THE MIRROR
OF
LITERATURE, AMUSEMENT, AND INSTRUCTION.

CUMBERLAND TERRACE, REGENT’S PARK.

The annexed Engraving completes our Series of Architectural Illustrations
of the REGENT’S PARK, and is, withal the most magnificent Terrace in the circuit. It
stands considerably above the road, and is approached by a fine carriage sweep, with
handsome balustrades; below which, and level with the road, is the garden, or
promenade for the residents of the Terrace.

The architect of Cumberland Terrace is Mr. Nash, who appears to have been so
lavish of ornament, as to give the whole range the appearance of a triumphal temple.
It consists of a centre and wings, connected by two handsome arches, which have a
very pleasing and novel effect. The entrance, or ground story throughout, is
rusticated, and in the principal parts or masses of the elevation, serves as a base
or pediment for handsome Doric columns, above which is a balustrade, on which are
placed allegorical figures of the Seasons, the Quarters of the Globe, the Arts and
Sciences, &c. Each of these masses has a most imposing appearance, and bears four
figures; the figures in the whole range amount to twenty-seven. Above the balustrade
rises the attic story. The subordinate fronts of the residences are embellished with
Doric pilasters.

Each arch consists of four handsome Doric columns, with an entablature, and
blocking course.

The central portion of the terrace is in correspondent style with the wings; and
consists of a splendid colonnade of twelve columns and an entablature. Above the
attic story rises a pediment surmounted with figures of Painting, Architecture, and
Sculpture. This pediment is filled with a basso-relievo, executed by J.H. Bubb, and
representing Britannia crowned by Fame, and seated on a throne, the basis of which
represents Valour and Wisdom. On one side, Literature, Genius, Manufacture,
Agriculture, and Prudence, are bringing youth of different nations for instruction;
and on the other side, the guardian-spirit of the Navy, surmounted by Victory,
Navigation, Commerce, and Freedom, is extending her blessings to the Africans. The
group is terminated on each side by Plenty. This is supposed to be the largest
ornamental pediment in the kingdom, with the exception of that of the portico of St.
Paul’s, which only exceeds it by a few feet.

From the sweep of this terrace may be enjoyed a highly picturesque view of the
park, with the crown of Primrose Hill in the distance.

At this close of the Series of Views, and as we are approaching the conclusion of
our volume, it may not be amiss to recapitulate the several engravings, with their
pages in the preceding and present volumes of the MIRROR, and the order in which they
stand in the Regent’s Park, which order circumstances have prevented our uniformly
following in their publication: thus—

In this Series we have endeavoured to represent all the architectural
beauties of the Park, and liable as are all of them to critical objection, they are
extremely interesting for pictorial displays of the taste of this castle-building
age.

THE KING’S STAG, &C.

(To the Editor of the Mirror.)

As several of your correspondents have lately interested themselves in the sign of
“The Cat and Fiddle;” a few observations may not be thought irrelevant, on the
probable origin of the “King’s Stag,” a description of which, under the signature,
Ruris, appeared in the MIRROR, of Saturday, the 30th ult. Its rise may, I
conceive, with tolerable certainty, be traced to the stag said to have been taken in
the Forest of Senlis, by Charles the Sixth, about whose neck was a collar, with the
inscription, “Caesar hoc mihi donavit”, which induced a belief that the animal
had lived from the reign of some one of the twelve Caesars. This inscription also
exists in the following form:—

which has been thus literally translated in nearly the same words quoted by
Ruris—

It thus appears that Julius Caesar is gratuitously introduced by the
English paraphrast, nothing appearing in the original inscription to determine its
application, or render it more probable, that the reference should be to Julius
Caesar, than to Domitian; and the two first lines given by Ruris, have
evidently been introduced by way of transferring the subject to our own country.

Allow me before concluding this communication, one word in reply to E.D.’s
observations on the “Cat and Fiddle.” It is not impossible that some resemblance
(though I am disposed to think it very trifling) may exist between the “tones of a
flute” and those of “the human voice;” but I have yet to learn wherein
consists the similarity of the notes of the clarinet and those of a “GOOSE;” neither
do I imagine performers on the violin, (especially Italians,) will feel themselves
obliged by E.D.’s comparison of their favourite instrument, to the vile squall of the
feline race. On the whole, I should feel more disposed to concur with him who “has
been led away by a love of etymology” that the “Cat and Fiddle” is an “anomalous”
sign, and that “no two objects in the world have less to do with each other than a
cat and a violin,” than to adopt the opposite theories of E.D. or his predecessor,
unless better supported than they are at present. IOTA.

THE SKETCH-BOOK.

RECOLLECTIONS OF A WANDERER.

The Wreck.¹

(For the Mirror.)

Sweet romantic Cove of Torwich—repository of my youth’s
recollections!—A mingled gust of feeling crosses over me,
rainbow-like,—fraught with the checkered remembrances of “life’s eventful
history,” when I turn to the past, and glance over the scenes of my early life.

The Bay of Torwich, on the southern coast, unites in its fullest extent the
singularly wild and picturesque, with the softer features of the landscape. The bay
consists of two headlands, about four miles apart. On the eastern side a lofty range
of rocky heights extends for a considerable way, almost equalling those of Dovor in
sublimity, and juts out into the sea, on the assaults of which they seem to frown
defiance, terminating in a bold headland. The violence of the sea has caused
extensive and picturesque excavations and caverns; and at the end of the cliff, two
sharp rocks called the Needles, raised their heads at low water, connected by a low,
sunken reef. In a westerly gale these rocks were very dangerous to homeward-bound
ships, and I have often sat with admiration in the heights above, watching the
grotesque forms and silvery spray of the gigantic breakers, which after being broken
in their progress, heaved their expiring rage with a shock like thunder, against the
base of the cliffs, causing a prolonged echo in the huge caverns above. About midway
between these cliffs and the western side there was another lofty headland, which
terminated the Cove of Torwich; as the sea, except at low-water in high spring tides,
washed the foot of this promontory, it was only fordable at ebb-tide. In the middle
of the intermediate space, three rocks which might truly be called “forked
promontories” from their sharp pyramidical shape, jutted abruptly out of the beach,
and were connected by a sort of natural causeway to the main land. Beyond, a wild and
rocky valley ran inland, and the time-worn ruins of —— Castle, beetling
over the heights, terminated the view in this direction. This valley formed the bed
of a small stream, which ran by the end of the rocks, composing a channel by which
coasting vessels could run up and discharge their cargoes for the village of Torwich,
only part of which was visible at this spot. A natural cleft in the vein opened
through the centre of these singular rocks, resembling a lofty gothic arch, and it
was my favourite pastime to sit here in the most perfect seclusion, reading “sermons
in stones” and watching the progress of the tide till it kissed my feet, and often
surrounded me, for the flood came in with great velocity. Between these rocks and the
heights on the eastern side, there was another little retired creek, renowned in the
village annals, for the adventures of Jack Covering, a noted smuggler on this coast,
some forty years ago, with the locality of which the reader will erewhile become
better acquainted. The magnificence of the convulsed scenery, and yawning chasms
around, the deep intonation and ceaseless roar of the ocean, all combined to awaken
in the mind of the spectator, mingled sensations of admiration and awe.

The coast receded between the eastern point of the cove to that which terminated
the Bay of Torwich, embracing what may be almost termed a champaign country, compared
with the barren scenery I have described; and displaying the uneven surface of the
richly wooded Park of Dovedale, with the ruins of two castles.

The village of Torwich which stood on a declivity, with an opening descent to the
shore, about half a mile from the entrance of the cove, had little communication,
from the nature of its site, with the neighbouring country, except when the
all-powerful attraction of a wreck existed. Its inhabitants were chiefly sailors or
fishermen, barring a few useless individuals like myself. I loved to study life in
all its gradations—the “March of Intellect” was yet unknown here! and though
the situation afforded such numerous advantages for smuggling, there were, rather
unaccountably, only three persons in the village connected with the coast blockade;
and it was whispered that relying on the entire seclusion of the cove, these persons
too often winked when they ought to have been astir on their duty.

The day was far spent, when towards the close of the month of October, 18—,
I wandered out to the shore to watch the flow of the evening’s tide. The weather had
been unsettled for some time previous, and the rain had fallen in torrents, with a
moderate breeze, during most part of the day. Towards evening the rain ceased, though
large heavy masses of black clouds were flying about, and backing up to seaward,
accompanied with a short gusty gale of wind. I never recollect a more dismal night. A
thick haze overspread the lower parts of the landscape, throwing the bloated masses
of clouds higher up in the horizon, into a sort of sombre relief. As I passed a
little look-out house on my way to the beach, I sauntered to a group of sailors at
their usual council, who were gazing with deep interest at a solitary vessel dimly
discernible through the fog in the offing. As she neared us we found her to be a
barque of apparently considerable burthen, making a tack to weather the Torhead,
which lay several miles under her lee, with a strong breeze from windward. She was
evidently quite out of her reckoning from the indecision and embarassment displayed
in her movements; and the captain seemed not sufficiently aware of the hazard he ran.
I waited sometime at this place watching the movements of the ship. The tide came
roaring in with a broken swell increased by a high spring flood; and there was that
in the “wind’s eye” which betokened approaching disaster; while the gloom was
increasing, and the harsh cries and hurried flight of the sea-birds indicated
tempestuous weather.

“An ugly looking night this, Mr. —— as I have seen for many a-day,”
remarked Harry Covering, one of the oldest of the group of sailors, and a crony of
mine. “Sink the Customs! if yon ship weathers Torhead this night, may I never pull an
oar again.” “It is, indeed, a fearful-looking night, messmate, and no time ought to
be lost in the present state of the tide in putting off to her—for if the wind
holds in this part, it is great odds indeed, that she does not go upon the
Needles.”

The breeze was freshening every moment; indeed the situation of the strange ship
must soon become imminently dangerous. The crew seemed at last to have awakened from
their lethargy, and were apparently making every effort to enable her to gain an
offing and weather Torhead, before the combined force of wind and flood should render
that impracticable. It was a moment of deep interest. I am not acquainted with any
event, notwithstanding the frequency of its recurrence, that appeals more directly to
our sympathies, than a shipwreck. The mighty power of the ocean is thus brought
before us in its most striking sense, and the general scene of disaster it occasions
is almost always varied with instances of individual sympathy for some of the
wrecked. We were now joined by the resident officer of the coast-blockade, and a
party of men were dispatched to pull off to the ship in distress, while the rest of
us hurried towards the Torhead, accompanied in our rear, (for the news had reached
the village) by a turn-out of most of its inhabitants, influenced both by the passion
of curiosity and that of expected plunder. Many of the older class looked upon
wrecking as legitimate a trade as fishing for herrings or pilchards; while perhaps
nearly all from the force of habit and long-practised example, regarded a wreck as a
booty sent them by the elements; the scattered contents of which it was no more crime
to take than it would be to pick up any other thing cast by accident on the
beach.

The sea was breaking over the needles with frightful violence when we reached
Torhead—the spray dashing almost to the summit of the cliffs. We were now
almost opposite the vessel, which appeared to be French built; but the increasing
darkness prevented our distinguishing her minutely. The, flash of a gun from her
side, amidst the deepening gloom, redoubled my interest. A more interesting object
than a solitary vessel in danger, I cannot well conceive. I have always looked upon a
ship as a living creature—the companion of man—a thing instinct with
life, walking the waters—and our feelings are not only excited for the safety
of the crew, but for that of the vessel itself, to which we attach a degree of
interest as for a friend. A gale was now up; the boat put off to their aid was in
danger of being swamped by the surf, and found it impracticable to make way against a
violent head-wind and tide united. Nothing short of a miracle could now save the
ship; however the wind suddenly shifted a little, and I began to hope that if she was
to be wrecked, it might be farther on the shore; as in case of her striking on the
Needles, she must almost immediately go to pieces under our eyes, without the most
remote chance of the escape of one of the crew. A sheet of light flashed occasionally
from her sides, calling for aid out of the power of man to grant. There was a sudden
lull in the wind, which sometimes happens in the most violent tempests, though often
succeeded by increased fury; and a strong shower of sleet and rain drove most of our
followers home. As it had now become quite dark, and it was morally impossible to
yield the ship any aid till daylight, I returned to the village with melancholy
forebodings, having placed beacons on the heights.

I hastily proceeded again to the shore just before daybreak. The distant moaning
of the sea, the harsh screams of the cormorants with the desolate nature of the spot,
chilled my spirits. I had passed a sleepless night, and the storm rose again, and
raged till near daybreak with increased fury, but the wind was now greatly hushed.
The sea, however, showed marks of its violence; the bay was white with foam, and as I
proceeded, the tide, which was just beginning to flow, roared loudly, and advanced in
short breakers wreathed with spray. The sky also looked dismally, and gave token that
the gale had not entirely passed away, though its violence had temporarily abated. I
advanced with deep interest by the peaked group of rocks, and passed the wreck of a
brig lying high and dry on the sand just before me. The whole of the shore between
the Heads, was strewed with her contents. I never witnessed so total a wreck in so
short a space of time. The violence of the surf had completely beaten her sides out,
leaving stem and stern hanging together as by a thread, while her ribs and broken
cordage and sails, completed the picture, had any thing been wanting to perfect it. I
could moralize any day on a single bit of plank on a shore—each fragment seems
to tell its tale, and awakens a train of thoughts and feelings in the mind; but “grim
desolation” was here visibly before me.

Though I was early astir, I found that the prospect of booty had been sufficiently
powerful already to draw out not only the inhabitants of Torwich, but great numbers
of the neighbouring peasantry. But where was the ship, about whose fate we had been
so greatly interested the preceding evening? This was manifestly not her; but I
distinctly saw a large, black hull lying under the western cliffs, half a mile
distant, towards which the people were rapidly moving. She had come ashore a little
after high water, during the night. I picked my way through the wreck strewn
around—to a small group of persons standing near me; five of them were
strangers, the crew of the brig. I learnt that my surmises were right concerning the
ship in the distance, and that the brig which was laden with crockery came ashore
about the same period.

I left these poor fellows endeavouring to rescue their little articles of
property, and took a route apart from the course of the crowd towards the other ship.
I had not gone far, when I almost stumbled over the dead body of a young female,
lying with her face uppermost, half buried in the sand—

The bodies of a gentleman of foreign aspect, and that of a lad about seventeen,
(their hands still firmly clasped together, undivided even in death,) lay close by.
It was a melancholy scene. They had evidently been a father and his children. The
long boat of the vessel, which had I suppose, taken ground here, being staved and
swamped by the surf, was close beyond, near which I observed the bodies of several
other men. It was with pain and horror I remarked that some wretches who had been
here before me, had partly stripped the bodies of the lady and others in their search
after plunder, besides rifling the contents of some cases of valuables, which had
been put into the boat. I hastily turned towards the principal scene of disaster, and
addressed myself to one of the survivors, whom I found to be the supercargo. The
vessel was La Bonne Esperance of Brest, of 550 tons, homeward bound, with a
mixed cargo of rum, cotton, and colonial produce, from the West Indies. It appeared
that the captain, mate, and passengers had left the ship just as she struck, and
taken to the long boat, the fatal result of which has been seen. As I surmised, the
bodies I had seen consisted of one family, the only passengers on board, a colonel in
the army, with his son and daughter, returning to his country after long service in
foreign parts. The supercargo, in the confusion which took place, could not get into
the long boat in time, and remained with the rest of the crew on board; several of
the seamen were washed off the decks and dashed against the rocks, and my narrator
and three others were all that survived “to tell the tale.”

The ship’s hull lay jammed between two small rocks near the foot of the cliffs;
she was still almost outwardly entire, as the tide receded just after she came ashore
in the night; but there was a hole knocked in her side from whence a portion of the
cargo had been washed out. The two principal masts had gone by the board, but a part
of the mizen-mast was still standing; and the rocks were covered, far and near, with
tattered portions of her sails and cordage pasted against their sides, disposed by
the sea, in a grotesque manner.

As the principal station of the preventive corps was at a considerable distance,
some time would elapse before they could lend their aid in the protection of the
property; and the mob from the neighbouring country, disappointed at finding little
else but broken crockery at the other wreck, seemed disposed to make the most of
their time, and were proceeding with all the violence and rapacity of professed
wreckers. In spite of the exertions of the officer from Torwich and his assistants,
they were mounting the sides, and had spread themselves over the vessel like a pack
of hungry wolves on the dead carcass of a horse, when I arrived. A scene of greater
confusion and singularity cannot be described.

It was not long before their attention was awakened by the tapping of a cask of
rum, which with many more had been washed out of the hold. This beverage presented a
powerful attraction; the ship was soon, in some measure, deserted, and the mob
concentrated like a swarm of wasps round the casks. All distinctions were now at an
end; the better sort of farmer or shopkeeper, scrambled with the pauper for a cup or
cap (or shoe) full of the mellow liquid; while the supercargo and his men, aided by
myself and a few others, were occupied in hastily putting into some carts the more
valuable articles rescued from plunder. As the parties had been immoderate in their
potations, so the effects were equally speedy. Women lay on the sand, dead drunk,
beside the booty they had collected, while unable to stir, it was snatched from their
powerless grasp by others stronger or more sober than themselves. Several pitched
battles were also taking place, both amongst boys and men, which generally terminated
by each of the combatants falling prostrate martyrs to Bacchus. The infection was
universal, and even the three “mounseers,” the surviving crew of the Bonne Esperance,
could not resist an occasional sly pull at the liquor. These men, though they had
only just escaped sudden death, seemed not to be cast down; but with their
characteristic agility, one minute assisted to roll the casks into carts, and then
ran off perhaps to whisper a compliment to some pretty girl, shrugging up their
shoulders at the unceremonious repulse they met with from mademoiselle.

But this scene was not to last long: for the tide had been imperceptibly making
way and closing. I had always observed that after coming to a certain place, its
velocity was greatly accelerated, and it was with feelings of alarm that I saw the
danger which the almost unconscious people incurred. From regard to our own safety we
had to retreat rapidly towards the shingles, carrying as many of the helpless as time
would admit out of danger, in which we were aided by many of the sailors from
Torwich, who had assisted in rescuing a portion of the cargo. The peasantry, at last
aware of the hazard they ran, took to their heels also; but from the state they were
in, many were forgotten or left behind. The roar of waters came rapidly onward, and
amid the foaming eddy created by its advance, the stifled death-cry, mingled with the
harsh and piercing shrieks of some of the half drowning victims—one moment
awakened to the consciousness of their situation, and the next hurried to
eternity—burst on the ear; and such was the advance of the spring-flood, that a
few minutes after the rush of people had reached the shingles, the curling breakers
rolled the bodies of several of the sufferers almost to their feet. The most lively
interest was now excited towards a small rock, which jutted out of the sand a little
distance from the wreck. The two poor children of a fisherman’s widow in the village,
were playing in a cavity of this rock, when the tide surrounded them. Their voices
were drowned by the roaring of the waters, and their fate would have been unknown,
had not the wild appearance and frantic screams of the mother—come in search of
her children—attracted notice. When they were discovered, only a ledge of the
rock was discernible; and the little sufferers were seen imploring for help amidst
the spray with which the waves, fanned by a stiff breeze from windward, covered them.
Several brave fellows swam off towards the rock, but before they could reach it, a
sudden rush of tide swept over, and engulfed the children amidst the fragments of
wreck hurled forward in its advance. One of the sailors seized the youngest of the
children and bore him safely to shore. The body of the other was found when the tide
ebbed, under a ledge of rocks on the eastern side. Upwards of fifteen persons were
amongst the missing. It was an impressive scene, and read a powerful lesson to
all.

“Wrecking” has long been deservedly a national reproach. It is, however, rarely
accompanied with the cruelty and violence by which it was formerly characterized; and
such aggravated scenes now seldom occur. The people of our coasts have become,
generally, much more civilized, and probably the “march of improvement” will
ultimately eradicate so inhuman a custom. In Cornwall it was carried to such an
excess that the example was even given from the pulpit; and there is a story related
of a Cornish parson, who upon information being brought to his congregation of a
wreck whilst they were at church, exhorted them to pause as they were rushing out
en masse in the midst of the service; and having gained the door, took to his
heels saying, “Now, my lads, it is but fair we should all start alike!” and reached
the wreck first. The people view the plunder of a wreck as a right, and it is in vain
to attempt to persuade them otherwise. However it is but justice to say that they
have frequently risked, and even sacrificed, their own lives in endeavouring to
preserve those of others; though some recent instances, especially in Wales, prove
that the old disposition still lurks amongst the people, and sometimes breaks out
with unabated violence.

The arrival of a party of the Preventive Service that evening, in some measure
proved a check to the plunder of the peasantry; but the guards themselves were not
proof against the prevailing infection, and similar scenes to that related, prevailed
as long as there was any thing left to drink or pick up; however, a considerable part
of the cargo was safely stowed, though there were few of the rum casks that did not
afterwards turn out impregnated with bilge water.

On a fine grey morning, about a week after these events occurred, I wandered out
towards the shore: there had been rough weather in the channel, and many wrecks, and
the turbulence of the ocean had not yet subsided. It was about half-flood when I
reached the Bonne Esperance. She had disappeared by piece-meal under the
repeated assaults of the sea, but the principal part of the hull was still hanging
together. Each wave as it struck her tattered timbers, seemed to sap away her
strength and threatened to shake her to fragments. I sat with the supercargo for
about an hour, watching the flow of the tide. Her timbers cracked louder and louder
at each shock of the breakers; when a heavy sea struck her, her joints loosened, and
she broke up at last, scattered into fragments, and whelmed in a gulf of boiling
waters which foamed like an immense cauldron over the place she had occupied a minute
before. We had watched the progress to this final disaster with the deepest
interest—I may almost say sympathy—for we could hardly help looking upon
the ship as a friend in need, hovering as it were over destruction without an arm
being stretched forth to save her, and it was not without a real feeling of pain and
sorrow that we witnessed her destruction.

About half-ebb we descended to the shore—it was covered as far as the eye
could reach with her ruin and materials; and one could almost imagine it had been the
destruction of a fleet. Thus ended the fate of La Bonne Esperance of Brest,
and the occasional appearance of a solitary fragment on the beach, was soon all that
recalled her history to the remembrance of the passers-by.

VYVYAN.

OLD POETS.

GOOD DEEDS.

DEATH.

BEAUTY.

LEARNING.

FEELING.

INJUSTICE.

RICHES.

THE IDIOT LOVER.

(DRAWN FROM LIFE.)

(For the Mirror.)

John Laconi was born in the romantic country of Switzerland. He was educated
tolerably well; he was a good musician, and could draw excellently. He possessed a
small, though independent fortune. However, notwithstanding his advantages and
acquirements, he proved, when he became a lover, to be an idiot.

At a certain period of his life, he fell violently in love with a beautiful young
Swiss lady. She was considerably younger than our hero, was much taller, and her
elegant refinements rendered her a very desirable object. John had a sister, to whom
the young lady paid frequent friendly visits, and upon such occasions, owing probably
to that mauvaise honte, with which he was cursed, he was usually absent from
home. I will not disgust my fair readers with a minute description of all his
absurdities; one example, or so, shall suffice.

One fine evening, in the month of June, after spending the day with Laconi’s
sister, the young lady prepared to return alone to her father’s château,
at the distance of about a mile; and on this occasion, John determined to give a
specimen of his gallantry in escorting the fair one home, resolving likewise to
declare his passion in plain terms. Accordingly, having put on his hat and cloak, and
stationed himself at the gate, he appeared as formidable as any doughty knight in the
days of romance, ready to offer his protection to some forlorn damsel. No sooner,
however, did the lady appear, than he became so confused as not to be able to answer
her greeting. She was also confused for a moment at his manner, but immediately began
her walk with much disgust and nonchalance; while he, like a silly valet de
chambre, followed behind, leaving his dear mistress’ questions unanswered, and
gazing with a vacant stare at the moon. At length, to the lady’s infinite
satisfaction, the white gate of her father’s château appeared in view,
and John, finding they had nearly reached their destination, articulated, in a half
suffocated tone, “I—I beg pardon, ma—madam, I have been
considering—.” “You have, indeed, Mr. John,” quickly returned the smiling
damsel, “but I think you might have chosen another opportunity, more seasonable than
the present, to consider the moon!” To this retort, he said nothing, but looked
extremely foolish and ridiculous. However, when they had actually gained the gate of
the château, he boldly resolved to kiss his fair enslaver; but, after a
moment, his resolution failed, and his legs tottered under him. Without hearing the
lady’s sweet “good night,” as she tripped gaily from him, he exclaimed, “Madam, can
you love me?” This appeal was not heard by the flying maiden, who hastily ascended
the steps to her father’s door, which opened and concealed her lovely form from the
sight of the amazed lover, who had not courage sufficient to follow her.

Whether our idiot did not comprehend the behaviour of his mistress, I cannot say;
certain it is, he went home well contented with the success he imagined he had gained
towards winning her heart. But, in reality, she was disgusted with his foolery, and
ceased paying any more visits to her female friend, in order to avoid the sight of so
strange a lover.

John, however, was a kind of philosopher, and calmly sustained his love
misfortunes. A particular occurrence happened which will somewhat account for this
passive resignation. One evening, during a solitary walk, he saw his identical
mistress in company with a young French officer. He walked sullenly home, wrote some
verses on the inconstancy of women, drew from recollection a portrait of the cruel
fair, which he hung in his study, and banished his former pretences. Report says,
that he lived the remainder of his days in a state of celibacy. G.W.N.

SIR HUMPHRY DAVY.

Sincerely do we regret to announce the death of this great and good man—the
most celebrated philosopher of our times, who has done more for the happiness of his
species than any associated Academy in Europe. He died at Geneva, May 29, aged 51. We
shall endeavour to do justice to his talents and amiable character, in a Memoir to be
published at the close of this volume of THE MIRROR—prefixed to which will be a
fine Portrait of the illustrious deceased.

SPIRIT OF DISCOVERY.

DISCOVERY OF THE FATE OF LA PEROUSE.

Abridged from the United Service Journal.

The fate of this celebrated French navigator, which for upwards of forty years has
remained enveloped in mystery, has at length been satisfactorily ascertained, a
result that is owing to the active and spirited exertions of our gallant and
enterprising countryman Captain Dillon.

It is a remarkable circumstance, that the discovery of the relics of La Perouse,
arose out of the massacre of the ship Hunter’s crew, at the Feejee Islands, in
1813.

In this unfortunate affair, fourteen persons in all, from the ship Hunter, lost
their lives. The two that escaped with Mr. Dillon, were William Wilson and Martin
Buchart, a Prussian, who resided for two years at Bough. The latter entreated captain
Robson to give him and his Bough wife a passage to the first land at which he might
arrive, as they would certainly be sacrificed if they returned to the island. Having
made Tucopia on the 20th of September, Buchart, his wife, and a Lascar, were put on
shore, and the Hunter proceeded on her voyage to Canton.

On the 13th of May, 1826, while in command of the St. Patrick, bound from
Valparaiso to Pondicherry, captain Dillon came in sight of the island of Tucopia.
Prompted by curiosity, as well as regard for old companions in danger, he lay to,
anxious to ascertain whether the persons left there in 1813, were still alive. A
canoe, in which was the Lascar, soon afterwards put off from land and came alongside.
This was immediately succeeded by another canoe, containing Martin Buchart, the
Prussian. They were both in excellent health, and exceedingly rejoiced to see him.
They informed him, that the natives had treated them very kindly; and that no ship
had touched at the island from the time they were first landed, until about a year
previous to his arrival, when an English whaler visited them, and was soon after
followed by a second. The Lascar had an old silver sword-guard, which he bartered for
a few fishing-hooks. Captain Dillon inquired where he had obtained it; the Prussian
informed him, that on his arrival at the island, he saw it in the possession of the
natives, also several chainplates belonging to a ship, a number of iron bolts, five
axes, the handle of a silver fork, a few knives, tea-cups, glass beads and bottles,
one silver spoon with a crest and a cipher, a sword, &c. As soon as he became
sufficiently acquainted with the language, he asked the natives how they obtained
those articles, as they said that the Hunter was the first ship with which they had
ever held communication. They replied, that about two days’ sail in their canoes to
leeward, there was a large group of islands, known generally by the name of Manicolo,
to which they were in the habit of making frequent voyages, and that they had
procured these articles from the inhabitants, who possessed many more of a similar
description.

Buchart proceeded to state, that the Tucopians asserted that a great number of
articles were on the Manicolo Islands in a state of preservation, and such articles
were evidently obtained from the wreck of a vessel. About seven months before captain
Dillon touched at Tucopia, a canoe had returned from Manicolo, and brought away two
large chain plates, and an iron bolt, about four feet in length. He spoke with some
of the crew of the canoe which had last made the voyage to Manicolo. They told him
that there was abundance of iron materials still remaining on the island. Those which
Martin Buchart saw were much oxydized and worn. The only silver spoon brought to
Tucopia, as far as captain Dillon could learn, was beaten out into a wire by Buchart,
for the purpose of making rings and other ornaments for the female islanders. Upon
examining the sword-guard minutely, captain Dillon discovered, or thought he
discovered, the initials of Perouse stamped upon it, which circumstance prompted him
to be more eager in his inquiries.

The Prussian said he had himself never made a trip to Manicolo with the Tucopians,
but the Lascar had gone once or twice. He positively affirmed, that he had seen and
conversed at Paiow, a native town, with the Europeans who spoke the language of the
islanders. They were old men, he said, who told him that they had been wrecked
several years ago in one of the ships, the remnants of which they pointed out to him.
They informed him also that no vessel had touched at the islands since they had been
there; that most of their comrades were dead, but they had been so scattered among
the various islands, that they could not tell precisely how many of them were still
living.

On hearing so many circumstances all tending to confirm his suspicions, from the
moment he saw the silver sword-guard with the cipher, captain Dillon determined to
proceed as quickly as possible to the Manicolo Islands, examine the wrecks himself,
and, if practicable, bring off the two men with whom the Lascar had spoken, and whom,
he said, were Frenchmen. For this purpose he begged the latter to accompany him, but
as he was married and comfortably settled on the island, neither promises nor threats
were of any avail, although captain Dillon offered to bring him back to Tucopia.
Martin Buchart, on the contrary, was tired of the savage life he had led for the last
fourteen years, and gladly acceded to the wishes of captain Dillon, who after
prevailing with a Tucopian also to come on board, sailed for the island.
Unfortunately, as the ship neared the land, it fell a perfect calm, and continued so
for seven days. At this time the stock of dry provisions was nearly exhausted, and
there was no animal food to be procured on Tucopia. The crew lived principally on New
Zealand potatoes and bananas. The vessel became every day more leaky from a long
continuance at sea; and a person on board, who was interested in the cargo, had,
during captain Dillon’s stay in the islands, shown himself particularly discontented,
and had frequently and warmly remonstrated at what he considered an unnecessary and
useless delay; for these reasons, therefore, captain Dillon determined, though with
the greatest reluctance, to take advantage of a breeze which sprang up, continued his
voyage, and arrived at Bengal with much difficulty, his ship being in a very leaky
condition.

Unwilling to abandon his favourite object, captain Dillon now applied to the
Asiatic Society, and to the Bengal Government; and in consequence of his
representations, his suggestions were at length carried into effect. He was appointed
to the command of one of the Company’s cruisers, of sixteen guns and eighty-five men,
called the Research; and on the 27th of January, 1827, he sailed from Bengal, visited
Van Dieman’s Land, New South Wales, New Zealand, the Friendly Islands, Ro-Thoma, or
Granville Island of the Pandora, Tucopia, and arrived at Manicolo on the 27th of
September. This island (Manicolo, or Vanicolo) is not the Mallicolo of captain Cook,
being situated only 118 miles to the leeward of Tucopia, in latitude 11 deg. 47 min.,
whilst the former lies in south latitude 16 deg. 15 min.

Captain Dillon personally visited the reefs on which the French ships are
ascertained to have struck and gone to pieces, according to the accounts of the
natives, from which the following particulars have been obtained of that disastrous
event:—”Many years ago two large ships arrived at the islands; one anchored off
the island of Whanoo, and the other off that of Paiow, a little distance from each
other. Soon after, and before they had any communication with the natives, a heavy
gale arose, and both vessels were driven ashore. The ship off Whanoo grounded upon
the rocks. The natives came in crowds to the sea-shore, armed with clubs, spears,
bows and arrows, and discharged some arrows into the vessel; the crew in return
fired, and killed several of the islanders. The vessel continued to strike violently
against the rocks, and soon went to pieces. Some of the crew took to their boats, but
were driven on shore, and murdered by the natives; others threw themselves into the
sea, and such as reached the land, shared the fate of their unfortunate companions,
so that not a single soul belonging to this vessel escaped alive.”

“The ship which grounded on Paiow, was driven on a sandy beach, and the natives
came down and also discharged their arrows into her; but the crew prudently did not
resent the aggression, but held up axes, beads, and toys, as peace-offerings, upon
which the assailants desisted from farther hostilities. As soon as the wind had
moderated, an aged chief, in a canoe, put off to the ship. He was received with
caresses, accepted the presents offered to him: and upon going ashore, pacified the
islanders by assurances that the ship’s crew were peaceably inclined towards them.
Upon this, several natives went on board, and were all presented with toys. In
return, they supplied the crew with yams, fowls, bananas, cocoa-nuts, hogs, &c.
and confidence was established between them. The ship was now abandoned, and the crew
went on shore, bringing with them part of her stores. Here they remained for some
time, and built a small vessel with the materials from the wreck. When it was ready
to put to sea, as many as could conveniently, embarked in her, being plentifully
supplied with fresh provisions by the islanders. The commander promised those who
were left behind, to return immediately with presents for the natives, and to bring
them off; but, as the little vessel was never afterwards heard of, the men sought the
protection of the neighbouring chiefs, with whom they lived. Several muskets and some
gunpowder had been left them by their comrades, and by means of these, they proved of
great service to their friends, in encounters with the neighbouring islanders.”

The natives of Manicolo are not cannibals; but when an enemy falls into their
power he is immediately killed, and his body is deposited in sea-water, and kept
there until the bones become perfectly bare. The skeleton is then taken up, the bones
of the extremities scraped and cut into various forms, to point arrows and spears.
Their arms consist of heavy clubs, spears, and bows and arrows. They poison the
latter with a kind of reddish gum, extracted from a species of tree peculiar to the
island. When any one is struck by a poisoned arrow in any of the limbs, the part is
quickly cut out, and his life is sometimes saved; but if the wound happens to be in
the body, where it cannot be easily excised, he resigns himself quietly to death
without a murmur, though he frequently lingers for four or five days in excruciating
agony.

The Manicolans differ from almost all the other islanders in the South Sea; they
are as black as negroes, have short woolly hair, and resemble them in their features.
Their religion also is different; in every village in the island there is a house
dedicated to the Deity. At the principal chapel, the skulls of all the people who
were killed, belonging to the ship that grounded at Whanoo, are still preserved. The
natives of Tucopia, unaccustomed to the sight of human bones, avoid, as much as
possible, when they visit the island, approaching the sacred house where the skulls
are deposited.

THE SELECTOR; AND LITERARY NOTICES OF NEW WORKS.

WAVERLEY NOVELS.

The new edition, (of which Waverley has just appeared,) is, without
exception, the handsomest book of the day, in editorship, literary and graphic
embellishment or typography. Perhaps little persuasion was necessary for a second
reading of so delightful a novel as Waverley, but the author’s piquant notes
to the present edition would alike tempt the matter-of-fact man, and the inveterate
novel reader to “begin again.” The prefatory anecdotes to Waverley are
extremely interesting—and the little autobiographic sketches are so many leaves
from the life of the ingenious author. We hope to introduce a few of the notes of the
Series; but content ourselves for the present with the following: being the original
of the legend of Mrs. Grizel Oldbuck:

Mr. R——d of Bowland, a gentleman of landed property in the vale of
Gala, was prosecuted for a very considerable sum, the accumulated arrears of teind
(or tithe) for which he was said to be indebted to a noble family, the titulars (lay
impropriators of the tithes.) Mr. R——d was strongly impressed with the
belief that his father had, by a form of process peculiar to the law of Scotland,
purchased these lands from the titular, and therefore that the present prosecution
was groundless. But after an industrious search among his father’s papers, an
investigation of the public records, and a careful inquiry among all persons who had
transacted law business for his father, no evidence could be recovered to support his
defence. The period was now near at hand when he conceived the loss of his lawsuit to
be inevitable, and he had formed his determination to ride to Edinburgh next day, and
make the best bargain he could in the way of compromise. He went to bed with this
resolution, and with all the circumstances of the case floating upon his mind, had a
dream to the following purpose. His father, who had been many years dead, appeared to
him, he thought, and asked him why he was disturbed in his mind. In dreams men are
not surprised at such apparitions. Mr. R——d thought that he had informed
his father of the cause of his distress, adding that the payment of a considerable
sum of money was the more unpleasant to him, because he had a strong consciousness
that it was not due, though he was unable to recover any evidence in support of his
belief. “You are right, my son,” replied the paternal shade; “I did acquire right to
these teinds, for payment of which you are now prosecuted. The papers relating to the
transaction are in the hands of Mr. ——, a writer (or attorney,) who is
now retired from professional business, and resides at Inveresk, near Edinburgh. He
was a person whom I employed on that occasion for a particular reason, but who never
on any other occasion transacted business on my account. It is very possible,”
pursued the vision, “that Mr. —— may have forgotten a matter which is now
of a very old date; but you may call it to his recollection by this token, that when
I came to pay his account, there was difficulty in getting change for a Portugal
piece of gold, and that we were forced to drink out the balance at a tavern.” Mr.
R——d awaked in the morning with all the words of the vision imprinted on
his mind, and thought it worth while to ride across the country to Inveresk, instead
of going straight to Edinburgh. When he came there, he waited on the gentleman
mentioned in the dream, a very old man; without saying any thing of the vision, he
inquired whether he remembered having conducted such a matter for his deceased
father. The old gentleman could not at first bring the circumstance to his
recollection, but on mention of the Portugal piece of gold, the whole returned upon
his memory; he made an immediate search for the papers, and recovered them; so that
Mr. R——d carried to Edinburgh the documents necessary to gain the cause
which he was on the verge of losing. The author has often heard this story told by
persons who had the best access to know the facts, who were not likely themselves to
be deceived, and were certainly incapable of deception. He cannot therefore refuse to
give it credit, however extraordinary the circumstances may appear. The
circumstantial character of the information given in the dream, takes it out of the
general class of impressions of the kind which are occasioned by the fortuitous
coincidence of actual events with our sleeping thoughts. On the other hand, few would
suppose that the laws of nature were suspended, and a special communication from the
dead to the living permitted, for the purpose of saving Mr. R——d a
certain number of hundred pounds. The author’s theory is, that the dream was only the
recapitulation of information which Mr. R——d had really received from his
father while in life, but which at first he merely recalled as a general impression
that the claim was settled. It is not uncommon for persons to recover, during sleep,
the thread of ideas which they have lost during their waking hours. It may be added,
that this remarkable circumstance was attended with bad consequences to Mr.
R——d, whose health and spirits were afterwards impaired by the attention
which he thought himself obliged to pay to the visions of the night.—Notes
to the Antiquary.

ROAD-BOOK OF FRANCE.

People who are bound for the Continent should provide themselves with the new
edition of Mr. Leigh’s descriptive Road Book of France—even before they get
their passports at the French ambassador’s, or if they only intend to visit
Calais, Boulogne, or Dieppe—and the chances are that they will be induced to
travel beyond these places, which, in truth, give an Englishman no more idea of
France than Dovor would afford a foreigner of England. A few years since,
comparatively speaking, people only knew their way from York to London, much less the
objects on the road—now, by the economy of guide books they may know every good
inn in France, and carry the ichnography of the kingdom in their coat pocket.
In the present edition of the “Road Book of France,” attention has been paid to the
description of the delightful South, especially of Bordeaux, the mineral springs and
bathing-places of the Pyrenees, the navigation of the Rhone from Lyons to Avignon, as
well as of Marseilles, Toulouse, &c., and some of the principal towns have been
illustrated with plans. Dipping into the Itinerary from Calais to Paris, we were
reminded of a curious coincidence: Julius Caesar is supposed to have sailed from
Boulogne on his expedition against the Britons; and in later times, Napoleon
Bonaparte there prepared to carry into execution the invasion of Great Britain. But
how different have been the results!

JOURNEY FROM THE BANK TO BARNES.

A lively volume with many shreds of wit and humour, and occasional patches of
“righte merrie conceite,” has just fallen into our hands, and has afforded us some
very pleasant reading. There is fun in the very title, “Personal Narrative of a
Journey overland from the Bank to Barnes, &c. with some account of the Regions
east of Kensington. By an Inside Passenger. With a Model for a Magazine, being the
product of the Author’s sojourn at the village of Barnes, during five rainy days.”
The author is a shrewd, clever fellow, who loves a little raillery on the follies of
the day, and joins with our friend, Popanilla in deploring the present artificial
state of society; therefore, suppose we give a few flying extracts from his
tour, premising that the good people of the little villages through which he passed,
are not aware of what good things he has said of them; for his little book would suit
every parlour window from Hyde Park Corner to Barnes.

Brentford.

The ancient and nearly deserted barony of Brentford still contains, in its
monuments and antiquities, vestiges of former splendour. The horse-trough opposite
the “Bell and Feathers” is to the antiquarian a most particularly interesting
morceau; the verdure of age has defaced it in part, but enough still remains
to prove that our ancestors had made no mean proficiency in the rustic style of
architecture. The reservoir, which contains the sparkling element so grateful to that
noble animal, is modelled from the celebrated sarcophagus in the British Museum; and
the posts which support it are evidently Doric. On the outside of it are several
nearly obliterated specimens of carving, as well as drawings in chalk.

Nearly parallel with the horse-trough, as you go down “Maud’s Rents,” is that
useful, and indeed indispensible, triumph of hydraulics, the pump. The taste and
science displayed in its execution do credit to the engineer; and the soil in which
it is imbedded, being argillaceous, partially encrusted with strontian, reflects
equal honour on his geological attainments. This pump, which you approach by three
steps, is perpendicular, and of an elegant appearance; and forms the chief ornament
of the “Rents.” The handle is of wrought iron, highly polished; the snout copper,
studded with hobnails. It is neatly coated with white paint, and bears on its front
the following inscription, which I have copied for the gratification of the curious
in antiquarian research.

I cannot take leave of this interesting town without noticing the church. It is
surmounted by a neat steeple, cut in wood, in the pointed style of architecture; on
the top of which is a goodly key, to indicate the wind,—which, the inhabitants
remark, has blown due south for the last ten years. The porch, which is a curious
specimen of the Maeso-Gothic, is rather hurt by the simplicity of the scrapers,
which, being merely segments of iron hoops, do not harmonize with the otherwise
elaborate approach.

Tossbury.

The demesne of Tossbury (by Camden written Tossbery) was anciently a grant in
feoffment to the College of Physicians by King John. On the spot now occupied by the
burial grounds formerly stood their college; and here they flourished until the
population, originally abundant, diminished so alarmingly, as to induce them to
remove to Warwick Lane.

Mr. P. (the landlord of the inn,) ever ready to shew his guests what at that
village are esteemed great curiosities, was indefatigable in explaining the various
instances in which he has made science subservient to utility. The staircase, as far
as the great dining-room, he has, at considerable expense, macadamized; which,
provided it is kept well watered, and scrapers attached to the chamber-doors, our
worthy host assured us, was infinitely preferable to marble. He begged us to be under
no apprehension as to the dampness of our beds, as they were warmed by a
steam-apparatus of his own contrivance. He always keeps a Leyden jar, about the size
of a boiler, ready charged, wherewith he kills geese, turkeys, and even lamb; which,
he affirms, is a much less shocking method of neutralizing the vital spark than the
vulgar butchery of twisting and sticking. He has lost three of his fingers, through
incautiously handling a self-acting rat-trap of his own construction; and had his
left eye blown out, while investigating the exact interval between combustion and
explosion.

I found a difference of about half an hour between the dial of Putney Church and
my watch, which a young gentleman “intended for one of the universities” accounted
for from difference of latitude. He likewise explained a phenomenon, which rather
startled us, near Kew. We saw about half-a-dozen cows galloping furiously towards the
river’s brink; flirting their tails, and, indeed, conducting themselves with a
vivacity perfectly inconsistent with the acknowledged sobriety of that useful animal.
He calmed our apprehensions, by informing us they were intended for the East Indies.
Every other day they are fed with best rock-salt, instead of green-meat; which, by
chemical agency, renders them fat and fit to be killed, and sent on ship-board at a
moment’s notice; the trouble and delay of salting down being totally unnecessary.
These cows, he assured us, had just finished their thirst-inducing meal.

Near Hill’s boat-shed is the patent Philanthropical Hay-tosser, a stupendous
machine, invented expressly to prevent the degradation and slavery to which thousands
of our fellow men are subjected during hay-harvest. It must gratify every friend to
the amelioration of his species to learn, that the humane intention of the inventer
is likely to be realized, as there are already three thousand Irishmen out of
employ.

Here we must halt with our tourist. The result of his lucubrations at
Barnes—a Model for a Magazine will be found very serviceable to all prospectus
writers, and furnish skeleton articles for a whole volume. We have been amused with
the pleasantries of the author, and in return we thank him, and recommend his little
book to our readers.

SPIRIT OF THE PUBLIC JOURNALS

CLASSICAL CORRECTIONS.

Monthly Magazine.

BAMBOROUGH CASTLE.

The origin of this princely establishment may be new to our readers:—One of
the owners of the castle, John Forster, member for Northumberland, having joined in
the rebellion, and being general of the English part of the rebel army, of course his
estates, then valued at 1,314 l. per annum, were forfeited; Crewe,
bishop of Durham, purchased them from the government commissioners, and settled the
whole, by his will, on charitable uses. Under a clause which left the residue of the
rents to such charitable uses as his trustees might appoint, the “princely
establishment of Bamborough” has arisen—where

The charitable intentions of a testator have never, in any instance, been better
fulfilled than this; the residuary rents, owing to the great increase of rental in
the Forster estates, became considerably the most important part of the bequest; and
the trustees, who are restricted to five in number, all clergymen, and of whom the
rector of Lincoln College is always one, being unfettered by any positive
regulations, have so discharged their trust as to render Bamborough Castle the most
extensively useful, as well as the most munificent, of all our eleemosynary
institutions. There are two free-schools there, both on the Madras system, one for
boys, the other for girls; and thirty of the poorest girls are clothed, lodged, and
boarded, till, at the age of sixteen, they are put out to service, with a good stock
of clothing, and a present of 2l. 12s. 6d. each; and at the end
of the first year, if the girl has behaved well, another guinea is given her, with a
Bible, a Prayer-book, the Whole Duty of Man, and Secker’s Lectures on the Catechism.
There is a library in the castle, to which Dr. Sharp, one of the trustees,
bequeathed, in 1792, the whole of his own collection, valued at more than
800l.; the books are lent gratuitously to any householder, of good report,
residing within twenty miles of Bamborough, and to any clergyman, Roman Catholic
priest, or dissenting minister within the said distance. There is an infirmary also
in the castle, of which the average annual number of in-patients is about
thirty-five—of out-patients above one thousand. There is an ample granary, from
whence, in time of scarcity, the poor are supplied on low terms. Twice a week the
poor are supplied with meal, at reduced prices, and with groceries at prime cost; and
the average number of persons who partake this benefit is about one thousand three
hundred in ordinary times, in years of scarcity very many more. To sailors on that
perilous coast Bamborough Castle is what the Convent of St. Bernard is to travellers
in the Alps. Thirty beds are kept for shipwrecked sailors; a patrol for above eight
miles (being the length of the manor) is kept along the coast every stormy night;
signals are made; a life-boat is in readiness at Holy Island, and apparatus of every
kind is ready for assisting seamen in distress;—wrecked goods are secured and
stored, the survivors are relieved, the bodies that are cast on shore are decently
interred.

Quarterly Review.

FINE ARTS

THE DIORAMA.

On the day of the unfortunate destruction of the Oxford Street Diorama and Bazaar,
by fire, two new views were opened at the Diorama in the Regent’s Park. These are the
Interior of St. Peter’s at Rome, and the Village of Thiers.

We have so often spoken in terms of the highest commendation of the Regent’s Park
Diorama, that we hardly know in what set of words to point out the beauties of these
new views, the merits of which must not alter our meed of praise, however the
subjects may its details. The Interior of St. Peter’s is by M. Bouton. The point of
view is at the east entry, opposite to the choir; the reader, perhaps, not being
aware that the choir in this cathedral is situated differently from all others, being
at the west end. So beautiful are the proportions of the cathedral itself, that its
vastness does not strike at first sight, and this effect is admirably preserved in
the Diorama. We think we could point out a few inaccuracies in the drawing; but the
projections, capitals of the columns, and some of the medallion portraits which
ornament them, are so well painted, that we can scarcely believe ourselves looking on
a flat surface. Again, the emmet-like figures of the distant congregation are
admirable illustrations of the vastness of the building; and above all, the flood of
light shed from the lantern of the dome is a perfect triumph of art.

The other view is the French Village of Thiers in the department of the Puy de
Doue, on the bank of the little River Durolle, which is actually made to flow, or
rather trickle over large stones; whilst smoke ascends from the chimney of an
adjoining cottage. As a romantic picture of still life, its merits can scarcely be
too highly spoken of, and when we say it is quite equal to Unterseen, by the
same artist, and engraved in our last volume, we hope our readers will not be long
ere they judge for themselves. We could have lingered for an hour in the
contemplation of this peaceful picture, with the devotional interior of St.
Peter’s—and in contrasting them with the turmoil of the Great Town out of which
we had just stepped to view this little Creation of art.

THE GATHERER

LINES

Written impromptu, by Sir Lumley Skeffington, Bart. in the Theatre Royal, Drury
Lane, at the Benefit of Miss Foote, on Wednesday, May 10, 1826, the last night of her
engagement.

THE KING’S SPEECH IN 993.

Sharon Turner, in his “History of the Anglo-Saxons,” vol. iv. says, “The King
presided at the witena-gemots, and sometimes, perhaps, always addressed them.” In
993, we have this account of a royal speech. The King says, in a charter which
recites what had passed at one of their meetings, “I benignantly addressed to them
salutary and pacific words. I admonished all—that those things which were
worthy of the Creator, and serviceable to the health of my soul, or to my royal
dignity, and which should prevail as proper for the English people, they might, with
the Lord’s assistance, discuss in common.” P.T.W.

A very common excuse set up by economists for being too late for dinner is, “There
was not a coach to be found.”—Uncalculating and improvident selfish idiot, not
to send for one till the very last moment; you save nothing by it, and spoil your
friend’s dinner, in order to save yourself sixpence. Suppose you have a mile and a
half to go, the fare is one shilling and sixpence; you will be about eighteen minutes
going that distance, and for that sum you may detain the coach forty-four minutes.
Always call a coach a quarter of an hour before you want it—i.e. if you do not
wish to be too late.

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Footnote 1: (return) The scenes and events in tins sketch are drawn
from nature, and real occurrences on the southern coast.