THE MIRROR
OF
LITERATURE, AMUSEMENT, AND INSTRUCTION.

VILLAS IN THE REGENT’S PARK.

The villas of this district are among the most pleasing of all
the architectural creations that serve to increase its picturesque
beauty. Their structure is light and elegant, and very different
from the brick and mortar monstrosities that line the southern
outlets of London.

The engravings on the annexed page represent two of a group seen
to advantage from Macclesfield Bridge, pictured in our 351st
Number. The first is

HANOVER LODGE,

the residence of Colonel Sir Robert Arbuthnot, K.C.B. The
architectural simplicity and beauty of this mansion can scarcely
fail to excite the admiration of the beholder. The entrance is by a
handsome portico; and the internal accommodations combine all the
luxuries of a well-proportioned dining-room, and a splendid suite
of drawing-rooms, extending above sixty feet in length, by eighteen
feet in breadth. The upper story comprises nine chambers,
bathing-room, dressing-rooms, &c.; and the domestic offices are
in the first style of completeness.

The grounds are unusually picturesque, for they have none of the
geometrical formalities of the exploded school of
landscape-gardening, or of Nature trimmed and tortured into
artificial embellishment. We have often wondered where the old
gardeners acquired their mathematical education; they must have
gone about with the square and compasses in their pockets—for
knowledge was then clasped up in ponderous folios.

The second engraving is

GROVE HOUSE,

the elegant residence of George Bellas Greenough, Esq., built
from the designs of Mr. Decimus Burton. This is a happy specimen of
the villa style of architecture. The garden front, represented in
the print, is divided into three portions. The centre is a
tetrastyle portico of the Ionic order, raised on a terrace. Between
the columns are three handsome windows. The two wings have
recesses, “the soffites of which are supported by three-quarter
columns of the Doric order. Between these columns are niches, each
of which contains a statue. The absence of other windows and doors
from the front,” (observes Mr. Elmes,) “gives a remarkable and
pleasing casino or pleasure-house character to the
house.”

The portico is purely Grecian, and the proportion of the
pediment very beautiful. The entrance front also consists of a
centre and two wings; but the former has no pediment. The door is
beneath a spacious semicircular portico of the true Doric order,
which alternates with the Ionic in the other parts of the building
with an effect truly harmonious.

Of the internal arrangements of Grove House we will vouch; but
our artist has endeavoured to convey some idea of the natural
beauties with which this little temple of art is environed; and the
engraver has added to the distinctness of the floral embellishments
in the foreground. Altogether, the effect breathes the freshness
and quiet of a rural retreat, although the wealth and fashion of a
metropolis herd in the same parish, and their gay equipages are
probably whirling along the adjacent road.

The exterior of the “COLOSSEUM” (of the interior of which
building our last Number contained a description) was intended for
the embellishment of the present Number. Our engraver
promised—but, as Tillotson quotes in one of his sermons,
“promises and pie-crusts,” &c. The engraving is, however,
intended for our next MIRROR, with some additional particulars of
the interior, &c.

SEVERE FROST.

(For the Mirror.)

On the 25th of December, 1749, a most severe frost commenced; it
continued without intermission for several weeks, during which time
the people, especially the working classes, experienced dreadful
hardships. Many travellers were frozen to death in coaches, and
even foot passengers, in the streets of London, shared the same
fate. Numerous ships, barges, and boats, were sunk by the furious
driving of the ice in the Thames. Great were the distresses of the
poor, and even those who possessed all the comforts of life,
confined themselves within doors, for fear of being frozen if they
ventured abroad.

The watermen of the river received great assistance from
merchants, and other gentlemen of the Royal Exchange; but the
fishermen, gardeners, bricklayers, and others, were reduced to a
miserable extremity. These poor men, presenting a sad aspect,
assembled to the number of several hundreds, and marched through
the principal streets of the metropolis, begging for bread and
clothing. The fishermen carried a boat in mourning, and the
unfortunate mechanics exhibited their implements and utensils. The
citizens of London contributed largely to their relief, as did most
of the inhabitants of the main streets through which the melancholy
procession passed.

G.W.N.

OTWAY, THE POET.

(To the Editor of the Mirror.)

Any anecdote relating to, or illustrative of, the works of this
great man is a public benefaction; and I, in common with all your
readers, (no doubt,) feel obliged to your correspondent for his
history of Charles Brandon, Duke of Suffolk; at least, so much of
it as, it would seem, was connected with the tragedy of the Orphan.
Charles Brandon was, as history informs us, a gay, young, rattling
fellow, a constant exhibitant at all tilts and tournaments at
Whitehall and elsewhere; courageous, “wittie and of goodlie
persone,” in fact, a regular dandy of bygone days, a fine gallant,
and of course a great favourite of his royal master; but,
notwithstanding all this, it is not clear to me that Charles
Brandon and his brother were the romantic originals of Polydore and
Castalio. I rather think, if Otway did form his characters on any
real occurrence of the sort, the distressing event must be laid to
the noble family now proprietors of Woburn.

Perhaps the old nobleman misunderstood the
duchess-dowager when she explained the picture to him; or perhaps
her grace did not choose to be quite so communicate as she
could have been, and, therefore, fixed the sad event upon the gay
Charley Brandon, in whose constellation of gay doings it would,
indeed, be a romantic diamond of the first water.

Every body who knows the gallery at Woburn, must remember the
remarkable picture alluded to. There is in the same apartment a
very fine whole-length of Charles Brandon; but in no way can I see
is it connected with the work which has furnished this tragic
anecdote. At some distance from Brandon’s portrait appears the
first Francis, Earl of Bedford, with a long white beard, and
furred robe, and George, pendant,—an illustrious personage of
this house, who discharged several great offices in the reigns of
Mary and Elizabeth. Such was his hospitality, that Elizabeth used
good-humouredly to say, “Go to, Frank, go to; it is you make all
the beggars.” He died, aged 58, on the 28th of July, 1585, the day
after his third son, Francis, was slain, happily unapprized
of the misfortune.

Now comes the interesting picture in connexion with Otway and
his play. This youth, Francis and his elder brother, the
Lord Edward Russell, are represented in small full-lengths,
in two paintings; and so alike, as scarcely to be distinguished one
from the other; both dressed in white, close jackets, and black and
gold cloaks, and black bonnets. The date by Lord Edward is aet. 22,
1573. He is represented grasping in one hand some snakes with this
motto, Fides homini, serpentibus fraus; and in the back
ground he is placed standing in a labyrinth, above which is
inscribed, Fata viam invenient. This young nobleman died
before his father. His brother Francis has his
accompaniments not less singular. A lady, seemingly in distress, is
represented sitting in the back ground, surrounded with snakes, a
dragon, crocodile, and cock. At a distance are the sea and a ship
under full sail. He, by the attendants, was, perhaps, the Polydore
of the history. Edward seems by his motto, Fides homini,
serpentibus fraus, to have been the Castalio, conscious of his
own integrity, and indignant at his brother’s perfidy. The ship
probably alludes to the desertion of the lady. If it conveyed
Francis to Scotland, it was to his punishment, for he fell on July
27, 1585, in a border affray, the day before his father’s
death.

There, make what you like of this. This is how matters stand at
the Abbey; but I cannot see how this remarkable picture connects
itself with Charles Brandon, Duke of Suffolk. I pause for
elucidation.

BEPPO.

ON THE CONSTANCY OF WOMAN.

(For the Mirror.)

There is not an accomplishment in the mind of a female more
enchanting, nor one which adds more dignity and grace to her
person, than constancy. Whatever share of beauty she may be
possessed of, whether she may have the tinge of Hebe on her cheeks,
vying in colour with the damask rose, and breath as
fragrant—and the graceful and elegant gait of an
Ariel—still, unless she is endowed with this characteristic
of a virtuous and ingenuous mind, all her personal charms will fade
away, through neglect, like decaying fruit in autumn. The whole
list of female virtues are in their kind essential to the felicity
of man; but there is such beauty and grandeur of sentiment
displayed in the exercise of constancy, that it has been justly
esteemed by the dramatic poets as the chief excellence of their
heroines. It nerves the arm of the warrior when absent from the
dear object of his devoted attachment, when he reflects, that his
confidence in her regard was never misplaced; but yet, amidst the
dangers of his profession, he sighs for his abode of domestic
happiness, where the breath of calumny never entered, and
[pg
52] where the wily and lustful seducer, if he dared to put
his foot, shrunk back aghast with shame and confusion, like Satan
when he first beheld the primitive innocence and concord between
Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden. It adds a zest to the toils of
the peasant, and his heart expands with joy and gratitude when he
returns in the evening to his ivy-mantled cottage, and finds his
wife assiduously engaged in the household duties of his family. And
it soothes the mind of the lunatic during the lucid intervals of
the aberration of his intellects, and tends more than anything else
to restore him to reason. In fact, there is no calamity that is
incident to man, but that female constancy will assuage. Whether in
sickness or health, in prosperity or poverty, in mirth or sadness,
(vicissitudes which form the common lot of mankind in their
pilgrimage through this life;) the loveliness of this inestimable
blessing will shine forth, like the sun on a misty morning, and
preserve the even temperature of the mind. To the youthful lover it
is the polar star that guides him from the shoals and quicksands of
vice, among which his wayward fancy and inexperience are too apt to
lead him. But in the matrimonial state, the pleasures arising from
the exercise of this virtue are manifold, as it sheds a galaxy of
splendour around the social hemisphere; for it is such a divine
perfection, that Solomon has wisely observed, that

A husband so blessed in marriage, might exclaim with the lover
in one of Terence’s comedies, “I protest solemnly that I will never
forsake her; no, not if I was sure to contract the enmity of
mankind by this resolution. Her I made the object of my wishes, and
have obtained her; our dispositions suit; and I will shake hands
with them that would sow dissension betwixt us; for death, and only
death, shall take her from me.”

The eulogies of the poets in regard to this amiable trait in the
female character, are sublime and beautiful; but none, I think,
have surpassed in vivid fancy and depth of feeling, that of Lord
Byron, in his elegant poem of the Corsair. The following
passage describing the grief of Medora on the departure of Conrad,
the pirate, is sketched with the pencil of a poet who was
transcendently gifted with a knowledge of the inmost recesses of
the human heart:—

The description of Conrad’s return from his piratical cruise,
the agony of his mind when he finds that his lovely Medora had
fallen a sacrifice to her affectionate regard for him, and his
sudden departure in a boat, through despair, is equally grand and
powerful, and exhibits a fine specimen of the influence of female
constancy even on the mind of a man like Conrad, who, from the
nature of his pursuits, was inured to the infliction of wrongs on
his fellow-creatures.

The anecdote of the behaviour of Arria towards her husband,
Pætus, related by Pliny, is one of the greatest instances of
constancy and magnanimity of mind to be met with in history.
Pætus was imprisoned, and condemned to die, for joining in a
conspiracy against the Emperor, Claudius. Arria, having provided
herself with a dagger, one day observed a more than usual gloom on
the countenance of Pætus, when judging that death by the
executioner might be more terrible to him than the field of glory,
and perhaps, too, sensible that it was for her sake he wished to
live, she drew the dagger from her side, and stabbed herself before
his eyes. Then instantly plucking the weapon from her breast, she
presented it to her husband, saying, “My Pætus, it is not
painful!” Read this, ye votaries of voluptuousness. Reflect upon
the fine moral lesson of conjugal virtue that is conveyed in this
domestic tragedy, ye brutal contemners of female chastity, and of
every virtue that emits a ray of glory around the social circle of
matrimonial happiness! Take into your serious consideration this
direful but noble proof of constancy, ye giddy and thoughtless
worshippers at the shrine of beauty, and know, that a virtuous
disposition is the brightest ornament of the female sex.

This is a true and beautiful picture of constancy of mind, under
those rude blasts of adversity, which too frequently nip the growth
of affection. The only alternative against a decay of passion on
such occasions, is a sufficient portion of virtue, strong and
well-grounded love, and constancy of mind as firm as the rock. In
short, without constancy, there can be neither love, friendship,
nor virtue, in the world.

J.P.

CAVE AT BLACKHEATH.

(To the Editor of the Mirror.)

Allow me to hand you an account of a very curious cavern at
Blackheath, fortuitously discovered in the year 1780, and which
will form, I have no doubt, a pleasing addition to the valued
communication of your correspondent Halbert H., in the 348th
Number of the MIRROR, and prove interesting to the greater portion
of your numerous readers. It is situated on the hill, (on the left
hand side from London,) and is a very spacious vaulted cavern, hewn
through a solid chalk-stone rock, one hundred feet below the
surface. The Saxons, on their entrance into Kent, upwards of 1,300
years ago, excavated several of these retreats; and during the
discord, horrid murders, and sanguinary conflicts with the native
Britons, for nearly five hundred years, used these underground
recesses, not only as safe receptacles for their persons, but also
secure depositaries for their wealth and plunder. After these
times, history informs us the caves were frequently resorted to,
and occupied by the disloyal and unprincipled rebels, headed by
Jack Cade, in the reign of Henry VI., about A.D. 1400, who infested
Blackheath and its neighbourhood, (as also mentioned by your
correspondent;) since then by several banditti, called Levellers,
in the rebellious times of Oliver Cromwell. The cave consists of
three rooms, which are dry, and illuminated; in one of which, at
the end of the principal entrance, is a well of soft, pure, and
clear water, which, according to the opinion of several eminent
men, is seldom to be met with. The internal structure is similar to
the cave under the ruins of Reigate Castle, built by the Saxons;
where the barons of England, in the year 1212, with their
followers, (frequently amounting to five hundred persons,) held
their private meetings, and took up arms, previous to their
obtaining Magna Charta at Runny Mead, near Egham, in Surrey.

C.J.T.

STANGING.

(For the Mirror.)

This odd custom is now vice versâ. The stang is of
Saxon origin, and is practised in Lancashire, Cumberland, and
Westmoreland, for the purpose of exposing a kind of gyneocracy, or,
the wife wearing the galligaskins. When it is known (which it
generally is) that a wife falls out with her spouse, and beats him
right well, the people of the town or village procure a ladder, and
instantly repair to his house, where one of the party is powdered
with flour—face blacked—cocked hat placed upon his
cranium—white sheet thrown over his shoulders—is seated
astride the ladder, with his back where his face should
be—they hoist him upon men’s shoulders—and in his hands
he carries a long brush, tongs, and poker. A sort of mock
proclamation is then made in doggerel verse at the door of all the
alehouses in the parish, or wapentake, as follows:—

The conclusion of this local custom is generally ended at the
market cross, (if any,) or in the middle of the hamlet; after
which, one of the posse goes round with a hat, begging the
contributions of those present; they then regale themselves at some
of the village ale-shops, out of the proceeds of the day’s
merriment.— Brand and Strutt mention this custom; as does
Brigg, in his “Westmoreland as it was.”

J.W.

Preston, Lancashire.

THE SKETCH-BOOK.

[The following characteristic sketch having been presented to me
by a friend as, to the best of his knowledge, an unpublished
morceau by the celebrated Ettrick Shepherd, I have by his
permission the pleasure of [pg 54] adding it, to the many interesting
cabinet pictures, already preserved in this department of
the MIRROR.—M.L.B.]

ROVER.

Rover is now about six years old. He was born half a year before
our eldest girl; and is accordingly looked upon as a kind of elder
brother by the children. He is a small, beautiful liver-coloured
spaniel, but not one of your goggle-eyed Blenheim breed. He is none
of your lap dogs. No, Rover has a soul above that. You may make him
your friend, but he scorns to be a pet. No one can see him without
admiring him, and no one can know him without loving him. He is as
regularly inquired after as any other member of the family; for who
that has ever known Rover can forget him? He has an instinctive
perception of his master’s friends, to whom he metes out his
caresses in the proportion of their attachment to the chief object
of his affections. When I return from an absence, or when he meets
an old friend of mine, or of his own (which is the same thing to
him) his ecstacy is unbounded; he tears and curvets about the room
as if mad; and if out of doors, he makes the welkin ring with his
clear and joyous note. When he sees a young person in company he
immediately selects him for a play fellow. He fetches a stick,
coaxes him out of the house, drops it at his feet; then retiring
backwards, barking, plainly indicates his desire to have it thrown
for him. He is never tired of his work. Indeed, I fear poor fellow,
that his teeth, which already show signs of premature decay, have
suffered from the diversion. But though Rover has a soul for fun,
yet he is a game dog too. There is not a better cocker in England.
In fact he delights in sport of every kind, and if he cannot have
it with me, he will have it on his own account. He frequently
decoys the greyhounds out and finds hares for them. Indeed he has
done me some injury in this way, for if he can find a pointer
loose, he will, if possible, seduce him from his duty, and take him
off upon some lawless excursion; and it is not till after an hour’s
whistling and hallooing that I see the truants sneaking round to
the back door, panting and smoking, with their tails knitted up
between their legs, and their long dripping tongues depending from
their watery mouths—he the most bare-faced caitiff of
the whole. In general, however, he will have nothing to say to the
canine species, for notwithstanding the classification of Buffon,
he considers he has a prescriptive right to associate with man. He
is, in fact, rather cross with other dogs; but with children he is
quite at home, doubtless reckoning himself about on a level with
them in the scale of rational beings. Every boy in the village
knows his name, and I often catch him in the street with a posse of
little, dirty urchins playing around him. But he is not quite
satisfied with this kind of company; for, if taking a walk with any
of the family, he will only just acknowledge his plebeian
play-fellow with a simple shake of the tail, equivalent to the
distant nod which a patrician school-boy bestows on the town-boy
school-fellow whom he chances to meet when in company with his
aristocratical relations. The only approach to bad feeling that I
ever discovered in Rover is a slight disposition to jealousy; but
this in him is more a virtue than a vice; for it springs entirely
from affection, and has nothing mean or malicious in it, one
instance will suffice to show how he expresses this feeling. One
day a little stray dog attached himself to me and followed me home;
I took him into the house and had him fed, intending to keep him
until I could discover the owner. For this act of kindness the dog
expressed thanks in the usual way. Rover, although used to play the
truant, from the moment the little stranger entered the premises,
never quitted us till he saw him fairly off. His manner towards us
became more ingratiating than usual, and he seemed desirous, by his
assiduities and attentions, to show us, that we stood in need of no
other favourite or companion. But at the same time he showed no
animosity whatever towards his supposed rival. Here was reason and
refinement too. Besides the friends whom he meets in my house,
Rover also forms attachments of his own, in which he shows a great
discrimination. It is not every one who offers him a bone that he
will trust as a friend. He has one or two intimate acquaintances in
the village whom he regularly visits, and where in case of any
remissness on the part of the cook, he is sure to find a plate of
meat. Rover is a most feeling, sweet dispositioned dog—one
instance of his affection and kindheartedness I cannot omit. He had
formed an attachment to a labourer, who worked about my garden, and
would frequently follow him to his home, where he was caressed by
the wife and children. It happened that the poor wife was taken ill
and died. The husband was seriously afflicted, and showed a feeling
above the common. At this time I observed that Rover had quite lost
his spirits, and appeared to pine. Seeing him in this state one
day, when in company with the widowed [pg 55] labourer, and thinking in
some measure to divert the poor fellow’s thoughts from his own
sorrows, I remarked to him the state that Rover was in, and asked
him if he could guess the cause. “He is fretting after poor Peggy,”
was his reply, giving vent at the same time to a flood of
tears.

JAMES HOGG.

NOTES OF A READER.

OLD DANCING.

An “Old Subscriber,” who loves a friend and a jest’s prosperity,
has sent us a few leaves of “The Dancing Master,” printed in 1728,
which form a curious contrast with Mr. Lindsay’s elegant treatise,
printed at Mr. Clowes’s musical office. What will some of
the quadrillers say to the following exquisite morsel of dancing,
entitled, “The Old Maid in Tears?”—”Longways for as many as
will”.—(then the notes, and the following
instructions:)—”Note: Each strain is to be play’d twice
ov’er.—The first wo. holds her handkerchief on her face, and
goes on the outside, below the 3d wo. and comes up the middle to
her place; first man follows her (at the same time pointing and
smiling at her) up to his place. First man do the same, only he
beckons his wo. to him. First woman makes a motion of drying first
one eye, then the other, and claps her hands one after another on
her sides, (the first man looks surprizingly at her at the same
time,) and turn her partner. First cu. move with two slow steps
down the middle and back again. The first cu. sett and cast
off.”

As we love to keep up the dance, if we are not leading the
reader a dance, we give A Dance in Hoops, as described in a
fashionable novel, just published:—

When the whole party was put in motion, but little trace of a
regular dance remained; all was a perfect maze, and the
cutting in and out (as the fraternity of the whip would
phrase it) of these cumbrous machines presented to the mind only
the figure of a most formidable affray.

The nearest assimilation to this strange exhibition of the dance
in full career, at all familiar to our minds, is the prancing of
the basket-horses in Mr. Peake’s humorous farce of
Quadrupeds.

An entertaining variety of appearance arose also from the
conformity of the steps to the diversified measure of the tune. The
jig measure, which corresponds to the canter in a horse’s
paces, produced a strong bounding up and down of the hoop—and
the gavotte measure, which corresponds to the short trot, produced
a tremulous and agitated motion. The numerous ornaments, also, with
which the hoops were bespread and decorated—the
festoons—the tassels—the rich embroidery—all of a
most catching and taking nature, every now and then
affectionately hitched together in unpremeditated and close
embrace. To the parties in action, it is not difficult to suppose
these combinations might prove something short of perfectly
agreeable, more especially, as on such occasions as these, some of
the fair daughters of our courtly belles were undergoing the awful
ordeal of a first ball-room appearance, on whom these contingencies
would inflict ten-fold embarrassment.—The Ball, or a
Glance at Almack’s in 1829.

FRENCH PAINTINGS.

General le Jeune has added a new picture to his collection of
battle paintings, exhibiting at the Egyptian Hall, Piccadilly. It
represents one of the general’s perilous adventures in the
Peninsular War, and is a vigorous addition to these admirable
productions of the French school. The whole series will be found
noticed at page 212 of our vol. xi.

FLOWERS ON THE ALPS.

The flowers of the mountains—they must not be forgotten.
It is worth a botanist’s while to traverse all these high passes;
nay, it is worth the while of a painter, or any one who delights to
look upon graceful flowers, or lovely hues, to pay a visit to these
little wild nymphs of Flora, at their homes in the mountains of St.
Bernard. We are speaking now, generally, of what may be seen
throughout the whole of the route, from Moutier, by the Little St.
Bernard, to Aosta,—and thence again to Martigny. There is no
flower so small, so beautiful, so splendid in colour, but its equal
may be met with in these sequestered places. The tenaciousness of
flowers is not known; their hardihood is not sufficiently admired.
Wherever there is a handful of earth, there also is a patch of
wild-flowers. If there be a crevice in the rock, sufficient to
thrust in the edge of a knife, there will the winds carry a few
grains of dust, and there straight up springs a flower. In the
lower parts of the Alps, they cover the earth with beauty.
Thousands, and tens of thousands, blue, and yellow, and pink, and
violet, and white, of every shadow and every form, are to be seen,
vying with each other, and eclipsing every thing besides. Midway
they meet you again, sometimes fragrant, and always lovely; and in
the topmost places, where the larch, and the pine, and the
rhododendron (the last living shrub) are no longer to be seen,
where you are just about to tread upon the [pg 56] limit of
perpetual snow, there still peep up and blossom the “Forget me
not,” the Alpine ranunculus, and the white and blue gentian, the
last of which displays, even in this frore air, a blue of such
intense and splendid colour, as can scarcely be surpassed by the
heavens themselves. It is impossible not to be affected at thus
meeting with these little unsheltered things, at the edge of
eternal barrenness. They are the last gifts of beneficent, abundant
Nature. Thus far she has struggled and striven, vanquishing rocks
and opposing elements, and sowing here a forest of larches, and
there a wood of pines, a clump of rhododendrons, a patch of
withered herbage, and, lastly, a bright blue flower. Like some mild
conqueror, who carries gifts and civilization into a savage
country, but is compelled to stop somewhere at last, she seems
determined that her parting present shall also be the most
beautiful. This is the limit of her sway. Here, where she has cast
down these lovely landmarks, her empire ceases. Beyond, rule the
ice and the storm!—New Monthly Magazine.

THE COMPANION TO THE ALMANAC.

This is the age of utility, and the little volume published
under the above title is altogether characteristic of the age. Its
contents are calculated to feed and foster the spirit of inquiry
which is abroad. People are beginning to find they are not so wise
as they had hitherto conceived themselves to be, or rather, that
their knowledge on every-day subjects is very scanty. We are
therefore pleased to see in the present “Companion” a popular paper
on Comets; a series of attractive Observations of a Naturalist;
papers on the Management of Children, Clothing, Economy in the Use
of Bread and Flour, and a concise account of Public Improvements
during the year. All these are matters of interest to every house
and family in the empire. There is, besides, an abundance of
Parliamentary papers, judiciously abridged, from which the reader
may obtain more information than by passing six months in “both
your Houses,” or reading a session of debates. The Table of
Discoveries is likewise a valuable feature; and the Chronological
Table of European Monarchs is almost a counterpart of a “Regal
Tablet” sent to us, some weeks since, for the MIRROR, and promised
for insertion. There is, however, one feature missing, which we
noticed in the “Companion” of last year, and we cannot but think
that, to make room for its introduction, some of the parliamentary
matter in the present volume might have been spared. The editor
will be aware of our disinterestedness in making this suggestion,
and we hope will give us credit accordingly.

FLUTE PLAYING.

“Will you play upon this pipe?”

“My Lord, I cannot.” So say we; but some novel instruction on
the subject may not be unacceptable to our piping friends. We
recommend to them “The Elements of Flute-playing, according to the
most approved principles of Fingering,” by Thomas Lindsay, as
containing more practical and preceptive information than is
usually to be met with in such works. The advantage in the present
treatise arises out of one of the many recent improvements in the
art of printing, viz., the adoption of movable types for printing
music, instead of by engraved pewter plates; which method enables
the instructor to amplify his precepts, or didactic portion of his
work, and thus simplify them to the pupil. According, in Mr.
Lindsay’s treatise, we have upwards of forty pages of elementary
instructions, definitions, and concise treatises, copiously
interspersed with musical illustrations; whereas the engraved
treatises are generally meagre in their instructions, from the
difficulty of punching text illustrations. The article on
accentuation is, we are told, the first successful attempt
in any elementary work on the Flute, to define this important
subject. It is written in a lucid and popular style, and is so
attractive, that did our room allow, we might be induced to insert
part of it. Appended to the treatise are thirty pages of Duettinos
and Exercises, and altogether the work, (of which the present is
Part I.,) is well worth the attention of such as study
Flute-playing, which, as Mr. L. observes, is “one of those elegant
and delightful recreations, which constitutes, at once, the grace
and the solace of domestic life.”

Bernard Barton.

CHANGES OF INSECTS.

Insects are strikingly distinguished from other animals, by a
succession of changes in their organization and forms, and by their
incapacity of propagating before their last metamorphosis, which,
in most of them, takes place shortly before their death. Each of
these transformations is designated by so many terms, that it may
not be useless to observe to the reader, who has not previously
paid attention to the subject, that [pg 57] larva, caterpillar,
grub, maggot, or worm, is the first state of the insect
on issuing from the egg; that pupa, aurelia, chrysalis, or
nympha are the names by which the second metamorphosis is
designated, and that the last stage, when the insect assumes the
appearance of a butterfly, is called the perfect
state.—North American Review.

“LITTLE SONGS FOR LITTLE SINGERS.”

The little folks will soon have a microcosm—a world of
their own. The other day we noticed the “Boy’s Own Book,”
and the girls are promised a match volume: children, too, have
their own camerae obscurae; there are the Cosmoramas at the
Bazaar, as great in their way as Mr. Hornor’s Panorama at the
Colosseum; besides half a dozen Juvenile Annuals, in which all the
literary children of larger growth write. At our theatres, operas
are sung by children, and the pantomimes are full of juvenile fun.
In short, every thing can be had adapted to all ages; till we begin
to think it is once a world and twice a little world. But we have
omitted the pretty little productions named at the head of this
article. They consist of seven little songs for little people, set
to music on small-sized paper, so that the little singer may hold
the song after the orchestra fashion, without hiding her smiles. 1.
The Little Fish, harmonized from Nursery Rhymes; 2. The
Little Robin; 3. The Little Spider and his Wife, from Original
Poems; 4. The Little Star, from Nursery Rhymes; 5. A
Summer Evening, from the Infant Minstrel; 6. Come Away, Come
Away, to the air of the Swiss Boy, by Mr. Green, the publisher;
and, 7. The Little Lady Bird:—

There is some novelty and ingenuity in adapting the words and
music of songs for young singers. Love, war, and drinking songs are
very well for adults, but are out of time in the nursery or
schoolroom; for these predilections spring up quite early enough in
the bosoms of mankind. We should not forget the vignette
lithographs to the little songs, which are beautifully executed by
Hullmandel. All beginners will do well to see these songs, for we
know many of the “larger growth” who are little singers.

POPULAR SUPERSTITIONS.

WITCHCRAFT, &C.

In our two preceding papers,¹ we have
briefly brought before the attention of the reader, a few of the
most prominent and striking features connected with the history of
the first (as the honourable house hath it in 1602) “of those
detestable slaves of the devil, witches, sorcerers, enchanters and
conjurors.” And now we proceed to offer a few concluding
illustrations of the subject.

In the early ages, to be possessed of a greater degree of
learning and science than the mass of mankind (at a time when even
kings could not read or write) was to be invested with a more than
earthly share of power; and the philosopher was in consequence
subjected in many cases to a suspicion at once dangerous and
dishonourable: to use the language of Coleridge, the real teachers
and discoverers of truth were exposed to the hazard of fire and
faggot; a dungeon being the best shrine that was vouchsafed to a
Roger Bacon or a Galileo!

A few years since, a place was pointed out to the writer, on the
borders of Scotland, which had been even within the “memory of the
oldest inhabitant,” used for the “trial” of witches; and a pool of
water in an adjacent stream is still to be seen, where the poor old
creatures were dragged to sink or swim; and our informant added,
that a very great number had perished on that spot. Indeed, in
Scotland, a refinement of cruelty was practised in the persecution
of witches; the innocent relations of a suspected criminal were
tortured in her presence, in the [pg 58] hope of extorting
confession from her, in order to put an end to their sufferings,
after similar means had been used without effect on herself. Even
children of seven years of age were sometimes tortured in the
presence of their mothers for this design. In 1751, at Trigg, in
Hertfordshire, two harmless old people above seventy years of age,
being suspected of bewitching a publican, named Butterfield, a vast
concourse of people assembled for the purpose of ducking them, and
the poor wretches were seized, and “stripped naked by the mob,
their thumbs tied to their toes, and then dragged two miles and
thrown into a muddy stream;” the woman expired under the hands of
her persecutors, but her husband, though seriously injured, escaped
with his life. One of the ringleaders of this atrocious outrage,
was tried and hung for the offence.

The delusion respecting witches was greatly increased in the
first instance by a Bull issued by Pope Innocent III. in 1484, to
the inquisitors at Almaine, “exhorting them to discover, and
empowering them to destroy, all such as were guilty of witchcraft.”
The fraternity of Witchfinders arose in consequence, and they seem
to have been imbued with the genuine spirit of inquisitors,
delighting in hunting out and dragging to the torture the innocent
and harmless. They had the most unlimited authority granted them,
and the whole thunders of the Vatican were directed to the
destruction of witches and wizards. The bloody scenes which
followed, exceed description. In 1435, Cumanus (an inquisitor)
burnt forty-one poor women for witches, in the country of Burlia,
in one year. One inquisitor in Piedmont burnt a hundred in a very
short time; and in 1524, a thousand were burnt in one year in the
diocese of Como, and a hundred annually for a considerable period;
on all of whom the greatest cruelties were practised. The
fraternity of witchfinders soon found their way to this country,
under the fostering protection of the government; and it was of
course their interest to keep up the delusion by every means in
their power. We have already alluded to the cruelties exercised in
Great Britain during the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, and
add an account of one of the cruel ceremonies used to detect
witches:—— “Having taken the suspected witch,” says
Gaule, “she is placed in the middle of a room upon a stool or
table, cross-legged, or in some other uneasy posture, to which if
she submits not, she is then bound with cords. There she is watched
and kept without meat or sleep for the space of four-and-twenty
hours; for (they say) that within that time they shall see her imp
come and suck. A little hole is likewise made in the door for the
imp to come in at; and lest it should come in some less discernible
shape, they that watch are taught to be ever and anon sweeping the
room, and if they see any spiders or flies, to kill them. And if
they cannot kill them, they may be sure they are her imps!” Towards
the conclusion of the seventeenth century, the delusion and
jugglery of witchcraft was in a great measure overthrown by the
firmness of the English judges; amongst the most prominent of whom
stands Chief Justice Holt. Indeed a statute was shortly after
passed, which made it wilful murder, should any of the
objects of persecution lose their lives. The popular belief,
however, in witchcraft still continued, and it was not till the
ninth year of George II., that the statutes against it were
repealed. We believe there is still an Irish statute unrepealed,
which inflicts capital punishment on witches.

All is now of the past. The “schoolmaster is abroad,” and
not only is the belief in witches, but all the tribe of ghosts and
spirits is fast melting away. The latter have also added in no
inconsiderable degree to the sum of human suffering. The number of
the good was small compared to the evil, and though it was in their
power to come in what shape or guise they chose, “dilated or
condensed, bright or obscure,” yet it must be confessed they
generally chose to assume “forms forbidden,” and their visitations
were much oftener accompanied with “blasts from hell” than “airs
from heaven.” It has been justly remarked that “they were potent
agents in the hands of the priest and the tyrant to delude and to
enslave; for this business they were most admirably fitted, and
most faithfully did they perform it.” Those inevitable evils which
man is destined to endure in this present state, are enough without
the addition of the almost unmingled bitterness of the infusion,
which superstition would pour into his cup.

(To be continued.)

SPIRIT OF THE PUBLIC JOURNALS.

LONDON LYRICS.—THE IMAGE BOY.

New Monthly Magazine.

PUNCH.

Punch was first made by the English at Nemle, near Goa, where
they have the Nepa die Goa, commonly called arrack. This
fascinating liquor got the name of punch, from its being
composed of five articles—that word, in the
Hindostanee language, signifying five. The legitimate punch-makers,
however, consider it a compound of four articles only; and
some learned physicians have, therefore, named it Diapente
(from Diatesseron,) and have given it according to the following
prescription—

and our worthy grand-fathers used to take a dose of it every
night in their lives, before going to bed, till doctor Cheyne
alarmed them by the information, that they were pouring liquid fire
down their throats. “Punch,” said he, “is like opium, both in its
nature and manner of operation, and nearest arsenic in its
deleterious and poisonous qualities; and, so,” added he, “I leave
it to them, who, knowing this, will yet drink on and die.”

Who, that has drunk this agreeable accompaniment to calapash, at
the City of London Tavern, ever found themselves the worse for it?
They may have felt their genius inspired, or their nobler passions
animated—but fire and inflammation there was
none. The old song says—

and there have been very excellent physicians, who have
confirmed the opinion by their practice. What did the learned Dr.
Sherard, the grave Mr. Petiver, and the apothecary Mr. Tydall,
drink in their herborizing tour through Kent? Why—punch! and
so much were they delighted with it, at Winchelsea, that they made
a special note in their journal, in honour of the Mayoress,
who made it, that the punch was not only excellent, but that “each
succeeding bowl was better than the former!”—Brande’s
Journal.

CHOICE OF A RESIDENCE.—ADVICE TO BACHELORS.

There is a sort of half-way between town and the country, which
some assert combines the advantages, others the defects, of each;
and this is a country-town. Here, indeed, a little money, a little
learning, and a little fashion, will go ten times as far as they
will in London. Here, a man who takes in the Quarterly or
Edinburgh, is a literary character; the lady who has one head-dress
in the year from a Bond-street milliner, becomes the oracle of
fashion, “the observed of all observers;” here [pg 60] dinners
are talked of as excellent, at which neither French dishes nor
French wines were given, and a little raspberry ice would confer
wide celebrity on an evening party, and excite much animadversion
and surprise. Here, notwithstanding a pretty strong line of
demarcation between the different sets of society, every one
appears to know every body; the countenances and names of each are
familiar; we want no slave, who calls out the names; but are ready
with a proper supply of condescending nods, friendly greetings, and
kind inquiries, to dispense to each passenger according to his
claims. Indeed, in calculating the length of time requisite for
arriving at a certain point, the inhabitant of a country town
should make due allowance for the necessary gossip which must take
place on the road, and for the frequent interchange of bulletins of
health, which is sure to occur; and after a residence of any length
in these sociable places, a sensation of solitude and desertion is
felt in those crowded streets of our metropolis, where the full
tide of population may roll past us for hours without bringing with
it a single glance of recognition or kindness. Here round games and
Casino still find refuge and support amidst a steady band of
faithful partizans; here old maids escape ridicule from being
numerous, and old bachelors acquire importance from being scarce.
It is, indeed, to this latter description of persons that I would
especially recommend a residence in a country town; and, as Dr.
Johnson said, that “wherever he might dine, he would wish to
breakfast in Scotland;” so, wherever I may pass my youth, let my
days of old bachelorship, if to such I am doomed, be spent in a
country town. There the genteel male population forsake their
birthplace at an early age; and since war no longer exists to
supply their place with the irresistible military, the importance
of a single man, however small his attractions, however advanced
his age, is considerable; while a tolerably agreeable bachelor
under sixty is the object of universal attention, the cynosure of
every lady’s eye. In the cathedral city, where I visited a friend
some years since, there were forty-five single women, from sixteen
to fifty, and only three marriageable men. Let any one imagine the
delight of receiving the most flattering attentions from fifteen
women at once, some of them extremely pretty and agreeable; or, I
should rather say, from forty-five, since the three bachelors,
politically avoiding all appearance of preference, were courted
equally by nearly the whole phalanx of the sisterhood. One of the
enviable men, being only just of age, was indeed too young to
excite hopes in the more elderly ladies, but another more
fortunate, if he knew his happiness, (“sua si bona norit“),
was exposed to the attacks, more or less open, of every unmarried
woman. Alas! he was insensible to his privileges; a steady man of
fifty-five, a dignitary of the church, devoted to study, and shy in
his habits, he seemed to shrink from the kind attentions he
received, and to wish for a less favoured, a less glorious state of
existence. His desires seemed limited to reading the Fathers,
writing sermons, and doing his duty as a divine; and he appeared of
opinion that no helpmate was required to fulfil them. But still the
indefatigable phalanx of forty-five, with three or four widows as
auxiliaries, continued their attacks, and his age, as I before
observed, was fatally encouraging to the hopes of each. The
youngest looked in their glasses and remembered the power of youth
and beauty; the middle-aged calculated on the good sense and
propriety of character of their object, and were “sure he would
never marry a girl;” and the most elderly exaggerated his gravity,
thought of his shovel hat, and seemed to suppose that every woman
under fifty must be too giddy for its wearer. Meanwhile, what a
life he led!—his opinions law; his wishes gospel; the
cathedral crowded when he preached; churches attended; schools
visited; waltzing calumniated; novels concealed; shoulders covered;
petticoats lengthened—all to gain his approving eye. The fact
is, his sphere of useful influence was much enlarged by his single
state; as a married man, he could only have reformed his wife; as a
bachelor, he exercised undisputed power over every spinster in his
neighbourhood. He was, indeed, unconscious of, or ungratified by
the deference and incense he received; but the generality of men
are less insensible, and half the homage he so carefully rejected
would have been sufficient to intoxicate with delight and
self-complacency the greater part of his fraternity. What object in
nature is more pitiable than a London old bachelor, of moderate
fortune and moderate parts? whose conversational powers do not
secure him invitations to dinners, when stiffness of limb and a
growing formality have obliged him to retreat from quadrilles. The
rich, we know, thrive everywhere, and at all seasons, safe from
neglect, secure from ridicule. I speak of those less strongly
fortified against the effects of time; those who, scarcely
considered good speculations in their best days, are now utterly
[pg
61] insignificant, concealed and jostled by a crowd of
younger aspirants, overlooked by mammas, except when needed to
execute some troublesome commission; and without a chance of
receiving a single word or glance from their daughters unmarked by
that provoking ease and compassionate familiarity, which tell them,
better than words, that their day of influence has closed for ever.
Let such unhappy men fly from the scenes of former pleasure and
power, of former flirtation and gaiety, to the quieter and surer
triumphs of a country town. Here crowds of young women, as
certainly devoted to celibacy as the inmates of a nunnery,
accustomed from necessity to make beaux out of the most
unprecedented materials, and concoct flirtations in the most
discouraging circumstances, will welcome him with open arms,
underrate his age, overrate his merits, doubt if his hair is gray,
deny that he wears false teeth, accept his proffered arm with an
air of triumph, and even hint a wonder that he has given up
dancing. To their innocent cheeks his glance will have the
long-lost power of calling up a blush; eyes as bright as those
which beamed upon his youth will sparkle at his approach; and
tender hearts, excluded by fate from palpitations for a more
suitable object, must per force beat quicker at his address. Here
let him revel in the enjoyment of unbounded influence, preserve it
by careful management to the latest possible moment, and at length
gradually slide from the agreeable old beau into the interesting
invalid, and secure for his days of gout, infirmity, and sickness,
a host of attentive nurses, of that amiable sex which delights and
excels in offices of pity and kindness; who will read him news,
recount him gossip, play backgammon or cribbage, knit him
comfortables, make him jellies, and repay by affectionate
solicitude and unselfish attentions the unmeaning, heartless,
worthless admiration which he bestowed upon them in his better
days.—New Monthly Magazine.

THE ANECDOTE GALLERY.

OTHELLO.

On the crew of the Flora being treated to see Othello at
the Portsmouth Theatre, Cassio’s silly speech proved an exquisite
relish to the audience, where he apostrophizes heaven, “Forgive us
our sins,” and endeavours to persuade his companion that he is
sober. “Do not think, gentlemen, I am drunk? this is my Ancient:
this is my right hand, and this is my left hand: I am not drunk
now.” “No, not you,” roared a Jack, who no doubt would have
been a willing witness in Cassio’s defence, had he been brought to
the gangway for inebriety. “I can stand well enough,” continued the
representative of Cassio. “Then, hang it! why don’t you walk the
plank at once, and prove yourself sober?” vociferated a
long-tailed wag, determined not to slip this opportunity of having
a shot on the sly at his first lieutenant, who had only a night or
two before put his perpendicularity to a similar test.

At the last scene the shouts became alarming; volleys of
imprecations were hurled at his head—his limbs—his
life. “What!” said one of the rudest of the crew, “can the black
brute cut her lifelines? She’s a reg’lar-built angel, and as like
my Bet as two peas.”—”Ay,” said a messmate, “it all comes of
being jealous, and that’s all as one as mad; but you know, if he’s
as good as his word, he’s sure to be hanged,—that’s one
comfort!” When the Moor seized her in bed by the throat, Desdemona
shrieking for permission to repeat but one short prayer, and he
rancorously exclaims, in attempting to strangle her, “It is too
late!” the house, as it is said a French audience had done ere now,
could endure no more; and the sailors rose in their places, giving
the most alarming indications of angry excitement, and of a
determination to mingle in the murderous scene below. “I’m
——, Dick, if I can stand it any longer,” said the
spokesman of the gallery. “You’re no man, if you can sit and
look on quietly; hands off, you blood-thirsty niggar,” he
vociferated, and threw himself over the side of the gallery in a
twinkling; clambering down by a pillar into the boxes, and
scrambled across the pit, over every person in his way, till he
reached the noisy boatswain’s mate. Him he “challenged to the
rescue,” and exclaimed, “Now’s your time, Ned,—Pipe the
boarders away—all hands,——! if you’re a man as
loves a woman. Now, go it,” said he, and dashed
furiously over all obstacles,—fiddles, flutes, and fiddlers.
Smash went the foot-lights—Caesar had passed the Rubicon. The
contagion of feeling became general; and his trusty legions, fired
with the ambition that inspired their leader, followed, sweeping
all before them, till the whole male population of the theatre
crowded the stage en masse, amid shouts of encouragement, or
shrieks of terror; outraging, by their mistaken humanity, all the
propriety of this touching drama; and, for once, rescuing the
gentle Desdemona from the deadly grasp of the murderous Moor, who
fled in full costume, dagger in hand, from the house, and through
the dark streets of Dock, until he [pg 62] reached his home in a
state of inconceivable affright. The scene of confusion which
followed, it would be fruitless to attempt to describe. All was
riot and uproar.—Sailors and Saints.

DEATH OF DAUBENTON.

We have had countless instances of “the ruling passion strong in
death;” but perhaps we can adduce nothing more illustrative of that
feeling than the following fact, which may vie with the sublimity
of Rousseau’s death, when he desired to look on the sun ere his
eyes were closed in the rayless tomb:—M. Daubenton, the
scientific colleague of Buffon, and the anatomical illustrator of
his “Histoire Naturelle,” on being chosen a member of the
Conservative Senate, was seized with apoplexy the first time he
assisted at the sessions of that body, and fell senseless into the
arms of his astonished colleagues. The most prompt assistance could
only restore him to feeling for a few moments, during which he
showed himself, what he had always been—a tranquil observer
of nature. He felt with his fingers, which still retained
sensation, the various parts of his body, and pointed out to the
assistants the progress of the disease! He died on the 31st of
December, 1799. The Edinburgh Philosophical Journal states,
“it may be said of him, that he attained happiness the most
perfect, and the least mixed, that any man could hope to attain.
His life was marked by an undeviating pursuit of science; and to
him was Buffon indebted for instruction and example. Naturally of a
mild and conciliatory disposition, and gifted with cool and
dispassionate consideration, he was just such a preceptor as was
calculated to curb the imagination of Buffon, whose fiery and
ardent genius was apt to substitute theory for proof, and fancy for
fact; and often did the ‘biting smile’ of M. Daubenton check the
ardency of Buffon, and his well-weighed words arrest him in his
headlong progress.” What more noble picture of scientific devotion
can we imagine than the feeble and aged Daubenton, shut up for
whole days in his cabinet of natural history, ardently exerting
himself in the complex and weary task of arranging the objects
according to their several relations? But Buffon, with the wayward
negligence which clings to genius, did wrong to his friend in
publishing an edition of his “Histoire Naturelle” without the
dissections. Yet such a step, discountenanced by all the liberal
body of science, was forgiven by the philosophic and gentle
Daubenton; and Buffon made atonement for his aberration, by
re-uniting himself to the companion of his childhood, the
participator in his studies, and the preceptor of his genius.

H

STORY ON A MARCH.

An officer in India, whose stock of table-linen had been
completely exhausted during the campaign,—either by wear or
tear or accident,—had a few friends to dine with him. The
dinner being announced to the party, seated in the al fresco
drawing-room of a camp, the table appeared spread with eatables,
but without the usual covering of a cloth. The master, who,
perhaps, gave himself but little trouble about these matters, or
who probably relied upon his servant’s capacity in the art of
borrowing, or, at all events, on his ingenuity on framing an
excuse, inquired, with an angry voice, why there was no
table-cloth. The answer was, “Massa not got;” with which reply,
after apologizing to his guests, he was compelled, for the present,
to put up. The next morning he called his servant, and rated him
soundly, and perhaps beat him, (for I lament to say that this was
too much the practice with European masters in India,) for exposing
his poverty to the company; desiring him, another time, if
similarly circumstanced, to say that all the table-cloths were gone
to the wash. Another day, although the table appeared clothed in
the proper manner, the spoons, which had probably found their way
to the bazar, perhaps to provide the very articles of which the
feast was composed, were absent, whether with or without leave is
immaterial. “Where are all the spoons?” cried the apparently
enraged master. “Gone washerman, sar!” was the answer. Roars of
laughter succeeded, and a teacup did duty for the soup-ladle. The
probable consequence of this unlucky exposure of the domestic
economy of the host, namely, a sound drubbing to the poor maty-boy,
brings to my mind an anecdote which, being in a story-telling vein,
I cannot resist the temptation of introducing. It was related to
me, with great humour, by one of the principals in the transaction,
whose candour exceeded his fear of shame. He had been in the habit
of beating his servants, till one in particular complained that he
would have him before Sir Henry Gwillam, then chief justice at
Madras, who had done all in his power to suppress the disgraceful
practice. Having a considerable balance to settle with his maty-boy
on the score of punishment, but fearing the presence of witnesses,
the master called him one day into a bungalow at the bottom
[pg
63] of his garden, at some distance from the house. “Now,”
said he as he shut the door and put the key into his pocket,
“you’ll complain to Sir Henry Gwillam, will you? There is nobody
near to bear witness to what you may say, and, with the blessing of
God, I’ll give it you well.”—”Massa sure nobody near?” asked
the Indian.—”Yes, yes, I’ve taken good care of
that.”—”Then I give massa one good beating.” And forthwith
the maty-boy proceeded to put his threat into execution, till the
master, being the weaker of the two, was compelled to cry mercy;
which being at length granted, and the door opened with at least as
much alacrity as it was closed, Maotoo decamped without beat of
drum, never to appear again.—Twelve Years’ Military
Adventures, &c.

THE GATHERER.

MEMENTO MORI.

Inscribed on a Tombstone.

H.B.A.

TEA-DRINKING.

While the late Mr. Gifford was at Ashburton, he contracted an
acquaintance with a family of that place, consisting of females
somewhat advanced in age. On one occasion he ventured on the
perilous exploit of drinking tea with these elderly ladies. After
having swallowed his usual allowance of tea, he found, in spite of
his remonstrances to the contrary, that his hostess would by no
means suffer him to give up, but persisted in making him drink a
most incredible quantity. “At last,” said Gifford in telling the
story, “being really overflooded with tea, I put down my fourteenth
cup, and exclaimed, with an air of resolution, ‘I neither can nor
will drink any more.’ The hostess then seeing she had forced more
down my throat than I liked, began to apologize, and added, ‘but,
dear Mr. Gifford, as you didn’t put your spoon across your cup, I
supposed your refusals were nothing but good manners.'”

PRECEDENCE.

An anecdote is told of a captain in the service, since dead,
that whilst carrying out a British ambassador to his station
abroad, a quarrel arose on the subject of precedency. High words
were exchanged between them on the quarter-deck, when, at length,
the ambassador, thinking to silence the captain, exclaimed,
“Recollect, sir, I am the representative of his majesty!”
“Then, sir,” retorted the captain, “recollect that here I am
more than majesty itself. Can the king seize a fellow up
and give him three dozen?” Further argument was
useless—the diplomatist struck.

MARCEL.

A lady who had been a pupil of this distinguished professor of
dancing, and remained subsequently his steady and zealous friend,
succeeded in obtaining for him from the government a pension for
life. In her great joy at having such a boon to put into his
possession, she advanced to him—the certificate in her
hand—with a hurried and anxious step; when M. Marcel, shocked
at the style of presentation, struck the paper out of her hand,
demanding if she had forgotten his instructions? The lady
immediately picked it up, and presented it with due form and grace;
on which the accomplished Marcel, the enthusiastic professor of his
art, respectfully kissed her hand, and with a profound bow
exclaimed, “Now I know my own pupil!”

ACROSTIC.

“JACK OF BOTH SIDES.”

This proverb is derived from the Greek, and applied to
Theramenes, who was at first a mighty stickler for the thirty
tyrants’ authority: but when they began to abuse it by defending
such outrageous practices, no man more violently opposed it than
he; and this (says Potter) got him the nick-name of “Jack of
both sides,” from Cothurnus, which was a kind of shoe
that fitted both feet. P.T.W.

PLAY OF “CAESAR IN EGYPT.”

Mist’s Journal, 1724.

FRIENDSHIP AND LOVE.

W.J.

Why is St. Giles’s clock like a pelisse, and unlike a
cloak?—Because it shows the figure without confining the
hands.

“STRICTOR.”

CORPORATION LEARNING.

The mayor of a country town, conceiving that the word
clause was in the plural number, would often talk of a
claw in an act of parliament.

A HUNDRED POUND NOTE.

The following pathetic soliloquy was found written on the back
of a hundred pound note of the National Bank, which passed through
our hands lately, and we are sorry we can now add our sympathies to
those of our poet on the transitory nature of those sublunary
enjoyments:—

Edinburgh Paper.

FRENCH.—- ENGLISH.

At Boulogne.

“NOTICE to Informe the gentries: Find Dogs and some to be
sold.”

At Paris.

“M. Boursier, mershant, has the honour to give account at the
English and strangers, gentlemen and livings from East Indies, that
he takes charge of all species of goods or ventures, and all
commissions. Like all kinds of spices and fine eating things: keep
likewise a general staple of French and strangers wines, the all in
confidence, and the most reasonable prices.”

At Boulogne.

“Bed and table linen, plate, knives, and forks, also donkies to
let. Mangling done here.”

In the church al Calais.

At Dieppe.

French despair.

The above are all copied verbatim and literatim. J.G.R.

When a Grand Vizier is favourably deposed, that is, without
banishing or putting him to death, it is signified to him by a
messenger from the Sultan, who goes to his table, and wipes the ink
out of his golden pen; this he understands as the sign of
dismissal. W.G.C.

TIME.

It is the remark of a sensible authoress, (Miss Hawkins,) that
every day resembles a trunk which has to be filled;
and when we fancy that we have packed it to the uttermost, we shall
still find that by good management it might, and would, have held
more.—Our quotation is from memory, but correct as to simile
and substance; and we consider the remark not less striking than
quaint. M.L.B.

On January 31 will be published, price 5s. with a
Frontispiece, and upwards of thirty other Engravings, the

ARCANA OF SCIENCE, AND ANNUAL REGISTER OF THE USEFUL ARTS, FOR
1829.

The MECHANICAL department contains ONE HUNDRED New Inventions
and Discoveries, with 14 Engravings.

CHEMICAL, SEVENTY articles, with 2 Engravings.

NATURAL HISTORY, 135 New Facts and Discoveries, with 7
Engravings.

ASTRONOMICAL and METEOROLOGICAL PHENOMENA—35
articles—6 Engravings.

AGRICULTURE, GARDENING, and RURAL ECONOMY, 30 pages.

DOMESTIC ECONOMY.

USEFUL ARTS.

FINE ARTS.

MISCELLANEOUS REGISTER, &c.

For Critical Opinions of the Volume for last year, see
Gardener’s, New Monthly, and London Magazines, &c.
&c.

Footnote 1: (return)

See vol xi. p. 391—vol. xii. p. 70.

Printed and Published by J. LIMBIRD. 113. Strand, London;
sold by ERNEST FLEISCHER, 626. New Market, Leipsic; and by all
Newsmen and Booksellers.