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Title: The Mirror of Literature, Amusement, and Instruction. Volume 12, No. 346, December 13, 1828

Author: Various

Release date: March 1, 2004 [eBook #11408]
                Most recently updated: December 25, 2020

Language: English

Credits: Produced by Jonathan Ingram, Allen Siddle, David King, and the Online
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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MIRROR OF LITERATURE, AMUSEMENT, AND INSTRUCTION. VOLUME 12, NO. 346, DECEMBER 13, 1828 ***




Produced by Jonathan Ingram, Allen Siddle, David King, and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team





THE MIRROR OF LITERATURE, AMUSEMENT, AND INSTRUCTION

VOL. 12, No. 346.]    SATURDAY, DECEMBER 13, 1828.    [PRICE 2d.



OLD COVENT GARDEN.


[Illustration: Old Covent Garden. ]

The notoriety of Covent Garden is of too multifarious a description to
render the above illustration uninteresting to either of our readers. It
is copied from one of Hollar's prints, and represents the Garden about
the time of Charles II., before its area had been polluted with filth
and vegetable odours.

The spot was originally the garden belonging to the abbot of
Westminster, which extended to St. Martin's church, was called the
_Convent Garden_, and may be distinctly traced in Ralph Agar's View of
London, bearing date about 1570. It was granted, after the dissolution,
by Edward VI. first to the protector Somerset, on whose attainder, in
1582, it passed into the Bedford family. About the year 1634, Francis,
Earl of Bedford, began to clear away the old buildings, and to form the
present handsome square. Its execution was confided to Inigo Jones, but
unfortunately, only the north, and part of the east side, was completed;
for, had the piazza been continued on the other this would have been one
of the noblest quadrangles in the metropolis. Previously to the erection
of the present mass of huts and sheds, the area was neatly gravelled,
had a handsome dial in the centre, and was railed in on all sides, at
the distance of sixty feet from the buildings. The south side was
bounded by the garden wall of Bedford-House, the town house of the noble
family of that name; and along this wall only were the market booths.
But the mansion has long given way to Little Bedford-street.

The most striking object in the engraving is, however, the original
church of St. Paul, as built by Inigo Jones, connected with which is the
following anecdote:--When the Earl of Bedford sent for Jones, in 1640,
he told him he wanted a chapel for the parishioners of Covent Garden;
but added, he would not go to any considerable expense. "In short," said
he, "I would not have it much better than a barn."--"Well, then,"
replied Jones, "you shall have the handsomest barn in England." The
ceiling was very beautifully painted by Edward Pierce, sen. a pupil of
Vandyke. In 1795, the church was accidentally destroyed by fire, but it
was rebuilt by Mr. Hardwick, in imitation of the original design.

In a note at page 236 of vol. x. of the MIRROR, we adverted to the
disgraceful state of Covent Garden Market, which of late years has been
little better than a public nuisance. The broom of reform at length
promises to cleanse this _Augean_ area; and a new market is in the
course of erection. The design, it will be recollected, was in this
year's Exhibition at Somerset House, and in an early Number we may
probably give a view of the Elevation.

The celebrity of Covent Garden as a depot for vegetable produce is of
considerable antiquity; and it is but reasonable that such an
improvement should be made, consistent with the increased and increasing
wants of this overgrown metropolis, and the augmented supplies which are
poured in from all quarters. When this improvement is completed, it may
lead to the finishing of the quadrangle. The parish (in extent, not in
feeling) is, perhaps, one of the most compact in London; but when its
proximity to the theatres is considered, little surprise can reasonably
be felt at the immorality of the district. It may not be so easy a
matter to mend the public morals as to build new markets; but the links
of popular improvement are too closely connected to make the case
hopeless.

It would be amusing to compare this emporium of fruits and vegetables in
ancient and modern times. At the first enclosure of Covent Garden, in
1635, the supply must have been very scanty. Upon the authority of Hume,
we learn that when Catherine, queen of Henry VIII., was in want of any
salads, carrots, or other edible roots, &c. she was obliged to send a
special messenger to Holland for them. But the mention of water-cresses,
kales, gooseberries, currants, &c., by old writers, appears to
invalidate the pursy historian. The garden must, nevertheless, have
presented a very different appearance to that of our day. Only let the
_gourmand_ take a walk through the avenues of the present Covent
Garden--from the imperial pine, to the emerald leaves sprinkled with
powdered diamonds--_vulgo_, savoys. Then the luscious list of autumnal
fruits, and the peppers, or capsicums, and tomatas, to tickle the
appetite of the veriest epicure of east or western London--not to
mention the exotic fragrance of oranges, which come in just opportunely
to fill up the chasm in the supply of British fruits.

       *       *       *       *       *


ANCIENT ROMAN FESTIVALS

DECEMBER.

(_For the Mirror._)


The feasts of _Opalia_ were celebrated in honour of the goddess _Ops_;
they were held on the 9th of December. Saturn and Ops were husband and
wife, and to them we owe the introduction of corn and fruits; for which
reason the feast was not held till the harvest and fruit time were over.
The vows offered to this goddess were made sitting on the ground, to
show that she was Earth, the mother of all things.

The _Saturnalia_ were festivals in honour of Saturn, celebrated the 16th
or 17th, or, according to others, the 18th of December. They were
instituted long before the foundation of Rome, in commemoration of the
freedom and equality which prevailed on earth in the golden reign of
Saturn. Some, however, suppose that the Saturnalia were first observed
at Rome in the reign of Tullus Hostilius, after a victory obtained over
the Sabines; while others support, that Janus first instituted them in
gratitude to Saturn, from whom he had learnt agriculture; others suppose
that they were first celebrated in the year of Rome 257, after a victory
obtained over the Latins by the dictator, Posthumius. The Saturnalia
were originally celebrated only for one day, but afterwards the
solemnity continued for three, four, five, and at last for seven days.
The celebration was remarkable for the license which universally
prevailed. The slaves were permitted to ridicule their masters, and to
speak with freedom upon any subject. It was usual for friends to make
presents one to another; all animosity ceased; no criminals were
executed; schools were shut; war was never declared, but all was mirth,
riot, and debauchery. In the sacrifices the priests made their offerings
with their heads uncovered,--a custom which was never observed at other
festivals.

The _Divalia_ was a feast held on the 2lst of December, in honour of the
goddess _Angerona_, whence it is also called Angeronalia. On the day of
this festival the pontifices performed sacrifices in the temple of
Voluptia, or the goddess of joy and pleasure, who, some say, was the
same with _Angerona_, and supposed to drive away all the sorrow and
chagrin of life.

The feast of _Laurentinalia_ was held on the 23rd of December, but was
ordered to be observed twice a year by Augustus; by some supposed to be
in honour of the _Lares_, a kind of domestic genii, or divinities,
worshipped in houses, and esteemed the guardians and protectors of
families, supposed to reside in chimney-corners. Others have attributed
this feast in honour of Acca Laurentia, the nurse of Romulus and Remus,
and wife of Faustulus.

P.T.W.

       *       *       *       *       *


CELTIC ETYMOLOGIES.

(_For the Mirror._)


_Hibernia_.--Ireland is called by the Latin writers, _Hibernia,
Ivernia--Ierne_[1]--and _Verna_--names differing but little in sound,
and all, merely Latinizations of the Irish words _Ibh Eirin_--that is,
the Land of Erié--for _Ibh_, in Irish, signifies a land, or country, and
_Eirin_ is the genitive case of _Eire_, the name of Ireland in the Irish
tongue--from _Ibh Eirin_ the Romans formed Hibernia, &c. the termination
only being Latin--and from _Eire_, by adding _land_, the Saxons formed
_Eireland_ or _Ireland_. This Eire was a very ancient queen who gave her
name to the country, as in modern times _Virginia_ was called after
Queen Elizabeth, _Maryland_ after the queen of Charles I., &c.

    [1] Scotorum cumulos flevit glacialis _Ierne_. CLAUDIAN.

_Tory_.--A robber, an outlaw, literally, _one hunted_--a name originally
given to the outlawed Irish chiefs of Ulster, in the reign of James I.,
who after the seizure of their lands, had a price set upon their heads,
and were _hunted_ by the soldiery like wild beasts; hence the name of
_Tories_, meaning the _hunted_ people, for _Toriacht_ in Irish signifies
a pursuit or hunting, and _Torihe_, hunted. In the reign of Charles II.
it began to be used to designate a party in the state favourable to
absolute monarchy; many of these "Tories" having followed the fortunes
of that prince in exile, returned with him, and being his most devoted
partisans when reseated on his throne.

_Admiral_.--This word, which appears to have sadly puzzled the
etymologists, having been derived from the Phoenician, the Coptic, and
half a dozen languages besides, is pure Celtic, but little altered too,
in its transit from one language to another. _Ard_, high or chief,
_Muir_, the sea, and _Fear_, (in composition pronounced _ar_) a man, so
that _Ardmurar_, or _Admiral_, signifies literally the _Chief Seaman_.
There is nothing of torture in this derivation, as may be seen by
referring to any Irish dictionary, and it is a curious fact, that the
Irish seamen in the navy very generally call the Admiral "_the
Ardmurar_." In Irish it is frequently written in two words, thus--_Ard
muirfhear_.

_Beltin day_.--The first of May is so called in many places in the North
of England. It was a custom in the days of Druidism to light large fires
on the tops of hills on the evening of the first of May, in honour of
_Bel_ or the Sun, and hence that day is still called in Irish, _La
Bheltine_, or the day of Bel's fire, from _La_, a day, _Bel_, the god
Bel, and _teine_, fire. The same ceremony was practised in Britain,
being a Druidical rite, and the name (_Beltin day_) remains, although
the custom from which it originated, has in England, at least, been long
forgotten.

Guthrie, in his "Geographical Grammar," tells us, that the English
language is a compound of the Saxon, the French, and the _Celtic_. As
far as this latter is concerned, the assertion appears to me to have
been made without due consideration; I do not believe that there are
twenty words of _genuine Celtic_ in the English language; there are, it
is true, a very few Irish words, which have become as it were, English
denizens, and of these I have sent you a specimen above; but I do not
believe it possible to increase their number to twenty, even in broad
Scotch, in which dialect of the Saxon (from the neighbourhood of the
Highlanders who use the Irish language) some Celtic words might be
expected, but very few occur;[2] there is, however, one very curious
exception to this rule, and for which, I confess, I am unable to
account, (though perhaps your correspondent, _Rupert C._ in No. 342,
might,) it is this--that in Grose's _Dictionary of the Vulgar Tongue, or
Cant Language_, if the words which are evidently figurative be thrown
out, nearly the whole of what remain are pure Irish.

    [2] As _Oe_ a grandson--Irish _O_ or _Ux byre_, a
    cowhouse--Irish boyach (boi-theach.)

H.S.

       *       *       *       *       *


TURKISH CANNON.

(_For the Mirror._)


The Turks use the largest cannon of any people in Europe. In our ships,
and I believe in our batteries, we seldom use a heavier gun than a
32-pounder. No man-of-war carries a gun of a larger calibre; but the
Turks make use of 800-pounders. Mahommed II. is stated to have used at
the siege of Constantinople, in 1453, cannon of an immense calibre, and
stone shot. When Sir J. Duckworth passed the Dardanelles to attack
Constantinople, in 1807, his fleet was dreadfully shattered by the
immense shot thrown from the batteries. The Royal George (of 110 guns)
was nearly sunk by only one shot, which carried away her cut-water, and
another cut the main-mast of the Windsor Castle nearly in two; a shot
knocked two ports of the Thunderer into one; the Repulse (74) had her
wheel shot away and twenty-four men killed and wounded by a single shot,
nor was the ship saved but by the most wonderful exertions. The heaviest
shot which struck our ships was of granite, and weighed 800 pounds, and
was two feet two inches in diameter. One of these huge shots, to the
astonishment of our tars, stove in the whole larboard bow of the Active;
and having thus crushed this immense mass of timber, the shot rolled
ponderously aft, and brought up abreast the main hatchway, the crew
standing aghast at the singular spectacle. One of these guns was cast in
brass in the reign of Amurath; it was composed of two parts, joined by a
screw at the chamber, its breach resting against massy stone work; the
difficulty of charging it would not allow of its being fired more than
once; but, as a Pacha said, "that single discharge would destroy almost
the whole fleet of an enemy." The Baron de Trott, to the great terror of
the Turks, resolved to fire this gun. The shot weighed 1,100 pounds, and
he loaded it with 330 pounds of powder: he says, "I felt a shock like an
earthquake, at the distance of eight hundred fathoms. I saw the ball
divide into three pieces, and these fragments of a rock crossed the
Strait, and rebounded on the mountain."

W.G.C.

       *       *       *       *       *


AN ORIGINAL SCOTCH SONG FOR THE ANNIVERSARY OF ST. ANDREW'S DAY.

(_For the Mirror._)


Air.--"_The kail brose o' awld Scotland_."

  Ye vintners a' your ingles[3] mak clear,
  An brew us some punch our hearts a' to cheer,
  On November the thritie let's meet ilkie year
  To drink to the memory o' Andrew,
  To Andrew the auld Scottish saint.

  Peace was his word in the ha' or the fiel'[4]
  An his creed it was whalsome to those that were leal
  To mak' the road straight O' he was the cheel,
  Sae here's to the memory o' Andrew,
  To Andrew the auld Scottish saint.

  In days o' langsyne as auld chronicles tell,
  When clans wi' their dirks gaid to it pell mell,
  O he was sad' that a' fewds cou'd expel,
  Sae here's to the memory o' Andrew,
  To Andrew the auld Scottish saint.

  For since at the Spey when M'Duff led the van,
  He vow'd that the charrians[5] he'd slay every one,
  But by Andrew's doctren he slew na a man,
  Sae here's to the memory o' Andrew,
  To Andrew the auld Scottish saint,

  When he to the Culdees the truth did explain
  They a' rubb'd their beard, an' looket right fain
  An' vow'd that his council they'd ever retain,
  Sae here's to the memory o' Andrew,
  To Andrew the auld Scottish saint.

  Altho' at fam'd Patres[6] he closed his e'e,
  Yet Regulus, the monk, brought him far oure the sea,
  In St. Andrew's he sleeps, an' there let him be.
  Sae here's to the memory o' Andrew,
  To Andrew the auld Scottish saint.

C.

    [3] Fires.
    [4] Field.
    [5] See Buchanan's History of Scotland, book p. 186.
    [6] See Cook's Geography, book ii. p. 302.

       *       *       *       *       *


ORIGIN OF THE WORD BANKRUPT.

(_For the Mirror._)


This word is formed from the ancient Latin _bancus_ a _bench_, or
_table_, and _ruptus, broken_. Bank originally signified a bench, which
the first bankers had in the public places, in markets, fairs, &c. on
which they told their money, wrote their bills of exchange, &.c. Hence,
when a banker failed, they broke his bank, to advertise the public that
the person to whom the bank belonged was no longer in a condition to
continue his business. As this practice was very frequent in Italy, it
is said the term bankrupt is derived from the Italian _banco_ rotto,
broken bench. Cowel (in his 4th Institute 227) rather chooses to deduce
the word from the French _banque, table_, and _route, vestigium, trace_,
by metaphor from the sign left in the ground, of a table once fastened
to it and now gone. On this principle he traces the origin of bankrupts
from the ancient Roman _mensarii_ or _argentarii_, who had their
_tabernae_ or _mensae_ in certain public places; and who, when they
fled, or made off with the money that had been entrusted to them, left
only the sign or shadow of their former station behind them.

P.T.W.

       *       *       *       *       *


ORIGIN OF THE WORD _BROKER_, &c.

(_For the Mirror._)


The origin of this word is contested; some derive it from the French
_broyer, "to grind_;" others from _brocader, to cavil or riggle_; others
deduce broker from a trader _broken_, and that from the Saxon _broc_,
"misfortune," which is often the true reason of a man's breaking. In
which view, a broker is a broken trader, by misfortune; and it is said
that none but such were formerly admitted to that employment. The Jews,
Armenians, and Banians are the chief brokers throughout most parts of
the Levant and the Indies. In Persia, all affairs are transacted by a
sort of brokers, whom they call "_delal_" i.e. "_great talkers_." Their
form of contract in buying and selling is remarkable, being done in the
profoundest silence, only by touching each other's fingers:--The buyer,
loosening his _pamerin_, or girdle, spreads it on his knee; and both he
and the seller, having their hands underneath, by the intercourse of the
fingers, mark the price of pounds, shillings, &c., demanded, offered,
and at length agreed on. When the seller takes the buyer's whole hand,
it denotes a thousand, and as many times as he squeezes it, as many
thousand pagods or roupees, according to the species in question
demanded; when he only takes the five fingers, it denotes five hundred;
and when only one, one hundred; taking only half a finger, to the second
joint, denotes fifty; the small end of the finger, to the first joint,
stands for ten. This _legerdemain_, or _squeezing system_, would not do
for the _latitude_ of London.

P.T.W.

       *       *       *       *       *



SELECT BIOGRAPHY


       *       *       *       *       *


DR. GALL.

(_For the Mirror._)


The loss which the scientific world has lately sustained by the death of
Dr. Gall, will be longer and more deeply felt than any which it has
experienced for some years. This celebrated philosopher and physician
was born in the year 1758, of respectable parents, at a small village in
the duchy of Baden, where he received the early part of his education.
He afterwards went to Brucksal, and then to Strasburgh, in which city he
commenced his medical studies, and became a pupil of the celebrated
Professor Hermann. From Strasburgh he removed to Vienna, where he
commenced practice, having taken the degree of M.D. In this capital,
however, he was not permitted to develope his new system of the
functions of the brain; and from his lectures being interdicted, and the
illiberal opposition which he here met with, as well as in other parts
of Austria, he determined to visit the north of Germany. Here he was
well received in all the cities through which he passed, as well as in
Prussia, Sweden, and Denmark, and explained the doctrines he had founded
on his observations from _nature_ before several sovereigns, who
honoured him with such marks of approbation and respect as were due to
his talents. In the course of his travels he likewise visited England,
and at length, in 1807, settled in Paris, where his reputation had
already preceded him, and which, from its central situation, he
considered as the fittest place for disseminating his system. In this
city, in 1810, he published his elaborate work on the brain, the
expenses of which were guaranteed by one of his greatest friends and
patrons, Prince Metternich, at that time Austrian minister at the court
of France.

It was natural to expect that the system of Dr. Gall, which differed so
widely from the long confirmed habits of thinking, and having to contend
with so many prejudices, should encounter a large host of adversaries;
for if _phrenology_ be true, all other systems of the philosophy of the
human mind must consequently be false. The brain, which, from the
earliest periods, has generally been considered as the seat of our
mental functions, Dr. Gall regards as a congeries of organs, each organ
having a separate function of its own. This system, first promulgated by
him, is now rapidly advancing in the estimation of the world; and its
doctrines, which a few years since were thought too extravagant and
absurd for investigation, are now discussed in a more liberal and candid
manner. The _test_ for the science of phrenology, and a test by which
its validity alone can be tried, consists in an induction of facts and
observations; and by this mode it is that the disciples of Gall and
Spurzheim challenge their antagonists.

After a life of the most indefatigable industry and active benevolence,
Dr. Gall breathed his last at his country house at Montrouge, a short
distance from Paris, on August the 22nd, 1828, at the age of seventy-
one. The examination of his body took place forty hours after death, in
the presence of the following members of the faculty:--Messrs. Fouquier,
J. Cloquet, Dauncey, Fossati, Cassimir-Broussais, Robouane, Sarlandière,
Fabre-Palaprat, Londe, Costello, Gaubert, Vimont, Jobert, and Marotti.
The exterior appearance of the body presented a considerable falling
away, particularly in the face. The skull was sawed off with the
greatest precaution; the substance of the brain was consistent, and this
organ was firm and perfectly regular.

The funeral of Dr. Gall, which was conducted with as much privacy as
possible, took place at Paris on the 27th of August. He was interred in
the burial-ground of Père la Chaise, between the tombs of Molière and La
Fontaine, being attended to the grave by several members of the faculty.
Three _eloges_, or _oraisons funèbres_, were delivered at the place of
interment by Professor Broussais, Dr. Fossati, and Dr. Londe.

Broussais informs us, that Dr. Gall possessed most of the social
virtues, particularly beneficence and good-nature--qualities, he
observes, precious in all ranks of society, and which ought to make
amends for many defects; but for Gall, they had only to palliate a
certain roughness of character, which might wound the susceptibility of
delicate persons, although the sick and unfortunate never had to
complain; and, indeed, the doctor ought, in strict justice, to have more
merit in our ideas, from never having once lost sight, in his writings,
of either decency or moderation, particularly when it is remembered how
severely he was attacked in propagating his favourite doctrine.

T.B.

         *        *        *        *        *


FROM CATULLUS.

(_For the Mirror._)


  My Lydia says, "believe me I speak true,
  I ne'er will marry any one but you;
  If Jove himself should mention love to me,
  Not even Jove would be preferred to thee."
  She says--but all that women tell
  Their doting lovers--I, alas! too well
  Know, should be written on the waves or wind,
  So little do their words express their mind.

T.C.

       *       *       *       *       *



THE NOVELIST


       *       *       *       *       *


GERMAN TRADITIONS.


  I have a song of war for knight,
  Lay of love for lady bright,
  Faery tale to lull the heir,
  Goblin grim the maids to scare!

                 SIR WALTER SCOTT.

Germany! land of mystery and of mind! birth-place of Schiller and
Goëthe, with what emotions does not every lover of romance sit down to
peruse thy own peculiar, dreamy traditions! Thy very name conjures up
visions of demons, and imps, and elfs, and all the creations of faery
land, with their varied legends of _diablerie_, almost incredible in
number and singular in detail--and romance, in his gloomy mood, seems
here to have reared his strong hold.

At a time when a taste for the beauties of German literature is becoming
general throughout this country, we conceive that a few specimens of her
traditions may not be unacceptable to the reader. Few subjects are more
interesting than the popular legends of a country, which are the source
from whence many of our later novelists draw several of their writings:
they offer a field for reflection to the contemplative observer of man;
and those of Germany, although some are disfigured with a little too
much absurdity in their details, are confessedly a mine of wealth to the
lover of research in such matters. Here Schiller first drew the sources
of his inspiration; here Goëthe first electrified mankind with his
writings--works which will render both immortal; it is, indeed, a mine
which has been and will bear much working.

We have chosen the following tradition, both on account of the merit it
possesses, and its being the unquestionable origin of Washington
Irving's inimitable _Rip Von Winkle_. Indeed, the similarity of the
story is strikingly obvious. We believe there are several legends on
this subject, which, with the present, probably all refer to the Emperor
Frederic Barbarossa, whose adventures form the source of many a story
among the Germans. The original tale is nearly as follows:--It seems the
emperor was once compelled to conceal himself, with a party of his
followers, amongst the Kyffhaüsen mountains; there he still lives, but
is under the influence of magic. He sits with his adherents on a seat
before a stone table, leaning his head upon his hands, seeming to
slumber; but apparently his sleep is very restless, and his head nods,
and seems as if he were going to awake, and his red beard has grown
through the table down to his feet. He takes pretty long naps, not more
than a hundred years in length at a stretch: when his slumber is
interrupted, he is fabled to be very fond of music; and it is said that
there was a party of musicians, who once gave him a regular serenade in
his subterranean retreat, doubtless expecting some wonderful token of
his generosity in return; but they received nothing for their pains but
a number of green boughs, which so disgusted them, that they all threw
them away on their return to earth, save one, who, however, had no
suspicion of its worth, for on showing it to his wife, to his great
astonishment, each leaf became a golden coin.

An author before us observes, that this tale of the emperor's slumbers
cannot, perhaps, be deemed original, and is probably a popular version
of the Seven Sleepers, "not a little disfigured by the peculiar
superstition of the country." The same writer remarks, with justice,
that it is surprising how few are the sources, and how scanty the parent
stock, from whence all the varieties of European legend are derived.
Indeed, the foundation of a great part of these legendary stories seems
to have been the heathen mythology of the different countries, and the
various tales of superstition being handed down from one generation to
another, have gradually assumed the shape they now bear; from whence may
be traced most of our popular superstitions.

THE LEGEND OF THE GOATHERD.

  When I behold a football to and fro,
    Urged by a throng of players equally,
  Methinks I see, resembled in that show,
    This round earth poised in the vacant sky.

       *       *       *       *       *

  And all we learn whereas the game is o'er,
  That life is but a dream, and nothing more.

                            AMADIS JANRYN.

  "Know'st thou me not?"----------------
  "Oh, yes, (I cried,) thou art indeed the same."

                                 GOETHE.

At the peaceful village of Sittendorf dwelt Peter Klaus, the goatherd.
He daily tended his flocks to pasture in the Kyffhäusen mountains, and
never failed, as evening approached, to muster them in a little mead,
surrounded by a stone wall, preparatory to driving them home; for some
time, however, he had observed, that one of the finest of his herd
regularly disappeared soon after coming to this nook, and did not join
her companions till late. One night, watching her attentively, he
remarked that she slipped through a hole or opening in the wall, on
which he cautiously crept after the animal, and found she was in a cave,
busily engaged in gleaning the grains of corn that fell down singly from
the roof. Peter did not look long before the shower of corn that now
saluted him made him shake his ears, and inflamed his curiosity the more
to discover the cause of so singular an occurrence in that out-of-the-
way place. However, at last he heard the neigh and stamping of horses,
apparently proceed from above; and it was doubtless from their mangers
that the oats had fallen.

While standing, still wrapped in amazement at the singularity of the
adventure, Peter's surprise was not diminished on observing a boy, who,
without saying a word, silently beckoned him to follow. Peter
mechanically obeyed the gestures of the lad, and ascended some steps,
which led over a walled court into a hollow place, completely surrounded
on all sides by lofty rocks, and crowned by the rich foliage of shrubs,
through which an imperfect twilight displayed a smooth, well-trimmed
lawn, that formed the ground he stood upon. Here were twelve knights,
who, without so much as uttering a syllable, were very gravely playing
at nine-pins; and as silently was Peter inducted into the office of
assistant, namely, in setting up these nine-pins. Peter's courage was
none of the strongest during all this time, and his knees smote each
other most devoutly as he commenced his duties; while he occasionally
ventured to steal a glance at the venerable knights, whose long beards
and antique slashed doublets filled him with profound awe.

His fears, however, began to be on the wane, as he became more
accustomed to his new employment. Indeed, he went so far as to gaze on
one of the noble knights straight in the face--nay, even at last
ventured to sip out of a bowl of wine that stood near him, which
diffused a most delicious odour around. He found this sip so
invigorating, that he soon took a somewhat longer pull; and in a short
time Peter had quite forgotten that such things as Sittendorf, Wife, or
Goats had ever existed; and on finding himself the least weary, he had
only to apply to the never-failing goblet. At last he fell fast asleep.

On waking, Peter found he was in the same little enclosure where he was
wont to count his flocks. He shook himself well, and rubbed his eyes;
but neither dog nor goats were to be seen; and he was astonished in no
slight degree to observe that he was nearly surrounded with high grass,
and trees, and shrubs, which he never before remarked, growing about
that spot. Lost in perplexity, he followed his way to all the different
haunts he had frequented with his herds, but no traces of them were to
be discovered; at last he hastily bent his steps to Sittendorf, which
lay beneath.

The persons whom he met on his way to the village were all strangers to
him; they were differently dressed, and did not precisely speak the
language of his acquaintance; and on inquiring after his goats, all
stared and touched their chins. At last he mechanically did the same,
but what was his surprise when he found his beard lengthened at least a
foot; on which he began to conclude that he and those around him were
all under the influence of magic or enchantment. Yet the mountain he had
descended was certainly the Kyffhäusen--the cottages, too, with their
gardens and enclosures, were all quite familiar to him--and he heard
some boys reply to the passing questions of a traveller, that it was
Sittendorf.

His doubt and perplexity now increased every moment, and he quickened
his steps towards his own dwelling; he hardly knew it, it was so much
decayed; and before the door lay a strange goatherd's boy, with a dog
apparently at the last extreme of age, that snarled when he spoke to
him. He entered the house through an opening, which had formerly been
closed by a door. All was waste and void within; he staggered out as if
he had lost his senses, calling on his wife and children by their names;
but no one heard--none answered. Before long, a crowd of women and
children had collected around the strange old man, with the long hoary
beard, and all inquired what it was he was seeking after. This was
almost too much; to be thus questioned before his own door was more than
strange, and he felt ashamed to ask after his wife and children, or even
of himself; but to get rid of his querists he mentioned the first name
that occurred to him, "Kurt Steffen?" The people looked around in
silence, till at length an old woman said, "He has been in the
churchyard these twelve years past, and you'll not go thither to-day."--
"Velten Meier?"--"Heaven rest his soul!" replied an ancient dame,
leaning on a crutch. "Heaven rest his soul! he has lain in the house he
will never leave these fifteen years!"

The goatherd shuddered to recognise in the last speaker his next
neighbour, who seemed all at once to have grown old; but he had lost all
desire to inquire further. Suddenly a smart young woman pressed through
the surrounding gapers, with an infant in her arms, and leading a girl
about fourteen years old--all three the exact image of his wife. With
greater surprise than ever he inquired her name. "Maria!"--"And your
father's name?"--"Peter Klaus! Heaven rest his soul! It is now twenty
years since his goats returned without him, and we sought for him in
vain day and night in the Kyffhäusen mountains--I was then hardly seven
years old."

Our goatherd could no longer contain himself. "I am Peter Klaus!" he
roared, "I am Peter Klaus, and no one else!" and he caught the child
from his daughter's arms. Every one, for an instant, stood as if
petrified, till at length one voice, and another, and then another,
exclaimed, "Yes, this is, indeed, Peter Klaus! welcome, neighbour!
welcome, after twenty years!"

VYVYAN.

       *       *       *       *       *



SPIRIT OF DISCOVERY


       *       *       *       *       *


ZOOLOGICAL GARDENS.


Since our last visit, many of the tenants have begun to _hybernate_, and
tasteful erections have been made for their winter quarters in all parts
of the gardens. Several others are in progress, and a semi-circular
aviary for British birds is already built. The _season_ is far advanced,
and there have been but few _arrivals_ of late. The _emus'_ grounds have
been enclosed with elegant iron-work, and several removals or _changes_
have taken place. Some of the animals are much affected by the cold
weather. Thus, the monkeys have left their houses on poles, and retired
to enclosed cages, where they nestle in groups of threes and fours, and
amuse themselves by teazing the least of their company; for here, as
elsewhere, the weakest goes to the wall. Three fine wolves, previously
shut up in a small den, now enjoy a large cage, where they appear much
invigorated by the bracing season. Here and there a little animal lies
curled up in the corner of his cage, in a state of torpidity. Among the
birds, the macaws were holding an in-door council in their robes of
state; whilst one fine fellow, in blue coat and yellow waistcoat,
perched himself outside the aviary, and by his cries, proved that fine
colours were not weather-proof. The snowy plumage of the storks was
"tempered to the wind;" but they reminded us of their original
abode--the wilderness. The eagles and vultures in the circular aviary
sat on their perches, looking melancholy and disconsolate, but well
protected from cold. The kangaroos have removed into their new house,
and their park has been relaid, although they still look unsettled. A
very pretty beaver-house has been built of mimic rocks.

Among the _introductions_, or new faces, we noticed a pair of fine
mastiffs from Cuba, and two Thibet watch-dogs. One of the latter stood
shivering in the cold, with bleared eyes, and crying "like a lubberly
postmaster's boy." The three bears exhibited as much good-breeding as
the visiters encouraged,--climbing to the top of the pole when there was
any thing to climb after, and an Admiralty expedition could do no more.

_Poisoning of Vegetables_.

Several very curious experiments on the poisoning of vegetables, have
recently been made by M. Marcet, of Geneva.--His experiments on arsenic,
which is well known to every one as a deadly poison to animals, were
thus conducted. A vessel containing two or three bean plants, each of
five or six leaves, was watered with two ounces of water, containing
twelve grains of oxide of arsenic in solution. At the end of from
twenty-four to thirty-six hours, the plants had faded, the leaves
drooped, and had even begun to turn yellow; the roots remained fresh,
and appeared to be living. Attempts to restore the plants after twelve
or eighteen hours, by abundant watering, failed to recover them. The
leaves and stem of the dead plant gave, upon chemical examination,
traces of arsenic. A branch of a rose-tree, including a flower, was
gathered just as the rose began to blow; the stem was put into a vessel,
containing a solution of six grains of oxide of arsenic in an ounce of
water. The flower and leaves soon showed symptoms of disease, and on the
fifth day the whole branch was withered and dead, though only one-fifth
of a grain of arsenic had been absorbed. Similar stems, placed in pure
water, had, after five days, the roses fully expanded, and the leaves
fresh and green.

On June 1st, a slit of one inch and a half in length was made in the
stem of a lilac tree, the branch being about an inch in diameter. The
slit extended to the pith. Fifteen or twenty grains of moistened arsenic
were introduced, the cut was closed, and the stem retained in its
original position by osier ties. On the 8th, the leaves began to roll up
at the extremity; on the 28th, the branches were dry, and, in the second
week of July, the whole of the stem was dry, and the tree itself dead.
In about fifteen days after the first, a tree, which joined the former a
little above the earth, shared the same fate, in consequence of its
connexion with that into which the poison had been introduced. Other
trees similarly cut, but without having been poisoned, suffered no kind
of injury.

M. Marcet's experiments upon vegetable poisons are no less interesting,
and still more wonderful, as indicating a degree of irritability in
plants somewhat similar to that which depends on the nervous system in
animals. After having ascertained that the bean plants could exist in a
healthy state for five or six days, if immersed in the same quantity of
spring water, he tried them with five or six grains of opium dissolved
in an ounce of water, the consequence of which was, that in the evening
the leaves had dropped, and, by the middle of next day, they were dead
beyond recovery. Other vegetable poisons of the narcotic class produced
a similar effect. Hemlock was equally fatal, and six grains of dry
powdered foxglove, in an ounce of water, began to operate, by wrinkling
some of the leaves of the bean in a few moments, which it completely
killed in twenty-four hours. Oxalic acid or salt of sorrel, though found
in common and wood sorrel, and a great many plants, proved a very fatal
poison to others. The absorption of one-tenth of a grain, killed a rose
branch and flower in forty--eight hours.--

_Quar. Jour. of Agriculture._

       *       *       *       *       *



NOTES OF A READER


       *       *       *       *       *


KNOWING PEOPLE.


How happily do these few lines characterize a certain set of people who
pick up news from "good authority," and settle the fate of the nation
over strong potations of brandy and water, or Calvert's porter,
forgetting that "people who drink beer, think beer." Suppose a question
of great public interest afloat:--"Reports are abroad, precisely of the
proper pitch of absurdity, for the greedy swallowing of the great
grey-goggle-eyed public, who may be seen standing with her mouth wide
open like a crocodile, with her hands in her breeches-pockets, at the
crosses of cities on market-days, gluttonously devouring whatever rumour
flings into her maw--nor in the least aware that she is all the time
eating wind. People of smallish abilities begin to look wiser and wiser
every day--their nods seem more significant--in the shaking of their
heads there is more of Burleigh--and in short sentences--that sound like
apophthegms--they are apt to impose themselves on their credulous selves
as so many Solomons."

       *       *       *       *       *


NEW CHURCHES.


Among the numerous sermons lately preached in pursuance of the King's
letter for the enlargement and building of churches and chapels, we
notice one by the vicar of Dorking, in Surrey, from which we extract the
following:--"In many places of this country it is lamentable to behold
the ruinous state of churches. If a man's dwelling-house be decayed, he
will never cease till it be restored; if his barn, where he bestows all
his fruits and his goods, be out of repair, what diligence doth he use
to make it perfect? If the stable for his horse, or the sty for his
swine, be not able to exclude the severity of weather, when the rains
fall, and the winds blow, how careful is he to incur the necessary cost?
Shall we then be so mindful of our common houses, deputed to such low
occupations, and be forgetful toward that house of God, in which are
expounded the words of our eternal salvation--in which are administered
the sacraments and mysteries of our redemption?"--The persuasiveness of
this argument is admirable, and its amiable tone and temper are
infinitely more suitable than the florid appeal.

We also learn that Parliament has already voted a million and a half of
money to the sole use of building churches, and that in the diocese in
which Dorking is situated, thirty-two cases have been aided by the sum
of 6,230_l_.

But the _church of Dorking_ is in a dilapidated state, and is capable of
containing only one-fifth of the inhabitants. It was "probably erected
about the commencement of the twelfth century; and the crumbling walls
may almost be said to totter under the massive roof." This calls forth
the following pious exhortation: "Our lot is cast in a pleasant place.
Let us manifest our thankfulness to the Giver of every good gift by a
structure dedicated to his service, corresponding with the magnificence
of private mansions, and the natural beauties of local scenery." We can
only wonder that, in a neighbourhood abounding with men of rank and
opulence, such an appeal is necessary.

       *       *       *       *       *


SHORT-HAND.


"Sound is the gauge of short-hand, and connexion the master-key for
deciphering." Such is one of the axioms in Mr. Harding's eighth edition
of his very valuable little "System of Short-Hand,"--to which, by way of
pleasant illustration, he appends, the "Dirge on Miss LN G," copied by
us from the "New Monthly Magazine;" but we give Mr. H. credit for the
present application. We could write a whole number of the MIRROR on the
advantages of short-hand to the community; but as that would not be a
practical illustration, we desist. Only think of the "Times" newspaper
being scores of miles from town before half London has risen; and the
Duke of Bedford, reading the previous night's debates at his breakfast
table at Woburn Abbey. What would all Mr. Applegath's machinery do
towards producing the newspaper without the aid of short-hand, which
makes its expedition second only to thought. Half an hour's delay of
"the paper" makes us fret and fume and condemn the fair provider of our
breakfast--for over-roasted coffee and stale eggs--all because the paper
is not "come;" but when would it come without short-hand? why at
dinner-time, and that would make short work of a day--for thousands
cannot set to work till they have consulted it as a mainspring of
action. People who aim at the short cuts to knowledge should study
stenography, and for this purpose they will do well to provide
themselves with Mr. Harding's System, which will be as good as "a cubit
to a man's height."

       *       *       *       *       *


LOVE'S MASTERY.


  She was his own, his all:--the crowd may prove
  A transient feeling, and misname it love:--
  His was a higher impulse; 'twas a part
  Of the warm blood that circled through his heart,
  A fervid energy, a spell that bound
  Thoughts, wishes, feelings, in one hallow'd round.

                         _The Winter's Wreath._

       *       *       *       *       *


CRUELTY TO ANIMALS.


The second edition of a pamphlet, entitled the Voice of Humanity, has
just reached us. It contains details of the disgusting cruelties of the
metropolis--as bear and badger baiting, dog-fighting, slaughtering-
horses, &c.--and reference to the _abattoirs_, or improved
slaughter-houses for cattle, which was illustrated in our 296th Number.
In the appendix are many interesting particulars of Smithfield Market
and similar nuisances. The pamphlet is dedicated to that enlightened
friend of humanity, Sir James Mackintosh, and it appears worthy of his
patronage.

       *       *       *       *       *


WOMANKIND.


The womankind never looks sae bonnie as in wunter, accepp indeed it may
be in spring. You auld bachelors ken naething o' womankind--and hoo
should ye, when they treat you wi' but ae feelin', that o' derision? Oh,
sirs! but the dear creters do look weel in muffs--whether they haud
them, wi' their invisible hauns clasped thegither in their beauty within
the cozy silk linin', close prest to their innicent waists, just aneath
the glad beatins o' their first love-touched hearts. Or haud them
hingin' frae their extended richt arms, leavin' a' the feegur visible,
that seems taller and slimmer as the removed muff reveals the clasps o'
the pelisse a' the way doon frae neck till feet! Then is there, in a'
the beautifu' and silent unfauldin's o' natur amang plants and flowers,
ony thing sae beautifu' as the white, smooth, saft chafts o' a bit
smilin' maiden o' saxteen, aughteen, or twunty, blossomin' out, like
some bonnie bud or snaw-white satin frae a coverin' o' rough
leaves,--blossomin' out, sirs, frae the edge o' the fur-tippet, that
haply a lover's happy haun had delicately hung ower her gracefu'
shoothers--oh, the dear, delightfu' little Laplander!--_Noctes--
Blackwood's Magazine._

       *       *       *       *       *


CAPTAIN ROCK.


There are few of our readers who need to be informed that Captain Rock's
Letters to the King are certainly not written by Mr. Moore, to whom,
while the publication was suspended, they were so positively
ascribed.--_Q. Rev._

       *       *       *       *       *


THE LIBRARY AT HOLKHAM.


The manuscripts of Lord Coke are in the possession of his descendant,
Mr. Coke, of Norfolk, his representative through the female issue of
Lord Leicester, the male heir of the chief justice. At this gentleman's
princely mansion of Holkham, is one of the finest collections, or,
indeed, libraries of manuscripts anywhere preserved; certainly the
finest in any private individual's possession. It partly consists of the
chief justice's papers; the rest, and the bulk of it, was collected by
that accomplished nobleman who built the mansion, the last male heir of
the great lawyer. He had spent many years abroad, where his taste was
improved and his general education perfected. He collected a vast number
of the most valuable manuscripts. Of these the exquisitely illuminated
missals, and other writings of a similar description, which would from
their perfect beauty and great rarity bear the highest price in the
market, are certainly by far the least precious in the eyes of literary
men. Many of the finest _codices_ of the Greek, Latin, and old Italian
classics are to be found in this superb collection. Among others are no
less than thirteen of Livy, a favourite author of Lord Leicester, whom
he had made some progress in editing, when he learnt that
Drakenborchius, the well known German critic, had proceeded further in
the same task, and generously handed over to him the treasures of his
library. The excellent edition of that commentator makes constant
reference to the Holkham manuscripts, under the name of _MSS.
Lovelliana_, from the title of Lovell; Lord Leicester not having then
been promoted to the earldom. Mr. Coke, with a becoming respect for the
valuable collection of his ancestors, was desirous to have the
manuscripts unfolded, bound, and arranged, both with a view to their
preservation and to the facility of consulting them. They had lain for
half a century neglected, and in part verging towards decay, when he
engaged his valued friend, William Roscoe, to undertake the labour so
congenial to his taste and habits, of securing these treasures from the
ravages of time. From the great number of the manuscripts, the state in
which many of them were, and the distance of Mr. Roscoe's residence,
this was necessarily a work of time. After above ten years employed on
it, the task is now finished. Each work is beautifully and classically
bound; and to each Mr. Roscoe has prefixed, in his own fair hand
writing, a short account of the particular manuscript, with the
bibliographical learning appertaining to it.--_Library of Useful
Knowledge_.

       *       *       *       *       *


PHRENOLOGY.


Mr. Crook, of the Phrenological Society, has just published a
"Compendium of Phrenology," which cannot fail to be acceptable to the
ingenious inquirers after that very ingenious science. It is a lucid
little arrangement of principles, and will materially assist them; but,
for our part, we confess we would sooner take the public opinion of the
contents of our cranium than that of a whole society of phrenologists;
and if our head be as full as our sheet, we shall be content. But,
joking apart, the little synopsis before us cannot be too highly
recommended; and by way of hint to some friends who send us witty
articles for "the Gatherer," we take the following:--

"Wit. _Primitive Power._ Perception of the disjunction or incongruity of
ideas; the analytical faculty. _Uses_: Separation of compound or general
ideas into those that are elementary or more simple; knowledge of
characteristic differences and discrepance. _Abuses_: A disposition to
jest or ridicule; irony, sarcasm, and satire, without respect to truth,
or the circumstances of person, place, or time. _Organ_, on the other
side of Causality.

"It is not the definition of Wit, but the function of a particular
portion of the brain at which I aim. Dr. Spurzheim, in some of his
works, calls the faculty connected with this organ, 'the feeling of the
ludicrous;' in his later ones, 'Gayness,' and 'Mirthfulness.' But each
of these is properly an effect, not a primitive power. The ludicrous
owes its origin to the contrariety between the parts or means, as
perceived by this faculty, and the general whole, or purpose, perceived
by Comparison, or the necessary connexion perceived by Causality; and
Gaiety, Mirth, and Laughter, arise from the mutual influence and
reaction of the feelings. Some kinds of contrariety or incongruity
excite one class of feelings, other kinds altogether different feelings;
and consequently, according to the faculty or combination of faculties
affected, the kinds of mirth and laughter are varied from the Sardonic
grin of Destructiveness to the lover's smile. This view of the origin of
laughter enables us to give a satisfactory answer to the hitherto
perplexing question, 'Why is man the only laughing animal?'"

       *       *       *       *       *


EPIGRAM

_From the Greek Anthology, (Author unknown.)_

BY THE REV. W. SHEPHERD.


  If at the bottom of the cask,
  Be left of wine a little flask,
  It soon grows acid:--so when man,
  Living through Life's most lengthened span.
  His joys all drain'd or turn'd to tears,
  Sinks to the lees of fourscore years,
  And sees approach Death's darksome hour--
  No wonder if he's somewhat sour!

                _The Winter's Wreath_.

       *       *       *       *       *


PORTRAIT PAINTING.


The good portrait painter always flatters; for it is his business, not,
indeed, to alter and amend features, complexion, or mien, but to select
and fix (which it demands genius and sense to do) the best appearance
which these ever do wear. Happy the creature of sense and passion who
has always with him that self which he could take pleasure in
contemplating! Happy--to pass graver considerations--the fair one whose
countenance continues as youthful as her attire! When Queen Elizabeth's
wrinkles waxed deep and many, it is reported that an unfortunate master
of the mint incurred disgrace by a too faithful shilling; the die was
broken, and only one mutilated impression is now in existence. Her maids
of honour took the hint, and were thenceforth careful that no fragment
of looking-glass should remain in any room of the palace. In fact, the
lion-hearted lady had not heart to look herself in the face for the last
twenty years of her life; but we nowhere learn that she quarrelled with
Holbein's portraitures of her youth, or those of her stately prime of
viraginity by De Heere and Zucchero.

He who has "neither done things worthy to be written, nor written things
worthy to be read," takes the trouble of transmitting his portrait to
posterity to very little purpose. If the picture be a bad one, it will
soon find its way to the garret; if good, as a work of art, it will
perpetuate the fame, probably the name, indeed, of the artist alone.
These are the _obscurorum virorum imagines_ which, as Walpole said, "are
christened commonly in galleries, like children at the Foundling
Hospital, _by chance_"--Q. Rev.

       *       *       *       *       *


LOSING A SHOE AND A DINNER.


As Ozias Linley, Sheridan's brother-in-law, was one morning setting out
on horseback for his curacy, a few miles from Norwich, his horse threw
off one of his shoes. A lady, who observed the accident, thought it
might impede Mr. Linley's journey, and seeing that he himself was
unconscious of it, politely reminded him that one of his horse's shoes
had just come off. "Thank you, madam," replied Linley; "will you then
have the goodness to put it on for me?"

Linley one day received a card to dine with the late archbishop of
Canterbury, who was then bishop of Norwich. Careless into what hole or
corner he threw his invitations, he soon lost sight of the card, and
forgot it altogether. A year revolved, when, on wiping the dust from
some papers he had stuck on the glass over the chimney, the bishop's
invitation for a certain day in the month (he did not think of the year
one instant,) stared him full in the face, and taking it for granted
that it was a recent one, he dressed himself on the appointed day, and
proceeded to the palace. But his diocesan was not in London, a
circumstance of which, though a matter of some notoriety to the clergy
of the diocese, he was quite unconscious; and he returned dinnerless
home.

       *       *       *       *       *


SENTIMENT AND APPETITE.


We remember an amiable enthusiast, a worshiper of nature after the
manner of Rousseau, who, being melted into feelings of universal
philanthropy by the softness and serenity of a spring morning, resolved,
that for that day, at least, no injured animal should pollute his board;
and having recorded his vow, walked six miles to gain a hamlet, famous
for fish dinners, where, without an idea of breaking his sentimental
engagement, he regaled himself on a small matter of crimped cod and
oyster sauce--Q. Rev.

       *       *       *       *       *


FORTIFICATION.


The walls of Tenchira, in Africa, form one of the most perfect remaining
specimens of ancient fortification. They are a mile and a half in
circuit, defended by 26 quadrangular towers, and admitting no entrance
but by two opposite gates.

       *       *       *       *       *


MEDIOCRITY, in poetry, is intolerable to gods and to booksellers, and to
all intermediate beings.

       *       *       *       *       *


SONNET TO THE CAMELLA JAPONICA.

BY W. ROSCOE, ESQ.


  Say, what impels me, pure and spotless flower,
    To view thee with a secret sympathy?
    --Is there some living spirit shrined in thee?
  That, as thou bloom'st within my humble bower,
  Endows thee with some strange, mysterious
    power,
    Waking high thoughts?--As there perchance
      might be
    Some angel-form of truth and purity,
  Whose hallowed presence shared my lonely hour?
    --Yes, lovely flower, 'tis not thy virgin glow,
    Thy petals whiter than descending snow,
  Nor all the charms thy velvet folds display;
    'Tis the soft image of some beaming mind,
    By grace adorn'd, by elegance refin'd,
  That o'er my heart thus holds its silent sway.

                         _The Winter's Wreath._

       *       *       *       *       *


PIGS.


One day when Giotto, the painter, was taking his Sunday walk, in his
best attire, with a party of friends, at Florence, and was in the midst
of a long story, some pigs passed suddenly by, and one of them, running
between the painter's legs, threw him down. When he got on his legs
again, instead of swearing a terrible oath at the pig on the Lord's day,
as a graver man might have done, he observed, laughing, "People say
these beasts are stupid, but they seem to me to have some sense of
justice, for I have earned several thousands of crowns with their
bristles, but I never gave one of them even a ladleful of soup in my
life."--_Lanzi._

       *       *       *       *       *


TURKISH FIREMEN.


The firemen of Constantinople are accused of sometimes discharging oil
from their engines instead of water.

       *       *       *       *       *



SPIRIT OF THE PUBLIC JOURNALS.


       *       *       *       *       *


FLIES.


Cruelty to animals is a subject which has deservedly attracted
parliamentary investigation. It is not beneath the dignity of a
Christian legislator to prevent the unnecessary sufferings of the
meanest of created things; and a law which is dictated by humanity can
surely be no disgrace to the statute-book. Who that has witnessed the
barbarous and unmanly sports of the cock-pit and the stake--the
fiendlike ingenuity displayed by the lord of the creation in teaching
his dependents to torture, mangle, and destroy each other for his own
amusement--the cruelties of the greedy and savage task-master towards
the dumb labourer whose strength has decayed in his service--or the
sufferings of the helpless brute that drags with pain and difficulty its
maimed carcass to Smithfield--what reasonable being that has witnessed
all or any of this, will venture to affirm that interference is
officious and uncalled for? Yet it is certain that Mr. Martin acted
properly and wisely in excluding flies from the operation of his
act--well knowing, as he must have done, that the feeling of the
majority was decidedly averse from affording parliamentary countenance
and immunity to those descendants of the victims of Domitian's just
indignation; although it is understood that such a provision would have
been cordially supported by the advocates for universal toleration. The
simple question for consideration would be, whether the conduct and
principles of the insect species have undergone such a material change
as to entitle them to new and extraordinary enactments in their favour?
Have they entirely divested themselves of their licentious and predatory
habits, and learnt now for the first time to distinguish between right
and wrong? Do they understand what it is to commit sacrilege? To intrude
into the sanctum sanctorum of the meat-safe? To rifle and defile the
half roseate, half lily-white charms of a virgin ham? To touch with
unhallowed proboscis the immaculate lip of beauty, the unprotected scalp
of old age, the savoury glories of the kitchen? To invade with the most
reckless indifference, and the most wanton malice, the siesta of the
alderman or the philosopher? To this we answer in the eloquent and
emphatic language of the late Mr. Canning--_No_! Unamiable and
unconciliating monsters! The wildest and most ferocious inhabitants of
the desert may be reclaimed from their savage nature, and taught to
become the peaceful denizens of a menagerie--but ye are altogether
untractable and untameable. Gratitude and sense of shame, the better
parts of instinct, have never yet interposed their sacred influence to
prevent the commission of one treacherous or unbecoming action of yours.
The holy rites of hospitality are by you abused and set at naught; and
the very roof which shelters you is desecrated with the marks of your
irreverential contempt for all things human and divine. Would that--(and
the wish is expressed more in sorrow than in anger)--would that your
entire species were condensed into one enormous bluebottle, that we
might crush you all at a single swoop!

Many, calling themselves philanthropists and Christians, have omitted to
squash a fly when they had an opportunity of so doing; nay, some of
these people have even been known to go the length of writing verses on
the occasion, in which they applaud themselves for their own humane
disposition, and congratulate the object of their mistaken mercy on its
narrow escape from impending fate. There is nothing more wanting than to
propose the establishment of a Royal Humane Society for the
resuscitation of flies apparently drowned or suffocated. Can it possibly
be imagined by the man who has succeeded after infinite pains in
rescuing a greedy and intrusive insect from a gin-and-watery grave in
his own vile potations, that he has thereby consulted the happiness of
his fellow creatures, or promoted the cause of decency, cleanliness,
good order, and domestic comfort? Let him watch the career of the
mischievous little demon which he has thus been the means of restoring
to the world, when he might have arrested its progress for ever. Observe
the stout and respectable gentleman, loved, honoured, and esteemed in
all the various relations of father, husband, friend, citizen, and
Christian, who is on cushioned sofa composing himself for his wonted
nap, after a dinner in substance and quantity of the most satisfactory
description, and not untempered by a modicum of old port. His amiable
partner, with that refined delicacy and sense of decorum peculiar to the
female sex, has already withdrawn with her infant progeny, leaving her
good man, as she fondly imagines, to enjoy the sweets of uninterrupted
repose. At one moment we behold him slumbering softly as an infant--"so
tranquil, helpless, stirless, and unmoved;" in the next, we remark with
surprise sundry violent twitches and contortions of the limbs, as though
the sleeper were under the operation of galvanism, or suffering from the
pangs of a guilty conscience. Of what hidden crime does the memory thus
agitate him--breaking in upon that rest which should steep the senses in
forgetfulness of the world and its cares? On a sudden he starts from his
couch with an appearance of frenzy!--his nostrils dilated, his eyes
gleaming with immoderate excitation--an incipient curse quivering on his
lips, and every vein swelling--every muscle tense with fearful and
passionate energy of purpose. Is he possessed with a devil, or does he
meditate suicide, that his manner is so wild and hurried? With impetuous
velocity he rushes to the window, and beneath his vehement but futile
strokes, aimed at a scarcely visible, and certainly impalpable object,
the fragile glass flies into fragments, the source of future colds and
curtain lectures without number. The immediate author of so much
mischief, it is true, is the diminutive vampire which is now making its
escape with cold-blooded indifference through a very considerable
fracture in one of the panes; but surely the person who saved from
destruction, and may thus be considered to have given existence to the
cause of all this loss of temper and of property, cannot conscientiously
affirm that _his_ withers are unwrung! Mercy and forbearance are very
great virtues when exercised with proper discretion; but man owes a
paramount duty to society, with which none of the weaknesses, however
amiable, of his nature should be allowed to interfere. It is no mercy to
pardon and let loose upon the community one who, having already been
convicted of manifold delinquencies, only waits a convenient season for
adding to the catalogue of his crimes; and what is larceny, or felony,
or even treason, compared with the perpetration of the outrages above
attempted to be described?--We pause for a reply.

Summer is a most delectable--a most glorious season. We, who are fond of
basking as a lizard, and whose inward spirit dances and exults like a
very mote in the sun-beam, always hail its approach with rapture; but
our anticipations of bright and serene days--of blue, cloudless, and
transparent skies--of shadows the deeper from intensity of surrounding
light--of yellow corn-fields, listless rambles, and lassitude rejoicing
in green and sunny banks--are allayed by this one consideration, that

  Waked by the summer ray, the reptile young
  Come winged abroad. From every chink
  And secret corner, where they slept away
  The wintry storms; by myriads forth at once,
  Swarming they pour.

Go where you will, it is not possible to escape these "winged reptiles."
They abound exceedingly in all sunny spots; nor in the shady lane do
they not haunt every bush, and lie perdu under every leaf, thence
sallying forth on the luckless wight who presumes to molest their
"solitary reign;" they hang with deliberate importunity over the path of
the sauntering pedestrian, and fly with the flying horseman, like the
black cares (that is to say, blue devils) described by the Roman lyrist.
Within doors they infest, harpy-like, the dinner-table--

  Diripiuntque dapes, contactuque omnia foedant
  Immundo--

and hover in impending clouds over the sugar basin at tea; in the pantry
it is buz; in the dairy it is buz; in the kitchen it is buz; one loud,
long-continued, and monotonous buz! Having little other occupation than
that of propagating their species, the natural consequence, as we may
learn from Mr. Malthus, is that their numbers increase in a frightfully
progressive ratio from year to year; and it has at length become
absolutely necessary that some decisive measures should be adopted to
counteract the growing evil.

Upon the whole, he would not, perhaps, be considered to speak rashly or
unadvisedly, who should affirm, that no earthly creature, of the same
insignificant character and pretensions, is the agent of nearly so much
mischief as the fly.--What a blessed order of things would immediately
ensue, if every one of them was to be entirely swept away from the face
of the earth! This most wished-for event, we fear, it will never be our
lot to witness; but it may be permitted to a sincere patriot, in his
benevolent and enthusiastic zeal for the well-being of his country, to
indulge in aspirations that are tinged with a shade of extravagance.
With respect, however, to the above mentioned vermin, the idea of their
total annihilation may not be altogether chimerical. We know that the
extirpation of wolves from England was accomplished by the commutation
of an annual tribute for a certain number of their heads; and it is well
worth the consideration of the legislature, whether, by adopting a
somewhat similar principle, they may not rid the British dominions of an
equally great and crying nuisance. The noble Duke, now at the head of
his Majesty's Government, has it in his power to add another ray to his
illustrious name, to secure the approbation and gratitude of all classes
of the community, and to render his ministry for ever memorable, by the
accomplishment of so desirable an object. In the mean time, let the
Society of Arts offer their next large gold medal to the person who
shall invent the most ingenious and destructive fly-trap. A certain
quantity of quassia might be distributed gratis at Apothecaries' Hall,
as vaccinatory matter is at the Cow-pox Hospital, with very considerable
effect; and an act of parliament should be passed without delay,
declaring the wilful destruction of a spider to be felony.--_Blackwood's
Magazine._

       *       *       *       *       *


THE CORONATION OF INEZ DE CASTRO.[7]

BY MRS. HEMANS.


    "Tableau, aú l'Amour fait alliance avec la
    Tombe; union redoubtable de la mort et de la
    vie."                   MADAME DE STAEL.

  There was music on the midnight;
    From a royal fane it roll'd,
  And a mighty bell, each pause between,
    Sternly and slowly toll'd.
  Strange was their mingling in the sky,
    It hush'd the listener's breath;
  For the music spoke of triumph high,
    The lonely bell, of death.

  There was hurrying through the midnight:--
    A sound of many feet;
  But they fell with a muffled fearfulness,
    Along the shadowy street;
  And softer, fainter, grew their tread,
    As it near'd the Minster-gate,
  Whence broad and solemn light was shed
    From a scene of royal state.

  Full glow'd the strong red radiance
    In the centre of the nave,
  Where the folds of a purple canopy
    Sweep down in many a wave;
  Loading the marble pavement old
    With a weight of gorgeous gloom;
  For something lay 'midst their fretted gold,
    Like a shadow of the tomb.

  And within that rich pavilion
    High on a glittering throne,
  A woman's form sat silently,
    Midst the glare of light alone.
  Her Jewell'd robes fell strangely still--
    The drapery on her breast
  Seem'd with no pulse beneath to thrill,
    So stone-like was its rest.

  But a peal of lordly music
    Shook e'en the dust below,
  When the burning gold of the diadem
    Was set on her pallid brow!
  Then died away that haughty sound,
    And from th' encircling band,
  Stept Prince and Chief, 'midst the hush profound,
    With homage to her hand.

  Why pass'd a faint cold shuddering
    Over each martial frame,
  As one by one, to touch that hand,
    Noble and leader came?
  Was not the settled aspect fair?
    Did not a queenly grace,
  Under the parted ebon hair.
    Sit on the pale still face?

  Death, Death! canst _thou_ be lovely
    Unto the eye of Life?
  Is not each pulse of the quick high breast
    With thy cold mien at strife?
  --It was a strange and fearful sight,
    The crown upon that head,
  The glorious robes and the blaze of light,
    All gather'd round the Dead!

  And beside her stood in silence
    One with a brow as pale,
  And white lips rigidly compress'd,
    Lest the strong heart should fail;
  King Pedro with a jealous eye
    Watching the homage done
  By the land's flower and chivalry
    To her, his martyr'd one.

  But on the face he look'd not
    Which once his star had been:
  To every form his glance was turn'd,
    Save of the breathless queen;
  Though something, won from the grare's embrace,
    Of her beauty still was there,
  Its hues were all of that shadowy place,
    'Twas not for _him_ to bear.

  Alas! the crown, the sceptre,
    The treasures of the earth,
  And the priceless love that pour'd those gifts,
    Alike of wasted worth!
  The rites are closed--bear back the Dead
    Unto the chamber deep,
  Lay down again the royal head,
    Dust with the dust to sleep.

  There is music on the midnight--
    A requiem sad and slow.
  As the mourners through the sounding aisle
    In dark procession go,
  And the ring of state, and the starry crown,
    And all the rich array,
  Are borne to the house of silence down,
    With her, that queen of clay.

  And tearlessly and firmly,
    King Pedro led the train--
  But his face was wrapt in his folding robe,
    When they lower'd the dust again.
  --'Tis hush'd at last, the tomb above,
    Hymns die, and steps depart:
  Who call'd thee strong as Death, O Love?
    _Mightier_ thou wert and art!

                   _New Monthly Magazine._

    [7] Don Pedro of Portugal, after his accession to the kingdom,
    had the body of the murdered Inez taken from the grave, solemnly
    enthroned and crowned.

       *       *       *       *       *


ART THOU THE MAID?


  Art thou the maid from whose blue eye
    Mine drank such deep delight?
  Was thine that voice of melody
  Which charm'd the silent night?

  I fain would think thou art not she
    Who hung upon mine arm,
  When love was yet a mystery,
    A sweet, resistless charm.

  It seemed to me as though the spell
    On both alike were cast;
  I prayed but in thy sight to dwell,
    For thee, to breathe my last.

  Mine inmost secret soul was thine,
    Thou wert enthroned therein,
  Like sculptured saint in holy shrine,
    All free from guile and sin.

  And, heaven forgive! I did adore
    With more than pilgrim's zeal;
  And then thy smile----But oh! no more!
    No more may I reveal.

  Enough--we're parted----Both must own
    The accursed power of gold.
  I wander through the world _alone_;
    _Thou_ hast been bought and sold.

                    _Blackwood's Magazine._

       *       *       *       *       *

It would be a very pleasant thing, if literary productions could be
submitted to something like chemical analysis,--if we could separate the
merit of a book, as we can the magnesia of Epsom salts, by a simple
practical application of the doctrine of affinities.

       *       *       *       *       *



THE GATHERER


    A snapper up of unconsidered trifles.

    SHAKSPEARE.

       *       *       *       *       *


A GOOD FELLOW.


The secretary of a literary society being requested to draw up "_a
definition of a good fellow_," applied to the members of the club,
individually, for such hints as they could furnish, when, he received
the following:--

Mr. _Golightly_.--A good fellow is one who rides blood horses, drives
four-in-hand, speaks when he's spoken to, sings when he's asked, always
turns his back on a dun, and never on a friend.

Mr. _Le Blanc_.--A good fellow is one who studies deep, reads
trigonometry, and burns love songs; has a most cordial aversion for
dancing and D'Egville, and would rather encounter a cannon than a fancy
ball.

Hon. _G. Montgomery_.--A good fellow is one who abhors moralists and
mathematics, and adores the classics and Caroline Mowbray.

Sir _T. Wentworth_.--A good fellow is one who attends the Fox-dinners,
who goes to the Indies to purchase independence, and would rather
encounter a buffalo than a boroughmonger.

Mr. _M. Sterling_.--A good fellow is a good neighbour, a good citizen, a
good relation; in short, a good man.

Mr. _M. Farlane_.--A good fellow is a bonnie braw John Hielandman.

Mr. _O'Connor_.--A good fellow is one who talks loud and swears louder;
cares little about learning, and less about his neckcloth; loves
whiskey, patronizes bargemen, and wears nails in his shoes.

Mr. _Musgrave_.--A good fellow is prime--flash--and bang-up.

Mr. _Burton_.--A good fellow is one who knows "what's what," keeps
accounts, and studies Cocker.

Mr. _Rowley_.--A good fellow likes turtle and cold punch, drinks Port
when he can't get Champagne, and dines on mutton with Sir Robert, when
he can't get venison at my lord's.

Mr. _Lozell_.--A good fellow is something compounded of the preceding.

Mr. _Oakley_.--A good fellow is something perfectly different from the
preceding,--or Mr. Oakley is an ass.

       *       *       *       *       *


MERCHANT TAILORS' SCHOOL.


  At Merchant Tailors' School, what time
    Old Bishop held the rod,
  The boys rehearsed the old man's rhyme
    Whilst he would smile and nod.

  Apart I view'd a little child
    Who join'd not in the game:
  His face was what mammas call mild
    And fathers dull and tame.

  Pitying the boy, I thus address'd
    The pedagogue of verse--
  "Why doth he not, Sir, like the rest,
    Your epigrams rehearse?"

  "Sir!" answered thus the aged man,
    "He's not in Nature's debt;
  His ears so tight are seal'd, he can-
    Not learn his alphabet."

  "Why not?" I cried:--whereat to me
    He spoke in minor clef--
  "He cannot learn his A, B, C,
    Because he's D, E, F."

                     _New Monthly Magazine._

       *       *       *       *       *


ROYAL LEARNING.


The king of Persia made many inquiries of Sir Harford Jones respecting
America, saying, "What sort of a place is it? How do you get at it? Is
it underground, or how?"

       *       *       *       *       *


COMPLIMENT MAL-APROPOS.


Napoleon was once present at the performance of one of Pasiello's
operas, in which was introduced an air by Cimarosa. Pasiello was in the
box with the emperor, and received many compliments during the evening.
At length, when the air by Cimarosa was played, the emperor turned
round, and taking Pasiello by the hand, exclaimed, "By my faith, my
friend, the man who has composed that air, may proclaim himself the
greatest composer in Europe." "It is Cimarosa's," feebly articulated
Pasiello. "I am sorry for it; but I cannot recall what I have said."

       *       *       *       *       *

A gentleman taking an apartment, said to the landlady, "I assure you,
madam, I never left a lodging but my landlady shed tears." She answered,
"I hope it was not, Sir, because you went away without paying."

       *       *       *       *       *

LOMBIRD'S EDITION OF THE _Following Novels are already Published:_

                                      _s_  _d_
Mackenzie's Man of Feeling . . . . . . 0    6
Paul and Virginia. . . . . . . . . . . 0    6
The Castle of Otranto. . . . . . . . . 0    6
Almoran and Hamet. . . . . . . . . . . 0    6
Elizabeth, or the Exiles of Siberia. . 0    6
The Castles of Athlin and Dunbayne . . 0    6
Rasselas . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 0    8
The Old English Baron. . . . . . . . . 0    8
Nature and Art . . . . . . . . . . . . 0    8
Goldsmith's Vicar of Wakefield . . . . 0   10
Sicilian Romance . . . . . . . . . . . 1    0
The Man of the World . . . . . . . . . 1    0
A Simple Story . . . . . . . . . . . . 1    4
Joseph Andrews . . . . . . . . . . . . 1    6
Humphry Clinker. . . . . . . . . . . . 1    8
The Romance of the Forest. . . . . . . 1    8
The Italian. . . . . . . . . . . . . . 2    0
Zeluce, by Dr. Moore . . . . . . . . . 2    6
Edward, by Dr. Moore . . . . . . . . . 2    0
Roderick Random. . . . . . . . . . . . 2    6
The Mysteries of Udo'pho . . . . . . . 3    6







*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MIRROR OF LITERATURE, AMUSEMENT, AND INSTRUCTION. VOLUME 12, NO. 346, DECEMBER 13, 1828 ***


    

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