THE MIRROR
OF
LITERATURE, AMUSEMENT, AND INSTRUCTION.

To expatiate on the advantages of printing, at this time of
day, would be “wasteful and ridiculous excess.” We content
ourselves with the comparison of Dryden’s

In a retrospective glance at our previous volumes (for can
the phrenologists tell us of a head capacious enough to
contain their exhaustless variety?) our readers will perceive
that, from time to time, sundry “accounts” of the origin and
progress of printing have been inserted in the
MIRROR;¹
and though we are not vain enough to consider our sheet as
the “refined gold, the lily, the violet, the ice, or the
rainbow,” of the poet’s perfection, yet in specimens of the
general economy of the art, the long-extended
patronage of the public gives us an early place.

With an outline of the life of CAXTON our readers must be
already familiar; but we wish them to consider the above
accurate representation of the FIRST ENGLISH PRINTER’S
RESIDENCE as antecedent to a Memoir of Caxton, in
which it will be our aim to concentrate, in addition to
biographical details, many important facts from the testimony
of antiquarians; for scarcely a volume of the
Archaeologia has appeared without some valuable
communication on Caxton and his times.

In the meantime we proceed with the locale of Caxton’s
house, situate on the south-west of Westminster Abbey, where
was formerly the eleemosynary, or almonry, where the alms of
the abbots were distributed. Howell in his
Londinopolis, [pg 378] describes this as “the
spot where the abbot of Westminster permitted Caxton to set
up his press in the Almonry, or Ambry,” the former of
which names is still retained. This is confirmed by Newcourt,
in his Repertorium, who says, “St. Anne’s, an old
chapel, over against which the Lady Margaret, mother to king
Henry VII., erected an alms-house for poor women, which is
now turned into lodgings for singing-men of the college. The
place wherein this chapel and alms-house stood was called the
Eleemosinary, or Almonry, now corruptly called the Ambry,
(Aumbry,) for that the alms of the abbey were there
distributed to the poor; in which the abbot of Westminster
erected the first press for book-printing that was in
England, about the year of Christ 1471, and where WILLIAM
CAXTON, citizen and mercer of London, who first brought it
into England, practised it.” Here he printed The Game and
Play of the Chesse, said to be the first book that issued
from the press in this country.

Hence, according to Mr. M’Creery, the intelligent author of
“The Press,” a poem, “the title of chapel to the
internal regulations of a printing-office originated in
Caxton’s exercising the profession in one of the chapels in
Westminster Abbey, and may be considered as an additional
proof, from the antiquity of the custom, of his being the
first English printer.”²

Every lover of science, on approaching this spot, will feel
himself on holy ground, however the idle and incurious of our
metropolis may neglect the scite, or be ignorant of its
identity. We are there led into an eternity of reflection and
association of ideas; but lest human pride should be too
fondly feasted in the retrospect, the hallowed towers of the
abbey, seen in the distance, serve to remind us of the
imperial maxim, that “art is long, and life but short.”

TEA.—ITS INTRODUCTION INTO ENGLAND.

(A correspondent, who signs M.M.M. informs us that the
article sent to us by P.T.W. and inserted in No. 280
of the MIRROR, was copied verbatim from the Imperial
Magazine, a work which we seldom see, and consequently we
had no opportunity of ascertaining the origin of our
correspondent’s paper. It seemed to us a good
cyclopaedian article on the subject, and we
accordingly admitted it. We now subjoin M.M.M.’s
communication.)

In addition to what has been said in the article upon tea,
(by P.T.W.) allow me to remark (and which I do not
recollect ever to have seen noticed in any work upon the
subject) that the seed is contained in two vessels,
the outer one varying in shape, triangular, long, and round,
according to the number which it contains of what may be
termed inner vessels. The outer vessel of a triangular shape,
measures, from the base to the apex about three quarters of
an inch, and is of a dark brown colour, approaching to black,
and thick, strong, and rough in texture; within this is
another vessel, containing the kernel; this inner vessel is
of a light brown colour, thin, and brittle, in shape, seldom
perfectly round, but mostly flat on one side: there are three
of them in a triangular seed vessel, two in a long one, and
one in that which is round. The kernel is of a brown colour,
and in taste very bitter. In no other species of teas than
Bohea, is the large kind of seed found, which is probably
owing to that species being gathered last or in autumn. There
is a small seed found mixed with the Congou kind of
teas, about the size of a pea, which is in every respect
similar to the large, except in size. This seed was evidently
not permitted to ripen, but the calyx of the flower connected
with the peduncle is quite perfect. The Twankey species are
of the same appearance, all of which I have had ample
opportunity of inspecting.

As an appendage to this note, we are induced to quote the
following pleasant page from Time’s Telescope for
1828; and we take this opportunity of reminding our readers
that our customary Supplementary sheet, containing the spirit
of this and other popular Annual Works will be published with
our next Number.

From a single sheet found in Sir Hans Sloane’s library, in
the British Museum, and printed by Mr. Ellis in his Original
Letters, Second Series, it appears that tea was known
in England in the year 1657, though not then in general use.
The author of this paper says, “That the vertues and
excellencies of this leaf and drink are many and great, is
evident and manifest by the high esteem and use of it
(especially of late years) among the physicians and knowing
men in France, Italy, Holland, and other parts of
Christendom; and in ENGLAND it hath been sold in the
leaf for six pounds, and sometimes for TEN
pounds the pound weight, and in respect of its former
scarceness and [pg 379] dearness, it hath been
only used as a regalia in high treatments and entertainments,
and presents made thereof to princes and grandees, till the
year 1657.”

Secretary Pepys, in his Diary, vol. i. p. 76, without saying
where he had his drink, makes the following
entry:—”Sept. 25th, 1660. I did send for a cup of tea
(a China drink) of which I never had drunk before, and went
away.”

In a letter from Mr. Henry Savill to his uncle, Secretary
Coventry, dated from Paris, Aug. 12, 1678, and printed by Mr.
Ellis, the writer, after acknowledging the hospitalities of
his uncle’s house, quaintly observes, “These, I hope, are the
charms that have prevailed with me to remember (that is to
trouble) you oftener than I am apt to do other of my friends,
whose buttery-hatch is not so open, and who call for
TEA instead of pipes and bottles after dinner; a base
unworthy Indian practice, and which I must ever admire
your most Christian family for not admitting. The truth is,
all nations have grown so wicked as to have some of these
filthy customs.” In 1678, the year in which the above letter
is dated, the East India Company began the importation of tea
as a branch of trade; the quantity received at that time
amounting to 4,713 lbs. The importation gradually enlarged,
and the government, in consequence, augmented the duties upon
tea. By the year 1700, the importation of tea had arrived at
the quantity of 20,000 lbs. In 1721, it exceeded a million of
pounds. In 1816, it had arrived at 86,234,380 lbs. Something
more than thirty millions of pounds is probably the present
average of importation: some allowance must be made for tea
damaged and spoiled upon the passage.—See more on this
subject, well worthy of perusal, in Mr. Ellis’s Letters,
Second Series, vol. iv. pp. 57, et seq.

DANGER.

(For the Mirror.)

E.S.J.

CATS.

(For the Mirror.)

The first couple of these animals which were carried to
Cuyaba sold for a pound of gold. There was a plague of rats
in the settlement, and they were purchased as a speculation,
which proved an excellent one. Their first kittens produced
thirty oilavas each; the new generation were worth
twenty; and the price gradually fell as the inhabitants were
stocked with these beautiful and useful creatures. Montengro
presented to the elder Almagro the first cat which was
brought to South America, and was rewarded for it with six
hundred pesos.

THE DEATH OF KING JOHN.

(For the Mirror.)

In the yeere 1216, king John was poisoned, as most writers
testify, at Swinsted Abbey, by a monk of that abbey, of the
order of Cistersians, or S. Bernard’s brethren, called Simon
of Swinsted. The monk did first consult with his abbot,
shewing him what he minded to do, alleging for himself the
prophecy of Caiphas, 11th of John, saying, it is better that
one man die, than the whole people perish. I am well content,
saith he, to lose my life, and so become a martyr, that I may
utterly destroy this tyrant. With that the abbot did weep for
gladness, and much commended his fervent zeal. The monk then
being absolved of his abbot for doing this fact, went
secretly into the garden, on the back side, and finding there
a most venomous toad, did so prick him and press him with his
penknife, that hee made him vomite all the poison that was
within him; this done, he conveyed it into a cup of wine, and
with a flattering and smiling countenance he sayeth to the
king, “If it shall please your princely majesty, here is such
a cup of wine as you never drank better in your lifetime. I
trust this wassall shall make all England glad,” and with
that he drank a great draught thereof, and the king pledged
him; the monk then went out of the house to the back, and
then died, his bowels gushing out of his belly, and had
continually from henceforth three monks to sing mass for him,
confirmed by their general charter. The king, within a short
space after, feeling great grief in his body, asked for
Simon, the monk; answer was made he was dead. “Then God have
mercy on me,” said the king; so went he to Newark-upon-Trent,
and there died, and was buried in the cathedral church at
Worster, in 1216, the 19th day of October, after having been
much fered with the clergy 18 years, 6 months, and a day.

MALVINA.

[pg
380]

LILLIARD EDGE.

(For the Mirror.)

Near the border between the parishes of Maxton and Ancrum is
a bridge, called Lilliard Edge, formerly Anerum moor, where a
battle was fought between the Scots and English soon after
the death of king James V., who died in the year 1542. When
the Earl of Arran was regent of Scotland, Sir Ralph Rivers
and Sir Bryan Laiton came to Jedburgh with an army of 5,000
English to seize Merse and Teviotdale in the name of Henry
VIII., then king of England, who died not long after, in the
year 1547. The regent and the Earl of Angus came with a small
body of men to oppose them. The Earl of Angus was greatly
exasperated against the English, because some time before
they had defaced the tombs of his ancestors at Melrose, and
had done much hurt to the abbey there. The regent and the
Earl of Angus, without waiting the arrival of a greater
force, which was expected, met the English at Lilliard Edge,
where the Scots obtained a great victory, considering the
inequality of their number. A young woman of the name of
Lilliard fought along with the Scots with great courage; she
fell in the battle, and a tombstone was erected upon her
grave on the field where it was fought. Some remains of this
tombstone are still to be seen. It is said to have contained
the following inscription:—

T.S.W.

BOOKS AND BOOKWORMS.

(For the Mirror.)

Books were anciently made of plates of copper and lead, the
bark of trees, bricks, Stones, and wood. Josephus speaks of
two columns, the one of stone, the other of brick, on which
the children of Seth wrote their inventions and astronomical
discoveries. Porphyry mentions some pillars, preserved in
Crete, on which the ceremonies observed by the Corybantes in
their sacrifices were recorded. The leaves of the palm-tree
were used, and the finest and thinnest part of the bark of
such trees as the lime, the ash, the maple, and the elm; from
hence comes the word liber, which signifies the inner
bark of the trees; and as these barks are rolled up, in order
to be removed with greater ease, these rolls were called
volumen, a volume, a name afterwards given to the like
rolls of paper or parchment. By degrees wax, then leather,
were introduced, especially the skins of goats and sheep, of
which at length parchment was prepared; also linen, then
silk, horn, and lastly paper. The rolls or volumes of the
ancients were composed of several sheets, fastened to each
other, rolled upon a stick, and were sometimes fifty feet in
length, and about a yard and a half wide. At first the
letters were only divided into lines, then into separate
words, which, by degrees, were noted with accents, and
distributed by points, and stops into periods, paragraphs,
chapters, and other divisions. In some countries, as among
the orientals, the lines began from the right, and ran to the
left; in others, as in northern and western nations, from the
left to the right; others, as the Grecians, followed both
directions alternately, going in the one and returning in the
other.

In the Chinese books, the lines run from top to bottom.
Again, the page in some is entire and uniform; in others,
divided into columns; in others, distinguished into text and
notes, either marginal or at the bottom; usually it is
furnished with signatures and catch-words, also with a
register to discover whether the book be complete. The
Mahometans place the name of God at the beginning of all
their books. The word book is derived from the Saxon
boc, which comes from the northern buech, of
buechans, a beech, or service-tree, on the bark
of which our ancestors used to write. A very large estate was
given for one on Cosmography by king Alfred. About the year
1400, they were sold from 10l. to 30l. a piece.
The first printed one was the Vulgate edition of the Bible,
1462; the second was Cicero de Officiis, 1466. Leo I.
ordered 200,000 to be burnt at Constantinople. In the
suppressed monasteries of France, in 1790, there were found
4,104,412 volumes; nearly one-half were on theology. The end
of the book, now denoted by finis, was anciently
marked with a <, called coronis, and the
whole frequently washed with an oil drawn from cedar, or
citron chips strewed between the leaves, to preserve it from
rotting.

Thus far books; now for the bookworms. Anthony
Magliabecchi, the notorious bookworm, was born at Florence in
1633; his passion for reading induced him to employ every
moment of his time in improving his mind. By means of an
astonishing memory and incessant application, he became more
conversant with literary history than any man of his time,
and was appointed librarian to the grand duke of Tuscany. He
has been called a living library. He was a man of a most
forbidding and savage aspect, and exceedingly
[pg
381] negligent of his person. He refused to be waited
upon, and rarely took off his clothes to go to bed. His
dinner was commonly three hard eggs, with a draught of water.
He had a small window in his door, through which he could see
all those who approached him; and if he did not wish for
their company, he would not admit them. He spent some hours
in each day at the palace library; but is said never in his
life to have gone farther from Florence than to Pratz,
whither he once accompanied Cardinal Norris to see a
manuscript. He died at the age of 81, in the year 1714. In
the present age we have bookworms, who wander from one
bookstall to another, and there devour their daily store of
knowledge. Others will linger at the tempting window filled
with the “twopenny,” and read all the open pages; then
pass on to another of the same description, and thus enjoy
literature by the way of Cheapside.

P.T.W.

MIDNIGHT—A TOUCH AT THE EPIC.

(For the Mirror.)

Carshalton W. P——n.

ON OATHS.

(For the Mirror.)

Since lately we have had a great deal of prevarication in our
courts of justice about receiving the oaths of deists,
&c., I have thought it meet to furnish the MIRROR with an
account of the first usage of the words, “So help me God.”
The word oath is a corruption of the Saxon eoth. An
oath is called corporal, because the person making an
affidavit lays his hand upon a part of the scriptures.

At the conclusion of the oath the above words are used, which
may perhaps have originated in the very ancient manner of
trial by battle in this country, when the appellee, laying
his right hand on the book, takes the appellant by the right
hand with his left, and maketh oath as follows:—”Hear
this, thou who callest thyself John by the name of
baptism, whom I hold by thy hand, that falsely upon me thou
hast lied; and for this thou liest, that I who call myself
Thomas by the name of baptism, did not feloniously
murder thy father, W. by name, so help me God.”
(Here he kisses the book, and concludes,)—”And this I
will defend against thee by my body, as this court shall
award.” And the appellant is thus sworn also.

Here, it may be observed also, the true foundation of the
word lie, being esteemed still so great an affront
above all others, as whenever it is pronounced to cause “an
immediate affray and bloodshed.”

I have seen people sworn in poetry; and certain it is, that
in many countries in Europe the making of oaths differs. I
have some curious specimens of ancient oaths, some in Latin
prose, others in poetry.

Lord Chief Justice Coke was so strict with regard to the
receiving of oaths, that when at Cambridge Summer Assizes,
upon a trial of felony, he said, “in case of trespass,
although it be only to the value of twopence, no
evidence shall be given to the jury but upon oath,
much less where the life of a man is in question.” An
action may be brought on the case upon a man calling another
a perjured man, because it shall be intended to be
contrary to his oath in a judicial proceeding.

W.H.H.

ORIGINAL LETTER

Dear Doctor,—I always looked upon you as a man of true
virtue, and know you to be a person of sound understanding;
for however I may have acted in opposition to the principles
of religion, or the dictates of reason, I can honestly assure
you I had always the highest veneration for both. The world
and I may now shake hands, for I dare affirm that we are
heartily weary of one another. Oh, doctor, what a prodigal
have I been of that most valuable of all possessions, time. I
have squandered it away with a profusion unparalleled; and
now that the enjoyment of a few days would be worth a
hecatomb of worlds, I cannot flatter myself with a prospect
of half a dozen hours. How despicable, my dear friend, is
that man who never prays to his God but in the time of
distress. In what manner can he supplicate that omnipotent
Being in his affliction with reverence, whom in the tide of
his prosperity he never remembered
[pg
382] with dread! Don’t brand me with infidelity, my
dear doctor, when I tell you I am almost ashamed to offer up
my petitions at the throne of grace, or of imploring that
divine mercy in the next world, which I have so scandalously
abused in this! Shall ingratitude to man be looked upon as
the blackest of crimes, and not ingratitude to God? Shall an
insult offered to the king be looked upon in the most
offensive light, and yet no notice be taken when the King of
kings is treated with indignity and disrespect. The
companions of my former libertinism would scarcely believe
their eyes, my dear doctor, was you to show them this
epistle. They would laugh at me as a dreaming enthusiast, or
pity me as a timorous wretch who was shocked at the
appearance of futurity. But whoever laughs at me for being
right, or pities me for being sensible of my errors, is more
entitled to my compassion than my resentment. A future life
may very well strike terror into any man who has not acted
well in this life; and he must have an uncommon share of
courage indeed who does not shrink at the presence of his
God. You see, my dear doctor, the apprehension of death will
soon bring the most profligate to a proper use of their
understanding. To what a situation am I now reduced? Is this
odious little hut a suitable lodging for a prince? or is this
anxiety of my mind becoming the characteristic of a
Christian? From my rank and fortune I might have expected
affluence to wait on my life, from my religion and
understanding, peace to smile upon my end; instead of which I
am afflicted with poverty, and haunted with remorse, despised
by my country, and I fear forsaken by my God! There is
nothing so dangerous, my dear doctor, as extraordinary
abilities. I cannot be accused of vanity now, by being
sensible I was once possessed of uncommon qualifications,
more especially as I sincerely regret that I was ever blest
with any at all. My rank in life made these accomplishments
still more conspicuous; and, fascinated with the general
applause which they procured, I never considered about the
proper means by which they should be displayed; hence, to
purchase a smile from a blockhead I despised, have I
frequently treated the virtuous with disrespect, and sported
with the Holy Name of heaven to obtain a laugh from a parcel
of fools, who were entitled to nothing but my contempt. Your
men of wit, my dear doctor, generally look upon themselves as
discharged from the duties of religion, and confine the
doctrines of the Gospel to people of meaner understandings;
it is a sort of derogation, in their opinion, to comply with
the rules of Christianity, and reckon that man possessed of a
narrow genius who studies to be good. What a pity that the
Holy Writings are not made the criterion of true judgment! or
that any one should pass for a fine gentleman in this world,
but he that seems solicitous about his happiness in the next.
My dear doctor, I am forsaken by all my acquaintance, utterly
neglected by the friends of my bosom and the dependants of my
bounty. But no matter; I am not now fit to converse with the
first, and have no ability to serve the latter. Let me not be
cast off wholly, however, by the good. Favour me with a
visit, dear doctor, as soon as possible. Writing to you gives
me some ease, especially upon a subject I could talk of for
ever. I am of opinion this is the last visit I shall ever
solicit from you. My distemper is powerful. Come and pray for
the departing spirit of the unhappy BUCKINGHAM.

The Sketch Book.

THE PHANTOM HAND.

In a lonely part of the bleak and rocky coast of Scotland,
there dwelt a being, who was designated by the few who knew
and feared him, the Warlock Fisher. He was, in truth, a
singular and a fearful old man. For years he had followed his
dangerous occupation alone; adventuring forth in weather
which appalled the stoutest of the stout hearts that
occasionally exchanged a word with him, in passing to and fro
in their mutual employment. Of his name, birth, or descent,
nothing was known; but the fecundity of conjecture had
supplied an unfailing stock of materiel on these
points. Some said he was the devil incarnate; others said he
was a Dutchman, or some other “far-away foreigner,” who had
fled to these comparative solitudes for shelter, from the
retribution due to some grievous crime; and all agreed, that
he was neither a Scot nor a true man. In outward form,
however, he was still “a model of a man,” tall, and
well-made; though in years, his natural strength was far from
being abated. His matted black hair, hanging in elf-locks
about his ears and shoulders, together with the perpetual
sullenness which seemed native in the expression of features
neither regular nor pleasing, gave him an appearance
unendurably disgusting. [pg 383] He lived alone, in a hovel
of his own construction, partially scooped out of a
rock—was never known to have suffered a visitor within
its walls—to have spoken a kind word, or done a kind
action. Once, indeed, he performed an act which, in a less
ominous being, would have been lauded as the extreme of
heroism. In a dreadfully stormy morning, a fishing-boat was
seen in great distress, making for the shore—there were
a father and two sons in it. The danger became imminent, as
they neared the rocky promontory of the fisher—and the
boat upset. Women and boys were screaming and gesticulating
from the beach, in all the wild and useless energy of
despair, but assistance was nowhere to be seen. The father
and one of the lads disappeared for ever; but the younger boy
clung, with extraordinary resolution, to the inverted vessel.
By accident, the Warlock Fisher came to the door of his
hovel, saw the drowning lad, and plunged instantaneously into
the sea. For some minutes he was invisible amid the angry
turmoil; but he swam like an inhabitant of that fearful
element, and bore the boy in safety to the beach. From
fatigue or fear, or the effects of both united, the poor lad
died shortly afterwards; and his grateful relatives
industriously insisted, that he had been blighted in the
grasp of his unhallowed rescuer!

Towards the end of autumn, the weather frequently becomes so
broken and stormy in these parts, as to render the sustenance
derived from fishing extremely precarious. Against this,
however, the Warlock Fisher was provided; for, caring little
for weather, and apparently less for life, he went out in all
seasons, and was known to be absent for days, during the most
violent storms, when every hope of seeing him again was lost.
Still nothing harmed him: he came drifting back again, the
same wayward, unfearing, unhallowed animal. To account for
this, it was understood that he was in connexion with
smugglers; that his days of absence were spent in their
service—in reconnoitring for their safety, and
assisting their predations. Whatever of truth there might be
in this, it was well known that the Warlock Fisher never
wanted ardent spirits; and so free was he in their use and of
tobacco, that he has been heard, in a long and dreary
winter’s evening, carolling songs in a strange tongue, with
all the fervour of an inspired bacchanal. It has been said,
too, at such times he held strange talk with some who never
answered, deprecated sights which no one else could see, and
exhibited the fury of an outrageous maniac.

It was towards the close of an autumn day, that a tall young
man was seen surveying the barren rocks, and apparently
deserted shores, near the dwelling of the fisher. He wore the
inquiring aspect of a stranger, and yet his step indicated a
previous acquaintance with the scene. The sun was flinging
his boldest radiance on the rolling ocean, as the youth
ascended the rugged path which led to the Warlock Fisher’s
hut. He surveyed the door for a moment, as if to be certain
of the spot; and then, with one stroke of his foot, dashed
the door inwards. It was damp and tenantless. The stranger
set down his bundle, kindled a fire, and remained in quiet
possession. In a few hours the fisher returned. He started
involuntarily at the sight of the intruder, who sprang to his
feet, ready for any alternative.

“What seek you in my hut?” said the Fisher.

“A shelter for the night—the hawks are out.”

“Who directed you to me?”

“Old acquaintance!”

“Never saw you with my eyes—shiver me! But never mind,
you look like the breed—a ready hand and a light heel,
ha! All’s right—tap your keg!”

No sooner said than done. The keg was broached, and a good
brown basin of double hollands was brimming at the lips of
the Warlock Fisher. The stranger did himself a similar
service, and they grew friendly. The fisher could not avoid
placing his hand before his eyes once or twice, as if wishful
to avoid the keen gaze of the stranger, who still plied the
fire with fuel and his host with hollands. Reserve was at
length annihilated, and the fisher jocularly said—

“Well, and so we’re old acquaintance, ha?”

“Ay,” said the young man, with another searching glance. “I
was in doubt at first, but now I’m certain.”

“And what’s to be done?” said the Fisher.

“An hour after midnight you must put me on board
——-‘s boat, she’ll be abroad. They’ll run a light
to the masthead, for which you’ll steer. You’re a good hand
at the helm in a dark night and a rough sea,” was the reply.

“How, if I will not?”

“Then—your life or mine!”

They sprang to their feet simultaneously, and an immediate
encounter seemed inevitable.

“Psha!” said the Fisher, sinking on his seat, “what madness
this is! I was a thought warm with the liquor, and the
recollections of past times were rising on
[pg
384] my memory. Think nothing of it. I heard those
words once before,” and he ground his teeth in
rage—”Yes, once—but in a shriller voice than
your’s! Sometimes, too, the bastard rises to my view; and
then I smite him so—bah! give us another basin-full!”
He stuck short at vacancy, snatched the beverage from the
stranger, and drank it off. “An hour after midnight, said
ye?”

“Ay—you’ll see no bastards then!”

“Worse—may be—worse!” muttered the Fisher,
sinking into abstraction, and glaring wildly on the
flickering embers before him.

“Why, how’s this?” said the stranger. “Are your senses
playing bo-peep with the ghost of some pigeon-livered coast
captain, eh? Come, take another pull at the keg, to clear
your head-lights, and tell us a bit of your ditty.”

The Fisher took another draught, and proceeded—

“About five-and-twenty years ago, a stranger came to this
hut—may the curse of God annihilate him!—”

“Amen to that,” said the young man.

“He brought with him a boy and a girl, a purse of gold, and
—— the arch fiend’s tongue, to tempt me! Well, it
was to take these children out to sea—upset the
boat—and lose them!”—

“And you did so!” interrupted the stranger.

“I tried—but listen. On a fine evening, I took them
out: the sun sunk rapidly, and I knew by the freshening of
the breeze, there would be a storm. I was not mistaken. It
came on even faster than I wished. The children were
alarmed—the boy, in particular, grew suspicious; he
insisted that I had an object in going out so far at sun-set.
This irritated me,—and I rose to smite him, when the
fair girl interposed her fragile form between us. She
screamed for mercy, and clung to my arm with the desperation
of despair. I could not shake her off! The boy had the
spirit of a man; he seized a piece of spar, and struck me on
the temples. ‘How, you villain!’ said he, ‘your life or
mine!’ At that moment the boat upset, and we were all adrift.
The boy I never saw again—a tremendous sea broke
between us—but the wretched girl clung to me like hate!
Damnation!—her dying scream is ringing in my ears like
madness! I struck her on the forehead, and she sank—all
but her hand, one little, white hand would not sink! I threw
myself on my back, and struck at it with both my
feet—and then I thought it sunk for ever. I made the
shore with difficulty, for I was stunned and senseless, and
the ocean heaved as if it would have washed away the mortal
world—and the lightnings blazed as if all hell had come
to light the scene of warfare! I have never since been on the
sea at midnight, but that hand has followed or preceded me; I
have never ——.” Here he sank down from his seat,
and rolled himself in agony upon the floor.

“Poor wretch!” muttered the stranger, “what hinders now my
long-sought vengeance? Even with my foot—but thou shalt
share my murdered sister’s grave!”

“A shot is fired—look out for the light!” said the
young man.

The Fisher went to the door; but suddenly started back,
clasping his hands before his face.

“Fire and brimstone! there it is again!” he cried.

“What?” said his companion, looking cooly round him.

“That infernal hand! Lightnings blast it!—but that’s
impossible,” he added, in a fearful under-tone, which sounded
as if some of the eternal rocks around him were adding a
response to his imprecations—”that’s impossible!
It is a part of them—it has been so for
years—darkness could not shroud it—distance could
not separate it from my burning eye-balls!—awake, it
was there—asleep, it flickered and blazed before
me!—it has been my rock a-head through life, and it
will herald me to hell!” So saying, he pressed his sinewy
hands upon his face, and buried his head between his knees,
till the rock beneath him seemed to shake with his
uncontrollable agony.

“Again it beckons me!” said he, starting up—”ten
thousand fires are blazing in my heart—in my
brain!—where, where can I be worse? Fiend, I
defy thee!”

“I see nothing,” said his companion, with unalterable
composure.

“You see nothing!” thundered the Fisher, with mingling
sarcasm and fury—”look there.” He snatched his
hand, and pointing steadily into the gloom, again murmured,
“Look there! look there!”

At that moment the lightning blazed around with appalling
brilliancy; and the stranger saw a small white hand, pointing
tremulously upwards.

“I saw it there,” said he, “but it is not hers!
Infatuated, abandoned villain.” he continued, with
irrepressible energy, “it is not my sister’s hand—no!
it is the incarnate fiend’s who tempted you, and who now
waves you to perdition—begone together!”

He aimed a dreadful blow at the astonished
[pg
385] Fisher, who instinctively avoided the stroke.
Mutually wound up to the highest pitch of anger, they
grappled each the other’s throat, set their feet, and
strained for the throw, which was inevitably to bury both in
the wild waves beneath. A faint shriek was heard, and a
gibbering, as of many voices, came fluttering around them.

“Chatter on!” said the Fisher, “he joins you now!”

“Together—it will be together!” said the stranger, as
with a last desperate effort he bent his adversary backward
from the betling cliff. The voice of the Fisher sounded
hoarsely in execration, as they dashed into the sea together;
but what he said was drowned in the hoarser murmur of the
uplashing surge! The body of the stranger was found on the
next morning, flung far up on the rocky shore—but that
of the murderer was gone for ever!

The superstitious peasantry of the neighbourhood still
consider the spot as haunted; and at midnight, when the waves
dash fitfully against the perilous crags, and the bleak winds
sweep with long and angry moan around them, they still hear
the gibbering voices of the fiends, and the mortal
execrations of the Warlock Fisher!—but, after that
fearful night, no man ever saw THE PHANTOM
HAND!—Literary Magnet.

ARCANA OF SCIENCE.

All the elephants which were exported from Point de Galle
were caught in ancient, as well as in modern times, in that
tract of country which extends from Matura to Tangcolle, in
the south of Ceylon, and which, from its being famous for its
elephants in his days, is described by Ptolemy in the map he
made of Ceylon sixteen hundred years ago as the elephantum
pascua. The trade in elephants from Ceylon, which used to
be lucrative, is now completely annihilated, in consequence
of all the petty Rajahs, Foligars, and other chiefs in the
southern peninsula of India, who used formerly to purchase
Ceylon elephants as a part of their state, having lost their
sovereignties, and being therefore no longer required to keep
up any state of this description. A gentleman who has a
plantation at Candy, it is understood, recently introduced
the use of elephants, in ploughing, with great
advantage.—Trans. Asiatic Society.

This beautiful and extraordinary animal, or at least one of
its genus, was first made known to European naturalists by
Bruce, who received it from his dragoman, whilst consul
general at Algiers. It is frequently met with in the date
territories of Africa, where the animals are hunted for their
skins, which are afterwards sold at Mecca, and then exported
to India. Bruce kept his animal alive for several months, and
took a drawing of it in water colours, of the natural size, a
copy of which, on transparent paper, was clandestinely made
by his servant. Mr. Brander, into whose hands the
Fennecus fell after Bruce left Algiers, gave an
account of it in “Some Swedish Transactions,” but refused to
let the figure be published, the drawing having been unfairly
obtained.³
Bruce asserts that this animal is described in many Arabian
books, under the name of El Fennec, which appellation
he conceives to be derived from the Greek word for a palm or
date-tree.

The favourite food of Bruce’s Fennec was dates or any sweet
fruit; but it was also very fond of eggs; when hungry it
would eat bread, especially with honey or sugar. His
attention was immediately attracted if a bird flew near him,
and he would watch it with an eagerness that could hardly be
diverted from its object; but he was dreadfully afraid of a
cat. Bruce never heard that he had any voice. During the day
he was inclined to sleep, but became restless and exceedingly
unquiet as night came on. The above Fennec was about ten
inches long, the tail five inches and a quarter, near an inch
of it on the tip, black. The colour of the body was dirty
white, bordering on cream colour; the hair on the belly
rather whiter, softer and longer than on the rest of the
body. His look was sly and wily; he built his nest on trees,
and did not burrow in the earth.

Naturalists, especially those of France,
[pg
386] were long induced to suspect the truth of Bruce’s
description of this animal; but a specimen from the interior
of Nubia, and preserved in the museum at Frankfort, has
recently been engraved; and thus the matter nearly settled by
the animal belonging to the genus Canis, and the sub
genus Vulpes; the number of teeth and form, being
precisely the same as the fox, which it also resembles in its
feet, number of toes, and form of tail.

For the above engraving we are indebted to the Appendix to
the important and interesting Travels of Messrs. Denham and
Clapperton. It is therein described as generally of a white
colour, inclining to straw yellow; above, from the occiput to
the insertion of the tail it is light rufous brown,
delicately pencilled with fine black lines, from thinly
scattered hairs tipped with black; the exterior of the thighs
is lighter rufous brown; the chin, throat, belly, and
interior of the thighs and legs are white, or cream colour.
The nose is pointed, and black at the extremity; above, it is
covered with very short, whitish hair inclining to rufous,
with a small irregular rufous spot on each side beneath the
eyes; the whiskers are black, rather short and scanty; the
back of the head is pale rufous brown. The ears are very
large, erect, and pointed, and covered externally with short,
pale, rufous brown hair; internally, they are thickly fringed
on the margin with long grayish white hairs, especially in
front; the rest of the ears, internally, is bare; externally,
they are folded or plaited at the base. The tail is very
full, cylindrical, of a rufous brown colour, and pencilled
with fine black lines like the back. The fur is very soft and
fine; that on the back, from the back to the insertion of the
tail, as well as that on the upper part of the shoulder
before, and nearly the whole of the hinder thigh, is formed
of tri-coloured hairs, the base of which is of a dark lead
colour, the middle white, and the extremity light rufous
brown.

A beautiful and perfect fossil of the sea turtle has recently
been discovered in an extensive stratum of limestone, four
fathoms water, called the Stone Ridge, about four miles off
Harwich harbour. It is incrusted in a mass of ferruginous
limestone, and weighs 180 lbs.

A gentleman of Staffordshire recommends the preservation of
apples for winter store, packed in banks or hods of earth
like potatoes.—Communication to the Horticultural
Society.

The benefits which the inhabitants of frigid regions derive
from seals, are far too numerous and diversified to be
particularized, as they supply them with almost all the
conveniences of life. We, on the contrary, so persecute this
animal, as to destroy hundreds of thousands annually, for the
sake of the pure and transparent oil with which the seal
abounds; 2ndly, for its tanned skin, which is appropriated to
various purposes by different modes of preparation; and
thirdly, we pursue it for its close and dense attire. In the
common seal, the hair of the adult is of one uniform kind, so
thickly arranged and imbued with oil, as to effectually
resist the action of water; while, on the contrary, in the
antarctic seals the hair is of two kinds: the longest, like
that of the northern seals; the other, a delicate, soft fur,
growing between the roots of the former, close to the surface
of the skin, and not seen externally; and this beautiful fur
constitutes an article of very increasing importance in
commerce; but not only does the clothing of the seal vary
materially in colour, fineness, and commercial situation, in
the different species, but not less so in the age of the
animal. The young of most kinds are usually of a very light
colour, or entirely white, and are altogether destitute of
true hair, having this substituted by a long and particularly
soft fur.—Quarterly Journal.

If a tube, or goblet, or other round glass body is to be cut,
a line is to be marked with a gun flint having a sharp angle,
an agate, a diamond, or a file, exactly on the place where it
is to be cut. A long thread covered with sulphur is then to
be passed two or three times round the circular line, and to
be inflamed and burnt; when the glass is well heated some
drops of cold water are to be thrown on it, when the piece
will separate in an exact manner, as if cut with scissors. It
is by this means that glasses are cut circularly into thin
bands, which may either be separated from, or repose upon
each other, at pleasure, in the manner of a
spring—-From the French.

A tanner at Tyman, in Hungary, uses with great advantage the
pyroligueous acid, in preserving skins from putrefaction, and
in recovering them when attacked. They are deprived of none
of their useful qualities if covered by means of a brush with
the acid, which they absorb very readily.—Quarterly
Journal.

[pg
387]

A short time since, the entire skeleton of a stag, of very
large size, was dug up by some labourers, in excavating the
bed of the river Ouse, near Lewes, in Sussex. The remains
were found imbedded in a layer of sand, beneath the alluvial
blue clay, forming the surface of the valley. The horns were
in the highest state of preservation, and had seven points,
like the American deer. The greater part of the skeleton was
destroyed by the carelessness of the workmen; but a portion,
including the horns, has been preserved in the collection of
Mr. Mantell, near Lewes.

Mr. Bullock, in his Travels, (just published) relates that he
saw near New Orleans, “what are believed to be the remains of
a stupendous crocodile, and which are likely to prove so,
intimating the former existence of a lizard at least 150 feet
long; for I measured the right side of the under jaw, which I
found to be 21 feet along the curve; and 4 feet 6 inches
wide: the others consisted of numerous vertebrae, ribs,
femoral bones, and toes, all corresponding in size to the
jaw; there were also some teeth: these, however, were not of
proportionate magnitude. These remains were discovered, a
short time since, in the swamp, near Fort Philip; and the
other parts of the mighty skeleton, are, it is said, in the
same part of the swamp.”

Sir Kenelm Digby was a mere quack; but he was the son of an
earl, and related to many noble families. His book on the
supposed sympathetic powder, which cured wounds at any
distance from the sufferer, is the standard of his abilities.
This powder was Roman vitriol pounded. From this wild work,
we, however learn, that the English routine of agriculture in
his time was—1st. year, barley; 2nd. wheat; 3rd. beans;
4th. fallow.—Pinkerton.

Thought, comprising its enumerated constituents and detailed
process, is the most perfect and exalted elaboration of the
human mind, and when protracted is a painful exertion;
indeed, the greater portion of our species reluctantly submit
to the toil and lassitude of reflection; but from laziness,
or incapacity, and perhaps in some instances from diffidence,
they suffer themselves to be directed by the opinions of
others. Hence has arisen the swarm of critics and reviewers,
those clouds that obscure the fair light that would beam on
the mind of man, by his individual reflection, and through
his existence degrade him, by a submission to assumed
authority;—a voluntary blindness, that excludes him
from the observation of nature, and through indolence and
credulity render his noblest faculties feeble, assenting, and
lethargic; and delude him to barter the inheritance of his
intellect for a mess of pottage.—Dr.
Haslam.—Lancet.

SPIRIT OF THE PUBLIC JOURNALS.

MUNCHAUSEN RIDE THROUGH EDINBURGH.

We were sitting rather negligently on an infernal animal,
which, up to that day, had seemed quiet as a
lamb—kissing our hand to Mrs. Davison, then Miss
Duncan, and in the blaze of her fame, when a Highland
regiment, no doubt the forty-second, that had been trudging
down the Mound, so silently that we never heard them, all at
once, and without the slightest warning, burst out, with all
their bag-pipes, into one pibroch! The mare—to do her
justice—had been bred in England, and ridden, as a
charger, by an adjutant to an English regiment. She was even
fond of music—and delighted to prance behind the
band—unterrified by cymbals or great drum. She never
moved in a roar of artillery at reviews—and, had the
Castle of Edinburgh—Lord bless it—been
self-involved, at that moment, in a storm of thunder and
lightning, round its entire circle of cannon, that mare would
not so much as have pricked up her ears, whisked her tail, or
lifted a hoof. But the pibroch was more than horse-flesh and
blood could endure—and off we two went like a
whirlwind. Where we went—that is to say, what were the
names of the few first streets along which we were borne, is
a question which, as a man of veracity, we must positively
decline answering. For some short space of time, lines of
houses reeled by without a single face at the
windows—and these, we have since conjectured, might be
North and South Hanover street, and Queen-street. By and by
we surely were in something like a square—could it be
Charlotte-square?—and round and round it we
flew—three, four, five, or six times, as horsemen do at
the Caledonian amphitheatre—for the animal had got
blind with terror, and kept viciously reasoning in a circle.
What a show of faces at all the windows then! A shriek still
accompanied us as we clattered, and thundered, and lightened
along; and, unless our ears lied, there were occasional
[pg
388] fits of stifled laughter, and once or twice a
guffaw; for there was now a ringing of lost
stirrups—and much holding of the mane. One complete
round was executed by us, first on the shoulder beyond the
pommel; secondly, on the neck; thirdly, between the ears;
fourthly, between the forelegs, in a place called the
counter, with our arms round the jugular veins of the flying
phenomenon, and our toes in the air. That was, indeed, the
crisis of our fever, but we made a wonderful recovery back
into the saddle—righting like a boat capsized in a
sudden squall at sea—and once more, with accelerated
speed, away past the pillared front of St. George’s church!

The castle and all its rocks, in peristrephic panorama, then
floated cloud-like by—and we saw the whole mile-length
of Prince’s-street stretched before us, studded with
innumerable coaches, chaises, chariots, carts, wagons, drays,
gigs, shandrydans, and wheel-barrows, through among which we
dashed, as if they had been as much gingerbread—while
men on horseback were seen flinging themselves off, and
drivers dismounting in all directions, making their escape up
flights of steps and common stairs—mothers or nurses
with broods of young children flying hither and thither in
distraction, or standing on the very crown of the causeway,
wringing their hands in despair. The wheel-barrows were
easily disposed of—nor was there much greater
difficulty with the gigs and shandrydans. But the
hackney-coaches stood confoundedly in the way—and a
wagon, drawn by four horses, and heaped up to the very sky
with beer-barrels, like the Tower of Babel or Babylon, did
indeed give us pause—but ere we had leisure to ruminate
on the shortness of human life, we broke through between the
leaders and the wheels with a crash of leathern breeching,
dismounted collars, riven harness, and tumbling of enormous
horses that was perilous to hear; when, as Sin and Satan
would have it—would you believe it?—there, twenty
kilts deep at the least, was the same accursed Highland
regiment, the forty-second, with fixed bayonets, and all its
pipers in the van, the pibroch yelling, squeaking, squealing,
grunting, growling, roaring, as if it had only that very
instant broken out—so, suddenly to the
right—about went the bag-pipe-haunted mare, and away up
the Mound, past the pictures of Irish Giants—Female
Dwarfs—Albinos—an Elephant endorsed with
towers—Tigers and Lions of all sorts—and a large
wooden building, like a pyramid, in which there was the
thundering of cannon—for the battle, we rather think,
of Camperdown was going on—the Bank of Scotland seemed
to sink into the NorLoch—one gleam through the window
of the eyes of the Director-General—and to be sure how
we did make the street-stalls of the Lawn-market spin! The
man in St. Giles’s steeple was playing his one o’clock tune
on the bells, heedless in that elevation of our
career—in less than no time John Knox, preaching from a
house half-way down the Canongate, gave us the
go-by—and down through one long wide sprawl of men,
women, and children we wheeled past the Gothic front, and
round the south angle of Holyrood, and across the
King’s-park, where wan and withered sporting debtors held up
their hands and cried,
Hurra—hurra—hurra—without stop or stay, up
the rocky way that leads to St. Anthony’s Well and
Chapel—and now it was manifest that we were bound for
the summit of Arthur’s Seat. We hope that we were
sufficiently thankful that a direction was not taken towards
Salisbury Crags, where we should have been dashed into many
million pieces. Free now from even the slightest suburban
impediment, obstacle, or interruption, we began to eye our
gradually rising situation in life—and looking over our
shoulder, the sight of city and sea was indeed magnificent.
There in the distance rose North Berwick Law—but though
we have plenty of time now for description, we had scant time
then for beholding perhaps the noblest scenery in Scotland.
Up with us—up with us into the clouds—and just as
St. Giles’s bells ceased to jingle, and both girths broke, we
crowned the summit, and sat on horseback like king Arthur
himself, eight hundred feet above the level of the sea!

Blackwood’s Magazine.

Select Biography

LELAND.

John Leland, the father of the English antiquaries, was born
in London, about the end of the reign of Henry VII. He was a
pupil to William Lily, the celebrated grammarian—the
first head master of St. Paul’s school; and by the kindness
and liberality of a Mr. Myles, he was sent to Christ’s
college. Cambridge. From this university he removed to All
Souls, Oxford, where he paid particular attention to the
Greek language. He afterwards went to Paris, where he
cultivated the acquaintance of the principal scholars of the
age, and could probably number among his correspondents
[pg
389] the illustrious names of Buddoeus, Erasmus, the
Stephani, Faber, and Turnebus; in this city he perfected
himself in the knowledge of the Latin and Greek tongues, to
which he afterwards added that of several modern languages.
On his return to England he took orders, and was appointed
one of the chaplains to Henry VIII., who gave him the rectory
of Popelay, in the marshes of Calais, appointed him his
library keeper, and conferred on him the title of Royal
Antiquary, which no other person in this kingdom, before, or
after possessed. In this character his majesty in 1533
granted him a commission, empowering him to search after
England’s antiquities, and peruse the libraries of all
cathedrals, abbeys, priories, colleges, &c., as also all
the places wherein records, writings, and whatever else was
lodged that related to antiquity. “Before Leland’s time,”
says Hearne, in his preface to the Itinerary, “all the
literary monuments of antiquity were totally disregarded; and
the students of Germany apprised of this culpable
indifference, were suffered to enter our libraries
unmolested, and to cut out of the books deposited there
whatever passages they thought proper, which they afterwards
published as relics of the ancient literature of their own
country.”

In this research Leland was occupied above six years in
travelling through England, and in visiting all the remains
of ancient buildings and monuments of every kind. On its
completion, he hastened to the metropolis, to lay at the feet
of his sovereign the result of his labours, which he
presented to Henry, under the title of a “New Year’s
Gift,”⁴
in which he says, “I have so traviled yn your dominions booth
by the se costes and the midle partes, sparing nother labor
nor costes, by the space of these vi. yeres paste, that there
is almoste nother cape, nor bay, haven, creke or peers, river
or confluence of rivers, breches, watchies, lakes, meres,
fenny waters, montagnes, valleis, mores, hethes, forestes,
chases wooddes, cities, burges, castelles, principale manor
placis, monasteries, and colleges, but I have seene them; and
notid yn so doing a hole worlde of thinges very memorable.”

At the dissolution of the monasteries, Leland made
application to Secretary Cromwell, to entreat his assistance
in getting the MSS. they contained sent to the king’s
library. In 1542 Henry presented him with the valuable
rectory of Hasely, in Oxfordshire; the year following he
preferred him to a canonry of King’s college, now
Christchurch, Oxford, and about the same time collated him to
a prebend in the church of Sarum. As his duties in the church
did not require much active service, he retired with his
collections to his house in London, where he sat about
digesting them, and preparing the publication he had promised
to the world; but either his intense application, or some
other cause, brought upon him a total derangement of mind,
and after lingering two years in this state, he died on the
18th of April, 1552.

The writings of Leland are numerous; in his lifetime he
published several Latin and Greek poems, and some tracts on
antiquarian subjects. His valuable and voluminous MSS., after
passing through many hands, came into the Bodleian library,
furnishing very valuable materials to Stow, Lambard, Camden,
Burton, Dugdale, and many other antiquaries and historians.
Polydore Virgil, who had stolen from them pretty freely, had
the insolence to abuse Leland’s memory—calling him “a
vain glorious man.” From these collections Hall published, in
1709, “Commentarii de Scriptoribus Brittanicis.” “The
Itinerary of John Leland, Antiquary,” was published by the
celebrated Hearne, at Oxford, in nine volumes, 8vo., 1710, of
which a second edition was printed in 1745, with considerable
improvements and additions. The same editor published
“Joannis Lelandi Antiquarii de Rebus Brittanicis
Collectanea.” in six volumes, Oxon. 1716, 8vo.

BIOS.

THE SELECTOR
AND
LITERARY NOTICES OF
NEW WORKS.

CORAL ISLANDS.

[In a recent Number of the MIRROR we quoted from Mr.
Montgomery’s Pelican Island a beautiful description of
the formation of coral reefs or rocks; and we are now induced
to resume our extracts from this soul stirring poem, with the
following description of the process by which these reefs or
rocks become beautiful and picturesque islands. Mr.
Montgomery’s poetical talent is altogether of the highest
order, or, to use a familiar phrase, his Pelican
Island is “a gem of the first water.” How exquisite is
the following picture of creation!]

RAPIDS OF NIAGARA.

The Rapids begin about half a mile above the cataract; and
although the breadth of the river might at first make them
appear of little importance, a nearer inspection will
convince the stranger of their actual size, and the terrific
danger of the passage. The inhabitants of the neighbourhood
regard it as certain death to get once involved in them; and
that, not merely because all escape from the cataract would
be hopeless, but because the violent force of the water among
the rocks in the channel, would instantly dash the bones of a
man in pieces. Instances are on record of persons being
carried down by the stream; indeed there was an instance of
two men carried over in March last; but no one is known to
have ever survived. Indeed, it is very rare that the bodies
are found; as the depth of the gulf below the cataract, and
the tumultuous agitation of the eddies, whirlpools, and
counter currents, render it difficult for any thing once sunk
to rise again; while the general course of the water is so
rapid, that it is soon hurried far down the stream. The large
logs which are brought down in great numbers during the
spring, bear sufficient testimony to these remarks. Wild
ducks, geese, &c. are frequently precipitated over the
cataract, and generally re-appear either dead, or with their
legs or wings broken. Some say that water-fowl avoid the
place when able to escape, but that the ice on the shores of
the river above often prevents them from obtaining food, and
that they are carried down from mere inability to fly; while
others assert that, they are sometimes seen voluntarily
riding among the rapids, and, after descending half-way down
the cataract, taking wing, and returning to repeat their
dangerous amusement.—American Work.

BRIDAL, CANZONET.

Neele’s Romance of History.

THE GATHERER

“I am but a Gatherer and disposer of other men’s
stuff.”—Walton.

TRAVELLING.

Sterne pitied the man who could travel from Dan to Beersheba,
and say all “was barren:” however delighted travellers or
tourists may be on their journey, it is surprising how few
details are preserved in their memory. This occasioned Dr.
Johnson to remark, in his “Tour to the Hebrides,” how much
the lapse even “of a few hours takes from the certainty of
knowledge, and the distinctness
[pg
392] of imagery;” and that “those who trust to memory
what cannot be safely trusted but to the eye, must tell by
guess, what a few hours before they had known with
certainty.” We were never more convinced of the importance of
these observations than after our first visit to the
dock-yard, at Portsmouth. In collating some little memoranda
made on the spot, we referred to our party, (seven in
number) on our return to the inn, for the extent of
the dock-yard: not one of them could give a correct answer,
though all had just heard it detailed and explained with
accuracy. Dr. Kitchener may well recommend tourists to walk
about with note-books in their hands! and such inadvertence
as the preceding almost warrants the oddity of his
suggestion.

MOTTOES FOR DECANTER LABELS.

Arridet PORTus? subeat non causa doloris.

SumebatiS HERI? non dolor est hodie.

Hic liquor est molLIS BONus, aptus ad omnia laeta.

Oppida ne CALCA VALLAta ad praelia, quoerens, Sisonitum
capias ecce tibi est Volupe.

Dum lucet CLARE Te magis iste trahat.

Literary Gazette.

MALARIA.

Dr. Gregory, father of the late celebrated professor in
Edinburgh, when a student in a part of Germany where
malaria prevailed, from being a philosopher and living
low, drinking only water, was seized with intermittent
fever, when his jolly companions, who ate and drank freely,
escaped. If brandy or other stimulants are taken previous to
exposure to malaria, intermittent fever is generally
prevented. Such are the opinions of the doctor, and if Dr.
Macculloch be right, we suggest the establishment of a brandy
vault at each angle of the parks, that every passenger may
prepare himself.

LORD HOWE.

When the late Lord Howe was a captain, a lieutenant, not
remarkable for courage or presence of mind in dangers (common
fame had brought some imputation upon his character) ran to
the great cabin and informed his commander that the ship was
on fire near the gun-room. Soon after this he returned
exclaiming, “You need not be afraid as the fire is
extinguished.” “Afraid!” replied Captain H. a little
nettled, “how does a man feel, Sir, when he is afraid?
I need not ask how he looks.”

BACKGAMMON BOARDS.

We frequently find backgammon boards with backs lettered as
if they were two folio volumes. The origin of it was thus;
Eudes, bishop of Sully, forbade his clergy to play at chess.
As they were resolved not to obey the commandment, and yet
dared not have a chess-board seen in their houses or
cloisters, they had them bound and lettered as books, and
played at night, before they went to bed, instead of reading
the New Testament or the Lives of the Saints; and the monks
called the draft or chess-board their wooden gospels.
They had also drinking vessels bound to resemble the
breviary, and were found drinking, when it was supposed they
were at prayer.—Literary Gazette.

LOVE OF THE COUNTRY.

Country people will tell you that they like the country, and
detest the town, although their enjoyments are of a kind
which may be obtained in far greater perfection in the latter
than in the former. The only person I ever knew who was
honest in this respect, was a gentleman, the possessor of a
beautiful seat, in a beautiful country, when he avowed his
opinion, that there was “no garden like Covent-garden, and no
flower like a cauliflower.”

C.L.

The Morning Chronicle, Nov. 20, in noticing the
funeral of the late Mr. Sale, says, “At a little after three
o’clock, the body of the lamented gentleman entered the
church.”

LIMBIRD’S EDITION OF THE BRITISH NOVELIST, Publishing in
Monthly Parts, price 6d. each.—Each Novel will be
complete in itself, and may be purchased separately.

The following Novels are already Published:

Footnote 1:
(return)

See MIRROR, vol 3, p 194—vol 5. p 311.

Footnote 2:
(return)

We requote this passage from Mr. M’Creery, as it has
already appeared in vol. 5; and in vol. 3, a correspondent
denies that the first English book was printed at
Westminster; but we are disposed to think that an impartial
examination of the testimonies on each side of the
controversy will decide in favour of Caxton.

Footnote 3:
(return)

We did not know that such unpleasantries as Chancery
injunctions were part of African law; perhaps sand may not
be removed from the desert “without leave of the trustees,”
like scrapings from our roads.

Footnote 4:
(return)

This was published by Bale in 1549, 8vo.

Published by J. LIMBIRD, 143, Strand, London, and Sold by
all Booksellers and Newsmen.