THE MIRROR
OF
LITERATURE, AMUSEMENT, AND INSTRUCTION.

The Arch of Constantine, at Rome.

“Still harping” on the Fine Arts—Architecture and
Painting. Of the former, the above engraving is an
illustration; and of the latter, our readers will find a beautiful
subject (from one of Turner’s pictures) in a Supplement
published with the present Number.¹

The Arches of Rome were splendid monuments of triumph, erected
in honour of her illustrious generals. They were at first very
simple, being built of brick or hewn stone, and of a semicircular
figure; but afterwards more magnificent, built of the finest
marble, and of a square figure, with a large, arched gate in the
middle, and two small ones on each side, adorned with columns and
statues. In the vault of the middle gate, hung winged figures of
victory, bearing crowns in their hands, which, when let down, they
placed on the victor’s head, when he passed in triumph.

The Arch of Constantine, the most noble of all of these
structures, subsists almost entire. It was erected by the senate
and Roman people, in honour of Constantine, after his victory over
Maxentius, and crosses the Appian Way, at [pg 386] the
junction of the Coelian and Palatine Hills. Here it stands as the
last monument of Roman triumph, or like the December sun of “the
world’s sole monument.”

This building consists of three arches, of which the centre is
the largest; and has two fronts, each adorned with four columns of
giallo antico marble, of the Corinthian order, and fluted,
supporting a cornice, on which stand eight Dacian captives of
Pavonazzetta, or violet-coloured marble.

The inscription on both sides of the architrave imports, that it
was dedicated “to the Emperor Cæsar Flavius Constantine
Augustus, the greatest, pious, and the happy; because by a divine
impulse, the greatness of his courage, and the aid of his army, he
avenged the republic by his just arms, and, at the same time,
rescued it from the tyrant and his whole faction.” On one side of
the arch are the words, “Liberatori urbis,” to the deliverer of the
city; and on the other, “Fundatori quietis,” to the founder of
public tranquillity.

Although erected to the honour of Constantine, this arch
commemorates the victories of Trajan, some of the basso-relievos,
&c. having been pilfered from one of the arches of Trajan. This
accounts for the Dacian captives, whose heads Lorenzo de Medicis
broke off and conveyed to Florence, but the theft might not have
been so notorious to posterity, had not the artists of
Constantine’s time added some figures of inferior merit. Forsyth
says, “Constantine’s reign was notorious for architectural
robbery;” and the styles of the two emperors, in the present arch,
mar the harmony by their unsightly contrasts.

Although the decree for erecting this arch was, without doubt,
passed immediately after the defeat of Maxentius, it appears from
the monument itself, that the building was not finished and
dedicated till the tenth year of Constantine’s reign, or the year
of Christ 315 or 316.

The newly-erected arch opposite the entrance to Hyde Park is
from the Roman arch, though, we believe, not from any particular
model. In the View of the New Palace, St. James’s Park, (in our No.
278,) the arch, to be called the Waterloo Monument, and erected in
the middle of the area of the palace, will be nearly a copy of that
of Constantine at Rome. In the court-yard of the Tuilleries at
Paris, there is a similar arch, copied from that of Septimius
Severus. This was formerly surmounted by the celebrated group of
the horses of St. Mark, pilfered from Venice, but restored at the
peace of 1815.

THE BEGGAR’S DAUGHTER OF BETHNAL GREEN.

(For the Mirror.)

The popular ballad of “The Beggar’s Daughter of Bednall-Greene”
was written in the reign of Queen Elizabeth. It is founded, though
without the least appearance of truth, or even probability, on a
legend of the time of Henry III. Henry de Montfort, son of the
ambitious Earl of Leicester, who was slain with his father at the
memorable battle of Evesham, is the hero of the tale. He is
supposed (according to the legend) to have been discovered among
the bodies of the slain by a young lady, in an almost lifeless
state, and deprived of sight by a wound, which he had received
during the engagement. Under the fostering hand of this “faire
damosel” he soon recovered, and afterwards marrying her, she became
the mother of “the comelye and prettye Bessee.” Fearing lest his
rank and person should be discovered by his enemies, he disguised
himself in the habit of a beggar, and took up his abode at
Bethnal-Green. The beauty of his daughter attracted many suitors,
and she was at length married to a noble knight, who, regardless of
her supposed meanness and poverty, had the courage to make her his
wife, her other lovers having deserted her on account of her low
origin. Before entering, however, upon the ballad, it may not,
perhaps, be thought irrelevant to give a brief sketch of the family
of the De Montforts.

Simon de Montfort, created Earl of Leicester by Henry III., was
the younger son of Simon de Montfort, the renowned but cruel
commander of the croisade against the Albigenses. This nobleman was
greatly honoured by Henry III., to whose sister, the Countess
Dowager of Pembroke, he paid his addresses, and was married, with
the consent of her brother. For the favour thus shown him by his
sovereign, he, however, proved ungrateful: his inordinate ambition,
cloaked by a pretended zeal for reform, was the cause of those
rebellions which, in the reign of Henry III., kept the kingdom in
such a continued turmoil. The different oppressions and successes
of the confederate barons, who at length got possession of the
king’s person, and the civil wars which ensued, are so well known
as to render any remark on the subject superfluous; suffice it to
say, that the disputes between the malcontents and the royal party
were at length terminated by the battle of Evesham, which decided
in favour of the latter. In this field fell the Earl of Leicester
and his eldest son, Henry de Montfort. His death was followed by
[pg
387] the total ruin of his family; his titles and estates
were all confiscated; the countess, his wife, who had been
extremely active in her designs against the royalists, was
banished, together with her sons, Simon and Guy, who afterwards
assassinated their cousin, Henry d’Allmane, when he was
endeavouring to effect a reconciliation between them and their
uncle, Henry IV. The head of the earl was sent as a signal of the
victory by Roger de Mortimer to the countess; but his body,
together with that of his son Henry, was interred in the Abbey of
Evesham; thus leaving the improbability of the legend without a
shadow of doubt.

As our limits will not allow us to quote the whole of the
ballad,² we must content ourselves with giving
the song of the beggar, which, as well as being the most
interesting, contains the whole of the legend concerning de
Montfort:—

At Bethnal-Green is an old mansion, which, in the survey of
1703, was called Bethnal-Green-House, and which the
inhabitants, with their usual love of traditionary lore, assign as
the “Palace of the Blind Beggar.” This house was erected in the
reign of Queen Elizabeth, by John Kirby, citizen of London, and
was, says Stow,³ “lofty
like a castle.” It was afterwards the residence of Sir Hugh Platt,
Knight, the author of many ingenious works; from him it came into
the possession of Sir William Ryder, Knight, who died there in
1669; of late years it has been used as a private madhouse. The
tradition of the beggar is still preserved on the sign-posts of
several of the public-houses in the neighbourhood.

S.I.B.

HISTORY AND ANTIQUITY OF WILLS.

(For the Mirror.)

According to Blackstone, wills are of high antiquity. We find
them among the ancient Hebrews; not to mention what Eusebius and
others have related of Noah’s testament, made in writing, and
witnessed under his seal, by which he disposed of the whole world.
A more authentic instance of the early use of testaments occurs in
the sacred writings, (Genesis, chap. xlviii.) in which Jacob
bequeaths to his son Joseph, a portion of his inheritance, double
to that of his brethren.

The Grecian practice concerning wills (says Potter) was not the
same in all [pg 388] places; some states permitted men to
dispose of their estates, others wholly deprived them of that
privilege. We are told by Plutarch, that Solon is much commended
for his law concerning wills; for before his time no man was
allowed to make any, but all the wealth of deceased persons
belonged to their families; but he permitted them to bestow it on
whom they pleased, esteeming friendship a stronger tie than
kindred, and affection than necessity, and thus put every man’s
estate in the disposal of the possessor; yet he allowed not all
sorts of wills, but required the following conditions in all
persons that made them:—

1st. That they must be citizens of Athens, not slaves, or
foreigners, for then their estates were confiscated for the public
use.

2nd. That they must be men who have arrived to twenty years of
age, for women and men under that age were not permitted to dispose
by will of more than one medimn of barley.

3rd. That they must not be adopted; for when adopted persons
died without issue, the estates they received by adoption returned
to the relations of the men who adopted them.

4th. That they should have no male children of their own, for
then their estate belonged to these. If they had only daughters,
the persons to whom the inheritance was bequeathed were obliged to
marry them. Yet men were allowed to appoint heirs to succeed their
children, in case these happened to die under twenty years of
age.

5th. That they should be in their right minds, because
testaments extorted through the phrenzy of a disease, or dotage of
old age, were not in reality the wills of the persons that made
them.

6th. That they should not be under imprisonment, or other
constraint, their consent being then only forced, nor in justice to
be reputed voluntary.

7th. That they should not be induced to it by the charms and
insinuations of a wife; for (says Plutarch) the wise lawgiver with
good reason thought that no difference was to be put between deceit
and necessity, flattery and compulsion, since both are equally
powerful to persuade a man from reason.

Wills were usually signed before several witnesses, who put
seals to them for confirmation, then placed them in the hands of
trustees, who were obliged to see them performed. At Athens, some
of the magistrates were very often present at the making of wills.
Sometimes the archons were also present. Sometimes the
testator declared his will before sufficient witnesses, without
committing it to writing. Thus Callias, fearing to be cut off by a
wicked conspiracy, is said to have made an open declaration of his
will before the popular assembly at Athens. There were several
copies of wills in Diogenes Laertius, as those of Aristotle, Lycon,
and Theophrastus; whence it appears they had a common form,
beginning with a wish for life and health.

The most ancient testaments among the Romans were made
vivâ voce, the testator declaring his will in the
presence of seven witnesses; these they called nuncupative
testaments; but the danger of trusting the will of the dead to the
memory of the living soon abolished these; and all testaments were
ordered to be in writing.

The Romans were wont to set aside testaments, as being
inofficiosa, deficient in natural duty, if they disinherited
or totally passed by (without assigning a true and sufficient
reason) any of the children of the testator. But if the child had
any legacy, though ever so small, it was a proof that the testator
had not lost his memory nor his reason, which otherwise the law
presumed. Hence probably (says Blackstone) has arisen that
groundless, vulgar error of the necessity of leaving the heir a
shilling, or some other express legacy, in order to effectually
disinherit him; whereas the law of England, though the heir, or
next of kin, be totally omitted, admits no querela
inofficiosa, to set aside such testament.

Alfred the Great made a will, wherein he declared, in express
terms, that it was just the English should be as free as their own
thoughts.

P.T.W.

The Cosmopolite.

DANCING.

(For the Mirror.)

Dancing is defined to be “to move in measure; to move with steps
correspondent to the sound of instruments.” But there are other
species of dancing—as

and to dance with pain, or when, as Lord Bacon says, “in
pestilences, the malignity of the infecting vapour danceth the
principal spirits.” The Chorea S. Viti, or St. Vitus’s
Dance is another variation, said to have once prevailed
extensively, and to have been cured by a prayer to this saint!
whose martyrdom is commemorated on June 15. It may not be generally
known that a person afflicted with this species of dancing can
run, although he cannot walk or stand still. Another
[pg
389] and a more agreeable species is to lead the
dance, an unjust usurpation which is practised in a thousand
other places beside the ball-room.

According to the mythologists, (authorities always quotable, and
nobody knows why,) the Curetes or Corybantes, a people of Crete,
who were produced from rain, first invented the dance to
amuse the infant Jupiter—with what success he danced we know
not, for when a year old he waged war against the Titans, and then
his dancing days must have terminated.

A history of dancing is, however, not to our purpose; but a few
of its eccentricities. It occurs in the customs of all people,
either as a recreation or as a religious ceremony—held in
contempt by some, and in esteem by others. David danced before the
ark; the daughters of Shiloh danced in a solemn yearly festival;
and the Israelites, (good judges) danced round the golden calf.

The ancients had a peculiar penchant for dancing, whether
in person or by animals; and the feats of the latter distance all
the wretched efforts of the bears, dogs, and horses of our days.
The attempts of Galba to amuse the Roman people throw into the
shade all the peace-rejoicings and illuminations of St. James’s and
the Green Parks. Suetonius, Seneca, and Pliny tell us of
elephants in their time that were taught to walk the rope,
backwards and forwards, up and down, with the agility of an Italian
rope-dancer. Such was the confidence reposed in the docility and
dexterity of the animal, that a person sat upon an elephant’s back,
while he walked across the theatre upon a rope, extended from the
one side to the other. Lipsius, who has collected these
testimonies, thinks them too strong to be doubted—perhaps
even stronger than the rope. Scaliger corroborates all of them;
Busbequius saw an elephant dance a pas seul at
Constantinople; and Suetonius tells us of twelve elephants, six
male and six female, who were clothed like men and women, and
performed a country dance, in the reign of Tiberius. In later
times, horses have been taught to dance. In the carousals of Louis
XIII. there were dances of horses; and in the 13th century, some
rode a horse upon a rope. All this eclipses the puny modern feats
of Astley and Ducrow.⁴

The Greeks and Romans were divided upon the propriety of
dancing. Socrates who held death in contempt, when a reverend old
gentleman, learned to dance of Aspasia, the beautiful nurse of
Grecian eloquence. The Romans forgot their loss of the republic and
of liberty—

in seeing Pylades and Bathyllus dance before them in their
theatres—an indifference of which we were reminded on hearing
that the Parisians sat in the Cafés on the Boulevard
du Italiens—sipping coffee and sucking down ice, during the
capitulation of the city, and while the French, killed and wounded,
were conveyed along the road before them.

Cato, Censorius, danced at the age of fifty-six. Cicero,
however, reproached a consul with having danced. Tiberius, that
monster of indulgences, banished dancers from Rome; and Domitian,
the illustrious fly-catcher, expelled several of his members of
parliament for having danced. We are much more civilized, for
such an edict as that of Domitian would clear our senate-houses as
effectually as when Cromwell turned out the Long Parliament.

Among the Italians and the French even there have been found
enemies to dancing. Alfieri, the poet, had a great aversion to
dancing; and one Daneau wrote a Traité des Danses, in which
he maintains that “the devil never invented a more effectual way
than dancing, to fill the world with ——.” The bishop of
Noyon once presided at some deliberations respecting a minuet; and
in 1770, a reverend prelate presented a document on dancing to the
king of France. The Quakers consider dancing below the dignity of
the Christian character; and an enthusiast, of another creed,
thinks all lovers of the stage belong to the schools of Voltaire
and Hume, and that dancing is a link in the chain of seduction.
Stupid, leaden-heeled people, who constantly mope in melancholy,
and neither enjoy nor impart pleasure, will naturally be enemies to
dancing; and such we are induced to think the majority of these
opponents.

The French are inveterate dancers. They have their bals
parés and their salons de danse in every street;
and as long as the weather will permit, they dance on platforms out
of doors, and a heavy shower of rain will scarcely cool their
ardour in the recreation. Some of their stage figurantes
resemble aerial beings rather than bone and blood, for flesh may
almost be left out of the composition. But the Italians are a
nation of dancers as well as the children of song, and they seem to
have followed the noble [pg 390] example of old Cato, in this respect,
with better effect than they have studied his virtue. We are also
told upon good authority, that the American dancers equal any of
the European figurantes.

The English people have always been lovers of dancing; and it
forms an accompaniment of almost all their old sports and pastimes.
Witness the maypoles, wassails, and wakes of rural life, and the
grotesque morris-dance, originating in a kind of Pyrrhic or
military dance, and described by Sir William Temple as composed of
“ten men, who danced a maid marian and a tabor and pipe.” In the
time of Henry VII. dancers were remarkably well paid; for in some
of his accounts in the Exchequer, we find

In Shakspeare’s time, to dance was an elegant
accomplishment. Thus in the “Merry Wives of Windsor,” “What say you
to young Mr. Fenton? He capers, he dances, he has eyes of
youth, he writes verses.” Locke thus alludes to the graceful
motions which dancing lends to the human frame: “the legs of the
dancing-master, and the fingers of a musician, fall, as it were,
naturally, without thought or pains, into regular and admirable
motions.”

It must be somewhat surprising to those who over-rate the
matter-of-fact character of the English people, that so great a
majority of them are attached to dancing. Among rank and
wealth this amusement admits of a finer display of beauty and
artificial decoration than almost any other recreation; for nothing
can be more splendid than a brilliantly illuminated and well-filled
ball-room. Dancing among the middle classes of society is equally
mirthful though not of so ostentatious a character, and it is a
question whether the latter, being free from the alloy of
fashionable follies, are not more exhilarated by sweet sounds than
their wealthy superiors. But the mushroom aristocracy and pride of
purse often operate as checks to the enjoyment of both these
classes; and splendid dancing accommodations sometimes put an end
to the amusement. At Dorking, in Surrey, attached to one of the
inns is a ball-room, which cost the builder £12,000, and here
is one, or at most three balls during the year, while at scores of
places within our recollection, of less consequence, there are
monthly and even weekly balls; and we are inclined to think these
periodical recreations of great importance to the happiness of
country towns. But there is a species of intoxication sometimes
arising from them—that of dancing all night, to suffer from
exhaustion and rheumatism on the following day—an evil easy
of remedy, by such amusements being more frequent and less
protracted. The influence on the character of the people would
probably be that of rendering it more even, from the admixture or
reciprocation of pleasure and business being more proportional.
This plan would get rid of much of the ostentation and expense of a
country ball, and would ultimately prove the best antidote to the
sins of scandal.

As we have spoken of public dancing in the time of Henry VII.,
we will show that the enormous sums paid to artists have
nourished their conceit to an alarming height. Pitrot, the Vestris
of his day, was a consummate specimen of this effrontery. At
Vienna, he chose to appear only in the last act of the ballet. The
emperor desired him to come forth at the end of the first; Pitrot
refused; the court left the opera, and then Pitrot told the dancers
they would have a hop by themselves, which they did. However, this
was forgiven; and, at his departure, he was presented with the
emperor’s picture, set with brilliants. Pitrot received it with
sang froid, pressed his thumb upon the crystal, crushed the
picture to pieces, adding, “Thus I treat men not worthy of my
friendship.” This fellow behaved equally ill in France, Prussia,
and Russia; but, at length, scouted by all his patrons, and, after
giving his thousands to opera girls, he wandered about Calais in
rags and poverty. Farinelli, after accumulating a fortune in
England, built a superb mansion in Italy, which he called the
English Folly.⁵

The oddity of some ideas of dancing is really ludicrous. The
Cambro-Britains, in a very late period, used to be played out of
church by a fiddle, and to form a dance in the church-yard at the
end of the service. But the ideas which the Chinese have of dancing
exceeds all others. When Commodore Anson was at Canton, the
officers of the Centurion had a ball upon some court
holiday: while they were dancing, a Chinese, who very quietly
surveyed the operation, said, softly, to one of the party, “Why
don’t you let your servants do this for you?”

Fine Arts.

SCHOOL OF PAINTING AT THE BRITISH INSTITUTION.

(To the Editor of the Mirror.)

I beg to present you with a brief notice of the School of
Painting at the British Institution, Pall Mall; you may rely upon
its correctness, as I have been extremely cautious in making my
notes, and in ascertaining every particular relative to the
subject.

The students at this excellent institution have, for several
weeks, been arduously engaged in copying the fine pictures which
were entrusted to the directors by his majesty, and the nobility,
for that purpose. In general, the students have been very
successful, and deserve much praise; I must, however, in my
prescribed limits, only mention a few.

Vandyke’s Duchess de St. Croix has been cleverly copied
by Mr. Boden and Mr. Faulkner; the latter gentleman has well
imitated the color and the beautiful finish of the original.
Messrs. Frisk, Child, Howell and M’Call have likewise made clever
copies of this chef d’oeuvre of art. Many bold efforts have
been made to copy Hobbima’s large Landscape; Mr. Laporte’s
is the most complete, though not quite spirited enough in the
handling. The Spanish Gentleman, by Velasquez, has engaged
the pencils of numerous artists, though they have not all been so
successful as could have been wished; Messrs. Inskipp, Frisk,
Morton and Child have produced the best fac similes. The
Lime Kiln, by the younger Teniers, has been carefully
studied by Mr. Gill, &c.; and Messrs. M’Call and Morton, have
executed the finest studies from Innocent X., by Velasquez.
The Embarkation, by Claude, is extremely well imitated in
Mr. Cartwright’s copy; and the Virgin and Child, which is
one of Julio Romano’s best works, has met with due attention from
Mr. Farrier, and others. Mr. Novice has executed the only copy from
DeHooge’s fine picture—A Dutch Family preparing for a
Walk; and Messrs. Foster and Earl display considerable talent
in their copies from the Landscape and Cattle, by Cuyp.
Other admirable works by Guido, Rubens, Bassan, Ruysdael,
Vanderneer, and Canaletta, have met with a host of imitators, from
whose talents we may anticipate, at no distant period, pictorial
excellency of the first order. I should discover a want of
gallantry, and, indeed, be most unjust, were I not to say that the
ladies, in nearly all their undertakings, have exerted their utmost
to excel; those especially, who have executed copies in water
colours deserve the highest recommendation.

G.W.N.

The Anecdote Gallery.

Thaxted Highwaymen.

(For the Mirror.)

The following incident led to the breaking up and dispersion of
a gang of desperate highwaymen, denominated the Thaxted gang, who
about sixty years ago used to infest the roads in the neighbourhood
of Dunmow, Thaxted, and the adjacent towns and villages:—

An opulent farmer of Thaxted, being one day at Dunmow market,
received a considerable sum of money, the produce of grain and
other marketable articles, which he had that day disposed of; and
going to the inn where he had left his horse, he ordered it to be
saddled directly for the purpose of returning home. In those times
every tradesman, salesman and a greater part of the publicans and
innkeepers knew what money each other received on a market day. The
innkeeper at whose house the farmer was in the habit of putting up
at, said to him, “Why you are not going home to-night, are you,
with all that money about you? You will stand a chance of getting a
knock on the head.”—”Let them knock away,” answered the
farmer. “I have never yet been robbed, nor do I think it likely I
shall be to-night; so, Robert, get my horse ready,” calling to the
hostler. “Well, but have you any weapons of defence?” inquired the
publican.—”No, nor none I want,” responded the farmer. The
innkeeper pressed him to take a pair of holster pistols; saying,
“he might find them handy;” and after a great deal of persuasion,
he agreed to take one, the publican first loading and
charging it with ball. The farmer put the pistol in his great coat
pocket, and was on the point of departure when he recollected that
he had to get a pound of tea at a grocer’s shop in the town, a few
doors from the inn. He instantly ran to the shop for the tea, and
while the grocer was serving him he made the same remark as the
innkeeper had done respecting his going home with so considerable a
sum as he knew the farmer had about him. The farmer made answer, “I
am going home to-night, but our friend the publican, has lent me a
pistol; and if any one interrupts me, I intend to blow his brains
out.”—”Do you know,” said [pg 392] the grocer, “I do not
like that fellow. Will you let me look at the pistol if you have it
with you.”—”O yes, look at it if you like. I never fired a
pistol in my life; however, should I be stopped, I think I could
manage it.” The grocer took the pistol; drew the charge; and found,
to the great surprise of the farmer, it was only loaded with
horse-dung, and a large bullet at the top. “I thought he was a
rascal, and this confirms it.” said the grocer. “Here is evidently
a plot; now leave your money with me; we will load this pistol
properly, and you can, if you like, proceed on your journey: it may
be the means of detecting some one.”

The farmer left his money in the hands of the grocer; went back
to the inn; mounted his horse, and rode off on his journey. About a
mile from Dunmow, he was stopped by a fellow, well mounted, who
instantly demanded his money. “I have not got any,” replied the
farmer, “but I have a pistol, with which, if you do not instantly
allow me to pass on my way home, I will blow your brains out.” “You
have got money—and as to the pistol, you may blow
away—blow away, my fine fellow,” said the chuckling
highwayman. The farmer instantly fired, and his assailant fell off
his horse to the ground with a groan. The farmer galloped back to
the inn, and inquired of the hostler where his master was. “He has
been gone out, on horseback, about a quarter of an hour,” the
hostler replied. “Well, I will tell you what,” said the farmer,
“you may find your master, with his brains blown out, in the road,”
describing the place where he had had the encounter with the
innkeeper.

From this time a number of persons resident in and about Thaxted
and Dunmow, left their places of abode, which circumstance created
some surprise among the remaining inhabitants; but it was
afterwards ascertained they formed the desperate gang that had so
long and successfully robbed, and sometimes murdered, their
unsuspecting neighbours and the different travellers who had
occasion to pass the roads on which these marauders were
stationed.

J.W.B.

Manners & Customs of all Nations.

(For the Mirror.)

WISE MEN OF GOTHAM.

The village of Gotham, about seven miles from Nottingham, has
been rendered noted by the common proverb of “The Wise Men of
Gotham.” It is observable that a custom has prevailed among many
nations of stigmatizing the inhabitants of some particular spot as
remarkable for stupidity. This opprobrious district among the
Asiatics was Phrygia. Among the Thracians, Abdera; among the
Greeks, Boeotia; in England it is Gotham. Of the Gothamites
ironically called The Wise Men of Gotham, many ridiculous
stories are traditionally told, particularly, that often having
heard the cuckoo but never seen her, they hedged in a bush from
whence her note seemed to proceed, so that being confined within so
small a compass, they might at length satisfy their curiosity; and
at a place called Court Hill, in this parish, is a bush called
Cuckoo Bush.

HALBERT H.

MALLARD NIGHT.

At All Souls’ College, Oxford, the Mallard Night is
celebrated annually on the 14th of January, in remembrance of a
very singular circumstance, viz. the discovery of a live and
excessively large mallard, or drake, supposed to have long ranged
in a drain or sewer of considerable depth. The only probable
conjecture respecting its extraordinary situation was, that it had
fallen when young through the bars or grating at the entrance of
the drain, (which was of sufficient width to receive it if very
young,) but was found at a great distance from it, on digging for
the foundation of the college, (A.D. 1437.) A very humorous account
of this event was published some years ago by Dr. Buckler,
subwarden, from a manuscript of Thomas Walsingham, the historian,
and monk of St. Alban’s. It is the cause of much mirth, for on the
day, and in remembrance of the mallard, many an old and merry song
is sung.

E.T.S.

WELSH MARRIAGES.

It appears to me a matter of no small surprise that so
economical a people as the English should not have adopted such a
plan as the following by the lower classes of the Welsh. When a
young couple intend offering themselves at the Temple of Hymen, if
they are very poor, they generally send a man, called the bidder,
round to their acquaintance and friends, who invites them,
sometimes in rhyme, to the wedding; but if they can afford it, they
issue circulars. The following is a copy of one:—

“June 27, 1827.

“As we intend to enter the matrimonial state on Thursday, the
19th day of July next, we are encouraged by our friends to make a
bidding on the occasion, the same day, at the Butchers’ Arms,
[pg
393] Carmarthen, when and where the favour of your good and
agreeable company is humbly solicited; and whatever donation you
may be pleased to confer on us then, will be thankfully received,
warmly acknowledged, and cheerfully repaid whenever called for on a
similar occasion.

“By your most obedient servants,

“JOHN JONES.

“MARY EVANS.”

The persons so invited (if they accept the invitation) generally
form part of the procession to church, and are preceded by a harper
or fiddler. After the nuptial knot is tied, they veer their course
to the public-house mentioned in the bills, where they partake, not
of a sumptuous banquet, but of the simple, though not the worst,
fare of bread and cheese and kisses, at the expense of the new
married folks. After this, a large plate is placed on the table in
the room, and they proceed to receive the money which each person
may be disposed to give, whilst one keeps account of the sum and
names. They frequently receive 50l., and sometimes, though
seldom, 100l.; and they have the privilege (by paying the
duty) of selling the ale to the persons assembled. It is to be
observed, that the money so deposited cannot be reclaimed by the
persons who gave it until a similar occasion presents itself in
their family. By this means the new married couple are enabled to
procure furniture, and other things requisite for them.

W.H.

CURIOUS FOUNDATION.

At Spinney, in Cambridgeshire, was an abbey founded in the reign
of Henry III. near which was a church, built by Lady Mary
Bassingburne, and given to the Abbey of Spinney, on condition that
the monks should support seven aged men with the following
allowance, viz. one farthing loaf, one herring, and one pennyworth
of ale per day, and two hundred dry turves, one pair of shoes, one
woollen garment, and three ells of linen every year. Henry
Cromwell, second son of Oliver Cromwell, is buried here.

HALBERT H.

THE SELECTOR,

AND

LITERARY NOTICES OF

NEW WORKS

ADVENTURES OF ALLAN-A-SOP.

By Sir Walter Scott, Bart.

The chief of the clan, MacLean of Duart, in the Isle of Mull,
had an intrigue with a beautiful young woman of his own clan, who
bore a son to him. In consequence of the child’s being, by some
accident, born in a barn, he received the name of Allan-a-Sop, or
Allan of the Straw, by which he was distinguished from others of
his clan. As his father and mother were not married, Allan was of
course a bastard or natural son, and had no inheritance to look
for, save that which he might win for himself.

But the beauty of the boy’s mother having captivated a man of
rank in the clan, called MacLean of Torloisk, he married her, and
took her to reside with him at his castle of Torloisk, situated on
the shores of the Sound, or small strait of the sea, which divides
the smaller island of Ulva from that of Mull. Allan-a-Sop paid his
mother frequent visits at her new residence, and she was naturally
glad to see the poor boy, both from affection, and on account of
his personal strength and beauty, which distinguished him above
other youths of his age. But she was obliged to confer marks of her
attachment on him as privately as she could, for Allan’s visits
were by no means so acceptable to her husband as to herself.
Indeed, Torloisk liked so little to see the lad, that he determined
to put some affront on him, which should prevent his returning to
the castle for some time. An opportunity for executing his purpose
soon occurred.

The lady one morning, looking from the window, saw her son
coming wandering down the hill, and hastened to put a girdle cake
upon the fire, that he might have hot bread to his breakfast.
Something called her out of the apartment after making this
preparation, and her husband entering at the same time, saw at once
what she had been about, and determined to give the boy such a
reception as should disgust him for the future. He snatched the
cake from the girdle, thrust it into his step-son’s hands, which he
forcibly closed on the scalding bread, saying, “Here,
Allan—here is a cake which your mother has got ready for your
breakfast.” Allan’s hands were severely burnt; and, being a
sharp-witted and proud boy, he resented this mark of his
step-father’s ill-will, and came not again to Torloisk.

At this time the western seas were covered with the vessels of
pirates, who, not unlike the sea-kings of Denmark at an early
period, sometimes settled and made conquests on the islands.
Allan-a-Sop was young, strong, and brave to desperation. He entered
as a mariner on board of one of these ships, and in process of time
obtained the command, first of one galley, then of a small
flotilla, with which he sailed round the seas and collected
[pg
394] considerable plunder, until his name became both feared
and famous. At length he proposed to himself to pay a visit to his
mother, whom he had not seen for many years; and setting sail for
this purpose, he anchored one morning in the Sound of Ulva, and in
front of the house of Torloisk. His mother was dead, but his
stepfather, to whom he was now an object of fear as he had been
formerly of aversion, hastened to the shore to receive his
formidable son-in-law, with great affectation of kindness and
interest in his prosperity; while Allan-a-Sop, who, though very
rough and hasty, does not appear to have been sullen or vindictive,
seemed to take his kind reception in good part.

The crafty old man succeeded so well, as he thought, in securing
Allan’s friendship, and in obliterating all recollections of the
former affront put on him, that he began to think it possible to
employ him in executing his private revenge upon MacKinnon of Ulva,
with whom, as was usual between such neighbours, he had some feud.
With this purpose, he offered what he called the following good
advice to his son-in-law:—”My dear Allan, you have now
wandered over the seas long enough; it is time you should have some
footing upon land, a castle to protect yourself in winter, a
village and cattle for your men, and a harbour to lay up your
galleys. Now, here is the island of Ulva, near at hand, which lies
ready for your occupation, and it will cost you no trouble, save
that of putting to death the present proprietor, the Laird of
MacKinnon, a useless old carle, who has cumbered the world long
enough.”

Allan-a-Sop thanked his stepfather for so happy a suggestion,
which he declared he would put in execution forthwith. Accordingly,
setting sail the next morning, he appeared before MacKinnon’s house
an hour before noon. The old chief of Ulva was much alarmed at the
menacing apparition of so many galleys, and his anxiety was not
lessened by the news, that they were commanded by the redoubted
Allan-a-Sop. Having no effectual means of resistance, MacKinnon,
who was a man of shrewd sense, saw no alternative save that of
receiving the invaders, whatever might be their purpose, with all
outward demonstrations of joy and satisfaction. He caused immediate
preparations to be made for a banquet as splendid as circumstances
admitted, hastened down to the shore to meet the rover, and
welcomed him to Ulva with such an appearance of sincerity, that the
pirate found it impossible to pick any quarrel which might afford a
pretence for executing the violent purpose which he had been led to
meditate.

They feasted together the whole day; and in the evening, as
Allan-a-Sop was about to retire to his ships, he thanked the Laird
of MacKinnon for his entertainment, but remarked, with a sigh, that
it had cost him very dear. “How can that be” said MacKinnon, “when
I bestowed this entertainment upon you in free
good-will?”—”It is true, my friend,” replied the pirate, “but
then it has quite disconcerted the purpose for which I came hither;
which was to put you to death, my good friend, and seize upon your
house and island, and so settle myself in the world. It would have
been very convenient, this island, but your friendly reception has
rendered it impossible for me to execute my purpose; so that I must
be a wanderer on the seas for some time longer.” Whatever MacKinnon
felt at hearing that he had been so near to destruction, he took
care to show no emotion save surprise, and replied to his
visiter,—”My dear Allan, who was it that put into your mind
so unkind a purpose towards your old friend; for I am sure it never
arose from your own generous nature? It must have been your
father-in-law, old Torloisk, who made such an indifferent husband
to your mother, and such an unfriendly stepfather to you when you
were a helpless boy; but now, when he sees you a bold and powerful
leader, he desires to make a quarrel betwixt you and those who were
the friends of your youth. If you consider this matter rightly,
Allan, you will see that the estate and harbour of Torloisk lie as
conveniently for you as those of Ulva, and that, if you are to make
a settlement by force, it is much better it should be at the
expense of the old churl, who never showed you kindness or
countenance, than at that of a friend like me, who always loved and
honoured you.”

Allan-a-Sop was struck with the justice of this reasoning; and
the old offence of his scalded fingers was suddenly recalled to his
mind. “It is very true what you say, MacKinnon,” he replied, “and,
besides, I have not forgotten what a hot breakfast my father-in-law
treated me to one morning. Farewell for the present; you shall soon
hear news of me from the other side of the Sound.” Having said thus
much, the pirate got on board, and commanding his men to unmoor the
galleys, sailed back to Torloisk, and prepared to land in arms. His
father-in-law hastened to meet him, in expectation to hear of the
death of his enemy, MacKinnon. But Allan greeted him in a very
different manner from what he expected. [pg 395] “You
hoary old traitor,” he said, “you instigated my simple good-nature
to murder a better man than yourself. But have you forgotten how
you scorched my fingers twenty years ago, with a burning cake? The
day is come that that breakfast must be paid for.” So saying, he
dashed out his father-in-law’s brains with a battle-axe, took
possession of his castle and property, and established there a
distinguished branch of the clan of MacLean.—Tales of a
Grandfather—Second Series.

ADVANTAGES OF A GOOD HEART,

A Fragment from the “Disowned,” by the author of
“Pelham.”

“The next day, Sir Christopher Findlater called on Clarence.
‘Let us lounge into the park,’ said he. ‘With pleasure,’ replied
Clarence; and into the park they lounged. By the way they met a
crowd, who were hurrying a man to prison. The good-hearted Sir
Christopher stopped—’Who is that poor fellow?’ said he. ‘It
is the celebrated’—(in England all criminals are celebrated.
Thurtell was a hero, Thistlewood a patriot, and Fauntleroy was
discovered to be exactly like Bonaparte)—’it is the
celebrated robber, John Jefferies, who broke into Mrs. Wilson’s
house, and cut the throats of herself and her husband, wounded the
maid-servant, and split the child’s skull with the poker.’ * * *
‘John Jefferies!’ exclaimed the baronet, ‘let us come away.’
‘Linden,’ continued Sir Christopher, ‘that fellow was my servant
once. He robbed me to some considerable extent. I caught him. He
appealed to my heart, and you know, my dear fellow, that was
irresistible, so I let him off. Who could have thought he would
have turned out so?’ And the baronet proceeded to eulogize his own
good nature, by which it is just necessary to remark, that one
miscreant had been saved for a few years from transportation in
order to rob and murder ad libitum, and having fulfilled the
office of a common pest, to suffer on the gallows at last. What a
fine thing it is to have a good heart! Both our gentlemen now sunk
into a reverie, from which they were awakened, at the entrance of
the park, by a young man in rags, who, with a piteous tone,
supplicated charity. Clarence, who to his honour be it spoken,
spent an allotted and considerable part of his income in judicious
and laborious benevolence, had read a little of political morals,
then beginning to be understood, and walked on. The good-hearted
baronet put his hand in his pocket, and gave the beggar
half-a-guinea, by which a young, strong man, who had only just
commenced the trade, was confirmed in his imposition for the rest
of his life; and instead of the useful support, became the
pernicious incumbrance of society. Sir Christopher had now
recovered his spirits. ‘What’s like a good action?’ said he to
Clarence, with a swelling breast. The park was crowded to excess;
our loungers were joined by Lord St. George. His lordship was a
staunch Tory. He could not endure Wilkes, liberty, or general
education. He launched out against the enlightenment of domestics.
‘What has made you so bitter?’ said Sir Christopher. ‘My valet!’
cried Lord St. George; ‘he has invented a new toasting-fork; is
going to take out a patent, make his fortune, and leave me;
that’s what I call ingratitude, Sir Christopher; for I ordered his
wages to be raised five pounds but last year.’ ‘It was very
ungrateful,’ said the ironical Clarence. ‘Very!’ reiterated the
good-hearted Sir Christopher. ‘You cannot recommend me a valet,
Findlater,’ renewed his lordship; ‘a good, honest, sensible fellow,
who can neither read nor write?’ ‘N—o—o—that is
to say, yes! I can; my old servant, Collard, is out of place, and
is as ignorant as—as—’ ‘I—or you are,’ said Lord
St. George, with a laugh. ‘Precisely,’ replied the baronet. ‘Well,
then, I take your recommendation: send him to me to-morrow at
twelve.’ ‘I will,’ said Sir Christopher. ‘My dear Findlater,’ cried
Clarence, when Lord St. George was gone, ‘did you not tell me some
time ago, that Collard was a great rascal, and closely lie
with Jefferies? and now you recommend him to Lord St. George!’
‘Hush, hush, hush!’ said the baronet; ‘he was a great rogue, to be
sure; but poor fellow, he came to me yesterday with tears in his
eyes, and said he should starve if I would not give him a
character; so what could I do?’ ‘At least, tell Lord St. George the
truth,’ observed Clarence. ‘But then Lord St. George would not take
him!’ rejoined the good-hearted Sir Christopher, with forcible
naiveté. ‘No, no, Linden, we must not be so
hard-hearted; we must forgive and forget;’ and so saying, the
baronet threw out his chest, with the conscious exultation of a man
who has uttered a noble sentiment. The moral of this little history
is, that Lord St. George, having been pillaged ‘through thick and
thin,’ as the proverb has it, for two years, at last missed a gold
watch, and Monsieur Collard finished his career, as his exemplary
tutor, Mr. John Jefferies, had [pg 396] done before him. Ah!
what a fine thing it is to have a good heart. But, to return, just
as our wanderers had arrived at the further end of the park, Lady
Westborough and her daughter passed them. Clarence excusing himself
to his friend, hastened towards them, and was soon occupied in
saying the prettiest things in the world to the prettiest person,
at least in his eyes; while Sir Christopher, having done as much
mischief as a good heart well can do in a walk of an hour, returned
home to write a long letter to his mother, against ‘learning and
all such nonsense, which only served to blunt the affections and
harden the heart.’ ‘Admirable young man!’ cried the mother, with
tears in her eyes; ‘a good heart is better than all the heads in
the world.’ Amen!”

SPIRIT OF THE

Public Journals.

QUADRANGLE OF KING’S COLLEGE, CAMBRIDGE.

In the last New Monthly Magazine is an excellent account
of this splendid structure, in A Day at Cambridge,—in
which occurs the following exquisite little descriptive
gem:—

With the exception of a gravel walk, running near to the
buildings on every side, the whole ground-plot of this quadrangle
is covered by an unbroken turf, kept, by means of constant and
almost hourly attention, in that exquisite order which is only to
be observed in spots devoted to similar purposes, here and at
Oxford. The effect of an unbroken plot of turf of this kind and
quality, and in a situation like this, is perfectly unique, and
perhaps indescribable. It is supposed to be, and in fact is, for
all purposes of preservation and beauty, sacred from the foot of
man or beast; and the feeling arising from this circumstance, added
to the exquisite natural adaptation of the object itself to the
purposes of rest and relief from the almost dazzling architectural
splendour of the surrounding objects, is such as cannot be
communicated by any other means whatever, and we might in vain
attempt to describe. It is of such a kind, however, that those who
are capable of experiencing it, would as soon think of treading
upon the object that conveys it to them, as those who honour Nature
would think of rooting up a nest of violets. Speaking for ourselves
alone, there is but one thing that can disturb and deteriorate the
absolute tranquillity of mind, and peace of heart, which fall upon
us, like dew from heaven, on entering a place like that we have
attempted to describe above; it is, to see a capped and gowned
Fellow, profaning with his footsteps the floor of that, in some
sort, sacred temple, merely because he can, by so doing, reach his
habitation by a few footsteps less than if he kept to the path
allotted for him. We look upon the act as a species of impiety; to
say nothing of its proving, to a demonstration, that the person who
commits it is either utterly insensible to the mysterious harmony
that subsists between a certain class of natural objects and the
heart of man; or utterly disregards that harmony, and sets it at
naught. He is, in fact, one of whom it may in one sense be said,
that

And we are almost tempted to complete the quotation, by
adding—

A RUSTIC PAIR.

By Miss Mitford.

Few damsels of twelve years old, generally a very pretty age,
were less pretty that Hannah Bint. Short and stunted in her figure,
thin in face, sharp in feature, with a muddled complexion, wild
sun-burnt hair, and eyes, whose very brightness had in them
something startling, over-informed, super-subtle, too clever for
her age. At twelve years old she had quite the air of a little old
fairy. Now, at seventeen, matters are mended. Her complexion has
cleared; her countenance, her figure, has shot up into height and
brightness, and a sort of rustic grace; her bright, acute eye is
softened and sweetened by the womanly wish to please; her hair is
trimmed, and curled, and brushed with exquisite neatness; and her
whole dress arranged with that nice attention to the becoming, the
suitable both in form and texture, which would be called the
highest degree of coquetry, if it did not deserve the better name
of propriety. Never was such a transmogrification beheld. The lass
is really pretty, and Ned Miles has discovered that she is so.
There he stands, the rogue, close at her aide, (for he hath joined
her whilst we have been telling her little story, and the milking
is over!)—there he stands—holding her milk-pail in one
hand, and stroking Watch with the other; whilst she is returning
the compliment, by patting Neptune’s magnificent head. There they
stand, as much like lovers as may be; he smiling, and she
blushing—he never looking so handsome, nor she so pretty, in
all their lives. There they stand, in [pg 397]
blessed forgetfulness of all except each other—as happy a
couple as ever trod the earth. There they stand, and one would not
disturb them for all the milk and butter in Christendom. I should
not wonder if they were fixing the wedding-day.

RECOLLECTIONS OF A R*T.

(Concluded from page 365.)

Finding a detachment just setting out to join the Grand Allied
Army, I thought, as a true Briton, I could do no less than
accompany it, and prevailed upon all our party to do the same.

The detachment with which I marched, consisted of 80,000. As we
had little baggage, having crossed the Rhine, we proceeded rapidly
through a dull, uninteresting country.

The town of Coblentz is situated at the junction of the Rhine
and the Moselle. Here the majestic Rhine gently flows along in all
its grandeur, separating the town from the noble fortress of
Ehrenbreitstein.⁶ I crossed
over the bridge of boats, and made a most minute inspection of this
very romantic castle, which gave me great pleasure indeed. In a few
days I availed myself of a passage-boat which was going to Mayence,
and was quite enraptured with the view on all sides. Rhenish wines,
and perhaps also the water, I found did not well agree with my
stomach; and no inconsiderable annoyance, I soon experienced. They
seemed, however, to have exactly the same effect upon every
Englishman I saw, so I was not singular. A little brandy soon,
however, put me all to rights; and by the time I reached
Strasbourg, I was perfectly well again, and able to do ample
justice to her Splendid Pies! I attended high mass in the great
Cathedral of Strasbourg, and was surprised and pleased at the sight
of 10,000 soldiers, in review order, drawn up within its walls. It
was tiresome enough work mounting to the top of the spire, (which I
ascertained, by the steps I took, to be exactly 490 feet high,
Strasbourg measure; and this is exactly eight feet higher than St.
Peter’s at Rome), but I made it out, notwithstanding the sulky
looks of the jackanapes who lives at the top. Nothing can surpass
the beauty of the view from this cathedral. At your feet you have
the ancient town, with all its regular fortifications and
outworks—the majestic Rhine, with its bridge of boats, and
ruined Gothic bridge, sublime in its decay—and as far as the
eye can reach you have an exceedingly rich country, everywhere
speckled with towns, and fertilized by luxuriant streams.

I made a point of visiting my venerable friend, the old Comte de
Strasbourg, who, unchanged in the rolling on of centuries, lies in
his glass coffin, to all appearance in the same freshness of health
and vigour in which, when myself a very young man, I saw him many
hundred years ago;⁷ his
countess, his son, and his daughter, keep him company, each in
their separate place of repose. Alas, alas! the sight made me
weep.

A few days afterwards, I was rather unexpectedly stopped in my
tour. For a night I had taken up my residence in the carriage of a
young Englishman, who that day arrived from Rome, the hostler
having assured me that he would remain for some time. I did so, as
I found it much quieter and cooler than the hotel “La ville de
Lyon,” which was overcrowded. In the morning, I thought my friends
were merely going a short drive, so I kept my seat. We, however,
travelled on till night, when I heard we were bound for London; but
as my companions were very agreeable, I thought I might as well
accompany them the whole way. They seemed to be annoyed at every
posthouse with their passports, &c.; I was never even asked
about the matter. The custom-house gentry, in their searches, to be
sure, occasionally gave me a little trouble, but I was soon up to
their tricks. We had an avant-courier constantly galloping before
us, and we travelled with such expedition that we reached London in
five days; for my fellow-travellers were idle young men of fortune,
who are of course always in the greatest hurry for the end of a
journey, because they don’t know what to make of themselves when it
is over.

I had not then an opportunity of seeing Paris, as we only
changed horses in it. I have since, however, spent many months
there, and have always been very much pleased with every thing I
saw, particularly the Catacombs, which were my favourite lounge.
When last in Paris, I made a narrow escape with my life, as I
tumbled headlong into a cask of brandy. I, however, managed to
scramble out, with the assistance of a bit of cord, which happened
to be hanging over its side, and which my friend pushed in to me. I
was little the worse of my ducking; for, as soon as I got out, I
was set a-laughing by his telling me how to spell brandy, in
both French and English, in three letters, viz. “B.R. and Y.” and
“O.D.V.”

In London I made a point, as a stranger, of going everywhere,
and was certainly much delighted with every thing. I must confess,
however, that I thought all the acting at the Opera and Theatres,
and all the eloquence of the Houses of Parliament, as nothing in
comparison of what I saw and tasted at the East India and London
Docks. When I was in the House of Lords, a companion whispered to
me, that he had heard an act read, offering a reward of
10,000l. for a male tortoise-shell cat. This I
believe, indeed, is a very safe offer, for such a thing was never
heard of. And it is certainly as much worth their while as making
an act that I should never have more than six dishes of meat at my
dinner, or that I should not be buried in linen above twenty
shillings Scots value per ell, although I wished it particularly,
and could well afford to pay for it. There was, however, one
restrictive act, which had sense in it; and the husbands of the
present day would, I dare say, give their ears that it were still
in force, whatever the dressmakers might think of it. But many of
their acts of Parliament are silly enough—as they must be;
for they don’t like to be thought idle, and imagine that it is
necessary to be always enacting something.

It is curious, indeed, how fashion should be every thing in the
great city. A lady could not possibly venture to see her dearest
friend on earth, or even her own sister, if she happened to live in
rather an unfashionable part of the town. By so doing, she would
expose herself to her own footmen, who very properly would lose all
respect for her, and I suppose instantly leave her service, as,
poor fellows, they have a rank in life to keep up!! John Bull
certainly gives himself many airs, to say the least of it. After
receiving the greatest kindness and hospitality from you in
Scotland, and perhaps staying for months in your house, he will cut
you dead in London. I remember once meeting with such a return, but
took it, of course, very coolly. Next day, when I was arm in arm
with —— ——, I happened again to meet my
quondam friend, who immediately rushed up to me—I, however,
turned on my tail, and did not know him.—Fashion is an odd
thing after all. It is not rank which will do. I have seen many a
spendthrift young commoner cut his uncle the duke; and being a
duchess by no means will ensure admittance at Almack’s.—I
thank my stars, I am not fashionable, and am always happy to see my
friends!

I was persuaded, soon after reaching London, to go down to Essex
for a few days, to pay a visit to an old friend. When I arrived at
his house, which I think they called Waltham Abbey, I was sorry to
receive the melancholy accounts that he had been devoured, and
that, if I did not instantly take myself off, I should be dealt
with in the same manner. The truth was, that a famine had arisen;
and it is well known, on those occasions, as necessity has no law,
that the stronger kills the weaker. Day after day the combat is
renewed, till at last all except one are destroyed, and he is then
obliged to decamp, or eat himself up, as he likes best. It is in
this way that castles, houses, &c. which have been long
infested by us, are so suddenly entirely freed from our
presence.

I amused myself in making an excursion to Epping Forest, till I
thought the civil war at my late friend’s habitation might have
proceeded far enough for my presence to be useful. In the forest,
one day, I had the luck to kill one of those troublesome
reptiles—a Tom Cat. I believe, however, it was a house one.
After a hard day’s hunting his highness made too free at a Valerian
party. I watched my opportunity, and soon put an effectual end to
his caterwauling. When I returned to the abbey, I found I was in
the best possible time—the garrison being reduced to about a
dozen, and they so weakened and tired out with the constant
worrying work they had had, that I was myself a complete match for
any two of them. In a few days the number was only four, and in
other two days I was sole lord and master.

[He then returns to town.]

At a friend’s house, in Berkeley Square, where I met a
distinguished party, a scene took place, just such as Pope
describes—

I, however, made good my exit, and was nothing the worse of a
practical warning to be more cautious in future.

It would be endless for me to describe all my after voyages and
travels. Suffice it to say, I have been both east and west, north
and south; and there is scarcely a part of the habitable globe
which I have not visited. After all, I have come to this
conclusion, that there is no country like Britain. Oh! how I could
wish my human existence had been in such happy [pg 399] times
and under such glorious sovereigns as a George the Third, and
George the Fourth!!!

For some years I have remained in this country, enjoying (like a
patriarch of old) a quiet, regular life with my family, which now
amounts to above 2,000. I, however, keep very much to my own room,
as I hate bustle, and like to enjoy my own reflections.

The age to which our species can exist is not ascertained, as
never one of us was known to die in his bed, at least a natural
death. A kind of instinct I have always had, has as yet saved me
from arsenic, stewed corks, traps, stamps, &c.; and my great
strength, and a good deal of science, which is of more consequence,
have, as yet, preserved me in many a deadly combat, both with my
own species, and with the dog, the ferret, the weasel, the hawk,
and that green-eyed monster—the cat. But I am now getting
somewhat stiffer, and am not so sharp as I was. I am not—

And in some evil hour my time must come.

—I am well aware, indeed, of the fleeting existence even
of this world itself, for I studied astronomy with the celebrated
M. Olbers of Bremen, and assisted him in making many useful
observations and discoveries, particularly regarding comets, in the
course of which we came to this melancholy conclusion, that the
comet which was afterwards visible in 1786 and 1795, will, in
83,000 years, approach the earth as nearly as the moon; and that in
4,000,000 years it will come to within a distance of 7,700
geographical miles;—the consequence of which will be (if its
attraction be equal to that of the earth) the elevation of the
waters of the ocean 13,000 feet; that is to say, above the tops of
all the European mountains, except Mount Blanc. The inhabitants of
the Andes and of the Himalaya mountains alone will escape this
second deluge; but they will not benefit by their good fortune more
than 216,000,000 years, for it is probable, that at the expiration
of that time, our globe standing right in the way of the comet,
will receive a shock severe enough to ensure its utter
destruction!!!

Note.—After reading over the above MS., I am
inclined to come to this conclusion—that our historian, while
in a human form, must have been a Scottish nobleman—that he
probably was born about the year 1501—and that he lived to
about the age of 89.—Ed.

THE FANCY BALL.

The Gatherer.

FRENCH BALL CONVERSATION.

During the French revolution, parties danced as gaily as ever;
the following is a ball conversation, which took place in the month
of Frimare, year 7.:—Well, the Ottoman Porte has declared war
against us! Oh yes, there is no doubt of it, (En avant deux)
It is an enemy the more—(chassez) and the Russian
fleet they say has passed the Dardanelles, (en avant quatre)
yet the papers say that the emperor sincerely desires
peace.—Yes, but Count Metternich wishes for war,
(balancez) so we have also a new coalition against us.
England, Portugal, Naples, Turkey, the Emperor, Russia, perhaps the
empire of Prussia, (Faites face et chassez tous les
huit)—well we have bayonettes, (la poussette)
besides it is not so far from Dover to Calais,
(traversez)—Do you belong to the
conscription?—Yes, and I too; (pirouettez) what makes
me uneasy is to know what will become of our partners when we are
gone: (La chaine des dames)—what will be left to amuse
them (La queu du chat.) It was thus that days of terror were
preceded by evenings of amusement and pleasure.

INTUITIVE AFFECTION.

“There are three things,” said a wit, “which I have always loved
without ever understanding them, painting, music, and woman.”

RETORT UNCOURTEOUS.

A lady, well known in the fashionable vicinity of
Portland-place, always accosts a stranger, with “I think I have
seen you somewhere,” which often leads to a clue for her finding
out the history of the party. One evening she played off the same
game on a gentleman, who replied, “Most likely, madam, for I
sometimes go there.”

With the present Number is published the SECOND SUPPLEMENT of
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Footnote 1: (return)

The Second of “the Spirit of the Annuals,” containing a fine
Engraving, after a celebrated picture by Turner, and a string of
POETICAL GEMS from the Anniversary, Keepsake, and Friendship’s
Offering, with unique extracts from such of “the Annuals” as were
not noticed in the previous Supplement.

Footnote 2: (return)

Vide Percy’s “Reliques,” vol. ii. p. 178.

Footnote 3: (return)

Strype’s Stowe, vol. ii. p. 47, edit. 1755.

Footnote 4: (return)

Miraculous dancing is not, however, confined to animals; for
William of Malmesbury gravely relates an instance of 15 young women
and 18 young men who (by the anathema of a priest) continued
dancing a whole year, and wore the earth so much, that, by degrees,
they sunk midway into the earth!

Footnote 5: (return)

Here is a card “extraordinary” of one of our humble English
dancing-masters:—”As Dancing is the poetry of motion, those
who wish to sail through the mazes of harmony, or to ‘trip it on
the light fantastic toe,’ will find an able guide in John Wilde,
who was formed by nature for a dancing-master.—N.B. Those who
have been taught to dance with a couple of left legs, had
better apply in time, as he effectually cures all bad habits of the
kind.”

Footnote 6: (return)

Apropos—our Supplement contains a fine Engraving of
this very spot.

Footnote 7: (return)

The venerable count died about the year 1519. The glass coffins
are still shown.

Printed and Published by J. LIMBIRD, 143, Strand, (near
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