diff options
Diffstat (limited to '11210-h')
| -rw-r--r-- | 11210-h/11210-h.htm | 1972 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | 11210-h/images/338-1.png | bin | 0 -> 167728 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 11210-h/images/338-2.png | bin | 0 -> 122663 bytes |
3 files changed, 1972 insertions, 0 deletions
diff --git a/11210-h/11210-h.htm b/11210-h/11210-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..de25bad --- /dev/null +++ b/11210-h/11210-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,1972 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Transitional//EN" "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-transitional.dtd"> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml"> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=UTF-8" /> +<title>The Mirror of Literature, Issue 338.</title> +<style type="text/css"> +<!-- + body + {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + + p + {text-align: justify;} + blockquote + {text-align: justify;} + + h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 + {text-align: center;} + + hr + {text-align: center; width: 50%;} + html>body hr + {margin-right: 25%; margin-left: 25%; width: 50%;} + + hr.full + {width: 100%;} + html>body hr.full + {margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 0%; width: 100%;} + + pre + {font-size: 0.7em; background-color: #F0F0F0;} + + .poetry + {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 0%; + text-align: left;} + + .footnote + {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; + font-size: 0.9em;} + + .figure + {margin-left: 5%; margin-right: 5%; text-align: center; font-size: 0.8em;} + .figure img + {border: none;} + + .poem {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; margin-bottom: 1em; text-align: left;} + .poem .stanza {margin: 1em 0em 1em 0em;} + .poem p {margin: 0; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem p.i2 {margin-left: 1em;} + .poem p.i8 {margin-left: 8em;} + + span.pagenum + {position: absolute; left: 1%; right: 91%; font-size: 0.7em;} +--> +</style> +</head> +<body> +<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 11210 ***</div> + + <hr class="full" /> + <span class="pagenum"><a id="page273" name="page273"></a>[pg 273]</span> + + <h1>THE MIRROR<br /> + OF<br /> + LITERATURE, AMUSEMENT, AND INSTRUCTION.</h1> + <hr class="full" /> + + <table width="100%" summary="Banner"> + <tr> + <td align="left"><b>Vol. XII. No. 338.</b></td> + <td align="center"><b>SATURDAY, NOVEMBER 1, 1828.</b></td> + <td align="right"><b>[PRICE 2d.</b></td> + </tr> + </table> + <hr class="full" /> + +<h2> +Nelson's Monument, at Liverpool.</h2> + +<div class="figure" style="width: 100%;"> + <a href="images/338-1.png"><img width="100%" src="images/338-1.png" +alt="" /></a> + </div> + +<h4> +(<i>To the Editor of the Mirror</i>.) +</h4> +<p> +In No. 270 of the MIRROR, you favoured us with a correct engraving of +the Town Hall, Liverpool, and informed us of a trophied monument erected +to the memory of Nelson in the Liverpool Exchange Buildings. Of the +latter I am happy to be able to present you with the above view. +</p><p> +The monument, executed in bronze by Richard Westmacott, Esq. R.A. +is erected in the area of the Liverpool Exchange Buildings, and was +completed in October, 1823. The subscription amounted to about 9,000l. +The weight of the bronze of which it is composed is estimated at upwards +of 22 tons. The figures are in the proportion of seven feet. +</p><p> +On a basis of Westmoreland marble stands a circular pedestal of the same +material, and peculiarly suitable in colour to the group which it +supports. At the base of the pedestal are four emblematic figures, in +the character of captives, or vanquished enemies, in allusion to Lord +Nelson's victories. The spaces between these figures, on the sides of +the pedestal, are filled by four grand bas-reliefs, executed in bronze, +representing some of the great naval actions in which Nelson was +engaged. The other parts of the pedestal are richly decorated with +lions' heads and festoons of laurel; and in a moulding round the upper +part of it is inscribed, in brass letters, pursuant to the resolution +of + <span class="pagenum"><a id="page274" name="page274"></a>[pg 274]</span> + + the general meeting, that most impressive charge delivered by the +illustrious commander previous to the commencement of the battle of +Trafalgar, "ENGLAND EXPECTS EVERY MAN TO DO HIS DUTY." +</p><p> +The figures constituting the principal design are Nelson, Victory, and +Death: his Country mourning for her loss, and her Navy, eager to avenge +it,—naturally claim a place in the group. +</p><p> +The principal figure is the Admiral, resting one foot on a conquered +enemy, and the other on a cannon. With an eye stedfast and upraised to +Victory, he is receiving from her a fourth naval crown upon his sword, +which, to indicate the loss of his right arm, is held in his left hand. +The maimed limb is concealed by the enemy's flag, which Victory is +lowering to him. Under the folds of the flag Death lies in ambush for +his victim, intimating, that Nelson received the reward of his valour +and the stroke of death at the same moment. +</p><p> +By the figure of an exasperated British seaman is represented the zeal +of the navy to wreak vengeance on the enemies who robbed England of her +gallant leader. +</p><p> +Britannia, with laurels in her hand, and leaning regardless of them on +her spear and shield, describes the feelings of the country fluctuating +between the pride and the anguish of triumph so dearly purchased, but +relying for security on her own resources. +</p> +<h4> +<i>Hoxton</i>. T. WARD. +</h4> + +<hr /> + +<h3> +TAKING OF CONSTANTINOPLE BY THE TURKS. +<a id="footnotetag1" name="footnotetag1"></a><a href="#footnote1"> +<sup>1</sup></a> +</h3> + + + +<h4> +(<i>For the Mirror</i>.)</h4> + +<p> +Mahomet II., soon after he mounted the Turkish throne, resolved to +achieve some glorious action, that he might surpass the fame of his +predecessors; and nothing appeared so compatible with his ambition as +the gaining of Constantinople, and the total subversion of the Greek +empire, which at that period was in a very precarious condition. The +sultan, therefore, made vast preparations, which the Greek emperor, +Constantine VIII., perceiving, he solicited the aid of several Christian +princes, especially of Pope Nicholas V. and the king of Naples; but they +<i>all</i>, in a most unaccountable manner, excused themselves. Being thus +disappointed, the emperor laid an embargo on all vessels within his +ports, so that he added about three thousand veterans of different +nations to the garrison of his imperial city, which before consisted +of only six thousand Greeks. +</p><p> +In the spring of 1453, Mahomet set forward, with an army of three +hundred thousand men, for Constantinople, which city, on the ninth day +of April, was closely invested by land. The Turkish galleys would have +done the same by sea, had not the emperor been extremely vigilant, for +he caused the haven to be strongly chained from Constantinople to Pera, +having within the chain his whole strength of shipping. The Turks, on +the land side, erected towers, cast up trenches, and raised batteries; +from these works they carried on their attacks with great fury, and made +several breaches, which, however, the besieged repaired with much +industry, at the same time repulsing their enemies with artillery. This +unexpected bravery greatly enraged Mahomet, who loudly exclaimed, "It is +neither the Grecians' skill nor courage, but the Franks, that defend the +city." Affairs stood thus, when a renegado Christian informed the sultan +how he might bring part of his fleet over land to the very haven of +Constantinople. Mahomet, who began to despair of taking the city, +determined to put the project of the renegado into execution; and he +therefore committed the charge of it to a famous bassa, who, with +wonderful labour, brought seventy vessels out of the Bosphorus, up a +steep hill, the space of eight miles, to the haven of the city. The +Turks, being thus miraculously possessed of the haven, assaulted the +city also on that side; but their whole fleet was shamefully routed, +and ten thousand of their men were killed. Yet this loss, instead +of depressing their spirits, increased their courage, and on the +twenty-ninth of May, early in the morning, they approached the walls +with greater violence than ever; but so undaunted was the resolution +of the Christians, that they repulsed their assailants with prodigious +slaughter for a considerable time. +</p><p> +Constantine, however, who had undertaken the charge of one of the city +gates, unhappily received a wound in the arm; and, being obliged to +retire from the scene of action, his soldiers were discouraged, forsook +their stations, and fled after him, notwithstanding his earnest prayers +to the contrary. In their flight, they crowded so thickly together, +that, while endeavouring to enter a passage, above eight hundred of them +were pressed to death. The ill-fated emperor likewise perished. It is +needless to describe what quickly ensued—the infidels became masters of +the fine city of Constantinople, whose inhabitants were all,—except +those who were reserved for lust,—put to the sword, + + <span class="pagenum"><a id="page275" name="page275"></a>[pg 275]</span> + + and the plunder, +pursuant to a promise made previously by the sultan, was given up to the +Turkish soldiers for three days together. +</p> +<h4> +G.W.N. +</h4> + +<hr/> + + +<h3> +GAME OF CHESS.</h3> + +<h4> +(<i>To the Editor of the Mirror</i>.)</h4> + +<p> +Perceiving in No. 321 of the MIRROR a brief history of the game of +chess, perhaps the following anecdote will not be found unacceptable +to your readers:—When the game of chess was first invented, the emperor +of China sent for the inventor, and desired him to teach it him. The +emperor was so delighted with the game, that he told the inventor +whatever he should demand should be given him as a remuneration for his +discovery. To which he replied, that if his majesty would but give him a +grain of corn for the first square of the chess-board, and keep doubling +it every check until he arrived at the end, he would be satisfied. At +first the emperor was astonished at what he thought the man's modesty, +and instantly ordered his request to be granted. +</p><p> +The following is the sum total of the number of grains of corn, and also +the number of times they would reach round the world, which is 360 +degrees, each degree being 69-1/2 miles:— +</p><p> +18446743573783086315 grains. +</p><p> +3883401821 times round the world. +</p><p> +I perfectly agree with your correspondent that China has the preference +of invention. +</p> +<h4> +G.H.C.</h4> + +<hr/> + + +<h3> +QUEEN ELIZABETH'S VIRGINAL.</h3> +<h4> +(<i>To the Editor of the Mirror</i>.) +</h4> +<p> +On reading No. 336 of the MIRROR, I saw an account of an ancient musical +instrument, <i>the virginal</i>, stating it to have been an instrument much +in use in the reign of Queen Elizabeth. That such was the case there can +be no doubt, for the musical world can still furnish many compositions, +written expressly for Queen Elizabeth, her majesty being considered a +very good performer on the virginal. But it is not generally known that +the very identical instrument, the favourite property of that queen, +is still in the possession of a Mr. Jonah Child, artist, of Dudley, +Worcestershire. It is a very fine-toned old instrument, considering the +many improvements which have been made since that date, and if put in +good repair, (which might easily be done, it being quite playable in its +present state,) it would not disgrace the name of a Kirkman, or of any +of our latest and best harpsichord makers; indeed, it is very far +superior to any other instrument of the kind I ever heard. The case is +good, particularly in the inside, which is of exquisite workmanship, and +beautifully ornamented with (as far as I recollect) gilt scroll work; on +the keys has been bestowed a great deal of labour and curious taste. +Each of the sharps, or short keys, is composed of a number (perhaps +thirty) of bits of pearl, &c., well wrought together. On the whole it +is an object well worthy of the attention of the antiquarian and the +musician. +</p><p> +Although a stranger to Mr. Jonah Child, I feel great pleasure, while +speaking on the subject, in acknowledging the very courteous reception +I once met with, on calling at that gentleman's house to see the above +curiosity. +</p><h4> +<i>Hampstead Road</i>. S.A. +</h4> +<hr/> + + +<h3> +FIRE TOWERS.</h3> +<h4> +(<i>To the Editor of the Mirror</i>.) +</h4> + +<p> +I perceive by a paper in your interesting little work, that the round +towers so common in Scotland and Ireland, have afforded the antiquaries +much room for the display of their erudition, in ascertaining the +purposes for which these towers have been erected. +</p><p> +Now, if any of these worthy and learned gentlemen were to take a trip to +Sutherlandshire, in Scotland, they would see the <i>exact purpose</i> for +which these buildings were erected; it was merely for the purpose of +hanging the church bell in, as stated by your correspondent, in No. 335, +of the MIRROR; for there stands at present in the parish of Clyne, near +Dunrobin, the seat of the most noble the Marquess of Stafford, one of +the said towers with the church bell hung in it to this day, unless +removed since last October, the time at which I was there. It stands on +the top of an eminence, a short distance (about fifty yards) to the west +of the parish church, and is about twenty-five feet high. +</p><h4> +A. GAEL.</h4> + +<hr/> + + +<h3> +A SUMMER SCENE, BY CLAUDE.</h3> +<h4> +(<i>For the Mirror</i>.)</h4> + +<div class="poem"> + <div class="stanza"> +<p> How proudly those hush'd towers receive the glow</p> +<p> That mellows the gold sunset—and the trees,</p> +<p> Clasping with their deep belt the festal hills,</p> +<p> Are ting'd with summer-beauty; the rich waves</p> +<p> Swell out their hymn o'er shells and sweet blue flow'rs,</p> +<p> And haply the pure seamaid, wandering by,</p> +<p> Dips in them her soft tresses. The calm sea,</p> +<p> Floating in its magnificence, is seen</p> +<p> Like an elysian isle, whose sapphire depths</p> +<p> Entranc'd the Arabian poets! In the west,</p> +<p> The clouds blend their harmonious pageantry</p> +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page276" name="page276"></a>[pg 276]</span> +<p> With the descending sun-orb; some appear</p> +<p> Like Jove's immortal bird, whose eyes contain'd</p> +<p> An essence of its sanctity—and some</p> +<p> Seem like proud temples, form'd but to admit</p> +<p> The souls of god-like men! Emerald and gold</p> +<p> And pink, that softens down the aerial bow,</p> +<p> Are interspersed promiscuously, and form</p> +<p> A concentration of all lovely things!</p> +<p> And far off cities, glittering with the pomp</p> +<p> Of spire and pennon, laugh their joyance up</p> +<p> In the deep flood of light. Sweet comes the tone</p> +<p> Of the touch'd lute from yonder orange bow'rs,</p> +<p> And the shrill cymbal pours its elfin spell</p> +<p> Into the peasant's being!</p> +<p class="i8"> A sublime</p> +<p> And fervid mind was <i>his</i>, whose pencil trac'd</p> +<p> The grandeur of this scene! Oh! matchless Claude!</p> +<p> Around the painter's mastery thou hast thrown</p> +<p> An halo of surpassing loveliness!</p> +<p> Gazing on thy proud works, we mourn the curse</p> +<p> Which 'reft our race of Eden, for from thee,</p> +<p> As from a seraph's wing, we catch the hues</p> +<p> That sunn'd our primal heritage ere sin</p> +<p> Weav'd her dark oracles. With thee, sweet Claude!</p> +<p> <i>Thee!</i> and blind Maeonides would I dwell</p> +<p> By streams that gush out richness; there should be</p> +<p> Tones that entrance, and forms more exquisite</p> +<p> Than throng the sculptor's visions! I would dream</p> +<p> Of gorgeous palaces, in whose lit halls</p> +<p> Repos'd the reverend magi, and my lips</p> +<p> Would pour their spiritual commune 'mid the hush</p> +<p> Of those enchanting groves!</p> +</div> +</div> +<h4> +<i>Deal</i>. + +REGINALD AUGUSTINE.</h4> + +<hr class="full" /> + + +<h2> +THE NOVELIST</h2> +<h3> +A LEGEND OF THE HARTZ.</h3> +<h4> +(<i>For the Mirror</i>.)</h4> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p> "Still the boar held on his way</p> +<p> Careless through what toils it lay,</p> +<p> Down deep in the tangled dell—</p> +<p> Or o'er the steep rock's pinnacle.</p> +<p> Staunch the steed, and bold the knight</p> +<p> That would follow such a flight!"</p> +</div> +</div> + +<p> +The night was fast closing in, and the last retiring beams of the sun +shed a mournful light over an extensive tract of forest bordering upon +the district of the Hartz, just as (but I must not forget the date, +somewhere about the year 1547,) the Baron Rudolf found himself in the +very disagreeable predicament of having totally lost his companions and +his way, amidst an almost interminable region of forest and brushwood. +"Hans," addressing himself to his noble steed, "my old veteran, I must +trust to thee, since thy master's wit is at a stand, to extricate us +from this dilemma." +</p><p> +The animal finding his head free, moved forward as fast as bush and +brake would permit him. They had proceeded in this way for half an hour +longer, when the Baron at last bethought himself of his bugle, and wound +a long and powerful blast; but the echo was the only answer he received. +He repeated the sound with the like effect. Again the Baron lost his +patience, and "Der terefel—" when all at once his steed made a dead +stop, and pricked up his ears as at some well known sound. The Baron +listened attentively, and distinctly heard the blast he had sounded ten +minutes before, responded by one so exactly similar, though apparently +at a great distance, that he could scarcely believe the "evidence" of +his ears. "By the mass but that must be the work of Mynheer von +Heidelberger himself, for no one in my own broad barony can wind that +blast save Rudolf Wurtzheim." He shrunk within himself at the very +thought; for to any one it was rather appalling to meet this being at +such a place and hour. The recollection of an adventure in these wilds +which occurred on this very eve, twelve-months previous, now rushed +vividly to his mind. The concurrence in the date was startling. In +short, on reflection, he began to think there was witchcraft throughout +the affair. +</p><p> +He had lost his companions of the chase in rather a singular manner; on +this afternoon, being unusually unsuccessful, the Baron, while hunting +a brace of favourite stag-hounds in a dell apart from the rest of the +field, suddenly struck upon a boar of remarkable size; attracted by the +cries of the dogs, the Baron spurred Hans to the pursuit, and did not +reflect that he was pursuing a route apart from the other hunters; and +trusting to his knowledge of the wilds he so often traversed, he bore +on with undiminished speed. The boar seemed to have a pair of wings in +addition to his legs. Suffice it to say, that though Hans chased him in +gallant style, yet the Baron eventually lost his way in the pursuit, +partly owing to the doubling of the animal, till both dogs and boar +completely disappeared from sight. +</p><p> +Entangled in the forest, the evening rapidly approached, a general hush +prevailed, and all endeavours to recover his track seemed fruitless. +</p><p> +The sun had now gone down for a considerable time, and a mist was +arising that obscured the little light which the luminary of night +afforded. +</p><p> +"Mein Gott," exclaimed the Baron, "mortal or devil, he has involved me +in a very disagreeable predicament, and to avoid him is, I fear, +impossible." He once more sounded a long blast; again + +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page277" name="page277"></a>[pg 277]</span> + + the blast was +re-echoed after a short lapse of time, though seemingly at an extreme +distance. "Ah, there it comes again! what if my ears should deceive me, +and this should be the answering bugle of my faithful Wildstein." The +thought infused some fresh vigour into him; the low night wind murmuring +through the trees, reminded him of the importance of every moment, Hans +and his master pushed onwards through brake and dell. +</p><p> +It will be necessary, however, that we should leave the Baron for +awhile, and detail some occurrences germane to our tale, and which are +necessary for its developement. And now as Mark Antony says, "Lend me +your ear." +</p><p> +Some years before the preceding events took place, there dwelt in a spot +of the most romantic description, a personage known by the designation +of Mynheer von Heidelberger. No one had either heard or could recollect +when or whence he came. Strange rumours were afloat respecting this +person, and the peasantry crossed themselves with fright if they were +led near the spot where his dwelling was said to be; and if his name +was casually mentioned in the circle round the winter's hearth, all +involuntarily drew their seats into a closer space. Impelled by +adventurous curiosity, many individuals were said to have visited him, +for the purpose of obtaining some insight into futurity; for his +knowledge of the future, and the "things that none may name," was +reputed to be great. It was also rumoured that some of his visitants +had never returned. +</p><p> +About this time, by the sudden death of her father, the Baron Ernest, +who was killed, it was believed, by a fall from his horse while hunting, +Agatha von Keilermann was left sole and undisputed heiress of his vast +domains. A prize so great, united to a fair person, caused many suitors +to be on the alert; but they all met with ill success, being generally +dismissed rather summarily. +</p><p> +Ambition was always the ruling passion of Rudolf Wurtzheim, whose +domains adjoined those of the Baron Ernest, and before the death of +the latter it had also been allied to jealousy of his great power and +wealth. Not daunted by the ill success of his predecessors, he became a +suitor of the fair Agatha. He met with a summary repulse. Burning with +rage and mortified ambition, the Baron bethought himself of Mynheer von +Heidelberger, of whose fame he had sometimes heard. +</p><p> +At the close of a day far advanced in autumn, he set off to visit this +being. The howling of the wind as it came in fitful gusts through the +openings of the forest, formed no bad accompaniment to his thoughts; +while the indistinct twilight received little aid from the moon, which +waded through heavy masses of clouds. The Baron, however, was a man of +daring spirit. He had often been led past the spot, whilst engaged in +the chase, near which the <i>solitaire</i> was said to dwell:— +</p> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p> "Vague mystery hangs on all these desert places!</p> +<p class="i2"> The fear which hath no name hath wrought a spell,</p> +<p> Strength, courage, wrath, have been, and left no traces!</p> +<p class="i2"> They came—and fled; but whither? who can tell!"</p> +</div> +</div> + +<p> +He several times, on account of the uncertain light, lost his track. +At length he emerged into the rocky scenery of the mountain side, and +an indistinct light in the distance served to guide his steps. He now +entered between two rocks of great height; till a magnificent waterfall +almost blocked up the way. The Baron stepped cautiously forward, +and after apparently passing through a cavern, the scene opened and +displayed (for, to his surprise, the light was greatly increased,) +a wild view, in which nature had piled rock, cavern, and mountain +together, till the whole seemed lost and blended in one general chaos. +At the foot, and a short distance before him, were seen a number of +persons of venerable aspect, grouped on the turf around the vast +amphitheatre of rocks, and a noise as of many hammers, greeted his +ears. Attracted onwards by the now distinct glittering light, the Baron +proceeded boldly to the mouth of what seemed a natural grotto. He loudly +demanded admittance, the entrance being blocked up with a large stone. +He was at first answered by a scornful laugh; indeed, as he afterwards +found, he had entered by the wrong path, and observed a scene, perhaps, +never displayed to mortal eyes. The stone was at last removed, and in +the interior he found the object of his search:— +</p> +<div class="poem" > +<div class="stanza" > +<p class="i8"> He, like the tenant</p> +<p> Of some night haunted ruin, bore an aspect</p> +<p> Of horrors, worn to habitude.</p> +</div> +</div> + +<p> +What passed will appear in the sequel, and the Baron returned just at +nightfall; while his ghastly demeanour and unquiet eye betokened the +nature of his visit. It is said many a wild and unearthly peal of +laughter resounded that night through the mountains. +</p><p> +In three months from that time the lady Agatha became his wife. She had +suddenly disappeared from her grounds a + +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page278" name="page278"></a>[pg 278]</span> + + short time before, and to the +amazement and wonder of all, returned with the Baron Wurtzheim, to whom +she was united the same evening. Rumour was busy upon this occasion, but +the mystery which enveloped it was never dispersed. The lady Agatha, +however, seemed oppressed with a ceaseless gloom; in a short time she +devoted herself entirely to seclusion, and in a year after her marriage, +expired in giving birth to a son. The demeanour of Rudolf was most +strange on this occasion. He had apparently a weight on his mind, which +seemed to increase with dissipation, when he devoted his time to hunting +and nightly revels, with a band of choice friends and dependents. Time, +however, which blunts the edge of the keenest misfortunes, seemed to +restore him to his former self. +</p><p> +Years passed away. Some time before the commencement of this legend, the +Baron lost his path whilst hunting, and was benighted in the forest. +After much fatigue, he was attracted by a light amongst trees which he +found to proceed from a low building. It was in a state of extreme +dilapidation, though a sort of wing appeared to have been recently +tenanted. His knocks for admittance not having been answered, he lifted +up the latch and boldly entered. Nothing greeted his sight save the +almost extinguished remains of a fire. The apartment was lone and +destitute of furniture. Having bestowed Hans as well as he could, +he laid himself on the floor; while he felt an extreme chillness of +spirits, which he endeavoured in vain to shake off; he was soon buried +in sleep. +</p><p> +He was awakened by a noise resembling the strokes of many hammers. +He conceived his senses must be wandering, for he found that he was +at the entrance of the amphitheatre of rocks near the dwelling of the +<i>solitaire</i>. The same group of figures appeared, and it was not long +before a voice, which he knew to be that of Heidelberger, slowly +repeated the following chant:— +</p> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p> Woe to him who dares intrude</p> +<p> Upon our midnight solitude!</p> +<p> Woe to him whose faith is broken—</p> +<p> Better he had never spoken.</p> +<p> 'Ere twelve moons shall pass away,</p> +<p> Thou wilt he beneath our sway.</p> +<p> Drear the doom, and dark the fate</p> +<p> Of him who rashly dares our hate!</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p> Deceive me once, I tell thee never</p> +<p> Shall thy soul and body sever!</p> +<p> Under the greenwood wilt thou lie,</p> +<p> Nor shall thou there unheeded die.</p> +<p> Mortal, thou my vengeance brave,</p> +<p> Thou had'st better seen thy grave.</p> +<p> Drear the doom, and dark the fate</p> +<p> Of him who rashly dares our hate!</p> +</div> +</div> + +<p> +Meanwhile the Baron had sunk into a state of insensibility. When he +awoke from his trance it was broad daylight, and the birds were singing +merrily around the ruin. +</p><p> +After this adventure, the Baron resumed many of his old habits; and +sought by deeper dissipation to dispel the visions of the past. His son +was now grown up a sickly youth, and his father's inquietude about him +was so great that he would not suffer him for a moment to be out of the +sight of his attendants. +</p><p> +The year rolled on without any harm befalling the Baron, and his +spirits lightened as the time advanced. He had almost forgotten the +circumstance, when on the day preceding that of the anniversary of the +adventure just related, a grand hunting party was proposed, it being the +birth-day of his son. We now return to the situation in which we left +the Baron at the beginning of this legend. +</p><p> +The forest seemed to the exhausted Rudolf, almost interminable, and +this provoking horn perplexed him sadly. On this night the dreaded +twelve-months expired. The bare thought made him redouble his speed. +The darkness seemed increasing, and the flapping of the bats and hoarse +croaking of the night birds, disturbed by his progress through the +branches, did not add to his comfort; when to his great joy, he felt a +strong current of air, and found that he had at last apparently emerged +from the thickest of the forest. The moon was now beginning to cast her +"peerless light" over the scene, and Rudolf perceived he was in an +extensive amphitheatre or opening of the trees, which he could not +recollect ever having seen before, bounded at a short distance by what +seemed a small lake, near the centre of which grew a large and solitary +pine. +</p><p> +The moon had now fully risen. Hans who had been flagging for some time, +fell suddenly lame. From this fresh misfortune the Baron was aroused by +the well known baying of his gallant stag-hounds. "Aiglette and Caspar +are not baying after nothing," thought he. He was not long in suspense. +To his extreme amazement, the identical boar which had caused all his +trouble and fatigue, appeared closely followed by both the dogs. +</p><p> +"Donner et blitzen," exclaimed the Baron, using the first oath that came +uppermost, "but this exceeds belief." The boar no sooner perceived +him than he turned upon him with the utmost fury. The Baron hastily +dismounted under the aged tree, though he was stiff and fatigued, for +Hans was now utterly incapable + +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page279" name="page279"></a>[pg 279]</span> + + of exertion. His sword quickly glanced in +the moonshine—"Time was" said he, "when this had been the very pastime +I desired." The murderous animal attacked him with such impetuosity that +his well-tried skill failed him, and he was the next moment thrown under +its feet. The struggle now became desperate, for the animal had no +common foe to contend with. Before it could wound him with its tusks, +which seemed of unusual size, it required not an instant's thought in +Rudolf to draw his dagger from his belt, and the next instant it was +buried to its hilt in the throat of his adversary. At the same moment +the tusks of the boar entered his side. Rudolf breathed a few words of +an almost forgotten prayer, when the animal, uttering a dreadful yell, +gave a convulsive spring into the air, and fell lifeless, half +smothering the Baron with its gore. +</p><p> +Life was now fast ebbing from the side of Rudolf, when he was aroused by +the sound of a voice, whose tones even at this dreadful moment thrilled +through his soul with horror. Enveloped in a thick fog which had been +gradually spreading around the scene of the combat, he could discern the +fiend Heidelberger and his charmed circle; with an air of triumph they +chanted the following lines:— +</p> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p> Mortal vain, thy course is run,</p> +<p> Thou hast seen thy setting sun—</p> +<p> Told I not true when I saw thee last,</p> +<p> That 'ere the circling year had passed,</p> +<p> Under the greenwood thou should'st be dying,</p> +<p> On the bloody greensward lying!</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p> Deceived once, I tell thee never</p> +<p> Shall my victim from me sever—</p> +<p> Thou hast dared to brave our hate,</p> +<p> Rashly run upon thy fate!</p> +<p> Thou art on the greensward dying,</p> +<p> Underneath the greenwood lying!</p> +</div> +</div> +<p> +The hounds bayed. The moon entered a dark cloud; and, when it emerged, +its pale beams fell upon the green amphitheatre and the aged tree; but +there was no one under its shade. +</p><p> +The following tradition is still related amongst the surrounding +peasantry:—The Baron Rudolf, it is said, was enticed to sign over the +bodies and souls of his future offspring to the fiend, Heidelberger, on +condition that the latter would enable him to gain the person and +possessions of the Lady Agatha. The contract, however, was obliged to be +renewed at the birth of each child. Should he violate this convocation +(which he signed with his own blood,) he granted similar power over +himself; and the legend goes on to relate, that the whole of the members +of the charmed circle were persons similarly enticed, who were doomed to +a sort of perpetual labour, being compelled to chisel out their coffins +in stone, which as soon as finished, were broken in pieces, when they +were obliged to begin afresh. +</p><p> +The consequence of the Baron's non-fulfilment of his convocation have +already been seen; his son is related to have died childless, and the +property to have been dispersed into the hands of others, having never +remained since his death more than two generations in one family; +apparently blighting all its possessors. And the peasantry aver that the +noise made by the continual labour of its victims, may still be heard by +the adventurous at the close of day. +</p> +<h4> +VYVYAN.</h4> + +<hr/> + + +<h3> +SPIRIT OF DISCOVERY.</h3> + +<hr/> +<center> +<i>On Planting Poor Light Land</i>. +</center> + +<p> +Besides paring and burning, and trenching the soil previous to making +the plantation, Mr. Withers, (who received the large silver medal from +the Society for the Encouragement of Arts, &c. London, for experiments +conducted on the subject in Norfolk,) spreads on it marl and farmyard +dung, as for a common agricultural crop, and at the same time keeps the +surface perfectly free from weeds by hoeing till the young trees have +completely covered the ground. The progress that they make under this +treatment is so extremely rapid, as apparently to justify, in <i>an +economical point of view</i>, the extraordinary expenses that attend it. In +three years, even oaks and other usually slow growing forest trees have +covered the land, making shoots by three feet in a season, and throwing +out roots well qualified, by their number and length, to derive from the +subsoil abundant nourishment, in proportion as the surface becomes +exhausted.—<i>Trans. Soc. Arts</i>. +</p> +<center> +<i>The Air Plant</i>. +</center> +<p> +Prince Leopold has succeeded in bringing to perfection that +extraordinary exotic, the air plant. It is suspended from the ceiling, +and derives its nourishment entirely from the atmosphere. +</p> +<center> +<i>Potato Flour</i>. +</center> +<p> +The farina, or meal, obtained from potatoes is now regularly sold in the +markets of Scotland. It is <i>stated</i> to be quite equal to genuine arrow +root; but this is quite a mistake, unless the nutritious properties of +arrow root have been overrated. Sir John Sinclair has devoted much of +his time to the preparation of the flour; but as we gave his process +many weeks since, it is not necessary to repeat it here. +</p> +<hr class="full" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page280" name="page280"></a>[pg 280]</span></p> + +<h2> +Kynaston's Cave.</h2> + +<div class="figure" style="width: 100%;"> + <a href="images/338-2.png"><img width="100%" src="images/338-2.png" +alt="" /></a> + </div> + +<p> +We are indebted to the portfolio of an interesting lady correspondent +for the original of the above engraving. The ingenious draughtswoman +states the drawing to have been taken during a recent tour; and our +readers will allow it to be <i>fair sketch</i>. By way of rendering it +unique, we append the following description from the same fair hand:— +</p><p> +From Shrewsbury to the Ness Cliff, (on the road to Ceriogg Bridge,) +there is in the scenery little worthy of remark, until we approach +the latter place, when the cliff on the right hand, and the Brathyn +mountains (Montgomeryshire) on the left of the traveller, produce a +very picturesque effect; and the post-house of Ness Cliff commands an +extensive and lovely view of mountainous and champagne country. At this +place we were invited to see a curious cave cut in the rock, which was, +in the sixteenth century, the residence of one Humphrey Kynaston, a +notorious bandit. This, however, was not his own work, since Ness Cliff, +having been worked as a quarry, the cave, either by accident or design, +was wrought by the labourers, and used by them as <i>salle á manger</i>, +dormitory, or tool-house, according to circumstances. We proceeded to it +by a broad rising walk of red sand, delightfully wooded, and presenting +an enchanting view of the Brathyn and Wrekin, as well as the country for +some miles round. At the end of this walk is a gate, which opens into a +small grove; proceeding a little into which, we saw the cave in the high +red cliff immediately before us. We ascended by a considerable flight of +narrow and rugged steps cut from the solid rock: the interior of this +curious place is as black as a coal-mine, and a partition, more than +half the way across, divides the part where Kynaston used to reside +by day from that in which he slept and <i>kept his horse</i>, for he had +actually the ingenuity to make the animal ascend and descend the stairs +above-mentioned. The robber's initials, and the date of the year in +which we may suppose he cut them, appear on the partition just opposite +the entrance. The romance of the place was not a little augmented by the +appearance of its inhabitant, (a blacksmith,) whose tall, thin figure, +and whose pale, wild, and haggard countenance, well accorded with the +singularity + +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page281" name="page281"></a>[pg 281]</span> + + of his abode. He read for our amusement and <i>instruction</i>, +I conceive, a few choice passages from a well-thumbed penny pamphlet, +purporting to contain the veritable history of the adventurous Kynaston; +from whence it appeared that Master Humphrey was a gentleman, like "that +prince of thieves," Robin Hood, stealing from the rich to give to the +poor, avenging the innocent, and chivalrous where ladies, or the lure of +plunder, called forth his prowess; that his depredations were numerous, +even in the face of day, and in the teeth of his enemies; and yet that +those who admired and sided with him were for a considerable period the +terror of the whole legal force who were on the alert to seize him. This +interesting memoir was recited by the son of Vulcan, with an enthusiasm +and delectable pronunciation, that could only be appreciated by hearing +it, and was altogether inimitable. Strange! thought I, that this cave, +once the residence of a robber, should now have become that of a +<i>forger</i>. +</p> +<h4> +M.L.B.</h4> + +<hr class="full" /> + + +<h2> +The Selector; + +and + +Literary Notices of + +<i>New Works</i>.</h2> + +<hr/> +<h4> +RIENZI.</h4> + +<p> +In No. 335, we gave the outline of the story of Rienzi, principally from +Gibbon, but interspersed from other authorities. Miss Mitford's tragedy +has since been represented with considerable success, and published. +In the preface, we are told, that in addition to the splendid narrative +of Gibbon, recourse has been had to "the still more graphical and +interesting account of Rienzi's eventful career," contained in <i>L'Abbé +de Sade's</i> Memoirs of Petrarque; and that, "as far as the female +characters are concerned," the materials are entirely from invention. +All this may appear well enough for the construction of the drama, +and the female characters are drawn with peculiar grace and feeling; +but we do not see why the character of Rienzi should be so essentially +altered from history as it has been; neither do we think that any +desirable effect has been gained by this change. In history, Rienzi is a +master-spirit of reckless and atrocious daring, but in the drama, he is +softened down to a fickle liberty brawler, and the sternest of his vices +are glossed over with an almost inconsistent show of affection and +tenderness. As he there stands, he is rather like an injured man, than +one who so liberally dealt oppression and injustice around him. +</p><p> +Miss Mitford's tragedy will, however, be read with considerable interest +in the closet, and fully to appreciate its beauties, every one who has +witnessed it, ought to read it; for many of its "delicate touches" must +be lost in the immense area of Drury Lane Theatre. +<a id="footnotetag2" name="footnotetag2"></a><a href="#footnote2"> +<sup>2</sup></a> The plot is +simple, and is effectively told; but as the newspapers, daily and +weekly, have already detailed it, we shall confine ourselves to a few +passages, which, in our reading, appeared to us among the many beauties +of the drama. +</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page282" name="page282"></a>[pg 282]</span></p> + +<h3> +PROGRESS OF RIENZI'S DISAFFECTION.</h3> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p> <i>Claudia</i>. He is changed,</p> +<p> Grievously changed; still good and kind, and full</p> +<p> Of fond relentings—crossed by sudden gusts</p> +<p> Of wild and stormy passion. Then, he's so silent—</p> +<p> He once so eloquent. Of old, each show,</p> +<p> Bridal, or joust, or pious pilgrimage,</p> +<p> Lived in his vivid speech. Oh! 'twas my joy,</p> +<p> In that bright glow of rapid words, to see</p> +<p> Clear pictures, as the slow procession coiled</p> +<p> Its glittering length, or stately tournament</p> +<p> Grew statelier, in his voice. Now he sits mute—</p> +<p> His serious eyes bent on the ground—each sense</p> +<p> Turned inward.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p> <i>Rienzi</i>. Claudia, in these bad days,</p> +<p> When man must tread perforce the flinty path</p> +<p> Of duty, hard and rugged, fail not thou</p> +<p> Duly at night and morning to give thanks</p> +<p> To the all-gracious power that smoothed the way</p> +<p> For woman's tenderer feet.</p> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<p> <i>Colonna</i>. He hath turned</p> +<p> A bitter knave of late, and lost his mirth,</p> +<p> And mutters riddling warnings and wild tales</p> +<p> Of the great days of heathen Rome; and prates</p> +<p> Of peace, and liberty, and equal law,</p> +<p> And mild philosophy, to us the knights</p> +<p> And warriors of this warlike age, who rule</p> +<p> By the bright law of arms. The fool's grown wise—</p> +<p> A grievous change.</p> +</div> +<hr/> +<div class="stanza"> +<p> Hatred—</p> +<p> And danger—the two hands that tightest grasp</p> +<p> Each other—the two cords that soonest knit</p> +<p> A fast and stubborn tie: your true love-knot</p> +<p> Is nothing to it. Faugh! the supple touch</p> +<p> Of pliant interest, or the dust of time,</p> +<p> Or the pin-point of temper, loose, or not,</p> +<p> Or snap love's silken band. Fear and old hate,</p> +<p> They are sure weavers—they work for the storm,</p> +<p> The whirlwind, and the rocking surge; their knot</p> +<p> Endures till death.</p> +</div> +</div> + +<h3> +RIENZI'S TRIUMPH.</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<p> Hark—the bell, the bell!</p> +<p> The knell of tyranny—the mighty voice,</p> +<p> That, to the city and the plain—to earth,</p> +<p> And listening heaven, proclaims the glorious tale</p> +<p> Of Rome reborn, and Freedom. See, the clouds</p> +<p> Are swept away, and the moon's boat of light</p> +<p> Sails in the clear blue sky, and million stars</p> +<p> Look out on us, and smile.</p> +</div> +<p> +[<i>The gate of the Capitol opens, and Alberti and Soldiers join the +People, and lay the keys at Rienzi's feet</i>.]</p> +<div class="stanza"> +<p> Hark! that great voice</p> +<p> Hath broke our bondage. Look, without a stroke</p> +<p> The Capitol is won—the gates unfold—</p> +<p> The keys are at our feet. Alberti, friend,</p> +<p> How shall I pay thy service? Citizens!</p> +<p> First to possess the palace citadel—</p> +<p> The famous strength of Rome; then to sweep on,</p> +<p> Triumphant, through her streets.</p> +</div> +<p> +[<i>As Rienzi and the People are entering the Capitol, he pauses</i>.]</p> +<div class="stanza"> +<p> Oh, glorious wreck</p> +<p> Of gods and Caesars! thou shalt reign again,</p> +<p> Queen of the world; and I—come on, come on,</p> +<p> My people!</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p> <i>Citizens</i>. Live Rienzi—live our Tribune!</p> +</div> +</div> + +<h3> +CLAUDIA'S LAMENT FOR HER HUMBLE HOME.</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<p> Mine own dear home!</p> +<p> Father, I love not this new state; these halls,</p> +<p> Where comfort dies in vastness; these trim maids,</p> +<p> Whose service wearies me. Oh! mine old home!</p> +<p> My quiet, pleasant chamber, with the myrtle</p> +<p> Woven round the casement; and the cedar by,</p> +<p> Shading the sun; my garden overgrown</p> +<p> With flowers and herbs, thick-set as grass in fields;</p> +<p> My pretty snow-white doves: my kindest nurse;</p> +<p> And old Camillo!—Oh! mine own dear home!</p> +</div></div> + +<h3> +AMBITION.</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<p> Alas! alas!</p> +<p> I tremble at the height, Whene'er I think</p> +<p> Of the hot barons, of the fickle people,</p> +<p> And the inconstancy of power, I tremble</p> +<p> For thee, dear father.</p> +</div></div> + +<h3> +RIENZI'S WRONGS.</h3> + +<div class="poem"> +<p> +<i>One of the Ursini is condemned to death—his brother intercedes</i>.</p> +<div class="stanza"> +<p> <i>Rie</i>. And darest talk thou to me of brothers? Thou,</p> +<p> Whose groom—wouldst have me break my own just laws,</p> +<p> To save thy brother? thine! Hast thou forgotten</p> +<p> When that most beautiful and blameless boy,</p> +<p> The prettiest piece of innocence that ever</p> +<p> Breath'd in this sinful world, lay at thy feet,</p> +<p> Slain by thy pampered minion, and I knelt</p> +<p> Before thee for redress, whilst thou—didst never</p> +<p> Hear talk of retribution? This is justice,</p> +<p> Pure justice, not revenge!—Mark well, my lords,</p> +<p> Pure, equal justice. Martin Ursini</p> +<p> Had open trial, is guilty, is condemned,</p> +<p> And he shall die!</p> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<p> <i>Colonna</i>. Yet listen to us—</p> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<p> <i>Rie</i>. Lords,</p> +<p> If ye could range before me all the peers,</p> +<p> Prelates, and potentates of Christendom,—</p> +<p> The holy pontiff kneeling at my knee,</p> +<p> And emperors crouching at my feet, to sue</p> +<p> For this great robber, still I should be blind</p> +<p> As justice. But this very day a wife,</p> +<p> One infant hanging at her breast, and two,</p> +<p> Scarce bigger, first-born twins of misery,</p> +<p> Clinging to the poor rags that scarcely hid</p> +<p> Her squalid form, grasped at my bridle-rein</p> +<p> To beg her husband's life; condemned to die</p> +<p> For some vile, petty theft, some paltry scudi:</p> +<p> And, whilst the fiery war-horse chaf'd and sear'd,</p> +<p> Shaking his crest, and plunging to get free,</p> +<p> There, midst the dangerous coil, unmov'd, she stood,</p> +<p> Pleading in piercing words, the very cry</p> +<p> Of nature! And, when I at last said no—</p> +<p> For I said no to her—she flung herself</p> +<p> And those poor innocent babes between the stones</p> +<p> And my hot Arab's hoofs. We sav'd them all—</p> +<p> Thank heaven, we sav'd them all! but I said no</p> +<p> To that sad woman, midst her shrieks. Ye dare not</p> +<p> Ask me for mercy now.</p> +</div></div> + +<h3> +THE USURPER.</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<p> He bears him like a prince, save that he lacks</p> +<p> The port serene of majesty. His mood</p> +<p> Is fitful; stately now, and sad; anon,</p> +<p> Full of a hurried mirth; courteous awhile,</p> +<p> And mild; then bursting, on a sudden, forth,</p> +<p> Into sharp, biting taunts.</p> +</div> +<hr/> +<div class="stanza"> +<p> New power</p> +<p> Mounts to the brain like wine. For such disease,</p> +<p> Your skilful leech lets blood.</p> +</div></div> + +<h3> +RIENZI ON HIS DAUGHTER'S MARRIAGE.</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<p> A bridal</p> +<p> Is but a gilt and painted funeral</p> +<p> To the fond father who hath yielded up</p> +<p> His one sweet child. Claudia, thy love, thy duty,</p> +<p> Thy very name, is gone. Thou are another's;</p> +<p> Thou hast a master now; and I have thrown</p> +<p> My precious pearl away. Yet men who give</p> +<p> A living daughter to the fickle will</p> +<p> Of a capricious bridegroom, laugh—the madmen!</p> +<p> Laugh at the jocund bridal feast, and weep</p> +<p> When the fair corse is laid in blessed rest,</p> +<p> Deep, deep in mother earth. Oh, happier far,</p> +<p> So to have lost my child!</p> +</div></div> + +<h3> +FICKLE GREATNESS.</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<p> Thou art as one</p> +<p> Perched on some lofty steeple's dizzy height,</p> +<p> Dazzled by the sun, inebriate by long draughts</p> +<p> Of thinner air; too giddy to look down</p> +<p> Where all his safety lies; too proud to dare</p> +<p> The long descent to the low depths from whence</p> +<p> The desperate climber rose.</p> +</div></div> + +<h3> +RIENZI'S ORIGIN.</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<p> There's the sting,—</p> +<p> That I, an insect of to-day, outsoar</p> +<p> The reverend worm, nobility! Wouldst shame me</p> +<p> With my poor parentage!—Sir, I'm the son</p> +<p> Of him who kept a sordid hostelry</p> +<p> In the Jews' quarter—my good mother cleansed</p> +<p> Linen for honest hire.—Canst thou say worse?</p> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<p> <i>Ang</i>. Can worse be said?</p> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<p> <i>Rie</i>. Add, that my boasted schoolcraft</p> +<p> Was gained from such base toil, gained with such pain,</p> +<p> That the nice nurture of the mind was oft</p> +<p> Stolen at the body's cost. I have gone dinnerless</p> +<p> And supperless, the scoff of our poor street,</p> +<p> For tattered vestments and lean, hungry looks,</p> +<p> To pay the pedagogue.—Add what thou wilt</p> +<p> Of injury. Say that, grown into man,</p> +<p> I've known the pittance of the hospital,</p> +<p> And, more degrading still, the patronage</p> +<p> Of the Colonna. Of the tallest trees</p> +<p> The roots delve deepest. Yes, I've trod thy halls,</p> +<p> Scorned and derided midst their ribald crew,</p> +<p> A licensed jester, save the cap and bells,</p> +<p> I have borne this—and I have borne the death,</p> +<p> The unavenged death, of a dear brother.</p> +<p> I seemed, I was, a base, ignoble slave.</p> +<p> What am I?—Peace, I say!—What am I now?</p> +<p> Head of this great republic, chief of Rome—</p> +<p> In all but name, her sovereign—last of all,</p> +<p> Thy father.</p> +</div></div> + +<h3> +CIVIL WAR.</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<p> The city's full</p> +<p> Of camp-like noises—tramp of steeds, and clash</p> +<p> Of mail, and trumpet-blast, and ringing clang</p> +<p> Of busy armourers—the grim ban-dog bays—</p> +<p> The champing war horse in his stall neighs loud—</p> +<p> The vulture shrieks aloft.</p> +</div></div> + +<h3> +FEAR.</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<p> Terror, not love,</p> +<p> Strikes anchor in ignoble souls.</p> +</div></div> + +<h3> +THE CAPITOL BELL. +<a id="footnotetag3" name="footnotetag3"></a><a href="#footnote3"> +<sup>3</sup></a> +</h3> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<p> It is the bell that thou so oft hast heard</p> +<p> Summoning the band of liberty—"the bell</p> +<p> That pealed its loud, triumphant note, and raised</p> +<p> Its mighty voice with such a mastery</p> +<p> Of glorious power, as if the spirit of sound</p> + +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page283" name="page283"></a>[pg 283]</span> + +<p> That dwells in the viewless wind, and walks the waves</p> +<p> Of the chafed sea, and rules the thunder-cloud</p> +<p> That shrouded him in that small orb, to spread</p> +<p> Tidings of freedom to the nations."</p> +</div></div> + +<h3> +RIENZI'S FALL.</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<p> And for such I left</p> +<p> The assured condition of my lowliness,—</p> +<p> The laughing days, the peaceful nights, the joys</p> +<p> Of a small, quiet home—for such I risked</p> +<p> Thy peace, my daughter. Abject, crouching slaves!</p> +<p> False, fickle, treacherous, perjured slaves!</p> +</div> +<hr/> +<div class="stanza"> +<p> Oh, had I laid</p> +<p> All earthly passion, pride, and pomp, and power,</p> +<p> And high ambition, and hot lust of rule,</p> +<p> Like sacrificial fruits, upon the altar</p> +<p> Of Liberty, divinest Liberty!</p> +<p> Then—but the dream that filled my soul was vast</p> +<p> As his whose mad ambition thinned the ranks</p> +<p> Of the Seraphim, and peopled hell. These slaves!</p> +<p> These crawling reptiles! May the curse of chains</p> +<p> Cling to them for ever.</p> +</div></div> + +<h3> +LIBERTY.</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<p> For liberty! Go seek</p> +<p> Earth's loftiest heights, and ocean's deepest caves;</p> +<p> Go where the sea-snake and the eagle dwell,</p> +<p> 'Midst mighty elements,—where nature is.</p> +<p> And man is not, and ye may see afar,</p> +<p> Impalpable as a rainbow on the clouds.</p> +<p> The glorious vision! Liberty! I dream'd</p> +<p> Of such a goddess once—dream'd that yon slaves</p> +<p> Were Romans, such as rul'd the world, and I</p> +<p> Their tribune—vain and idle dream! Take back</p> +<p> The symbol and the power.</p> +</div></div> + +<p> +We can well imagine the effect which Mr. Young gives to some of these +eloquent passages. They are full of poetical and dramatic fire. Indeed, +we know of no professor of the histrionic art who could give so accurate +an embodiment of Rienzi—as Mr. Young, the most chaste and discreet, if +not the most impassioned, actor on the British stage. Again, we can +conceive the force of these lines in the manly tones of Mr. Cooper: +</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<p> I know no father, save the valiant dead</p> +<p> Who lives behind a rampart of his slain</p> +<p> In warlike rest. I bend before no king,</p> +<p> Save the dread Majesty of heaven, Thy foe,</p> +<p> Thy mortal foe, Rienzi.</p> +</div></div> + +<p> +In reprinting <i>Rienzi</i>, we suggest a larger size; we fear people in +a second row of either circle of boxes, will find the type of the +present edition too small; besides, they do not want to be checking +the performers, or to be puzzled with "stage directions." +</p> +<hr/> + + +<h3> +THE BOY'S OWN BOOK.</h3> + +<p> +The sight of this little book, as thick as, and somewhat broader than, +a Valpy's Virgil, will make scores of little Lord Lingers think of +"bygone mirth, that after no repenting draws." It is all over a holiday +book, stuck as full of wood-cuts as a cake is of currants, and not like +the widely-thrown fruit of school plum puddings. +</p><p> +To begin with the exterior, which is one of the most ingenious specimens +of block-printing we have yet seen. The medallion frontispiece contains +the Publishers' Dedication to "the young of Great Britain," in return +for which their healths should be drunk at the next breaking-up of every +school in the empire. +</p><p> +As it professes to be a complete encyclopaedia of the sports and +pastimes of youth, it contains, 1. Minor Sports, as marbles, tops, +balls, &c. 2. Athletic Sports. 3. Aquatic Recreations. 4. Birds, +and other boy fancies. 5. Scientific Recreations. 6. Games of Skill. +7. The Conjuror; and 8. Miscellaneous Recreations. All these occupy +460 pages, which, like every sheet of the MIRROR, are as full as an +egg. The vignettes and tail-pieces are the prettiest things we have +ever seen, and some are very picturesque. +</p><p> +In our school-days there was no such book as this <i>Justinian of the +play-ground</i>, if we except a thin volume of games published by Tabart. +Boys then quarrelled upon nice points of play, parties ran high, and +civil war, birch, and the 119th psalm were the consequences. A disputed +marble, or a questioned run at cricket, has thus broken up the harmony +of many a holiday; but we hope that such feuds will now cease; for the +"Boy's Own Book," will settle all differences as effectually as a police +magistrate, a grand jury, or the house of lords. Boys will no longer +sputter and fume like an over-toasted apple; but, even the cares of +childhood will be smoothed into peace; by which means good humour may +not be so rare a quality among men. But to complete this philanthropic +scheme, the publishers of the "<i>Boy's</i> Own Book," intend producing a +similar volume for <i>Girls</i>. This is as it should be, for the <i>Misses</i> +ought to have an equal chance with the <i>Masters</i>—at least so say +we,—<i>plaudite</i>, clap your little hands, and <i>valete</i>, good bye! +</p> +<hr/> + +<h3> +THE NEW YEAR'S GIFT AND JUVENILE SOUVENIR.</h3> + +<p> +The editor, or <i>editress</i>, (for we doubt whether the former is epicene,) +of this elegant little volume is the lady of Mr. Alaric A. Watts, the +editor of the <i>Literary Souvenir</i>. It is expressly designed for the +perusal of children from six to twelve years old, and is, we think, both +by its embellishments and literary contents, calculated to attract +hundreds of juvenile admirers. Indeed, we are surprised that the +children have been so long without <i>their</i> "Annuals," whilst those of +"a larger growth" have been supplied in abundance; but, as Sir Walter +Scott has + +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page284" name="page284"></a>[pg 284]</span> + + set the example of writing for masters and misses, we hope +that our nursery literature will rise in character, and it will not +henceforth be the business of after-years to correct erroneous ideas +imbibed from silly books during our childhood. In this task much time +has been lost. Mrs. Watts is of the same opinion; and with this view, +"the extravagances of those apocryphal personages—giants, ghosts, and +fairies—have been entirely banished from her pages, as tending not only +to enervate the infant mind, and unfit it for the reception of more +wholesome nutriment, but also to increase the superstitious terrors of +childhood,—the editor has not less scrupulously excluded those novel-like +stories of exaggerated sentiment, which may now almost be said +to form the staple commodity of our nursery literature."—(<i>Preface</i>.) +Accordingly, we have in the <i>New Year's Gift</i> three historical pieces +and engravings, illustrating the murder of the young princes in the +Tower; Arthur imploring Hubert not to put out his eyes; and another. +There are from thirty to forty tales, sketches, and poems, among which +are a pretty story, by Mrs. Hofland; a Cricketing Story, by Miss Mitford, +&c. There are two or three little pieces enjoining humanity to animals, +and some pleasing anecdotes of monkeys and tame robins, and a few lines +on the Reed-Sparrow's Nest:— +</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<p> Only see what a neat, warm, compact little thing!</p> +<p> Mister Nash could not build such a house for the king;</p> +<p class="i2"> Not he, let him labour his best.</p> +</div></div> +<p> +Among the poetry are some graceful lines by Mr. Watts to his son; +but our extract must be "The Spider and the Fly, a new version of +an old story," by Mrs. Howitt. It is a lesson for all folks—great +and small—from the infant in the nursery to the emperor of Russia, +the grand signior of Turkey, and the queen of Portugal—or from those +who play with toy-cannons to such as are now figuring on the theatre +of war:— +</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<p> "Will you walk into my parlour" said a spider to a fly:</p> +<p> "'Tis the prettiest little parlour that ever you did spy.</p> +<p> The way into my parlour is up a winding stair,</p> +<p> And I have many pretty things to show you when you are there."</p> +<p> "Oh, no, no!" said the little fly, "to ask me is in vain,</p> +<p> For who goes up your winding stair can ne'er come down again."</p> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<p> "I'm sure you must be weary with soaring up so high,</p> +<p> Will you rest upon my little bed?" said the spider to the fly.</p> +<p> "There are pretty curtains drawn around, the sheets are fine and thin;</p> +<p> And if you like to rest awhile, I'll snugly tuck you in."</p> +<p> "Oh, no, no!" said the little fly, "for I've often heard it said,</p> +<p> They never, never wake again, who sleep upon your bed!"</p> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<p> Said the cunning spider to the fly, "Dear friend, what shall I do,</p> +<p> To prove the warm affection I've always felt for you?</p> +<p> I have, within my pantry, good store of all that's nice—</p> +<p> I'm sure you're very welcome—will you please to take a slice?"</p> +<p> "Oh, no, no!" said the little fly, "kind sir, that cannot be,</p> +<p> I've heard what's in your pantry, and I do not wish to see."</p> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<p> "Sweet creature!" said the spider, "you're witty and you're wise.</p> +<p> How handsome are your gauzy wings, how brilliant are your eyes!</p> +<p> I have a little looking-glass upon my parlour shelf,</p> +<p> If you'll step in one moment, dear, you shall behold yourself."</p> +<p> "I thank you, gentle sir," she said, "for what you're pleased to say,</p> +<p> And bidding you good morning now, I'll call another day."</p> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<p> The spider turned him round about, and went into his den,</p> +<p> For well he knew the silly fly would soon come back again:</p> +<p> So he wove a subtle web, in a little corner, sly,</p> +<p> And set his table ready to dine upon the fly.</p> +<p> Then he went out to his door again, and merrily did sing,</p> +<p> "Come hither, hither, pretty fly, with the pearl and silver wing;</p> +<p> Your robes are green and purple—there's a crest upon your head—</p> +<p> Your eyes are like the diamond bright, but mine are dull as lead,"</p> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<p> Alas, alas how very soon this silly little fly.</p> +<p> Hearing his wily, flattering words, came slowly flitting by;</p> +<p> With buzzing wings she hung aloft, then near and nearer drew,</p> +<p> Thinking only of her brilliant eyes, and green and purple hue;</p> +<p> Thinking only of her crested head—poor foolish thing!—At last</p> +<p> Up jumped the cunning spider, and fiercely held her fast.</p> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<p> He dragged her up his winding stair, into his dismal den,</p> +<p> Within his little parlour—but she ne'er came out again!</p> +<p> —And now, dear little children, who may this story read,</p> +<p> To idle, silly, flattering words, I pray you ne'er give heed:</p> +<p> Unto an evil counsellor close heart, and ear, and eye,</p> +<p> And take a lesson from this tale of the Spider and the Fly.</p> +</div></div> + +<p> +Among the more serious pieces, we notice a beautiful lament of childhood +by Mrs. Hemans, and a hymn by Mrs. Opie. +</p><p> +The engravings, twelve in number, with several little wood-cut +tail-pieces, are beautifully executed; and altogether, the New Year's +Gift deserves a place on the <i>cheffonier</i> shelf of every nursery in the +kingdom. +</p> +<hr/> +<p> +We have received several other "Annuals," which we shall notice in an +early Supplementary Number. +</p> +<hr class="full" /> +<p> +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page285" name="page285"></a>[pg 285]</span></p> + +<h2> +SPIRIT OF THE + +PUBLIC JOURNALS</h2> + +<hr/> +<h3> +ALBUMS</h3> + +<p> +<i>North</i>. ALBUMS! James—these compendiums of wit and wisdom have become +the greatest nuisances of all civilized society—— +</p><p> +<i>Shepherd</i>. Tuts, man—what ails ye at Allbums? +</p><p> +<i>North</i>. They have broken that confidence between man and woman, which, +in our young day, used to form the delight of an acquaintance with an +amiable and accomplished female. In those happy times, how often have we +sat in a bright circle of the fair and young, and talked, and laughed, +in the gaiety of our careless hearts, without fear or apprehension! But +now we are afraid, in the presence of ladies, to give utterance to any +thing beyond a remark upon the weather. It is long since we have drilled +ourselves to attribute smiles and whispers, and even squeezes of the +hand, to their true source. We see an album lurking in every dimple of a +young maiden's cheek, and a large folio common-place book, reposing its +alexandrine length, in every curve of a dowager's double chin. +</p><p> +<i>Shepherd</i>. Tuts, man! What ails ye at Allbums? +</p><p> +<i>North</i>. No age is free from the infection. We go to a house in the +country where there are three unmarried daughters, two aunts, and a +grandmother. Complain not of a lack of employment on a rainy morning, +in such a domicile and establishment as this. You may depend upon it, +that the first patter of rain upon the window is the signal for all the +vellum and morocco bound scrap-books to make a simultaneous rush upon +the table. Forth comes the grandmother, and pushes an old dingy-coloured +volume into your hands, and pointing out a spare leaf, between a recipe +for curing corns, and a mixture for the hooping-cough, she begs you to +fill it up—with any thing you please. +</p><p> +<i>Shepherd</i>. Weel, weel, man—why canna you oblege the auld body? +</p><p> +<i>North</i>. What right has an old woman, with silver spectacles on her +long, thin nose, to enlist any man among the awkward squad which compose +her muster roll? Who can derive inspiration from the boney hand, which +is coaxingly laid on your shoulder, and trembles, not from agitation or +love, but merely from the last attack of the rheumatism? +</p><p> +<i>Shepherd</i>. But young leddies hae their Allbums, too, as weel's auld +anes. +</p><p> +<i>North</i>. And even the young ladies, James, presume too much upon their +power. Is there no way of getting into their books, but by writing in +their albums? Are we to pay for smiles at the rate of so many lines a +dimple? If the fair creatures are anxious to shew they can read, let +them discover it by the tenor of their conversation, and not by large +folios of quotations from books which every body knows; or if they are +anxious to shew that they can write, we can tell them they are very +wrong in having any such wish. I will put it to any man—are not the +pleasantest women of his acquaintance, those to whose handwriting he is +the greatest stranger? Did they not think their adored enslaver, who at +one time was considered, when they were musing on her charms, beneath +some giant tree, within the forest shade, "too fair to worship, too +divine to love,"—did they not think her a little less divine, without +being a bit more loveable, when they pored over, in her autograph, a +long and foolish extract from some dunderhead's poems, with the points +all wrong placed, and many of the words misspelt? +</p><p> +<i>Shepherd</i>. Neither points nor spellin's o' the smallest consequence in +a copy o' verses. +</p><p> +<i>North</i>. Think of the famous lovers of antiquity, James. Do you think +Thisbe kept a scrap-book, or that Pyramus slipped "Lines on Thisbe's +Cat" through the celebrated hole-in-the-wall? No such thing. If he had, +there would have been as little poetry in his love as in his verses. No +man could have had the insolence, not even a Cockney poetaster, to kill +himself for love, after having scribbled namby-pambys in a pale-blue, +gilt-edged album. +</p><p> +<i>Shepherd</i>. Faith—that's rather a lauchable idea. +</p><p> +<i>North</i>. In every point of view, scrap-books are the death of love. Many +a very sensible man can "whisper soft nonsense in a lady's ear," when +all the circumstances of the scene are congenial. We ourselves have +frequently descended to make ourselves merely the most agreeable man in +the world, till we unfortunately discovered that the blockheads who +could not comprehend us when we were serious, were still farther from +understanding the ineffable beauty of our nonsense; so that in both +cases we were the sufferers. They took our elegant badinage for our +sober and settled opinions, and laughed in the most accommodating manner +when we delivered our real and most matured sentiments. +</p> +<h4> +<i>Blackwood's Magazine</i>.</h4> + +<hr class="full" /> +<p> +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page286" name="page286"></a>[pg 286]</span></p> + +<h2> +Notes of a Reader</h2> + +<h3> +LORD BYRON'S FIRST LOVE.—NEWSTEAD.</h3> + +<p> +Sir Richard Phillips who has been for some months on a Tour of Inquiry +and Observation through the United Kingdom, has just published his +<i>First Part</i>, containing Bedfordshire, Northamptonshire, Leicestershire, +and part of Nottinghamshire. Sir Richard visited <i>Newstead</i>, and was +hospitably entertained by Colonel Wildman. In his "Notes," on this +interesting spot, he says,—"While in this vicinity, I heard many +particulars of BYRON'S first love, a passion which tinged the whole +of his future life. Near Newstead stands Annesley Hall, a house as +considerable and venerable as Newstead itself; and the daughter of the +owner, Mr. Chaworth, was an heiress of immense fortune, interesting, and +amiable, but about four years older than Byron. He fell in love with +her, but she had formed an early attachment for Capt. Musters, of the +Nottingham militia, whom she married. After she had some children, she +fell into a low state of mind, and separation was the consequence; but, +on recovering, she was reunited to her husband, and has since borne him +several children. She still lives, but has long been in very infirm +health. The affair forms the subject of Lord Byron's justly celebrated +<i>Dream</i>, printed with the 'Prisoner of Chillon.' +</p><p> +"From the eastern windows of the southern front of Newstead, all the +scenery of the poem is visible, except Annesley Hall, which lies over +the cape of which he speaks; but there still are trees, and the high +point at which he describes the impassioned interview. I read the poem +with the objects before me, and was overpowered by the sympathies and +recollections which must be familiar to all men, for most men have felt +as Byron felt, though few ever portrayed their feelings with such energy +of thought and language. +</p><p> +"Night overtaking me at Newstead, the splendid hospitality of Colonel +Wildman was kindly exerted, and he indulged a sentimental traveller by +allowing me to sleep in Byron's room and Byron's bed. Those who admire +Byron, (and for those who do not, I care but little) will participate +in the luxury of such a night. The bed is elegantly surmounted with +baronial coronets, but it was Byron's and I cared nothing for the +coronets, though all the conveniences of the apartment were delightful. +</p><p> +"I will add to these details a fact which will interest many; that the +dog which Lord Byron reared in Greece, and the grandson of Boatswain, +having been brought home with his body, is still alive at Newstead, +cherished for the sake of his master, and respected for his own good +qualities." +</p><p> +We shall return to Sir Richard's "Tour" in our next number; for it +possesses extraordinary attractions for all classes of readers. +</p> +<hr/> + +<h3> +THE ANNUALS.—THE LITERARY SOUVENIR.</h3> + +<p> +One hundred guineas is stated to be the lowest cost of either of the +engravings in "the Literary Souvenir for 1829;" some of them, indeed, +cost from 150 to 170 guineas each. A circulation of less than from 8 +to 9,000 copies, would entail a loss upon the proprietors; so that the +expense of "getting up" this superb "Annual" probably exceeds 3,500l.; +and taking this sum for the average of six others published at the same +price, and with a proportionate advance for two more published at one +guinea each, the outlay of capital in these works is from 35 to +40,000l. +<a id="footnotetag4" name="footnotetag4"></a><a href="#footnote4"> +<sup>4</sup></a> + This sum would purchase <i>Five Million</i> numbers of THE +MIRROR, or 80 million printed pages, with 10 million impressions of +woodcuts! +</p> + +<hr/> + +<h3> +TRUE CONSOLATION.</h3> + +<p> +A citizen of Geneva having lost his wife, he, according to the custom of +the country, attended the funeral to the cemetery, which is out of the +city. Somebody meeting him on his return from this painful ceremony, +assumed a sorrowful countenance, and in the tenderest manner possible, +asked him how he did. "Oh," replied the widower, "I am very well at +present; this little walk has set me up; there is nothing like country +air." +</p> +<hr/> + +<h3> +HARD RAIN.</h3> + +<p> +Mr. Rae Wilson tells us, that he saw some huge stones of granite on his +road to Mecklenburgh, which he says actually seem to have been rained +there; in which belief he is strengthened by a story in a Philadelphia +newspaper, of "a spitting of stones, which ended in a regular shower at +Nashville, in May, 1825!"—There is seldom a good story without its +match. +</p> +<hr/> + +<h3> +FRENCH PRISON.</h3> + +<p> +A recent letter from Paris gives the following account of the Debtors' +Prison, compared with which, it seems, our <i>Fleet</i> + +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page287" name="page287"></a>[pg 287]</span> + + is a perfect +Arcadia:—Each room contains four beds, small, dirty, and damp; so that +the eyes of the unfortunate inmates become red and inflamed; not even a +window can be shut to keep out a current of air. If a creditor visits a +debtor who wishes to be revenged, the latter has only to cry <i>au loup</i>, +when all parties assail the unlucky creditor, and <i>perhaps murder him!</i> +Gambling is the great resource of the ignorant, so that frequently those +who have only a few pence per day to exist on, are obliged to fast +entirely, having anticipated their allowance; many even pawn their +coats, and walk about <i>en chemise!</i> +</p> +<hr/> + +<h3> +NOLLEKENS.</h3> + +<p> +When Nollekens, the sculptor, was at Rome, in 1760, he was recognised +by Garrick with the familiar exclamation of "What! let me look at you, +are you the little fellow to whom we gave the prizes at the Society of +Arts?" "Yes, Sir," being the answer, Garrick invited him to breakfast +the next morning, and sat to him for his bust, for which he paid +Nollekens £12. 12s. in gold; this was the first bust he ever modelled. +Sterne sat to him when at Rome, and that bust brought him into great +notice. +</p> +<hr/> + +<h3> +INDIAN TRADITION.</h3> + +<p> +Among the various Indian traditions of the Creation and fall of man is +the following:—In the beginning, a few men rose out of the ground, but +there was no woman among them. One of them found out a road to heaven, +where he met a woman; they offended the Great Spirit, upon which they +were both thrust out. They fell on the back of the tortoise; the woman +was delivered of male twins; in process of time, one of these twins slew +the other.—<i>Dr. Walsh</i>. +</p> +<hr/> + +<h3> +THE AGE OF THIRTY.</h3> + +<p> +I always looked to about thirty, as the barrier of any real or fierce +delight in the passions, and determined to work them out in the younger +ore and better veins of the mine; and, I flatter myself, that perhaps, +I have pretty well done so, and now the <i>dross</i> is coming, and <i>I love +lucre</i>; for we must love something; at least, if I have not quite worked +out the others, it is not for want of labouring hard to do so.—<i>Lord +Byron</i>, in 1823. +</p> +<hr/> + +<h3> +COVENT GARDEN.</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<p> Where holy friars told their beads,</p> +<p> And nuns confess'd their evil deeds.</p> +<p> But, O sad change! O shame to tell,</p> +<p> How soon a prey to vice it fell!</p> +<p> How—since its justest appellation</p> +<p> Is Grand Seraglio to the Nation.</p> +</div></div> +<h4> +<i>Satire</i>, 1756.</h4> + +<hr/> + +<h3> +CROSS TIMES.</h3> + +<p> +When everybody was in suspense in consequence of the vacillating conduct +of the French government, a gentleman with a determined <i>squint</i>, one +day approached Talleyrand, and said to him, "Well, prince, how do +affairs go on?" "As you see," replied Talleyrand. +</p> +<hr/> + +<h3> +CHANGING HATS.</h3> + +<p> +Barry, the painter, was with Nollekens, at Rome, in 1760, and they were +extremely intimate. Barry took the liberty one night when they were +about to leave the English coffee-house, to exchange hats with him; +Barry's was edged with lace, and Nollekens' was a very shabby plain +one. Upon his returning the hat the next morning, he was requested by +Nollekens to let him know why he left him his gold-laced hat. "Why, to +tell you the truth, my dear Joey," answered Barry, "I fully expected +assassination last night; and I was to have been known by my laced hat." +Nollekens often used to relate the story, adding, "It's what the Old +Bailey people would call a true bill against Jem."—<i>Nollekens's Life +and Times</i>. +</p> +<hr/> +<p> +Napoleon's Roman bed at Malmaison was without curtains, and his arms +were hung on the walls of the chamber. +</p> +<hr/> + + +<h3> +LINES WRITTEN ON A JOURNEY OVER THE BROCKEN.</h3> +<h4> +BY S.T. COLERIDGE.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<p> —————————————— I moved on</p> +<p> With low and languid thought, for I had found</p> +<p> That grandest scenes have but imperfect charms</p> +<p> Where the eye vainly wanders, nor beholds</p> +<p> One spot with which the heart associates</p> +<p> Holy remembrances of child or friend,</p> +<p> Or gentle maid, our first and early love,</p> +<p> Or father, or the venerable name</p> +<p> Of our adored country. <i>O thou Queen,</i></p> +<p> <i>Thou delegated Deity of Earth,</i></p> +<p> <i>Oh "dear, dear" England, how my longing eyes</i></p> +<p> <i>Turned westward, shaping in the steady clouds</i></p> +<p> <i>Thy sands and high white cliffs!</i> Sweet native isle,</p> +<p> This heart was proud, yea, mine eyes swam with tears</p> +<p> To think of thee; and all the goodly view</p> +<p> From sovran Brocken, woods and woody hills</p> +<p> Floated away, like a departing dream,</p> +<p> Feeble and dim.</p> +</div></div> +<h4><i>Amulet for</i> 1829.</h4> + +<p> +We wish a few more of the tourists who are picking their way over the +continent, would illustrate their books of travels with such noble +sentiments as are contained in these few lines—instead of the querulous +whinings about cheap and dear living, the miseries of our climate, and a +thousand other ills of the <i>malade imaginaire</i>. +</p> +<hr/> +<p> +Madame De Souza used to say that "cleanliness is the excellence of the +poor." +</p> +<hr class="full" /> +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page288" name="page288"></a>[pg 288]</span> + +<h2> +The Gatherer.</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><p> + A snapper up of unconsidered trifles.</p> +</div></div> +<h4>Shakspeare.</h4> + +<hr/> + +<h3> +RUSSIA AND TURKEY.</h3> +<h4> +(<i>To the Editor of the Mirror</i>.)</h4> + +<p> +The following intelligence from the seat of war, though premature in +some respects, and <i>not quite</i> new in others, may be acceptable to your +readers, from A.A.A. +</p> +<h3> +ALPHABETICAL ALLITERATION.</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<p> An awful army, artfully array'd,</p> +<p> Boldly by battery besieg'd Belgrade;</p> +<p> Cossack commanders cannonading come,</p> +<p> Dealing destruction's devastating doom,</p> +<p> Every endeavour engineers essay,</p> +<p> For fame, for fortune, forming furious fray.</p> +<p> Gaunt gunners grapple, giving gashes good,</p> +<p> Heaves high his head heroic hardihood;</p> +<p> Ibraham, Islam, Ismael, imps in ill,</p> +<p> Jostle John Jarovlitz, Jem, Joe, Jack, Jill.</p> +<p> Kick kindling Kutusoff, king's kinsmen kill;</p> +<p> Labour low levels loftiest, longest lines,</p> +<p> Men march 'mid moles, 'mid mounds, 'mid murd'rous mines.</p> +<p> Now nightfall's near, now needful nature nods,</p> +<p> Oppos'd, opposing, overcoming odds.</p> +<p> Poor peasants, partly purchas'd, partly press'd,</p> +<p> Quite quaking, "Quarter!—quarter!" quickly 'quest.</p> +<p> Reason returns, recalls redundant rage,</p> +<p> Saves sinking soldiers, softens signiors sage.</p> +<p> Truce, Turkey, truce! truce, treach'rous Tartar train!</p> +<p> Unwise, unjust, unmerciful ukraine!</p> +<p> Vanish, vile vengeance! vanish, victory vain!</p> +<p> Wisdom wails war—wails warring words. What were</p> +<p> Xerxes, Xantippe, Ximenes, Xavier?</p> +<p> Yet, Yassy's youth, ye yield your youthful yest,</p> +<p> Zealously, zanies, zealously, zeal's zest.</p> +</div></div> + +<hr/> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<p> Ye learned, pray say, who dark mysteries unfold,</p> +<p> Why razors cut better with <i>hot</i> water than <i>cold</i>.</p> +</div></div> + +<p> +Every kind of knife or razor is a fine saw, though we cannot possibly +see it with the naked eye; and on all the edges of those fine polished +tools there sticks a kind of resinous substance, which, when put into +warm water, takes off the same, and makes the razor cut more easy and +free. +</p> +<hr/> +<p> +A father had three sons, in whose company he was walking when an old +enemy of his came running out of an ambush, and inflicted a severe wound +upon him before any of the bystanders could interfere. The eldest son +pursued the assassin, the second bound up his father's wound, and the +third swooned away. Which of the sons loved his father best? +</p> +<hr/> + +<h3> +MRS. BILLINGTON.</h3> + +<p> +At a rehearsal of <i>As You Like It</i>, Mrs. Billington, who sustained the +principal female character, called out in a very peremptory manner, +"Fellow, bring me my crook." Mr. Simmonds, the property-man, immediately +replied, "Madam, your fellow is not here." She felt the rebuke, and made +the request more successfully in more proper language; thus by hook or +by crook obtaining it. +</p> +<hr/> +<p> +Cato the Censor only repented of three things during his life—to have +gone by sea when he could go by land, to have passed a day inactive, and +to have told a secret to his wife. +</p> +<hr/> + +<h3> +"GONE TO JERICHO."</h3> + +<p> +Tradition says that there is more than one place in the county of Essex +to which Henry VIII. used occasionally to retire with his mistresses. +One of these was Blackmore, at some distance from Shenfield. The +manor-house of Blackmore is called <i>Jericho;</i> so when Harry chose to +retire with his mistresses, the cant phrase among the courtiers was, +"<i>He was gone to Jericho</i>." Hence this proverb or saying. +</p> +<h4> +HALBERT H.</h4> + +<hr/> + +<h3> +HUMBLE, OR UMBLE PIE.</h3> + +<p> +The shanks and feet of a buck being called <i>umbles</i>, were formerly made +into a pie for the retainers or feudal servants. Hence arose the old +saying of "You shall eat humble pie." +</p> +<h4> +HALBERT H.</h4> + +<hr/> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<p> Says Tom, "Your lass look'd like a winter's day,</p> +<p class="i2"> When last I saw her with the Misses Flirty."</p> +<p> "Indeed, you're merry, but tell me pray?"</p> +<p class="i2"> "Why, then," quoth Tom, "she was both short and dirty."</p> +</div></div> + +<h4> +W.G—y.</h4> + +<hr class="full" /> + +<blockquote class="footnote"> +<a id="footnote1" name="footnote1"></a> +<b>Footnote 1</b>: +<a href="#footnotetag1">(return)</a> +<p>From the time of Alcibiades to the reign of Mahommed II., +Constantinople has undergone twenty-four sieges.</p> +</blockquote> + +<blockquote class="footnote"> +<a id="footnote2" name="footnote2"></a> +<b>Footnote 2</b>: +<a href="#footnotetag2">(return)</a> +<p> Indisposition has as yet prevented our witnessing the +representation of <i>Rienzi</i>; but we have been told by our play-going +friends that every scene is listened to with marked attention, and that +many passages are judiciously applauded. We are glad to hear this, +because it is strong encouragement for other dramatists, and leads us +to hope that tragedy-writing may still be revived among us, and that +with greater success than has attended many recent efforts.</p> +</blockquote> + +<blockquote class="footnote"> +<a id="footnote3" name="footnote3"></a> +<b>Footnote 3</b>: +<a href="#footnotetag3">(return)</a> +<p> The passage between commas is omitted in the +representation, but we know not why.</p> +</blockquote> + + +<blockquote class="footnote"> +<a id="footnote4" name="footnote4"></a> +<b>Footnote 4</b>: +<a href="#footnotetag4">(return)</a> +<p> The portion of this sum paid for the literary department +would form a curious item in the records of genius, especially in +contrast with Milton's five pounds for his <i>Paradise Lost</i>.</p> +</blockquote> + +<hr class="full" /> +<p> +<i>Printed and Published by J. LIMBIRD 143, Strand, (near Somerset House,) +London: sold by ERNEST FLEISCHER, 626, New Market, Leipsic; and by all +Newsmen and Booksellers</i>.</p> +<hr class="full" /> + +<div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 11210 ***</div> +</body> +</html> + + diff --git a/11210-h/images/338-1.png b/11210-h/images/338-1.png Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..5c7a0bf --- /dev/null +++ b/11210-h/images/338-1.png diff --git a/11210-h/images/338-2.png b/11210-h/images/338-2.png Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..cca3682 --- /dev/null +++ b/11210-h/images/338-2.png |
