
ought, he is instantly admoni^ed of his 
mistake by the sudden springing up of a 
small ivory ball. 

The following tableilhave been deno- 
minated an aritmnetical puzde ; we there, 
fore present them with an explanation. 
They are, no doubt, familiar to many of 
our readers, but we trust Aey will still 
be acceptable. 

(1.) (|) (3.) (^) (^^) (^) 

3 3 5 9 17 33 

5 6 6 10 18 34 

7 7 7 11 19 35 

,9 10 12 12 20 .36 

11 11 13 13 21 37 

13 14 14 14 22 38 

15 15 15 15 23 39 

17 18 20 24 ■ 24 40 

19 19 21 25 25 41 

21 22 22 26 26 42 

23 23 23 27 27 43 

25 26 28 28 28 44 

27 27 29 29 29 46 

29 30 30 30 30 46 

31 31 31 31 31 47 

33 34 36 40 48 48 

35 35 37 41 49 49 

37 3fl( 38 42 50 50 

39 39 39 43 51 51 

41 42 44 44 52 52 

43 43 45 45 53 53 

45 46 46 46 54 54 

47 47 47 47 55 55 

49 50 52 56 56 56 

51 51 53 67 57 57 

53 54 54 58 ,58 58 

55 56 55 59 59 59 

57 58 60 60 60 60 

59 59 61 61 61 61 

61 62 62 62 62 62 

These columns of figures are to be 
Written or pasted on teKps of «ardvkboard, 
ivory, bone, &c., which are to be given 
into the hands of a person to fix upon a 
number, and having done so he returns 
the cards, and on which the number fixed 
on -is found ; and his friend tells him 
instantly, by addition, whatnumber he 
has selected; this h d(me by addfaig 
together the top figures on the cards 

Exffl^ple,(l.) Suppose he fix on 18; 
then he will return the cards No. 2 and 5, 
beeauise 18 wiU be found on those only; 

and tiie top figniMof thoMcai^ are 2 
and 16, wmch added together give 18. 

(2.) Suppose he fix on 41 : then he 
will return No. 1, 4, and 6, and the top 
figures hi these are 1, 8, and 32, =41. 

(3.) Suppose he fix on ^ ; then he 
will return No. 2, 4, 5, and 6, and die 
uf^r figures on these are, 2, 8, 16, 82, 

'For subtraction, the method is equally 
obvioob ; toA In this case, the cards are 
to bere^tutned Which have not fhe number; 
and the upper figures added together, and 
their sum -subtracted from 63 (which is 
the sum dfthe top figures on all the 
cards), will -give t^e number fixed on. 

Example (1.) Suppose a person fix on 
41, as above; then, for an exercise in 
subtraction, he Will return the eards No. 
2, 3, and 5, the top ^^ur^of which are 
2, 4, and 16, =22, and 22 taken from 63, 
leave 41. 

' (2.) Suppose he fix on 51 ; then he 
will return No. 3 and 4, the top figures 
of whidi are 4 and 8. =12, and 12 from 
63 give 51 ; and so of all odier numbers. 


At a short distance from Doaai, theie 
stood a castle on the bank of a river near 
abridge. The master of this castle was 
hunchbacked. Nature had exhausted her 
ingenuity in the formation of his whim, 
sical figure. In place of understanding, 
she had given hun an inmiense head, 
which nevertheless was lost between his 
two shoulders : he had thick hair, a short 
neek, and a horrible visage. 

Spite of his deformity, this bugbear 
bethought himself of falling in love with 
a beautifril young woman, the daughter of 
a poor but respectable burgess of Douau 
He sought her in marrif^e, and as he was 
the richest person in the district, the poor 
girl was delivered up to him. Afrer the 
nuptials, he was as much an object of 
pity as she, for bdng devoured by jea- 
lousy, he had no tranquillity night or 
day, but went pr3dng and rambling every 
where, and simered no stranger to enter 
the castle. 

One day, during the Christmas festival, 
while standing senthiel at his eate, he was 
accosted by three humpbacked minstrels. 
They saluted him as a brother, as such 
asked him for refreshments, and at the 
same time, to establudi the fraternity. 

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thef ostentatioualy shouldered their humps 
at him. Contraiy to expectation, he eon- 
ducted them to his kitchen, gave them a 
capon with peas, and to earn a piece of 
money over and ahove. Befinre their de- 
parture, however, he warned them never 
to return, on pain of bdng thrown into the 
river. At tms threat of the ChateUdn the 
minstrels laughed heartily and took the 
road to the town, singing in full chorus, 
and duicing in a grotesque manner, in de- 
rinion of tl^ brother hump of the casde. 
He, on his part, without pajring further 
attention, went to walk in the fields. 

The lady, who saw her husband cross 
the bridge, and had heard the minstrels, 
called them back to amuse her. They had 
not been Ions returned to the castle, when 
her husband knocked at the gate, by 
which she and the minstrels were equally 
alarmed. Fortunately, the lady perceived 
in a neighbouring room three empty cof- 
fers. Into each of these she stufied a 
minstrel, shut the covers, and then opened 
the gate to her husband. He had only 
come back to espy the conduct of nis wi& 
as usual, and, after a short stay, went out 
anew, at which you may believe his wife 
was not dissatisfied. She instantly ran to 
the coffers to release her prisoners, for 
night was approaching, ana her husband 
would not probably be lone absent But 
what was her dismay when she found 
them all three suffocated ! Lamentation, 
however, was useless. The main object 
now was to get rid of the dead bodies, and 
she had not a moment to lose. She ran 
dien to the gate, and seeing a peasant go 
by, she offered him a reward of thiity 
Uvres ; and, leading him into the castle, 
she took him to one of the coffers, and 
showing him its contents, told him he 
must tmrow the dead body into the river: 
he asked for a sack, put the carcase into 
it, pitdied it over the imdge, and thai re- 
turned quite out breath to daun the 
promised reward. 

*' I certainly intended to satisfy you," 
said the lady, ^^ but you ought first to 
fulfil the condition of the bargain — ^you 
have agreed to rid me of the dead body, 
have you not? There, however, it is 
still." Saying this, she showed him to 
the other comr, in which the second 
humpbacked minstrel had expired. At 
this sight the clown was perfectly con- 
founded — " how the devil ! come bade ! 
a sorcerer!" — ^he then stuffed the body 
into the sack, and threw it, like the other 
over the bridge, taking care to put the 
head down and to observe that it sank. 

Meanwhile the lady had again changed 
the positon of the cofffars, so that the 
third was now in the place which had 
been successively occupied by the two 

others. When the peasant returned, she 
shewed him the remaining dead body :— 
**' You axe right, finend," said she, ^* he 
must be a magician, for diere he is again." 
The rustic gnashed his teeth with rage. 
'^ What the devil ! am I to do nothmg 
but carry about this humpback? " He 
then lifted him up, with dreadful impre- 
cations, and havmg tied a stone round 
the neck, threw him into the the middle 
of the current, threatening, if he came 
cut a third time to despatch him with a 

The first obiect that presented itself to 
the down, on his way back for his reward, 
was the hunchbacked master of the castle 
returning ^m his evening walk, and ma- 
king towards the gate. At this sight ^ 
peasant could no longer restrain his fury. 
^«Dog of a humpback, are you there 
again ?" So saying, he sprung on the 
Chatdain, threw him over nis shoulders, 
and hurled him headlong into the river 
after the minstrels. 

'^ 1*11 venture a wager you have not seen 
him this last time," said the peasant, en- 
tering the room where l^e lady was seated. 
She answered, she had not *' You were 
not far from it," replied he: '*the sorce- 
rer was already at the gate, but I have 
taken care of him — be at your ease — he 
will not come back now." 

The lady instantly comprehended what 
had occurred, and recompensed the pea- 
sant with mudi satisfaction.— Potnto of 
Humour^ Part II, 


Br Jacob Jones, Esq., Jun. 

Wrkathb the lyre, O Britain ! wreathe it 

Darkly, with the cypress tree ; 
Aud the tale of tears, Oh I breathe it 

To the saddest minstrelsy. 

Never, since the sun, in glory, 
Leapt resplendent fortn to life ; 

In the anuals of our story. 
In the records of our strife ; 

Never did the blast of sorrow 

Fairer hopes condemn to fade ; 
Nor the grief that knows no morrow. 

Cast o er earth so wide a shade. 

Little, when the bad was blighted, 
Deem'd we that the tree would fall : 

But the thunderbolt, that lighted. 
Smote the blossom, stem, and all. — 

When the brave in battle perish. 

Swept untimely to the grave, 
Trophied urns their memories cherished : 

Such the record of the brave. 

But when falls the wife and mother 
Pride and hope of Britain's isle I 

What can Britain's anguish smothei * 
What reanimate her smile ? 
Fait of Constantinople and other Poems 

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C^e j3of)elt0U 


(Concluded from our last.) 
Assi STAVCE was promptly procuied, and 
the wounded sufieien were carefully re- 
moved to their respective dwellings. Fre- 
derick liAngdale's sufferings were much 
peater than ^ose of his companion, and 
m addition to severe firactures of two of 
his limhs, the wound upon the head pre- 
sented a most terrible appearance, and 
excited the greatest alarm in his medical 

Mr. Harding, whose temperate course 
of life was greatly advantageous to his 
case,, had su&red comparatively little : a 
simple fracture of the arm and dislocation 
of the collar-bone, (which was the extent 
of hia misfortune,^ were, by skilful treat- 
ment and implicit obedience to profes- 
sional commands, soon pronounced in a 
state of improvement ; but a wound had 
been inflicted which no doctor could heaL 
The conviction that the woman, whose 
anger he had incurred, had, if not the 
power of producing evil, at least a pro- 
phetic spirit, and mat he had twice again 
to see her before the fulfilment of her 
proi^ecT, struck deep into his mind : and 
although he felt himself more at ease 
when he had communicated lo Mrs. 
Harding the fact of having seen the Gipsy 
at the moment of the accident, it was 
Impossible for him to rally fh)m the 
shock which his nerves had received. It 
was in vain he tried to shake off the per- 

Eetnal apprehension of again beholding 

Frederick Langdale remained for some 
time in a very precarious state. All 
visitors were excluded from his room, 
jnd a wretched space of two months 
passed, during which his affectionate 
Maria had never been allowed to see him, 
nor to write to, nor to hear from him. 
While her constitution, like that of my 
poor Fanny Meadows, was gradually 
giving way to the constant operation of 
solicitude and sorrow. 

Mr. Harding meanwhile recovered ra- 
p^ly, but his spirits did not keep pace 
with his mending health : the dread he 
felt of quitting his house, the tremour ex- 
cited in his breast by a knocking at the 
door, or the approach of a footstep, lest 
the intruder should be the basilisk Mar. 
tha, were not to be described ; and the 
appearance of his poor Maria did not 
tend to dissipate the ^oom which hung 
over his mind. When Frederick at length 
was sufficiently recovered to receive visi- 
tors, Maria was not sufiiciently well to 

visit him: she was too rapidly sinking 
into an early grave, and even the physician 
himself appeared desirous of preparing 
her parents for the worst, while she, full 
of the symptomatic prospectiveness of Uie 
disease, talked anticipatingly of future 
happiness, when Frederick would be suf- 
ficiently re-established to visit her. 

At length, however, the doctors sug- 
gested a change of air — a suggestiim in- 
stantly attended to, but alas ! too late ; 
the weakness of the poor girl was such, 
that upon a trial of ner strength it was 
found inexpedient to attempt her removaL 

In this terrible state, separated from 
him whose all she was, did the exemplary 
|>atient lineer, and life seemed flickering 
m her flushing cheek ; and her eye was 
sunken and her parched lip quivered wiUi 

It was at length agreed, that on the 
following day Frederick Langdale might 
be permitted to visit her:---his varied 
fractures were reduced, and the wound on 
the head had assumed a favourable ap- 
pearance. The carriage was ordered t# 
convey him to the Hardings at one, ana 
the physicians advised by eim means, that 
Maria should be aj^rised of and prepared 
for the meeting, the day previous to its 
taking place. Those who are pareOLS* 
and those alone, will be able to under- 
stand the tender solicitude, the wary cau- 
tion with which both her father and 
mother proceeded in a disclosure, so im- 
portant as the medical men thought, to 
her recovery— so careful that the coming 
joy should be imparted gradually to their 
suffering child, and that all the mischief 
resulting from an abrupt announcement 
should be avoided. 

They sat down by her — spoke of Fre- 
derick — ^Maria joined in the conversation 
—ndsed herself in her bed — ^by degrees, 
hope was excited that she might soon 
again see him — ^this hope was gradually 
improved into certainty — the period at 
wmch it might occur spoken o£— that 
period again progressively diminished: 
the anxious girl caught the whole truth 

she knew it — she was conscious that 

she should behold him on the morrow~- 
she burst into a flood of tears and sank 
down upon her pillow. 

At that moment the bright sun, which 
was shining in all its splendour, beamed 
into the room, and fell strongly upon her 
flushed countenance. 

" Draw the blind down, my love," said 
Mrs. Harding to her husband. Harding 
rose and pro<^eded to the window. 

A shriek of horror burst from him— 
<< She is diere !" exclaimed he. 

" Who ?" cried his astonished wife. 

^< She.^&— the horrid she !" 

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3fn. Harding lao .window and 
beheld on the oppoaite side of the atxeet, 
with hst eyes fixed attentivdj oa the 

house— .BlULT HA THE GiPST* 

^' Draw down the blind, my love, and 
come, away ; pray come away/' said Mrs. 

Har^ng drew down the blind. 

«' What evil is at hand ?" sobbed the 
agonized man. 

A loud scream ^m Mrs. Hardino, 
who had returned to the bed-side, was the 
horrid answer to his painful questions. 

Maria was dead ! 

Twice of the thrice had he seen this 
dreadM fiend in human shape; each 
visitation was (as she had foretold) to 
surpass the precedingone, .in its impor. 
tance of horror..~What conld surpass 

Before the afflicted parents lav their 
innocent child stretched in the still sleep 
of dmth ; neither of them belief ed it true 
.-it seemed like a horrid dream. Harding 
was bewildered, and turned fi:om the 
corpse of his beloved, to the window he 
had just left. Martha was gone — and he 
heard her singing a wild and joyous air 
at the other end of the street. 

The servants were summoned — medical 
aid wascalledin — but k was all too late! 
and the wretched parents were doomed to 
mourn their loved, their lost Maria. 
George, her fond and affectionate brother, 
who was at Oxford, hastened firom all the 
academic honours which were waiting 
him, to follow to her grave his beloved 

The effisct unon Frederick Tangdale 
was most dreadral, it was siq^posed that 
he would never recover ftom a shock so 
^leat, and at the moment so unexpected ; 
for. although the delicacy of her consti- 
Ation was a perpetual source of uneasi- 
ness and solicitude, still the immediate 
symptoms had taken rather a favourable 
turn during the last few days of her life, 
and had re-invigorated the hopes which 
those who so dearly loved her, entertained 
of her eventual recovery. Of this dis- 
tressed young man I never indeed heard 
any thing, tUl about three years after, 
when I saw it announced in the papers 
that he was numried to the only daughter 
of a rich west«country baronet, whioi, if 
I wanted to work out a proverb here, 
would afford me a most admirable oppor- 
tunity of doing so. 

The death of poor Maria, and the dread 
which her father entertained of the third 
visitation of Martha, made the most com- 
plete change in the affairs of the family. 
Dj the exertion of powerful interest, he 
obtained an appointment for his son to 
act at his deputy in the office which he 

held, and having, achieved this desifed 
object, resolved i>n loiving En^and fw a 
time, and quitting^ neighbourhood where 
he must be pei^tually exposed^ to the 
danget which he was now perfectly con- 
vin^ was ins^aimbb ftem Ms next in- 
terview with tha-weiid woman* 

Georae^ otoovaat^ thaa^x^heekedinjuf 
dassicu pursuits^ left Oxford^ and at4l« 
earljr age of nineteen commmed ivStlve 
offiaal life, not certainty w^h^^ai^cukff 
department which hiaflBOthw iHMi 9tikeu4. 
foe his dSbiU f and It wi^ fomewhat ot%- 
servable, that the Tiangdales aft^ thf 
death of Maria, not cnkw abstained from 
frequent intercourse with the HaiiHnga> 
during their stay in Eqgliind, but that 
the mighty professions of the puzse^rond 
citizen dwindled by degrees into an abi(»- 
lute forgetfulness of any proanisa, pven 
conditional, to exert an interest ISnr njiek 
son. . > 

Seeing this, Mr. Hardmg fdt thai he 
should act prudentially, by endeavQu^mg 
to place his son, where, in the course m 
time, he mi^r p^haps attain to that 
situation, from whose honourable revenue 
he could live Ifte a gentleman-^and ^^ settle 

All the anan^pents whid& the )^hid 
^£ftther had pn^posed being made,* the 
mourning couple proceeded on a. length- 
ened tour of the Ckmtinent^ .and it was 
evident that his spirits mended rs^idly 
when he felt conscious that his liduUtf 
to encounter Martha was decreased* . T]»s 
sorrow of mourning. waSrSQO&edaQi 
softened in the common oourseef Nature, 
and the quiet dwnesticated couple -sat 
themselves down at lausanne, ^' the waodd 
forgetting, by the world forgot,** exeeft 
by their excellent and exemplary son, 
whose good qualities,, it seems, had. an- 
tivated a remarkably pretty girl, a^nf^n- 
bour of his, whose motha appeared tobe 
equally charmed with the goodness of his 

There speared, strange to say, in this 
affair, no difficulties to be surmounted, 
no obstacles to be overcome ; and the 
consent of the Haxdings (requested in a 
letter, wMch also be^^^ uem to be pie- 
sent at the ceremony, if they were witting 
it should take place,) was presaitly ob- 
tained by George; and at the dose of the 
second year, which had passed since thek 
departure, ^e parents anid son were again 
united in that house, the very sight of 
which recalled to their recollection their 
poor unhappy daughter and her melan* 
choly fate, and which was stiU associated 
most painfully in the mind of Ikb. Huh 
ding with the hated Qipsr, 

The charm however had, na dcmbt, 
been broken. In the two, past yean 

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Maxiba. was^ doubtileBS, either dead, or 
gone fiom the neig^bouriiood. They 
woe a wandering tribe--and thus Mis. 
Harding checked the rising apprehensions 
and renewed uneasiness of her husband ; 
and so weU did she succeed, that when 
the wedding-day came,iind the bells rang 
and the favours fluttered in the air, his 
countenance was lighted with smUes, and 
he kissed t}ie glowing cheek of his new 
dau^ter-in-law with warmth, and some- 
thing like hi^piness. 

The wedding took place at that season 
c^ the year when mends and families 
meet jovially and harmonmsly, when all 
litde bickerings are forgotten, and when, 
by a general feeling founded upon religion 
and perpetuated by the memory of the 
Uessmg granted to the world by the Al- 
mighty, an universal anmesty is pro- 
dauned ; when the cheerful fixe, and the 
tefsmlng board announce that Qiristiiaas 
is come, and mirth and gratulation axe 
the order of the day. 

It unfortunately happened, however, 
that to the„ account of Miss Wilkinson's 
marriage with Oeoxge Harding, I am not 
permitted, in truth, to add that they left 
town In a travelling carriage and four, to 
npend. the honey-moon. Three o. four 
days permitted absence ficom his. office 
alone were devoted to the cdebration of 
the nuptials, and it was agreed that the 
whole par^^, tether with the youn^ 
branches of Uie Wilkinsons, their cousms 
and second cousins, &c should meet on 
twelfth-night to celebrate in a juvenile 
party, the return of the bride and bride- 
groom to their home. 

Wlien that night came it was deHght. 
ful to see the happy faces of the smiling 
youngsters-; it was a pleasure to behold 
them pleased — a participation in which, 
since the highest amongst us, and the 
most accompUshed prince in Europe annu- 
ally evinces the gratification he feels in 
such sights, I am by no means disposed 
to disclaim. And merry was the jest, 
and gaily did the evening pass ; and Mr. 
Harmng, surroimded by his youthful 
ffuests, smiled, and for a season forgot 
his care : yet, as he glanced round 8ie 
room he could not suppress a sigh,- when 
he recollected that in that very room his 
darling Milria had entertained her little 
parties on the anniversary of the same 
day in former years 

Supper was announced early, and the 
gay throne bounded down stairs to the 
parlour, where an abundance of the luxu- 
ries o£ middling life crowded the board. 
In die centre appeared the great object of 
the feast — a huge twelfth-Cf&e, and gilded 
Idngs and queens, stood lingering over 
dmeg of scarlet sweetmeats, and hearts 

oS sugar lay enshrined with warlike tro« 
phies of the same materiaL 

Many and deep were the wounds thei 
mighty cake received, and every guest 
watched with a deep anxiety the coming, 
portion, relatively to the glittering splen, 
dour with which its firosted sur&e was 
adorned. Character-cards illustrated with 
pith]^ motto^ and quaint sayings, were 
distributed; and by one of th^ little 
firauds which such societies tolerate, Mr. 
Harding was announced as king, and the 
new bride as queen ; and there was such 
charming jokmg,and such hannless mer- 
riment abounding, that he looked to his 
wife with an expression of content, which 
she had often but vainly sought to fiud 
upon his countenance since t& death of 
his dear Maria. 

Supper concluded, the clock struck 
twelve, and the elders looked as if it were 
time for the young ones to depart. One 
half-hour's gxace was begged for by the 
(( King," and granted ; and Mrs. George 
Haidiog on tms night was to sing them 
a song about ^^ poor old maidens;'-^an 
ancient quaintness, which bv custom and 
usage ever since she was a httle child she 
had annually performed upon this anni. 
versary; and, accordingly, the promise 
being daimea, sUence was obtained, and 
she, with all that shew of tucker^heaving 
diffidence whidi is so very 
pretty downy-cheeked girl, prepared to 
commence, when a noise, resembling that 
produceable by the falling of an eight- 
and-forty pound shot, echoed tlirough the 
house. It appeared to descend'from the 
very top of the building down each flight 
of stairs, rapidly and violently. It passed 
the door of the room in which they were 
sitting, and rolled its impetuous course 
downwards to the basement. As it seemed 
to leave the parlour the door was forced 
open, as if by a gust of wind, and stood 

AIL the children were in a moment on 
their feet, huddled dose to their respective 
mothers in groups. Mrs. Harding rose 
and rang the bell to inquire the meuiing 
of the uproar. Her daughter-in-law, pale 
as ashes, looked at George; but there 
was one of the party who moved not— 
who stirred not : it was the elder Harding, 
whose eyes first fixed stedfastly on, the 
half-opened door, followed the course of 
the wall of the apartment to the fire- 
place ;-i.there they rested. 

When the servants came, they said 
they had heard the noise, but thought it 
proceeded from above. Harding looked 
at his wife ; and then turning to the ser- 
vant, observed cardessly, that it must 
have been some noise in the street, &nd 
desiring him to withdraw, intreated the 

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bride to pursue hcT song. She did ; but 
the children had been too much al«rmed 
to enjoy it, and the noise had in its cha- 
racter something so strange and so un- 
earthly, that even the elders of the partr, 
although bound not to admit any thing like 
apprehension before their offspring, felt 
glad when they found themselves at home. 
When the guest&were gone, and Oeorgt's 
wife lighted her candle to retire to rest, 
her father-in-law kissed her affectionatelv 
and prayed God to bless her. He then 
took a kind leave o£ his son, and pw.-tting 
up a fervent prayer for his hapmness, 
pressed him to his heart, and bade him 
adieu with an earnestness, which, under 
the circumstance of a tem- 
porary separation, was inexplicable to the 
young man. 

Wnen he reached his bed-room he 
spoke to his wife, and entreated her to 
prepare her mind for some great calamity. 

" What it is to be," said Harding, 
*' where the blow is to faU I know not ; 
but it is impending over us this night !** 

" My life !" exdaimed Mrs. Hardhig, 
" what fancy is this ?" 

*' Eliza, love !** answered her husband, 
in a tone of unspeakable agony, " I have 
seen her for the third and last time !" 

" WTio ?" 

" Martha, the Gipsy," 

'* Impossible !" said Mrs. Harding, 
** you have not left the house to day !" 

" True, my beloved," replied the hus- 
band ; " but I have seen her. Wben 
that tremendous noise was heard at 
supper, as the door was supematurally 
opened, I saw her. She fixed those 
dreadful eyes of hers upon me ; she pro- 
ceeded to the fire-place, and stood in the 
midst of the children, and there she re- 
mained till the servant came in.*' 

*' My dearest husband," said Mrs. 
Harding, " this is but a cUsoxder of the 
imagination !" 

" Be it what it may," said he, " I have 
seen her. Human or superhuman — ^natu- 
ral or Supernatural — there she was. I 
shall not strive to argue upon a point 
where lam likely to meet with little credit : 
all I ask is, pray fervently, have faith, 
and we will hope the evil, whatever it is, 
may be averted." 

He kissed his wife's cheek tenderly, 
and after a fitftil feverish hour or two fell 
into a slumber. 

From that slumber never woke he more. 
He was found dead in his bed in tiie 
morning ! 

" Vl'bether the force of imagination, 
coupled with the unexpected noise, pro- 
duced such an alarm as to rob him of 
life, I know not," said my communicant; 
** but he was dead." 

This story was told me by my fnend 
Ellis in walking from the city to Harky- 
street late in the evening ; and wben we 
came to this part of the history we were 
in Bedford-square, at the dark and dreary 
comer of it where CaioHne-street joins it. 

^^ And, there !" said EUis^ pointuig 
downwards, '^ is the street where it aU 
occurred !" 

" Ckmie, come," said I, " you tdl the 
story well, but I suppose you do not ez« 
pect it to be received as gospeL" 

" Faith," said he, " I know so much 
of it, that I was one of the party, and 
heard the noise." 

" But you did not see the spectre ?** 
cried I.—" No," said Ellis, " I cCTtainly 
did not." 

" No," answered I, " nor any body 
else, I'll be sworn." A quick footstep 
was just then heard behind us — I turned 
half round to let the person pass, and saw 
a woman enveloped in a red closjc, whosie 
sparkling black eyes, shone upon by the 
dim lustre of a lamp above her head, 
dazzled me. — I was startled — ^*' Pray re- 
member old Martha, the Gipsy," 
said the hag. 

It was like a thunder-stroke— .1 in- 
stantly slipped my hand into my pocket, 
and hastily gave her therefrom a five- 
shilling piece. 

" /nianks, my bonny one, said the , 
woman, and setting up a shout of con- 
temptuous laughter, she bounded down 
Caroline-street, into Russell-street, sing- 
ing, or rather yelling a joyous song, 

Ellis did not speaJc during this scene- 
he pressed my arm tightly, and we quick- 
ened our pace. We said nothing to each 
other till we turned into Bedford-street, 
and the lights and passengers of Totten- 
ham-court-road re-assured us. 

" What do you think of tJuiif" said* 
Ellis to me. 

" Seeing is believing," was my 

I have never passed that dark comer of 
Bedford-square in the evening since. 


Several commuBicationa intended for insertion 
this week are unavoidably postponed. 

Numerous letters have readied us to wbicli 
we cannot at present give answers. All letters 
inquiring after communications, should be par- 
ticular in sUting the subject and the signature. 

The following are intended for insertion :— 
J. M. C.,J. D— », J. D., Patche, 1. 1. 0.,Siwel 
Fitzroy, O—ll, J. fT. 2>., D. D., I. A. /., 
Jonehutt Mrith divers communications from our 
constant and well-known contributors. 

Ergo$ is very stale. Mathews has the joke. 

Printed and Published by J. LIMBIRD, 
143, Strand, (near Somertet HauMj undioid 
by allJfewimen and Bookeeliert, 

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No. LXXVI.] 

SATURDAY, MARCH 27, 1824. 

[Pricb %L 

W^t 9mimt CxQUi in €|)eapjetOfe« 

Few streets are more celebrated ill the 
history of London, than Cheapside, a 
place where the busy merchant, the heavjr- 
loaded porter, the chivaLrous knight, and 
even the monarch have played their parts. 
Tilts and tournaments have frequently 
been held in Cheapside, and at one of 
these martial sports, which a . French 
king well observed, were too much for a 
iest, and too little for earnest, had nearly 
been attended with disastrous conse- 
quences. This was in the year 1329, 
when the lists were appointed between 
King-street and Wood-street: near the 
latter -place a scaffold was erected across 
die street, '^resembling a tower," says 
the historian Stowe, in which the Queen 
and principal ladies of the court were 
•eated, to behold the spectacle. The 
jiutings continued three days, on one of 
which the scaffold broke down and the 
Queen and many ladies were precipitated 
to the ground, but fortunately escaped 
unhurt. Edward III. threatened the 
builders with exemplary punishment, 
but thioa^^ the intercession of Philippa 
{hit Queen), made on her knees, tne 
Kfoff and Council were pacified, wherebTy 

says Stowe, ^^ she purchased great lo\e 
of the people.*' 

A Cross formerly stood in Cheapside, 
just opposite to Wood-street. It waa 
erected as a monument of the affectionate 
regard which Edward I. entwtained foi 
the memory of his Queen, Eleanor, who 
had been his companion in the Crusades, 
and who, according to report, had saved 
his life when wounded with a poisoned 
arrow, by sucking his wounds. The 
Cross at Cheapside, like that at Waltham, . 
given in No. 55 of the Mia&OA, was 
erected on one of the places where her 
corpse rested on its way from Hareby, in 
Lincolnshire, where she died, to WesU 
minster Abbey, the place of her inter- 

The Cross in Cheapside was originally 
a statue of the Queen, but becoming 
ruinous it was rebuilt in 1446 at the 
expense of the citizens. It was then 
omamenteii with various images and em- 
blematical figures of the Resurrection, 
the Blessed Virgin, Edward the Confes- 
sor, &c. and on the eve of every public 
procession the Cross was genendly le^ 


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In the yeai 1581, after complaint had 
been made that the Cross was a nuisance, 
on the night of ^ Slst of Jane, the 
images round about the Cross were broken 
and de£|oed, and the image of the Virgin 
was robbed of that of her son, which she 
bore in her arms; the images were re- 
paired, but were agailt deniotished in 
1596 with profane indignity. Queen 
Elizabeth did all in her power to restrain 
the bigots ; but the Cross at Cheapside 
met with more formidable enemies in the 
succeeding age of Puritanism. On the 
27th of April, 1642, the Common Coun- 
cil ordered the city members to apply to 
Parliament for leave to take down this 
Cross, which was one of the most elegant 
ancient structures that had ornamented 
the city ; and in the following year, the 
Parliament passed a law for Sie demoli- 
tion of all Crosses. 

The destruction of this famous Cross 
was committed to Sir Robert Hailow, 
who marched to C^ieapside with a troop 
of horse, and two companies of foot. 
The soraiers wero necessary to protect 
the wwkmen ftom the indignation of the 
dttaeas, maey of whom viewed with 
pain and regret the demolition of one of 
their j^oudeit monuments. 

Oiup engraving represents the parties in 
the Qothic art, and at ihe same time 
exhibits the beauty of this ancimt Crosa. 


CTo the Editor of the Mirror*) 

Mr. Editor, — To the art of printing 
we chiefly owe our deliverance from ig- 
norance and error ; the progress of learn- 
ing; the revival of the sciences: and 
numberless improvements in the arts, 
which, without mis noble invention, would 
liave been either lost to mankind, or con- 
fined to the knowledge of a few. 

Thus the art of printing deservtss to be 
considered with respect and attention. 
From the ingenuity of the contrivance, it 
has ever excited mechanical curiosi^; 
from its intimate connection with learn- 
ing, it has justly claimed historical no- 
tice ; and from its extensive influence on 
morality, politics, and religion, it is how 
become a very important speculation. 
Coming and taking impressions on wax 
are of jg^eat antiquity, and theprinciple 
is precisely that of printing. The appli- 
oition of mis principle to the multiplica- 
tion of books, constituted the discovery 
of the art of printing. The Chinese have 
for many ages printed with blocks, or 
whole pi^s engraved on wood ; but the 
appUoafeion of single letters, or moveable 

types tonus the merit and superiority of 
the European art. 

The honour of giving rise t« this me- 
thod has been ds^ooed by the cides of 
Haeikm, Mentz, and Strasburg ; and to 
each of Uiese it may be ascribed in some 
degree, as printers resident in each made 
tttoeessive knprovements in the art. 

It is recorded by a reputable autlunr, 
that one Laurentius, of Haerlem, walking 
in the wood near that city, cut some let- 
ters upon the rind of a beech tree, which 
fOT fancy sake, being impressed upon 
pi^^r, he printed one or two lines for his 
grandchildren ; and this having succeeded, 
he invented a more glutinous ink, because 
he found the common ink sunk and spread ; 
and then formed whole pages of wood, 
with letters cut upon them, and (as nothing 
is ccmiplete in its first invention) the 
sides of the pages were pasted together, 
that they might have the appearance of 
muiuscripts, written on both sides of the 

These beechen letters he afterwards 
changed for leaden ones, and these ^ain 
for a mixture of tin and lead, as a less 
flexible and more solid and durable sub- 
stance. He died in 1440, and we may 
suppose his first attempt to have been 
ibout 1430. 

From this period, printing made a rapid 
progress in most of the principal towns of » 
Europe, superseded the trade of copying, 
which was, till then, very considentde, 
and was in many places considered as a 
species of black art or magic. In 1490 
it reached Constantinople, and was ex- 
tended by the middle of Ae following 
century to Africa and America. It was 
introduced into Russia about 1560 ; but 
from motives, either of policy or super- 
stition, it was speedily suppressed by the 
ruling powers. 

Before 1465, the uniform character was 
the old Gothic or German-text ;, but in 
that year a book was printed in a kind of 
semi-gothic of great elegance, uid ap- 
proaching nearly to the present upright 
Roman type, which latter was first used 
in Rome, in 1467* Toward the end of 
the fifth century, Aldus invented the 
Italic character. 

It was for a long time supposed that 
printing was first introduced and prac- 
tised in Eneland, by William Caxton, a 
mercer, and citizen of London ; who, by 
many years residence in Holland, Flan- 
ders, and Germany, had informed himself 
of the whole process of th^ art, and by 
the encouragement of the great, set up. a 
press in Westminster Abbey, in the year 
1471* But a book has since been found, 
with a date ot its impression,, from, Ox- 
ford, in 1468, which is consider^^ .afjnx>f 

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of the e^erefsd of ptiiitiiig iii that unfyer. 
8ity seveiral yeaft before Caxton began to. 
practise it in Loncton. 

Marehn^lG^. 0. K. L. 



Too true is the pidtdre yoanff Cupid lias painted; 
To live witliout him, oh ! bow vainly I strove ; 
1 MKm was too well with eaeh passion ac- 
That avoided my heart when 'twas guarded 
by love. 

Cold Friendship's stem maxims I soon disre- 
For he sought the advance of each joy to 
From his seat in my lieart he was quickly dis- 
And I sigh'd for the easy compliance of I^ore. 
Suspicion I own was a merciless traitor, 

who ne'er from the gate any enemy drove ; 
He quickly became an unfeeling dictator. 
And I moum'd when I thought of the mildness 
of Love. 

Pride, Bnvy, and Malice gained easy admission, 
And each sought in turn their suggestions to 

prove ; 
elrd from 

I cxpelrd from my heart the fell demon, Suspi- 
And grieved that I ever had parted with Love. 

Despair now presented to fill up the station, 
And sought from my heart every hope to re- 
He admitted pale Sorrow, Remorse, and Vexa- 
And with ev'ry harsh epithet vilified Love. 

If Pity, thy sister, can sway thv decision. 

Oh! once more return from the Cypi^sn grove. 
At her soft ppisuasion forgive thy dismission, 
* For the heart must be broke if not guarded 
by Love, E. Q. B. 

• See Mirror, No. 72. 


In two preceding Numbers of the Mm- 
BOR, we gave some observationB of a cor- 
respondent on tlie best means of instructing 
th<»e unfortunates who are born Deaf, and 
consequently are Dumb. In No. 74, we 
also gave a copy of the Manual Ah)habet, 
whi<£, though we doubt not is fiuniliar 
to many of our readers, we have reason to 
believe has been very acceptable to the 
pttUic ; we at the same time adverted to 
a letter of the celebrated Dr. Wallis, 
horn which we promised an extract. We 
shall, however, perhaps, best consult the 
general taste of our readers by a brief 
analjTsis, and then insert the concluding 
letter of omr correspondent on the subject. 
^ It is most natural, as children learn the 
names of thmgs," says Dr. Wallis, ^« to 
furnish them (by degrees) with a nomen. 
chtture, coht^ning a compe^t number 
of names of iMn^ common and obvious 
to-tiie eye, (that you may show the thing 
O 2 

answering tb such a name,} and these di- 
gested under convenient tides, and placed' 
under in sudi convenient order, (in 
several columns, or other orderly situa- 
tion on the paper,) as (by their position)- 
best to express to the eye their relation or 
respect to one another ; as Contraries or 
Correlatives one against the other ; Subor- 
(Unates or Appurtenances under their' 
principle, which may serve as a kind of 
loeal memory. 

** Thu9 (in one paper) under the title 
Mankind^ may be placed (ndt cohfttsedlT, 
but in decJent order) man, woman, cfail^, 
(boy, girl). 

**- In another paper, under the iiHtBodp^ [ 
naky be written (in like convenient ord^J 
head (hair, skin, ear), face, fofiehead, eye, 
(eyelid, eyebrow), Ac 

'^ And when he hath learned the iinport 
of words in each paper, let him write 
them in like manner, in distinct leaves, 
or pages of a book, (prepared fo^ that 
purpose,) to confirm his memory, and to 
have recourse to it upon occasion. 

** In a third paper you may give him the 
/nwarrfPaf te, as 8ktill,(bTain), throat, &c 

" You may then put Plantsor Vegetabks 
under several heads or subdiyislons of the 
same head. And the Ifke of Inanimatei^ 
as heaven, sun, moon, star, element, 
earth, water, air, i!re, &c 

^ And in mte manner from time to time 
may be added more collections, or clauses 
of names or words, conveniendy digested 
under distinct heads and suitable distri- 
butions, to be written in distinct leaves or 
pages of his book, in sudi order us may 
seem convenient. 

^^ When he is furnished with a com|>e« 
tent number of names, it will be reason- 
able to teach hhn under the titles the ele- 
ments of erammar, the qualities of things^ 
&c. mhUSi he will readily learn. 

*' It will be convenient all along to have 
pen, ink, and paper ready ui hand^ to 
write down in a word what you signify to 
him by sounds, and caujso him to writ«, 
or show him how to write, what he signi- 
fies by signs; which way of signifying 
their mind by signs. Deaf pertotife are often 
verv good at Ana we must endeavour 
to learn their language, if I m^y so call 
it, in order to teach them ours, by show* 
inff what words answer to their signs.'* 

We now insert the letter of our corres- 
pondent, with which we take leave of the 

(To at€ Editor of the Mitmr.} 

8fiE, — Agreeable to my promise, I have 
taken up my pen for the purpose of point- 
ing out to you the great benefit and ad- 
vantage that must arise by the education 
of the Deaf and Dumb with children wl^ 

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can hMT aaA mtk^ tad the levene If 
educated at a dose Aiylum, where none 
but the nnfortunates are instracted. 

Only for one moment let us consider 
the situation of a diild bom Dtef and 
I>umb, when he shows by all outward ap< 
pearances that he possesses every sense but 
that of hearing. His sense of sight soon 
makes him sensible of beings, things, 
and objects, and by degrees he undor. 
stands the use of them, and that without 
knowing a single letter or word. Now, 
put this child into a school where the 
children are all unfortunate like himself, 
what benefit can such children render to 
euih other? and after all their education 
in such a school, when they return home, 
their parents, brothers, and sisters, should 
they have any, find that they should have 
gone to school with them in order to con- 
verse with diem; nay, they soon discover 
that th^ cannot communicate their ideas 
to l^e cnild so well as before he went to 
the Asylum. This is one of the least of 
the evils arising from an Asylum educa. 
tion. To obviate this evil, send the child 
to a school in common with other chil. 
^ben ; let him learn a written language 
the same as diem, and which he is as 
capable of doing ; by this means the child 
wfll not only be able to exchange ideas 
with his parents, brothers, and sisters, 
but his neighbours ; and his school-fel- 
lows will be equally happy in rendering 
the unfortunate child every assistance in 
their power, and, in many instances, 
would do it bettei than any one else, par- 
ticularly when they saw by what simple 
means ue child was taught the meaning 
of one word. It is not to be supposed 
that it will ever happen that the Deu and 
]^mb who are educated at an Asylum will 
spend the remainder of their days together, 
or ofum. see each other, after they leave 
the Asylum, although when at school 
they form an attachment for each other 
much stronger than other children, and 
separate from each other with greater re- 
luctance and regret; this must be ex- 
tremefy painful to them, when they know 
they wiU have to join, as it were, a society 
of foreigners totally unacquainted with 
their language or manners. This is one 
of die greatest evils attached to the pre- 
sent system of educating than. Whereas, 
if they had the benefit of an education at 
a common school with other children less 
unfortunate, or with their parents and 
family, how happy, how contented must 
their fedings be, when they grow up in 
general society, and are capable of ex- 
cnanginff their ideas with all around them. 
Every Uiing that tends to do away the 
distinction between the fortunate and un- 
IbrtanaSe nutt be conducive to the oonu 

fort and happintM of the latter, and wlU 
enable them to fight their way through 
life with greater pleasure and satisfiiction. 
That parents m affluent drcumstanoes, 
who have plenty of leisure time, should 
think of sending such a diild to a school 
where none but the Deaf and Dumb are 
taught, is to me as unnatural as a mother 
who will send her babe to the breast of a 
stranger for food. 

I cannot dose this artide without 
stadng my opinion of the Deaf and Dumb 
Asylums, and the manner in which thcnr 
have been established and supported. 
The first public Deaf and Dumb Asylum 
established in Eiighmd, was opened in 
Grange Road, Bermondsey, by voluntary 
contribudons in 1792, since which, a 
new one has been erected in the Kent 
Road. As soon as the superintendent 
had taught a few of his pupils to speak, 
he presented them to the public by means 
of adverdsements, solidting the benevo- 
lent public to attend at such a church 
and place, when a sermon would be 
preached by some eminent divine, and 
after which a collection would be 
made for the benefit of the establish, 
ment, and that the children would repeat 
the Lmd^s Prayer and a hjrmn, for the 
gradficadon of the public, and to show 
that their money had not been spent in 
vain. The very idea of teaching the 
Deaf and Dumb to speak was supposed 
to be such a mirade, that who would 
have believed it unless they had actually 
heard them ? When they were heard to 
speak, how dissonant were theii voices ; 
it was even painful to hear them. The 
encouragement this establishment met 
with, soon induced the Ci^ of Edin- 
burgh to come forward and propose a 
like Asylum there, and by the same 
means, a sum was raised for that pur- 
pose. I happened to be at Edinburffh a- 
few years ago and attended at one of the 
annual meetings convened for the purpose 
of raising money, when it was observed 
by the superintendent, that as some of 
the company at the last annual meeting, 
had expressed a dislike to hear the poor 
children attempt to speak, it was not 
intended that they should do 9o on that 
day and it was omitted; which dearly 
justifies the EncyclopsBdia Edinensis when 
under die tide ^^ Deaf and Dumb " it is 
said '^We do not contemplate the ac- 
quisidon of speech on the part of the 
Deaf in any other light than as one of 
those sorts of feats in which the eclai and 
fame of the teacher are more promoied ' 
than the wel&re of the pupiL" 

Lasdy. — I shall conclude my observa- 
tions by the following very just remarks 
in No. 52 of the Qo^terly Review, Q^ 

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THS MltlROft. 


**Tht Art of Inftructing the Infknt 
Deaf and Dumb,** by Mr. Airowsmith. 
It speaks voluines. The Reviewer says — 
^^ To those who are still incredulous 
and feel an interest in the subject, we 
earnestly recommend the account which 
Mr. Arrowsmith gives of the plan adopt, 
ed in educating his brother. And to 
render their conviction m<»e certain, let 
them try the plan which he details. There 
are few neighbourlioods in which, unfor* 
tonately, a subject may not be found for 
such a purpose. Let nim be regularly 
sent to any village school with other chil. 
dren. Let him be treated in all respects 
like them, and we venture to predict that 
it will be even impossible to prevent him 
ftam acquuring the knowledge of a me- 
dium which may enable him to omverse 
with his youthful associates. The mind 
is fully as active and vigorous in the one 
as it is in the other ; and the curiosity of 
a Deaf and Dumb child, being strongly 
«Kcited by the objects which attract his 
attention, he can hardly fail to devise 
Mnne means of obtaining from his com- 
panions the information which he wishes 
to procure. 

**- We are perfectly convinced that the 
Deaf and Dumb might be admitted with 
peculiar advantage, into seminaries in 
which children who hear and speak re» 
ceive their instruction. The efibrts whidi 
would be made by the latter class of 
pupils to explain their ideas to their less 
fortunate associates, would, in the end, 
prove highly beneficial even to them- 
selves. It is well known that children 
frequently acquire a knowledge of words 
witnout comprehending the ideas of which 
they are representatives. A constant as- 
sociation with the Deaf and Dumb, would 
impose upon them the necessity of ac- 
^irmg a precise conception of the words 
which thej used, for the purpose of 
making them intelligible to their young 

^ The advantages which would inevi- 
tably result from this admixture would 
be, therefore, mutual, and would much 
more than counterbalance any imaginary 
exeess of skill which a teacher who con- 
fines himself to die sole Instruction of 
the Deaf and Dumb may be supposed to 
possess. The admission of Deaf and 
Dumb pupils into establishments now 
exclusively devoted to the reception of 
those who can hear and speak, could, by 
no possibility retard the progress of the 
latter, while it would greaUy facilitate 
the instruction of the former. Were the 
intercourse of the Deaf and Dumb to be 
confined in after life, to persons labour, 
ing under a similar misfortune, separate 
citablishraenti for their education would 

be recommended by naaons much mora, 
cogent than any which ean be urged in 
their favour while it is remembered that, 
when they leave these institutions, they 
must converse principally, if not exclu- 
sively with persons wno hear and speak.* 
If any of your numerous correspon- 
dents can suggest a better plan for the 
education of these unfortunates, or can 
point out any improvement I shall thank- 
fully acknowledge it as a benefaction. 
I am, yours, 



On viewing the remains of the Roman 
city of Verulam, near St Albans, and 
the Abbey Church, founded in the ninth 
century, by Oflh, Ung of Merda :— . 

Some secret spirit bids me sing. 
And high on soaring pinions mount, 
Tho' yet undipt my nestling wing 
In Pindus or Pamassas' foont— 
How bold th* attempt, untaught, to fly 
And seek the realms of Poesy. 

Tet see how all around me spread. 
Smiling invites my untried powers ! 
A cloudless sky above my head — 
Beneath my feet unnumber'd flowers— 
Mliilst the blithe lark from out the west 
Gay carols ere she sinks to rest. 

How calm, how sweet an eve, how fair 
The primrose blooms on mossy bank ;-" 

The fairies oft disport them there. 
And oft at dawn the lierbage rank. 
In many a darker circlet seen 
Shews where their midnight dance has been. 

And yon green slopes I now survey 
With bushes rough, and void of care. 

Have known a brighter — fairer day- 
Seen Britons roll the tide of war— 
What time the Roman eagle waved 
His wings o*er Verulam enslaved. 
Ye8,« Roman, Verulam was thine, 
Tho' purchased at no common rate. 

But, oh I far greater Britain's fine. 
Concentred in Bonduca's fate ; 
Yet history's pages still can tell. 
And proudly how she fought and fell. 

There, towering on a neighbouring bill 
That once o'er frowu'd the liattling bands 

Majestic, grand, and perfect still. 

The church of Mercian Offa^ stands, 

Tho' now no more its walls around 

Pace the shorn monks with solemn sound. 

And well— for Superstition there 

Her most severe of courts hath kept. 

Bear witness many a white-robed fair 
Who long 'neath Sopwell'stowere| hath slept; 
Oh ! could ye burst the marble tomb. 
And teU bow sad your cloistcr'd doom. 

Those days are gone, and with them fled, 
The clouds that dimm'd Religion's sun ; 

And Luther's light around is spread. 
And dark Deception's hour-glass run. 
Nor more shall sinners, weak with age. 
To Zion bend their pilgrimage. 

• Ostorins Scapula. 

' Almost the only part of the abbey rtmtlnliif 
A nunnery in ruins net far diiUiat. 

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THIS Af umoA. 

Andy bark I bowo^erthcflaMtyTal* 
^otiild its sWeet belts hi sofnnn mood. 

Where once gay fmrka wcire wont to saQ , 
. Upborne on Ver*s collected tood^ 
Tho' now the musing gaser sees 
But lowing herds, or tafted trees. 

Thus, mortal, as o'er Nature's fact, 

What once was lake, now land appears ; 

So thou a different scene must trace. 

To pristine dust resolved for years — 

Till Hi^a^n's last trump shall bid the« rtie. 

An angetl fonp,'neath purer skies. 


ao^coft kbd was fiiom ns, and the kiAa- 
netildc 4ifBadtiei w6 had to contend 
f^g^iiyt. { «vea those in the boats, who 
beheld their xelatiTes peridbxi^ beftne 
^ei^ eyes, &^ ednstrained to idmow- 
ledge tbaA ^ attempt to save more wonid 
otHy be inrobing uie whole in one com- 
mon eaJami^ ; ^is, along with the niun^ 
ber of women and childien that were 
say^d, in a donfitidng proof of oui im- 
partial b<dumoiir. The sight now ww 
^? )9MMt,awfol and most distressing that 
*ver. was b^ie^ by mortal eye. Without 
being able render them any sueoonr, 
we beheld son^e of our fellow-creaturea 
throwing tJ^emselves from the consuming 
fire^ into the unfathomable deep ; while 
others yreie hanging by ropes, and eagerly 
fiiijg^^ tQ lif<^, which we all 80 deacty 
valueVwoagh inevitable destruction stared 
them in the face, i^ichcTer way thegf 
turned. JMng unable to withstand this 
sad spectacle of hranan misgy, we rowed 
to some distance from it. We picked up 
some hammocks, spars, and Cf^ks, that 
were floating by. There were some bacon 
hams acddentajily hi one of the boats, and 
three pigs that were saved, one of which 
I threw oyerboard myself^ it being handed 
to me by the cook : we had ako about 
ten pounds of biscuit, and some watev 
that we coUected by wringing our drench- 
ed clothes. We contemplated making 
for the coast of South America, but thus 
jprovlded, and without a compa^, for a 



It is with the most painful feelings that 
Xnndertake the melandioly duty of giving 
■n account of the destmcdon of tfa6 
Abeona transport (No. 86), by fire, in 
hit. 4. 30. N. long. 26. 30. W., bcftind to 
the Cape of Good Hope, with settlws. 

About a quarter past twelve o'clock, 
on the 25th November, when IVIr. Ihtff^ 
the first, mate, was serving out the nim 
in the lazaretto, or store-room, the flame 
of the candle, it is supposed, communi- 
cated accidentally with the spirits, or the 
other combustible stores. The catas- 
trophe was sudden and awfrU in the ex<P 
treme. Every possible exertion was made 
in handing the water along, by the sailors 
and settlers, whom I joined and enceu- 

raged, until the flames came up in such ^ _ _ ^ 

fury and quantity, that the chance of voyage of nearly «ix hundred miles, full 
savi^, the vessel was irrecoverably lost of hope, indeed, must that mind have 
Our only alternative now was to get the been, which could fancy to itself success 
boats out, to which our attentions were from the dreary prospect before us ; — ^but 
directed, an^, happily for us, we got the it {^Leased God. in his omnipot^ce, that 
two gigs, wbich were on the quarters, we shoidd be left living monuments, to 
and skiff, lowered down ; the latter of teU the dismal fate of those who perished, 
whidi was stowed on the booms in the We resolved to remain within sight o£ 
long-boat. The long-boat was the only the dreadful conflagration, in hopes thai 
one remaining on board; it was started some vessel might see in the^night, and 

from die booms to the gang-way, and we 
had her almost dear of the bulwarks ; the 
tackle-falls were taken to the windlass, 
and I continued heaving round, with Mr. 
Mudge, and some of the sailors and set- 
tlers, until the case was hopeless, when 
Mr. Mudge got into his boat, and I fol- 
lowed him : It happened to be under fhe 
larboard bow at the time. We were only 
a minute or two in the boat, when the 
main mizen-masts fell overboard, to the 
laifboard side. The fore-mast was now 
in a blaze, and the scene of honor rapidly 
increasing— some leaping overboard, and 
others going out <m the bowsprit, who 
were either knocked off or killed by the 
faU of the fore-mast, which went directly 
forward. We saved as many as We pru- 
dently thought the boats could swim with, 
'Wsi4^ing the iimmfase distance the 

make for it in ^ morning. The burmng 
continued until between three and foui^ 
o'clock, A. M.— making fifteen hours from 
theperiod of the commencement 

when the accident happened, the wea- 
ther was calm, and continued so during 
the night, widi occasional puffs of wind 
and heavy falls of rain. At day-light on 
the 26th, ab6ut two miles distant^ was 
descried a vessd, with all sail set, be« 
fore the wind, and coming towards us | 
our sensations at the time can be more 
easily imagined than described. Wa 
hailed her, rowed alongside, and asked to 
be taken on board ; wmch was done with 
the utmost alacrity. We had then been 
in the boats about seve^te^ hours. The 
captain cruized about the spot where we 
thought the wreck had been, from six in 
the mermng until twelve o'clock at noon, 

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k liopes iliat we might «ee seiAe poor 
sufiferers iioatmg about on ixpan ; ibttt not 
pY^n a single vestige of any thing was 

The ship which saved us was a mer. 
chant vessel, called the Gondessa da Ponte, 
Captain Joaquim Almeida, from Bahia, 
bound tojpispon, and, with the exception 
of one vessel which passed us about five 
days befese, was the first sail we had seen 
for twenty days previously. The flames 
of our smp were not obsierved from the 
jCcMtdessa ^ Ponte during the ni^t The 
Immani^ and kindness that we met with 
on board this ^p redounds vdry much 
to the hcmour of die Portuguese nation. 
We arrived at Lisbon, Dec 21, 1820. 

Varioas instances of parental affection 
and of the most devoted attachment, were 
exhibited in this dreadful calami^, of 
which J shall (mly mention one or two : 
.—Mr. and Mrs. Bairte, from Frovan 
Jiiill, near Glasgow, appeared to be in- 
jiensible to their imminent danger, or were 
wholly Qigrossed in saving their helpless 
offspring. Having thrown ^eir eight 
youngest into the boat, Mrs* Bairie was 
desired to go into it herself, but she re- 
fused, and went in search of her eldest 
;daug^tei ; unfortunately, before she could 
return, the boat was obliged to put ofT, 
and both parents were lost, wim theif 
eldest dauehter and son, leaving eight 
orphans — me youngest a boy, onJhr fifteen 
months old, and whom one of tne girls, 
who is an ornament to himian nature, has 
cherished with all the tenderness of a 
mother. A person of the name of 
M^Farlane, who had been married but 
a few days before sailing, plunged over, 
board, with his wife ladbed to his back, 
and endeavoured to swim towards the 
boats, but his strength failing, he turned 
about and made for the vessel again, 
but unable to catch hold of any thing 
to which he might ding for support, the 
unfortunate young coume sunk together. 

It is with re^et I have to annoimce 
the loss of Mr. Duff, the first mate, who 
was a meritorious young man, although 
the unfortunate cause of the calamity ; 
and I junderstand he was the support of 
an aged motiber. 

Our good treatment at Lisbon, by Mr. 
Jeffery, (the British Consul General,) and 
the gentiiBm^i of the British factory, can- 
not be spoken of in too high terms ; and 
also the friendship riiown us by the Rev. 
J. H. Siely and Mrs. Siely. 

What's honour ? Not t' unjustly fight ; 
'Tifl to own what's wrong, and do what's 

WrUtm on •eeing (he Ropal Sqwidrm 
tff PorUandf <m the Kin§*$ «o^i^ t9 

Bt Dh. Cascpbell. 

(For Ihe Mirror.) 

HviH'd Is the taring of the subject viaSn, 
Rude Boreas yields to Zephyrns his sway, 
While, gliding oowards through the liquid 

Britannia's Monarch urges on his way-^- 
He whom the happiest isles of earth obey. 
On oeean direful as on land sublime. 
Glory around his standard seems to play. 
His petidant points to Britain, happy clime, 
And bids her history give the sight to latest time; 

Bids her record, on adamantine page. 

The glorious deed that still shall grace Us 

Hpw, fir'd with all the patriot's noblest rage. 
Too tardy for his wishes moves the prow, 
(To which the waves in due submission bow,) 
A gallant nation to embrace and free. 
To rout oppression and alleviate woe. 
While Peacei his herald, sounds the blest de- 
"Slavery no longer lives— rise, sons of liberty I 

The rocks of Mona* hear the glorious sound* 
The sea-beat coast reverberates the strain. 
Till lofty Soowdon's eliffs with Joy rebound. 
And Penroanmaur re-echoes it again. 
The em'lous Tritons of old Neptune's reign. 
Convey the sounds till Wickfow mountains 

And tongues of milUont on Clontauf 's swe« 

The anthem due to goodness humbly sing— 
Oreat God of mercy Wees long-injul'd Erin's 

Glorious his armS— speak Waterloo andNHt 
Tagus, Trafalgar, ye can bear record— 
The names are dear to all the emerald isle » 
Sweet to her eyes the banners of her lord— 
The elements m^ men with heaven accord. 
To gratulate and guide him on Love's wing. 
Favour him, )ieaven I See thou his squadroa 

The praise be thine, who didst our Monarcn 

Glory to God on high I Joy comes with JBrin 


• Angletea. 


(For the Mirror.) 
CoxNECTED with the subject, die Mir* 
Aoa has already given us interesting 
papers on '' Bow Bells," " BeUs and 
Bell.Ringing," and, ^* though last not 
least," amusmg feature of its pages^ 
" The Village Bells," but they do not 
ascertain their ctete, in so clear a maimer 
as could be wished, and may inducii 
the insertion of the present article,. which 
has been collected from different autfao. 
rities, as contahiing wme furihtr infor. 
mation on their origin* 

The inv^tion of bells, such as are 
hung in towers or steeples of christiaa 
churdies, is, by Polydore, Viigil, and 
others, asevibed to Paalinnus Bishop •^ 

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Nola, a city of Campania, about th« year 
400. It is bM that the names Noloe and 
.CampancB, the one referring to the city, 
the other to the country, were fot that 
reason given to tibem. In the time of 
Clothair, King of France, and in the 
year 610, the army of the king was 
frighted from the siege of the city of 
Sens, by ringing the bdls of St. Stephen's 
church. In the times of popery, bells 
were baptized and anointed, oleo Chris- 
maHs ; they were exercised, and blessed 
by the Bishop, from a belief that when 
these ceremonies were performed, they 
had power to drive the devil out of the 
air, to calm tempests, to extinguish fire, 
and even to recreate the dead. The ritual 
of these ceremonies is contained in the 
Roman Pontifical : and it was usual in 
their baptism to give each bell the name 
of some saint In Chauncey's History 
of Hertfordshire, is the relation of the 
baptism of a set of bells in Italy with 
great ceremony, a short time before the 
writing of that book. The bells of the 
Priory of Little Dunmow, in Essex, 
were, anno 1501, new cast and baptized. 
The bells at Osney Abbey, near Oxford, 
were also very famous. 

In the funeral monuments of Weever, 
the Antiquary, are the following parti- 
culars relating to bells : *' In the little 
Sanctuary at Westminster, King Edwsud 
III. erected a dochier, and placed therein 
three bells for the use of St. Stephen's 
Chapel : about the biggest of them were 
cast in the metal these words : — 

** King Edward made me thirtie thousand weight 
and three ; 
Take me down, and wey mee, and more you 
shall find me." 

But these bells being taken down in the 
reign of King Henry VIII. one writes 
underneath with a coal : — 

" But Henry the Eighth, 
Wm bait me of my weight." 

This last distich alludes to a fact men- 
tioned by Stowe, in his Survey of London: 
" Ward of Farringdon "Within, to wit, 
near St Paul's School, stood a dochier, 
in which were four bells, called Jesus 
bells, the greatest in all England, against 
which Sir Miles Partridge staked a hun- 
dred pounds, and won them of King 
Henry VIIL at a cast of dice." 

It is said that the foundation of the 
fortunes of the Corsini &mily in Italy, 
was laid by an ancestor of it, who at the 
dissolution of religious houses, purchased 
the bells of abbeys and other churches, 
and by the sale of them in other coun- 
tries, acquiied a very great estate. Never. 
theleit it appears that abroad there are 

bdls of a great magnitude. Id. the stee- 
ple of the great church at Roan, in Nor- 
msidy, is a bell with an inscription, 
which has been thus translated :— 

' 1 am Qtotfst of Amboii. 
Thirty-five thousand in pois ; 
But he that shall weigh me, 
Thirtie-six thousand shall find me." 

Moscow was formerly celetoited for 
the number and the size of its bells, many 
of which were of great weight 

It is a common tradition that the bells 
of the King's Collide Chapel, in the 
Universi^ m Cambridge, were taken by 
Henry V. from some diurch in France, 
after the battle <^ Agincourt They were 
taken down some 3rears ago, and sold to 
Pheeps the bell-founder in Whitediapel, 
who melted them down. 

The practice of ringing bells in change 
is said to be peculiar to this country, but 
the antiquity of it is not easy to be as- 
certained. There are in London am 
other places, several sodeties of ringers 
particidarlyone called the College Youtha 
and in the life of Sir Mathew Hale 
written by Bishop Burnet, some fiicts 
are mentioned which favour the report 
that, this learned and upright judge was 
a member in his youth. In England the 
practice of ringing is reduced to a sdence, 
and peals have been composed whidi bear 
the names of the inventors. Some of the 
most cdebrated peals (tunes) now known 
were composed upwards of fifty years 
ago by one Patrick: this man was a 
maker of barometers; in his advertise- 
ments he sMed himself Toricellion opera- 
toir, firom Torricelli, who invoited instru- 
ments of this kind. 

In the year 1684, one Abraham Rud. 
dal, of the dty of Gloucester, brought 
the art of bell-founding to great perfec- 
tion. His descendants in succession have 
continued the business of casting bells, 
and by a list published by them, it ap- 
peared that at Lady-day, 1774, the m- 
mUy, in peals and odd bells, had cast to 
the number of 3,594. The peals of St 
Dunstan in the East, St. Brides Fleet- 
street, and St Martin in the Fidds, 
Westminster, are in the number. 

The following tables are from printed 

There are 12 peals of twelve bells in 
England ; seven in London and five in 
the country, the weight of which are 
from 28^ cwt to 5U cwt and in Great 
Britain and Ireland, tnere are 50 peals of 
ten bells, 380 peals of eight, 600 peals 
of six, 500 peals of five, besides upwards 
of 720 peals of four, three, aiM two. 
The heaviest single bells in England are 
at the following dties and towns :— 

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Toil. Cwt. 

Oxford the Mighty Tom weighing 7 15 

Exeter the Great Tom ditto 6 

London, St. PauPs... the Tom Ghrowler ditto 5 

Lincohi the Great Tom (and best bell) ditto 4 14 

Canterbury Cathedral clock bell ditto '6 10 

Gloucester College clock bell ditto 3 6 

Beverley Minster clock bell ditto 2 10 

These seven great bells weigh together 32 14 

The following ingenious table shews the full extent of changes that can be pro- 
duced on each number of bells, viz.— 

A peal of 2 bells produces 2 

3 ditto 6 

4 ditto 24 

5 ditto 102 

6 ditto 720 

7 ditto 6,040 

8 ditto 40,820 

9 ditto 3e2,8«C 

10 ditto 3,628,300 

11 ditto 39,916,800 

12 ditto 479,001,600 

F. ' 

(To the Editor of the Mirror,) 

Sin, — ^When the Spaniards took pos- 
session of America they found that the 
natives, from the feebleness of dieir frame, 
from indolence, or from the injudicious 
manner of treating them, were incapable 
of the exertions h^ful to work the mines 
or cultivate the earth. Eager to find hands 
mors industrious and efficient, the Span- 
iards had recourse to their neighbours the 
Portuguese, who then held a sufficient 
intercourse with Africa, to supply them 
with negro slaves; experience soon dis- 
covered that the Africans were men of a 
more hardy race, and much better fitted 
for enduring fatigue : and that the labour 
of one negro was computed to be equal to 
that oi four Americans, from tliat time 
the numba employed in the New World 
increased with rapid progress. In this 
practioe the Spaniards were unhappily 
imitated by all the nations in Europe who 
held territories in America. At one pe 
riodthe number of negro slaves in the 
settlements of Grreat Britain and France 
in the West Indies, exceeded a million, 
could the numbers have been ascertained 
with equal exactness in the Spanish do- 
minions and North America, the total 
number might have been as many more. 

Most c^tainly this execrable traffic 
would have continued to this hour, but 
for the glorious interposition of humane 
nitons. Legtob. 


released from rougher toil, 

I pass a melancholy pleasing hour. Anon 

Roll placidly, thou crystal stream. 

While on thy bosom of d«light 
Enamoured Phoebas cools his beam. 

And scatters pearls of dazzling light. 

But lest his rays too fervid prore. 

And spoil the freshness they would share. 
Mild Zephyrus, with lips of love. 

Breathes chastened gales of fragrance there. 

Reflected in thy glassy face. 
The landscape shines serenely gay. 

Where rosy blooms, in thiclc embrace. 
Announce the birth of laughing May.. 

Encased with mail, the finny brood 
Move devious through their native deep. 

Or mirthful, or enticed by food. 
Above the surface boldly leap. 

The watchful angler this aescries. 
And soon presents the tempting lure ; 

The fish dart eager for the prize. 
And seal their own destruction sure 

So fatal snares in every path 
The nobler race of man enchant— 

Elate we seize the i^littering death. 
And lack the wisdom fishes want. 

Fancy invents a thousand schemes. 

Unreal as the splendid bow ; 
We revel in the flattering dreams. 

Nor till too late our folly know. 

Commerce, with clamorous buzz, no more 
Disturbs this sweet, sequestered nook ; 

•Tis stillness all , save dash of oar. 
Or plaintive fall of neighbouring brook. 

Amidst the vanities of earth 

A sigh will oft escape the heart. 
For solid pleasures, things of worth. 

That live* when shadows iball depart. 

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Happy«who here may rest awhile, 
Bre Time's declining glass be run. 

And welcome, with a grateful smile, 
The cloud that veils their setting sun. 

Metbinks, the never-dying song. 
By Thomson sitng in Thames's fniwB 

Upon the breeze now glides alonff, 
And daims anew unwith'ring bays. 

In yonder pile* his ashes sleep. 

Spring sheds her blossoms o'er his urn : 
Thither the Muses go to weep— 

His story there relate in turn. 
Pliilomela the saddened strain 

Pours wildly through her darksome brake, 
Till ruddy mom begins to reign. 

And meaner birds from slumber wake. 

Borne onwai-d by the 8wcllij\g tide^ . 

Floats many a torn, untimely flower : 
Ah ! what avails bur natures pride 

To shield in Desolation's hourl 

Coy beauty's charms- the gaudeft of state, 

Fade as "the gems of- eariy dew ; 
Entoyments of an earthly .date. 

Though fair, are transitory too. 

Whatever our lot, where'er we roam* 
A voice prophetic meets our ear — 
"Mortal I pursue the rest to come — 
All, all is void and flbeting hesbI'* 

* Richmond church. 


Should the rude wind too rougl^y blow 
Then would yon gem of living snow 

Droop o'er its parent bed I 

And though the mildest breeze should play. 
Nor evening's dew, nor mornine's ray. 

Could raise its weeping head! 
Ah I thus by dark suspicion's breath 
The rose of love was chilled to death. 

Never to blossom more ! 
In vain did hope contend with fears. 
Nor sweetest smiles, nor softest tears, 

Cduld e'er that rose restore. f f 


From the French of Cocquard. 

I FEEL when I see you a joypast expressing ; 

Wlien no longer I see you in anguish I fall ; 
Ah, to see you for ever would mine were the 

Or would that I never had seen you at all! 

®j^e Telenor; 




^^ Curiosity! 

True, lady, by the roses on those lips. 

Both man and woman would find life a waste. 

But for the cunning of — Curiosity ! 

She's the world's witch, and through the world 

she runs. 
The merriest masquer underneath the moon I 
To beauties, languid from the last night's rout. 
She comes with tresses loose, and shoulders 

In morning shftwls ; and by their pillow sits. 

Telling delicious tales of— lovers lost. 
Fair rivals jilted, scandals, 8mu|:gledlsoe, 
The hundreath Novel of the Great Unknown I 
And then they smile, and rub their eyes, and 

And wonder what's o'clock, then sii^ agafa; 
And thus she sends the pretty fools to sleep. 
She comes to ancient dames, — and stiff as steel, 
in hood and stomacher, with snuff in hand. 
She makes their rigid muscles gay with news 
Of Doctors' Commons, matches broken off, 
Blue-stooking frailties, cards, and ratafia , 
And thus she gives them prattle for the day. 
She sits by ancient politicians, bowed 
As if a hundred years were on her bade ; 
Then peering through her spectacles, she reads 
A seeming journal, stnff'd with monstrous tales. 
Of Turks and Tartars ; deep conspiracies, 
(Bora in the writer's brain ;) of spots in the inn 
Pregnant with fearful wars. And so they shake. 
And hope they'll find the world all safe by mom. 
And thus she makes the world, both young and 

Bow down to sovere^p CumosittI 

rride thallhave a Fall, 


What's woman's wit. 
Gentle and simple, toiling for thro* life, 
Fromfourteentofeursmre and upwards? Man! 
What are your sleepless midnights for, your 

That turns your skins to parchment ? Why, for 

What are your cobweb robes,that, spite of frost, 
Show neck and knee to Winter ? Why, for Man I 
What are your harps, pianos, simpering songs 
Languish'd to lutes? All for the monster, Man! 
What are your rouge,your jewels, waltzes, wigs^ 
Your scoldings, scribblings, eatings, drinkings, 

Vour mom, noon, night ? For Man! Aye,MaB^ 

man, man ! Jin4, 


Oh, silver sounds 1 whence are ye ? From the 

That spirits make of the empurple^ clouds. 
Or from the sparkling waters^ or the hills. 
Upon whose leafy brows the evening star 
Lies like a diadem I O, silver sounds ! 
Breathe round me till love's mother, slow-paced 

Hears your deep summons in her shadowy cell. 



On the birth of Charles the Seventh o^ 
France, his mother hung her apartments 
with green, which then became the colour 
appropriated to queens alone; but pre- 
vious to that period, princesses, with, 
better taste, had adopted that coldur 
whi(^ is emUematic of infant innocence/ 
On the day of baptism, preparatory to' 
total immersion at the font, tiie infant 
was laid on the bed of the chamber of 
parade enveloped in a mantle «P cloth of 
gold, lined with ermine, but otherwise 
qiiite naked. A cwtore-ehef^ or wrap- 
ping quilt of violet silk, covered the head, 
and hung down^OTer (he mantle. AH 

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wliQ took part in the cerem^ asiembled 
in t&e diamber of parade. The child waii 
carried by the most illustrious of its fe-. 
male relatives, and the cumbrous mantle, 
* was borne up by the next in rank. 

The bearer of the in£EUit was siroported 
by the most exalted of its npale rdatives, 
followed by three others canying wax 
tapers, a covered goblet containing salt, 
and two go]4 basins (the one covering the 
other) containing rose water for the font. 
Before these royal personages walked a 
long Hne of torch-bearers, two and two ; 
others were stationed on each side of the 
space the jHxxsession was to pass, from, 
the palace or castle, up to the font ef the 
baptistery. The streets, the body of the 
church, and the font, were hung with ta- 
pestry, silk, or cloth of gold; and a 
splendid bed, richly draped in front of 
the choir of the church, marked the 
highest rank. As soon as the ceremony 
of baptism was concluded, the sponsors 
and tneir attendants assembled in the 
apartment of ^e mother, when the infant 
was laid beside her. A matron of n^al 
birth presented the drageoir or confecticm- 
box to her immediate superior, and was 
followed by another bearing the spiced 
wines (hypocras or pimento.) A less 
noble matron served those who held the 
rank of princes of the second di^gree, that 
is, counts or barons, lords or fiefs ; whilst 
those still inferior, as simple knights not 
bannerets, en: the minor officers of the 
household, were served by an unmarried 
lady of gentle blood. 

On common occasions, the office of 
serving guests was perfanned by tho 
gallantry of the men ; but it was the pe» 
culiax privilege of the female sex to 
dispense the refreshments which werq 
offered to all who entered the natal 
apartments for the space of a month. 
When the period arrived for the mother 
to appear again in public, she was placed 
at the side of the bed in the chamber of 
ceremony, habited in her most sump, 
tuous robes, and was conducted by princes 
and knights to the church, preceded by. 
minstreb and trumpets, as when espoused. 
At the altar she presented three gifts 
borne by three noble ladies of her suite — 
a candle, with a piece olf gold inclosed, a 
loaf of bread rolled up in a napkin, and 
a cup filled with wine. The attendant 
ladies kissed these offerings as they de- 
livered them to the pnncess, and she 
kissed the patina each time the priest 
presented it to receive them, it being 
esteemed a mark of respect to kiss what- 
ever was presented to a superior. When 
the ceremony was finished, she was re« 
oondncted to the palace in the same state. 

The various gradations of rank on such 

Qoeasions wefemiriced in^soiddfeaget 
l}y a Tariety<if minute •dreuinstances. A 
countevB, &r instance^ could, have but 
three shelve$ in her buffet, on wfaidi she 
might place but tuxf confection-boxes. 
The hangings of her apartments could not 
be hung wiUi satin or damask, but she 
w<is obliged to be contented with silk of 
an inferior qnali^ tapestry, or embroi- 
dery on silk. These reguladons show 
how various must have b^n the products 
of the loom, when tapestry and embroidery 
in silk were assigned to the inferior ranks. 
The coverlet of a countess was of menu 
vair (that is, peiU oris) in lien of ermine, 
and the lining might only appear beneath 
tile iur Mfa pord^ whilst an additional 
quarter marked the royal rank. The 
cano]^ of her buffet must omsist of velvet, 
not ^cloth of gold, and must not be bor- 
dered with a dSerent colour or itexture. 
The number and f<»m of the very, pillows 
were exactly regulated. One restrictiai 
appears to our ideas pecoliaiiy strang^^ 
it was the exclusive privilege of a roval 
dame to place her eou^ opposite the me, 
or fire-place ; and the punctilious author 
of " The Ceremonies of the Court" ob- 
serves, that all is going wrong in the 
world, since some unprivileged ladies of 
the low countries had presumed to set 
their couches c^posite the fire, ^^ for 
which they were justly ridiculed by alL'* 
Modem lenity might, perhaps, si^gest 
an excuse for the dangerous innovation 
in the humid atmosphere of thek climate. 
Historical Life tf Joanna (jf Sicily, 

Thc Tchetehinzi are mast^n in the art 
of robbay ; in the pursuit of which they 
show no pity, even ios their countrymen. 
If a Tdietchhitz get the better of another 
in single combat, the victor will str^ 
and put him to death ; but if one oi these 
people seize an European, he will plun- 
der his jHisoner, yet preserve his life in 
hope of ransom. , Notwithstanding such 
a continual sytem of pillage, the very 
profession of a Tehetchmtz, his dwelling 
is a mere den, detititute of evesr convex 
nience; his bed a skin placed by the 
hearth; his food, coarse brad, half 
baked, which he eats in a smoking state, 
with hitf.roasted meat; these, with ar- 
dent spirits, of whidi they are particu- 
Urly fond, are their luxuries^ As long 
as the pilfered provision lasts, the wretch 
remains idle, and want alone drives him 
to active exertion in search of more. The 
Tchetehinzi do not take much trouble 
about agriculture ; they cultivate only a 
ilittle barley and wheat, with some tobacco 
and oniaos. . The wonen paftMou all the 

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douMtdc oAoet, while tht men give 
themielres no can but in the duie and 
lobbcrf • Ther are of a middling height, 
and very haray. When influenced by 
fetx Off mistruit they can be obliging, 
and are particularly so to the rich, or to 
etrangers, in hope of some profit Their 
arms consist of a fusil, a sabre, and a 
dagger; sometimes also they carry a 
lance with a shield. The Tchetchinits 
never goes out of his house without 
being armed, if only with a stick, at the 
end of which is fixeda baUof iron having 
three triangular points ; this murderous 
weapon they call a topnus. 

The Ossitinians differ little fiom the 
Tchetchinzi ; they use bows and arrows, 
although their usual arm is a AisiL They 
are great boasters and quarreUers, threaU 
oiing each other continually, either with 
a gun, a dagger, or the bow: usually, 
however, they content themselves by 
making a great uproar, and are quickly 
friends a§^; if any third person will 
celebrate the reconciliation with a glass 
of brandy, or a draught of their country 
beer, which is very strong. Their houses 
are, for the most part, enclosed by a wall 
or paling, surmounted with horses* heads 
ana other bones. 

Upon the death of ad Ossitinian, his 
widow shrieks, tears her hair and face, 
and beats her bosom ; but frequently this 
despair is only occasioned by the impos- 
sibility of her ever marrying again : she 
pretends at every moment to be ready to 
kiU herself with a knife or a stone, to 
drown herself, or to cast herself from the 
top of some rock; but is as invariably 
withheld by her neighbours, who never 
leave her durins the three days of mourn- 
ing. These friends employ the next 
tlmee days in administering consolation 
to the widow, and in eating and drinking 
at her expense; while the conversation 
consists in praises of the deceased, who is 
usually soon after forgotten. 

Letters from the Cauoanu, 

A Majob. in the Russian service, a man 
of great bravery, the scourge of these fel- 
lows, who had sworn vengeance against 
him, was passing a wood with a small 
detachment, when the Tchetchinzi at- 
tacked him in superior numbers ; but he 
ddPended himself with great inteepidity. 
Already had he lost many of his party, 
and perceived their ammunition to be 
nearly expended ; when the enemy, who 
wanted only to secure the Major, pro- 
posed to cease fighting, if he alone would 
yield himself up. In order to roaie the 
fiew of hit com i ade t, iHio tnrviyed, be 

resolved to lacrifioe hit own pcfion; and 
was followed by a single soldier, attached 
to his personal service, who would not 
abandim his master. The others returned, 
and the Tchetchinzi carried off the ciq^ 
tive to their haunts. It is impossible to 
describe the torments which this unfor- 
tunate officer, abandoned to the malice of 
his persecutors, had to suffer in prison. 
Even the women came every day to plndc 
at his beard, to tear his nails, to pinch 
him, and to spit in his face ; indeed, had 
it not been for the assistance of his &ith- 
Ail servant, who was left at liberty, he 
must have died of hunger and vexation. 

The jailer and his family chanced to 
be fond of music ; so, when diey leamt 
the Major was acquainted with the guitar, 
they obliged him to play day and night 
upon an instrument of that description, 
wnich the petty tyrant put into his nan<L 
This circumstance revived the Major's 
liopes ; and, with his faithful follower, 
he concerted a plan for their escape. The 
old jailer liked to be lulled asleep in the 
evenings by the guitar ; irfter which his 
wife was in the habit of putting die pri- 
soner into his irons again. Upon the 
evening fixed for Aeir flight, the Major 
played on the guitar as usual ; the jailer 
was already asleep, and the soldier pie- 
tended to be so ; the old woman was the 
only one awake. When she approached 
the Major to put on his chains, the sol- 
dier sprang upon her, and killed her by 
one blow d a natchet, with which he had 
tak^ care to provide himself; the same 
weapon served to dispatch the jailer : but 
the most pressing necessity could not in- 
duce them to sacrifice a boy ten years 
old, who awoke, although the murderous 
instrument was thrice raised for the pur- 
pose, and, by sparing the Ud, the risk of 
surprise was considerably increased. To 
add to their distress, they were in the 
dark, the fire was out, and they had to 
search for the key of the door. 'What a 
situation for these unhappy creatures I 
Amidst the corpses, in pmect darkness, 
and in a state of the utmost alarm, they 
were ready to turn the hatchet against 
themselves, when fortunately the soldier 
found the key. The two captives hurried 
from dieir prison, carrying in their arms 
the boy whom pity had preserved ; and 
both mounting instantly upon a horse 
they fouEtd in the stable, they took the 
diild up with them, and committing 
themselves to Providence, quitted the 
village with all possible speed. The least 
noise made them start; in their fri^t 
they lost the road, and, to complete their 
misfortune, feU in with some Tdietchinzi, 
who laid hold of them. To these they 
told thehr tale, and met with comn 

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altliou^ from Tcfaetdiinii, who called 
them Konakt^ by whidi th^ mean guests, 
pn>U0s^ and friends. However, the 
eompassion of a Tchetchintz is venr liable 
to suspicion : and it might on this occa- 
sion have been excited by a natural hope 
of «dn, in theirprotection of the runaways. 
The new captors took them to their 
abode, riiut them up in an out-of-the-way 
room, and gave information to the Rus- 
sian government of what had happened* 
In the mean time, the Major*s enemies, 
exasperated at the murders committed, 
and at his escape, sought for him in every 
direction, and came to the actual spot 
where the fugitives were. The Tchet- 
chinzi, however, faithful to their oath, 
pretended ignorance of the occasion of 
their countrjrmen's arrival; who, close 
to the Major*8 place of concealment, made 
a horrible noise, swearing eternal ven- 
geance a«dnst their lost prisoners. At 
length a Russian messenger arrived, and 
set the Major free. — Ibid, 


' How blest was I at Dobson's ball ! 
The fiddlers eome, my partner chosen 
My oranges were live in all, 
Alas I they were not half a dozen I 

• For soon a richer rival came, 

And soon the bargain wan concluded ; 
My Peggy took him without shame, 
And left me hopeless and deluded. 

• To leave me for an orange more ! 

Could not your pockets full"* ye 
What could you do with all thai »io» ? 
He had but six, and five were plenty. 

And mine were biggest, I protest, 
For some of his were only penny ones, 

While mine were all the very best. 
As Juicy, large, and sweet as any one's. 

Could I have thought, ye beaux and belles. 
An orange would have so undone me I 

Or any thing the grocer sells. 
Could move my fair one thus to shun me ! 

• All night I sat in fixed disdain. 

While hornpipes numberless were hobbled ; 
I wateh'd my mistress and her swain, 
And saw his paltry present gobbled. 

' But when the country-dance was call'd y 
1 could have cried with pure vexation ; 
For bvthe arms I saw herhaurd. 
And led triumphant to her station. 

• What other could I think to Uke ? 

Of all the school she was the tallest ; 

What choice worth making could I make 

None left me, but the very smallest I 

• But now all thoughts of her adieu I 

This is no time for such diversion ; 
Mair*t Introduction lies in view. 
And I must write my Latin version. 

' Tet an who that way are inclined. 

This lesson learn m>m my undoing ; 
Unless your pockets are well lined, 
Tis labour lost to go a wooing.' 

Bacheiof't Wife, 


Fom myself, I entertain an almost invin- 
cible abhorrence to the taking away the 
life of man, after a set form and in cool 
blood, in any case whatever. The very 
circumstance that you have the man in 
your power, and that he stands defence- 
less before vou to be disposed of at your 
discretion, is the strongest of all persua- 
sives that you should give him his life. 
To fetter a man*s limbs, and in that con- 
dition to shed his blood like the beasts 
who serve us for food, is a thought to 
which, at first sight, we are astonished 
the human heart can ever be reconciled. 
The strongest case that can be made in its 
favour, is where, as in this business of 
Strafford, the public cause, and the fa- 
vourable issue of that cause seem to 
demand it — GodvMt Hxatwry qf ih€ 

No. XLIX. 


Rusts M, who once swayed the soeptie 
of Persia, was negligent of business and 
a slave to pleasure. His jeweller was the 
most important personage at his court. 
To him he committed the education of 
his son, Narwan; and the preceptor, 
whose heart lusted after wealth, instilled 
avarice into the mind of the youth. A 
Jew from Aleppo one day brought pre- 
cious stones or the greatest beauty to the 
sultan*s seraglio for sale. Prince Narwan 
insisted on having them at a price arbi- 
trarily fixed by himself, and when the 
Jew threatened to complain of this treat- 
ment to die sultan, the prince ordered his 
slaves to beat him so unmercifully, that 
the poor feUow expired under the blows 
of his tormentors. 

After some time, Rustem was informed 
of this dicumstance : he was exceedingly 
incensed against Salem, the jeweller, and 
banished him from his court. The princ« 
too was exiled to a distant palace. 

Salem withdrew, and immediately set 
out to leave the dominions of the sultan. 
He had reached a wood, when he had the 
misfortune to fall into a wolf-pit, in which 
there were already three prisoners, a lion, 
an ape, and a serpent. Salem passed a 
whole day in the company of these ani- 
mals, in continual fear of being torn in 
pieces. At length a man appnred on 
the brink of the pit ; and when he cried 

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out lustity for help, the ftranger let down 
a rope, for the purpose <^ liberating the 
half-dead jeweller : but the i^ was toa 
quick for SsUem, and catching hold of 
the rope, was drawn up by the traveller. 
Perceiving the amazement of the stranger 
at his unexpected appearance, he thus 
addressed him : " Repent not of saving 
my life. Brutes are more srateful than 
men, and depend upon it, thou wilt get 
no good by it, if thou deliverest the man 
down yonder; but shouldst thou ever 
want my assistance, thou mayst reckon 
upon it with confidence. I live at the foot 
of the next mountain.'* ' x. 

The traveller built very little on the 
fine promises of the ape, and let down 
the rope a second time into the pit ; but 
this time the lion got before the man, and 
was drawn up, to the terror of the stranger. 
He also expressed his acknowledgments 
to his deliverer, and promised, when op- 
portunity should ofier, to manifest his 
gratitude. The same tiding bi^^>ened the 
third time with the serpent, and Salem 
was the last that was drawn out. He 
loaded the stranger with assurances of his 
everlasting gralitude, and expressed in 
his conversation so -deep a sense of justice 
and religion, that the traveller deemed 
himself fortunate in having rescued a 
philosopher from destruction. Salem be- 
tougfat his bene&ctor to aoeompany him 
to his habitation, hoping, by^ means of 
bis extraordiiuury story, to regain the 
favour of the sultan : but as ^ stranger 
was not to be divested from the object of 
his journey, he parted from him with 
cordial and repeated, assurances of his 
eternal obligations. 

. Achmet — such was the name of ihe 
stnuiger— pursued his way to India, and 
wiss so successfal in. his speculations there, 
that he set out on his return, enriched 
nith diamonds of the greatest value. He 
had arrived at the spot where he had res- 
cued Salem and the three annuals horn 
the wolf.pit, and the remembrance of this 
good deed gave him particular pleasure. 
All at once he was attacked by robbers : 
jflundered of his. treasures, and bound to 
8 tree, he found himsdf exposed to a 
lingering death by hunger in die wilder, 
ness. In this melancholy condition, he 
was rejoicing by the appearance of the 
yeff ape whom he had a year before de- 
livered from the pit. The grateful ani- 
mal gnawed to pieces the cords ^t bound 
him, and conducted him to a cavern, 
where he appeased his hunger with fhiit 
o£ various kinds : he then hastened to 
the cave where the robbers of Achmet 
dwelt, and carrying off'a bae ftill of gold 
and i3ie finest garments, joyfully brought 
his booty to his bcne&ctfr ; and when the 

latter had dressed bfanself, hoVeftitwJIft 
hkn, and led him out of te linreBt. But 
they had net gone far, before they wefe 
met by a tremendous lion, who obstimcted 
the way, and opened his immense jaws as 
if to swallow them up. Aehmct riiad- 
dered, but he was soon rdieved from his 
apprehouions ; lior the Hon proved to be 
the same whose life he had saved twelvo 
months before. The lion requested A^- 
met to accompany him to his doi, and 
begging him to remain theve till he should 
come l»ck, he hastened awiy. Ke pa- 
lace to which Prince Narwan was exiled 
was not fiv from the forest. l%elionran 
thither, aiod finding the prince walking 
abroad, he fell upon him and tore him in 
pieces ; but his exceedingly rich turban, 
adorned with jewels, he brought as a 
present to Adunet, whom he then con- 
ducted to the environs of the city, in which 
Salem, late jeweller to the sultan, resided. 

Achmet, moved by the generosity and 
gratitude of the two animals, proniised 
himself still more cordial demonstrations 
of acknowledgment from a man who was 
under equal obligations to him ; and went 
straightway to &dem, whd reeeiv^ htm 
very courteously, and afrer listening with 
astonishment to die new wonderrol ad- 
venture with die ape and the Hon, so- 
lemnly protested that he would not be 
surpassed by those animals in generosity 
and grat^iil attachment. 

The death €f£ the prince was alreadjr 
known to the whole city. Salem had re- 
cognised the turban in Achmet*B posses-' 
sion as being the same which the prince 
had worn ; and as soon as his guest had 
lain down to sleep, the pexfidious jeweller 
repaired to the sultan. ^' Mighty ruler 
of the world !'* said he, ^ the murderer 
of thy son is in my house. I have seen 
the turban of the prince, with all thb 
vcosdy jewels that adorn it, in the hands of 
my guest. Th^ can be no doubt that 
he is his murderer. Give orders^ O king !. 
that he be brought to thy feet." This 
was done forthwith, and Achmet was 
conducted into the presence of the snhan. 
He wad ignorant how the lion had come 
by the richly decorated turban, nor had 
he heard till that moment of die death of 
the prince. But when he saw Salem by. 
the side of the sultan, it was dear to him 
that hk host had betra3red his treasures to 
the sultan, and he was sorry that he had 
not followed the advice of the ape, who 
had predicted, that he would have reason 
to repent it if he released die man out of 
the pit. 

Achmet was condemned to be paraded 
through the whole ci^ on an ass, and 
then to be dirown in a gloomy dangeon. 
This sentence was imme£ately executed; 

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and diere he lay In the dungeon, deeply 
deploring hift mdaBcholy fiite, when the 
very same serpent which he had deUvenwl 
out of the pit, approaiched him. It in. 
formed him, that the lion had killed the 
ptince, and then said, ^ I am now come 
to be grateftil to thee folr thy kindness. 
Take &a hah ; it is an antidote to the 
strongest poison. I have bitten the sul- 
tanas dau^ter, and thou alone wilt be 
able to cure her. Tell thy jailer what a 
wonderful herb thou possessest." — Ach- 
met did not fail to comedy ; and he was 
quickly conducted to the princess, who 
was sick unto death. The sultan was 
beside himself for joy when he saw his 
daughter instantaneously restored, and 
ordered the man who had saved her so 
miraculously to be rei^arded with the 
chmcest gifts. But Achmet seized this 
favourable opportunity to avail himself 
of the sultan's favour for his justification. 
He first related to him the deliverance of 
the ^9e, the lion, and the serpent, and af- 
terwards the circumstances of the prince's 
death. Salem's ingratitude he mentioned 
with indignation at his inhuman perfidy, 
and implored the sultan to decree his 
punishment. The sultan was highly in- 
censed at Salem's baseness ; he ordered 
him to be immediately seized and be. 
headed in the public place. But Achmet, 
loaded with presents, proceeded to his 
own home. 

And thus this story teaches us, not to 
bestow confidence on any one whose in- 
tegrity we have not tried. 

Select UiOQxapff)^, 

No. v.. 


Ths maternal founder of the St. Alban's 
family was a very singular woman, and 
an extraordinary instance of the caprice 
of fortune. Tnis family is of royal 
origin, being descended from Charles II. 
in consequence of an intercourse with 
Eleanor Gwyn. Charles their son, bom 
in Lincoln's Inn Fidds, May 8, 1670, 
on whom that monarch oooferred the 
name of Bleauder, was ennobled, by 
letters patent, having a Barony, an 
EarldcHn, and Dukedom conferred on 
him in succession. He was made by 
King William, one of the bedchamber, 
and Captain of the Band of Pensioners, 
and sent by that King to France, to con. 
gratulate the marriage of the Duke of 

l^e origin of this person was of the 
lowest rank, and her employment in that 
city, where one of her descendants enjoys 

the emohimcDts of the prelacy, of the 
most inferior kind ; indeed, it is there, 
or in the neig^ibourhood, that the tradi- 
tion of the place supposes her to have 
been bom. From thence, by one of the 
many transitions which transplant indi- 
viduals of the labouring class from one 
place to another, she became -an inhabi-' 
tant of the metropolis, and the servant 
of a fruiterer, who was probably one of 
those who attended the play-house, as it 
that in this character she first ob- 

tamed admission into the theatre in Dmry 
Lane. AVhat favour of fortune advanced 
her from this humble situation to the 
stage, whether from the general recom- 
mendation which her natural humour and 
vivacity gave her, or a passion which Mr. 
Hart, the pla3rer, had for her is unknown. 
It is certain, she was a favourite of 
Dryden's, who gave her the most shewy 
and alluring parts in his comedies, and 
wrote several prologues and epilogues ex- 
pressly for her. Ttie first notice we have 
of Miss Eleanor Gwyn is in 1668, when 
she appeared in Dryden's play of " Secret 
Love." It appears that her person was 
small, and that she was negligent of her 
dress ; but she possessed the powers of 
captivation in no small degree, but the 
more immediate cause of hsi becoming- 
an object of the monarch's afiection was 
as follows : 

At the Duke's house, under Killegrew's- 
patent, the celebrated Nokes had appeared 
in a hat larger than Pistol's, which 
pleased the audience so much as to help 
off a bad play ; Dryden caused a hat to 
be made of the circumference of a large 
coach-wheel, and as she was low in sta* 
ture,* made her speak an epilogue under 
the umbrella of it, with its brim stretched 
out in its most horizontal extension. No 
sooner did she appear in 4his strange 
dress, than the house was in convulsions 
of laughter. Among the rest, the king 
gave the ftillest proof of approbation, by 
going behind the scenes immediately after 
the play, and taking her home in his own 
coach to supper with him.^ 

Aiter this devation, she still continued 
on the stage, and thoug^ in general 
comedy, she did not rank wi^ Betterton, 
Mardiall, Lee, Bourell, &c. for the airy 
fontastic, and sprightly exhibitions of the 
comic muse, her genius was most aptly 
calculated, and according to the taste of 
those times, she was considered the best 

• In b©r person, according to her picture b^ 
Lely, she was low in stature, red haired, and 
what the French call en bon point. There is a 
bust now to be seen of her at Bagnigge Wells, 
formerly her country house. She had remark- 
able small but lively eyes; her foot was of the 
most diminutive size, and used to be the subject 
of much miitfa to her merry paramour. 

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prologue and epilogue spetker on dther 

It now remains to consider her as the 
mistress of a king, and here she nobly- 
belied Uie baseness of her origin : she met 
and bore her good fortune, as if she had 
been bred to it, discovering neither ava- 
rice, pride, nor ostentation ; she remem- 
bered all her theatrical friends, and did 
them services; she generously paid off 
her debt of gratitude to Dryden, and was 
the patroness of Otway and Lee. 

Wlien she became more immediately 
connected with the king, that gay mo- 
narch was already surrounded with mis- 
tresses, that were known to have been 
unrestcained in their conduct. Gibber 
observes ; — ^^ that she had less to be laid 
on her charge than any other of those 
ladies who are in the same state of pre- 
ferment: she never meddled in matters 
of serious moment, or was the tool of 
working politicians: never broke into 
those amorous infidelities which others 
aie accused of; but was as visibly dis- 
tinguished by her particular personal in- 
dlnation to the king, as her rivals were 
by their titles and grandeur.** This cha- 
racter the following anecdote clearly illus- 
trates: — ^being once solicited by a Sir 
John Gkrmain, to whom she Had lost a 
considerable sum of money at play, to 
exchange the debt for other favours, she. 
no less honestly than wittily replied, 
^^ No, Sir John, I am too good a sports- 
woman to lay the dog where the deer 
sliould lie.*' Neverthdess Bishop Bur- 
net terms her ^^ the indiscreetest and 
wildest creature that ever was in a court ;*' 
but adds, ^^ that she continued to the 
end of the king*s life in great favour ; and 
was maintained at a vast expense.*' 

She was not only the favourite of the 
monarch, but the favourite of the people, 
and, though that age abounded with 
satires and lampoons against the rest of 
the king*s favourites, as the causes of 
political disasters, Mrs. Gwyn, except in 
the instance of a few lines written by- 
Lord Rochester, not only escaped, but 
even met their approbation, as uie never 
troubled herself with politics. She was 
munificent in her charities, sociable with 
her friends, and what was singular 
enough, piqued herself on her rega^ for 
the Church of England, contrary to the 
then disposition of the court. 

She had a very fine understanding, was 
humourous, witty, and possessed me ta- 
lents so necessary to enliven conversation 
in an eminent degree, and generally kept 
her place at table with the King, the Lord 
Rochester, Shaftebury, &c till they quiU 
ted the bounds of decency, when she never 
failed to reUre. She lived long enough to 

ice, and without doubt to lament the de- 
dine of that family which had rained her 
to rank and fortune, having the good seoae 
to avoid meddling with the politics of the 

After the king*s death. Pennant, in 
his ^' London " states, that she lived in 
St James*s Square, (and according to 
tradition, the back room and ceiling on 
the ground floor were entirely of looking- 
glass) many years with an unblemished 
reputation, and where she died in 1691, 
and was buried with great funeral so- 
lenmity in the parish church of St. Mar- 
tin in the Fields, to the ringers of which, 
among other valuable donations, she left 
a sum of money to supply them with a 
weekly entertainment, wmch they enjoj 
to this day. 

Dr. Tennison, afterwards Archbishop 
of Canterbury, preached her funeral ser- 
mon, a circumstance which did not hurt 
his preferment during the reign of QuecD 


Venedata \% requested to call on Mr. Lim- 
Bf ap as soon as be can conveniently. 

We agree with F. 9V.D,i but the author ht 
vindicates needs no defence. 

The Epifftalmic Address is too local for ui. 

We thank R. M. D., but his episUe is too well 

We admire the sentiment of Mostak^ hot our 
Memoir is not political. 

We sincerely thank Jonathan Deab and H. R, 

The selection of O. 0. /T. is not verv choice. 

The Epitaph of C. R. S. is somewhat profiaiie. 

We shall not take " Fright from an unpub- 
lished Novel.- 

M'. n. T. is good, bot we have done with the 

We admire the economy of the Attorneys 
Clerk, who keeps a wife and six children on 
twenty-four shillings a week, but we cannot 
bestow two pages on him. . 

We must follow Z. Y.*s example, and send 
the gin-shop idolaters to the tomb of all th« 

To Veritas — ^We never meddle withfaodlr 

Dr. Pansloss has not sent us any novelty. 

Romaolao was received. 

The Marble Ponds of Persia, and the Caseadt 
in Buckinghamshire, " copied from a MS. col- 
lection,*' appear in the same juxtaposition in the 
" Cabinet of Curiosities," as did the article on 
the Fecundity of Fish, sent by the same coires- 
pondent.— O I fie Jaeobus. 

The following communications are, for vari- 
ous reasons.inadmissible: — 

F. G. A. ; Bonas ; fV, G. B. ; /. C— A. ; The 
Mysterious Assassin ; Saint M. A. ; The Dying 
Sailor I Auceps; A Rider; T. P— t; Th» 
Packet; Quid Nescio; R, M.; Samuel Tynmus: 
R. B. to his Friend ; S. H-s ; h, C; G, T— » ; 

We deal not in Riddlev. Rebuses, Conm- 
drums.or Charades. 

Further answers in oui next. 

PHnted and Published by J. LIMBIUD, 
143, Strand, (near Somerset House J and MM 
by all JVevsmen and Booksellers, 

Digitized by VjOOQIC 

Cj^e Mitvov 




[Price 2d. 

^t ClUbtaUtf CXoA ol dtraiAurg. 


Vol. lu. 



TuK inTention of eloelD^tuch as are now 
in use. is ascribed to Pacificus, Archdea- 
con of Verona, who died in 84&; but 
ihey were not known in England until 
1368, nor was the pendulum applied 
until 1657» when Huygens, a Dutch as- 
tronomer and matheniafifiian,- made- the 

In the infancy of the art of clock-work^ 
Strasbuxg was celebrated for having ex- 
tended it beyond the mere record of the 
hours of the day. The clocky in the 
cathedral of that city,«B noble structure, 
with a tower 470 feet high, was constructed 
about the year 1370, and i* described at 

nt length in the Strasburg- Chronicle, 
^presents the motions of the globe, 
the sun, and the moon, in their regular 
circuit The day of the week^ the circle 
of the sun, the year of the worid aaid of 
our Lord, the equinoctials, the leap-year, 
the moveable feasts,>aiid the dominical 
letter, are all dearly exhibited by this 
dock. The eclipses <^ the sun and moon, 
and the weekly motion: of the planets^ are 
also di^Uyed* Thus^ on Sunday ihe- 
sun \a dntwn about in hirdiariot, and "so 
drawn into another -plaoe^ that; before be 
is quitein, you have Monday ; that is^ . 
the moon appears Aill, and the honaos of 
Mars* chsiiot a^f^earing."; and the seeno-ia 
thus varied on eveir day of the weeki 

There is also a dial for the minutes of 
the hour, so that you see every minute 
pass : two images of children appear on 
each side, one with a* soeptre counting the 
hours. The motion of the planets, the 
moon*s rising and falling, and several 
other astronomical motions, are exhibit- 
ed in this dock. Death and Christ are 
also personified ; and at the top of the 
tower is an excellent chime, which pla3rs 
various tunes, and,* si^s an old account of 
this dock, ^^ at Christmas, Kaster, and 
Whitsuntide, a thanksgiving unto Christ ; 
and when this chime has done, the cock, 
which stands on the top of the tower on 
'^e norUi side of the main work, having 
stretdied out his neck, shaken his comb, 
and dapped his wings twice ; and this he 
does so siurill and natural, as would make 
aiwman wonder," 

This cdebrated dock, of which we 
present an engraving from a veir rare 
mint, was constructed