THE MIRROROFLITERATURE, AMUSEMENT, AND INSTRUCTION.No. 325.] SATURDAY, AUGUST 2, 1828. [Price 2d.ALL-SOULS’ CHURCH, LANGHAM-PLACE.Vol. XII. FALL-SOULS’ CHURCH, LANGHAM PLACE.“Whoever walks through London streets,”
Said Momus to the son of Saturn,
“Each day new edifices meets,
Of queer proportion, queerer pattern:
If thou, O cloud-compelling god,
Wilt aid me with thy special grace,
I, too, will wield my motley hod,
And build a church in Langham-place.” “Agreed,” the Thunderer cries; “go plant
Thine edifice, I care not how ill;
Take notice, earth. I hereby grant
Carte blanche of mortar, stone, and trowel.
Go Hermes, Hercules, and Mars,
Fraught with these bills on Henry Hase,
Drop with yon jester from the stars,
And build a church in Langham-place.” London Lyrics-New Monthly Mag. Among all our specimens of contemporary
church-building, none has excited
more animadversion than All-Souls’,
Langham-place, erected in 1822-1825,
from the designs of Mr. Nash. Its general
effect is extraordinary and objectionable;
but, unfortunately for what
merit it really possesses, many of its assailants
have so far disregarded the just
principles of taste and criticism, as to go
laboriously out of their way to be profanely
witty on its defects. Song and
satire, raillery and ridicule, pun and pasquinade,
and even the coarseness of caricature,
have thus been let off at this
specimen of NASH-ional architecture;
whilst their authors have wittingly kept
out any redeeming graces which could be
found in its architectural details. The principal features of the exterior
were suggested by its situation, it being
placed on an angular plot of ground, between
Langham-place and Regent-street.
To afford an advantageous view from either
point, the tower, which is circular, is
nearly detached from the body of the
church, and is surrounded by columns of
the modern Ionic order, supporting an
entablature, crowned by a balustrade,
which is continued along the sides of the
church. Above the portico is a Corinthian
peristyle, the base of which is also
that of a fluted cone, which forms the
spire, and is terminated in an acute point.
The steeple is complete in itself, and
adapted to its situation, having the same
appearance which ever way it is viewed.
This portion of the edifice has, however,
been more stigmatized than any other, although
it has been pronounced by persons
of taste and accredited judgment to be the
best steeple recently erected. To our eye,
the church itself, apart from the tower,
(for such it almost is) is perhaps, one of
the most miserable structures in the metropolis,—in
its starved proportions more
resembling a manufactory, or warehouse,
than the impressive character of a church
exterior; an effect to which the Londoner
is not an entire stranger. Here, too, we
are inclined to ascribe much of the ridicule,
which the whole church has received,
to its puny proportions and scantiness of
decoration, which are far from being assisted
by any stupendousness in their details,
the first impression of which might
probably have fixed the attention of the
spectator. Indeed, the whole style of the
tower and steeple appears peculiarly illadapted
for so small a scale as has here
been attempted. As we love “a jest’s prosperity,” we
recommend such of our readers as are
partial to innocent pasquinade, to turn to
the “Lyric,” in a recent volume of the
New Monthly Magazine, commencing as
above. It is too long for entire insertion
here, but its raciness will doubtless gratify
those who may be induced to refer to it.
TREMENDOUS RAINS. (For the Mirror.) Like a low-hung cloud, it rains so fast,
That all at once it falls.—DRYDEN. There are two English proverbs relative
to rain; the first is, “It rains by
Planets.” “This the country people
(says Ray) use when it rains in one place
and not in another; meaning that the
showers are governed by planets, which
being erratic in their own motions, cause
such uncertain wandering of clouds and
falls of rain. Or it rains by planets—that
is, the falls of showers are as uncertain,
as the motions of the planets are imagined
to be.” The second—”It never rains
but it pours:” which appears to be the
case at present. In the year 553 it rained
violently in Scotland for five months; in
918 there was a continual rain in that
country for five months; a violent one in
London 1222; again 1233, so violent that
the harvest did not begin till Michaelmas;
1338, from Midsummer to Christmas,
so that there was not one day or
night dry together; in Wales, which destroyed
10,000 sheep, September 19th
1752; in Languedoc, which destroyed
the village of Bar le Due, April 26th,
1776; and in the Island of Cuba, on the
21st of June, 1791, 3,000 persons and
11,700 cattle of various kinds perished
by the torrents occasioned by the rains. P. T. W.
CURIOUS SCRAPS. (For the Mirror.) The first dissection on record, is one in
which Democritus of Obdera, was engaged,
in order to ascertain the sources
and course of the bile.—It was the custom
among the Egyptians, to carry about
at their feasts a skeleton, least their guests,
in the midst of feasting and merriment,
should forget the frail tenure of life and
its enjoyments. The most ancient eclipse upon record,
was observed by the Chaldeans 721 years
before the Christian era, and recorded by
Ptolemy. The observation was made at
Babylon the 19th of March.—In ancient
days, for want of parchment to draw
deeds upon, great estates were frequently
conveyed from one family to another only
by the ceremony of a turf and a stone,
delivered before witnesses, and without
any written agreement.—It is singular,
that by the Doomsday Book, as quoted
by Camden, there appears to have been
in Lincoln, when that survey was taken,
no less than 1070 “inns for entertainment.”—Henry
I., about the year 1125,
caused to be made a standard yard,
from the length of his own arm, in order
to prevent frauds in the measurement of
cloth. This standard is supposed to have
been deposited, with other measures, &c.
in Winchester; he likewise (it is said)
ordered halfpence and farthings to be
made round, which before his time were
square.—The Universities of Oxford and
Cambridge were first called “studia,” or
“studies.”—Edward the Confessor
received yearly, from the manor of Barton,
near Gloucester, 3,000 loaves of bread for
the maintenance of his dogs—In the
reign of Edward III., only three taverns
might sell sweet wines in London;
one in Cheape, one in Wallbrook,
and the other in Lombard Street.—Lord
Lyttleton, in his Life of Henry II., vol.
i. p. 50, says, “Most of our ancient
historians give him the character of a very
religious prince, but his religion was,
after the fashion of those times, belief
without examination, and devotion without
piety. It was a religion that at the
same time allowed him to pillage kingdoms,
that threw him on his knees before
a relic or a cross, but suffered him unrestrained
to trample upon the liberties and
rights of mankind;” again, “his government
was harsh and despotic, violating
even the principles of that institution
which he himself had established. Yet
so far he performed the duty of a sovereign
that he took care to maintain a good
police in his realm; which, in the tumultuous
state of his government, was a
great and difficult work.” How well he
performed it, we may learn even from
the testimony of a contemporary Saxon
historian, who says, “during his reign a
man might have travelled in perfect security
all over the kingdom, with his bosom
full of gold; nor durst any kill
another in revenge of the greatest offences,
nor offer violence to the chastity of
a woman. But it was a poor compensation
that the highways were safe, when
the courts of justice were dens of thieves,
and when almost every man in authority, or
in office, used his power to oppress and pillage
the people.”—Towards the close of
the life of Henry IV., he kept the regal
diadem always in his sight by day, and
at night it shared his pillow. Once the
Prince of Wales, whom Henry always
suspected more than he loved, seeing his
father in a most violent paroxysm of disease,
removed the crown from his bed.
The king on his recovery missed it, sent
for his son, and taxed him with his
impatience and want of duty, but the prince
defended his conduct with such rational
modesty, that Henry, convinced of his
innocence, embraced and blessed him.
“Alas!” said Henry to his son, “you
know too well how I gained this crown.
How will you defend this ill-gotten
possession?” “With my sword,” said the
prince, “as my father has done.” Henry V. was, perhaps, the first English
monarch who had ships of his own.
Two of these, which sailed against Harfleur,
were called “The King’s Chamber,”
and “The King’s Hall.” They
had purple sails, and were large and
beautiful. Party rage ran so high in 1403, that
an act of parliament was found necessary
to declare, “Pulling out of eyes and cutting
out of tongues to be felony.”—Dr.
Rush, of Philadelphia, in his “Inquiry
into the effects of spirituous liquors on
the human body, and their influence on
the happiness of society;” says, “Among
the inhabitants of cities, spirits produce
debts, disgrace, and bankruptcy. Among
farmers, they produce idleness with its
usual consequence, such as houses without
windows, barns without roofs, gardens
without enclosures, fields without fences,
hogs without yokes, sheep without wool,
meagre cattle, feeble horses, and half clad,
dirty children, without principles, morals,
or manners.” P. T. W.
Shower of Sugar Plums—Charles XI.,
attended by his court, had been hunting
in the neighbourhood of Carcassone.
After the stag had been taken, a gentleman
of the neighbourhood invited the
king to a splendid dinner which he had
prepared for him. At the conclusion of
the banquet the ceiling of the hall suddenly
opened, a thick cloud, descended
and burst over their heads like a thunder
storm, pouring forth a shower of sugar-plums
instead of hail, which was succeeded
by a gentle rain of rose-water. The Coin Guinea—In the reign of
king Charles II., when Sir Robert Holmes,
of the Isle of Wight, brought gold-dust
from the coast of Guinea, a guinea first
received its name from that country. A Motto.—A constant frequenter of
city feasts, having grown enormously fat,
it was proposed to write on his back,
“Widened at the expense of the corporation
of London.” Sedan-chairs and Hackney-coaches.—Sir
S. Duncombe, predecessor to Duncombe
Lord Feversham, and gentleman
pensioner to King James and Charles I.,
introduced sedan-chairs into this country,
anno 1634, when he procured a patent
that vested in him and his heirs the sole
right of carrying persons up and down in
them for a certain sum. Sir Saunders had
been a great traveller, and saw these chairs
at Sedan, where they were first invented.
It is remarkable that Capt. Bailey introduced
the use of hackney-coaches in this year;
a tolerable ride might then be obtained, in
either of these vehicles for four pence. Heroism—Seward, “the brave Earl
of Northumberland,” feeling in his sickness
that he drew near his end, quitted
his bed and put on his armour, saying,
“That it became not a man to die like a
beast,” on which he died standing; an
act as singular as it was heroic. Epigram on Epigrams.
What is an epigram? a dwarfish whole,
Its body brevity, and wit its soul. W. H. H.
“THE MOUSE TOWER,” A GERMAN LEGEND. (For the Mirror.) The bishop of Mentz was a wealthy prince,
Wealthy and proud was he;
He had all that was worth a wish on earth—
But he had not charitie! He would stretch put his empty hands to bless,
Or lift them both to pray;
But alack! to lighten man’s distress,
They moved no other way. A famine came! but his heart was still
As hard as his pride was high;
And the starving poor but throng’d his door
To curse him and to die. At length from the crowd rose a clamour so loud,
That a cruel plot laid he;
He open’d one of his granaries wide,
And bade them enter free. In they rush’d—the maid and the sire.
And the child that could barely run—
Then he clos’d the barn, and set it on fire.
And burnt them every one! And loud he laugh’d at each terrible shriek,
And cried to his archer-train,
“The merry mice!—how shrill they squeak!—
They are fond of the bishop’s grain!” But mark, what an awful judgment soon,
On the cruel bishop fell;
With so many mice his palace swarm’d,
That in it he could not dwell. They gnaw’d the arras above and beneath,
They eat each savoury dish up;
And shortly their sacrilegious teeth
Began to nibble the bishop! He flew to his castle of Ehrenfels,
By the side of the Rhine so fair;
But they found the road to his new abode,
And came in legions there. He built him, in haste, a tower tall
In the tide, for his better assurance;
But they swam the river, and scal’d the wall,
And worried him past endurance. One morning his skeleton there was seen,
By a load of flesh the lighter;
They had picked his bones uncommonly clean,
And eaten his very mitre! Such was the end of the bishop of Mentz,
And oft at the midnight hour,
He comes in the shape of a fog so dense,
And sits on his old “Mouse-Tower.” C.K.W.
PRUSSIC ACID. (For the Mirror.) The circumstance of Montgomery’s recent
suicide in Newgate, has led me to
send you the following remarks upon the
nature and properties of that most violent
poison, Prussic acid, with which the unfortunate
man terminated his existence. Were we to consider the constituent
parts and properties of the most common
things we are in the habit of daily using,
and their poisonous and destructive natures,
we should recoil at the deadly potion,
and shrink from the loathsome
draught we are about to take. That
which we consider the most delicious and
exhilarating portion of our common beverage,
porter, contains carbonic acid gas,
commonly known by the “spirit,” and
which the poor miners dread with the
utmost horror, like the Arabian does the
destructive blast of the simoon. Oxalic
acid, so much the fear of those accustomed
to the medicine—Epsom salts, is made
from that useful article, sugar, by uniting
with it a smaller portion, more than it
has naturally, of oxygen gas. The air
we breathe contains a most deadly poison,
called by chemists azotic gas, which, by
its being mixed with what is called vital
air, (oxygen gas,) becomes necessary to
our existence, as much as the one (vital
air or oxygen gas) would be prejudicial
without the other; and Prussic acid,
the most violent of all poisons, is contained
in the common bitter-almond. But
these most destructive substances are always
found combined with others, which
render them often perfectly harmless, and
can be separated only by the skill of the
chemist. The Prussic acid (by some called hydrocyanic
acid) is a liquid, extracted from
vegetables, and contains one part of cyanogen
and one part of hydrogen. It is
extracted from the bitter-almond, (as has
been stated,) peach-blossom, and the
leaves of the laurocerasus. It may also
be obtained from animal substances, although
a vegetable acid. If lime be
added to water, distilled from these substances,
a Prussiate of lime is formed;
when, if an acid solution of iron be added
to this mixture, common Prussian blue
(or Prussiate of iron) is precipitated. The
acid may be obtained from Prussiate of
potash, by making a strong solution of
this salt, and then adding as much tartaric
acid as will precipitate the potash,
when the acid will be left in solution,
which must be decanted and distilled. Its properties are a pungent odour, very
much resembling that of bitter-almonds,
with a hot but sweetish taste, and extremely
volatile. It contains azote, with
which no other vegetable acid is combined;
it is largely used in the manufacture of
Prussian blue. It is the most violent of
all poisons, and destroys animals by being
applied to the skin only. It is stated by
an able chemist, that a single drop applied
to the tongue of a mastiff dog caused
death so instantaneously, that it appeared
to have been destroyed by lightning.
One drop to the human frame destroys
life in two minutes. But when chemically combined with
other substances, its power is in a great
measure neutralized, and it becomes a
valuable article, both to the chemist as
a test, and to the physician as a medicine.
The Prussiate of potash and iron will
enable the chemist to discover nearly the
whole of the metals when in solution, by
the colours its combination produces. Dr.
Zollekoffer says, that in intermittent fevers
the Prussiate of iron is in its effects
superior to Cinchona bark, and says it
never disagrees with the stomach, or creates
nausea even in the most irritable state,
while bark is not unfrequently rejected;
a patient will recover from the influence
of intermitting and remitting fevers, in
the generality of cases, in much less time
than is usual in those cases in which bark
is employed. S.S.T.
THE ANECDOTE GALLERY. VOLTAIRE. (Continued from page 64.) A certain Hungarian traveller, a man
of consequence in his country, but not
particularly wise, had fruitlessly tried to
be introduced, without finding any one
at Geneva, willing to undertake the task,
as they were all afraid Voltaire would be
rude to him. A young man, who heard
of this, engaged to procure the stranger
an interview with Voltaire; and on the
day appointed, contrived to have him
conveyed out of town to a good-looking
residence, where well-dressed servants received
him at the door, and ushered him
up stairs in due form. Here then at last
he found himself, as he thought, téte-à-tete
with Voltaire. The malade de Ferney,
personated by our young friend,
was lying down on a sofa, wrapped up in
a damask robe-de-chambre, a night-cap
of black velvet, with gold lace, on his
head, or rather on the top of an immense
periwig, a la Louis XIV., in the midst
of which his little, sallow and deeply-wrinkled
visage seemed buried; a table
was near him, covered with papers, and
the curtains being drawn, made the room
rather dark. The philosopher apologized
in a hollow voice, interrupted by occasional
fits of coughing; he was ill bien malade,
could not get up, begged the stranger to
be seated, asked questions about the
countries he had visited, made him tell
his adventures, those of gallantry particularly,
and was himself most facetious,
and most profanely witty. The Hungarian
delighted, and far more at ease than
he had imagined possible, casting a glance
on the papers, ventured to inquire what
new work? “Ah, nothing!”—le faible
Enfant de ma Vieillesse—a tragedy.
“May I ask the subject?” “The subject
is wholly Genevan,” replied Voltaire,
“the name, Empro-Giro, and the dramatis
personæ Carin-Caro, Dupins-Simon,
and Carcail Briffon, &c.” He
then began to repeat, with great animation,
a number of passages, to which his
visitor listened in perfect raptures, but
drew, meanwhile, a snuff-box from his
pocket, and began to look attentively on
him and on a picture on the lid; thus
confronted with a portrait of Voltaire,
and compared face to face, was a trial for
which our mimic was not prepared, and
his courage nearly forsook him, yet he
kept up appearances, only coughing more,
and ranting on the high-sounding lines of
his Empro-Giro. The Hungarian, not
undeceived by this close examination, replaced
the snuff-box in his pocket, declaring
it to be the best likeness he had
ever seen. He rose at last, thanked his
friend Voltaire, kissed his hand respectfully,
and went away, distributing to the
servants he met on the stairs liberal tokens
of his satisfaction. These servants were
the intimate friends and companions of the
chief actor, and one of them, his brother,
unwilling to carry the joke to the length
of pocketing the money of their dupe,
they contrived to give him a dinner at a
tavern, where he was made to tell the
story of his visit to Voltaire, and express
his admiration of the great man. The
latter heard of this, was much amused,
and desired to see his double, told him
he would make a bargain with him—half
his fame for half the tiresome visitors it
procured him. The poet lived like a prince, but kept
his accounts like a citizen; knowing to
a sous where his money went: a good
deal of it was bestowed charitably, for he
was munificent, and certainly much loved
in his neighbourhood. One night, when
Tancrede was acting, and the court of
the chateau was full of carriages and servants,
there arrived, as ill luck would
have it, a cask of the best chambertin
that ever came from Burgundy; his own
people could not attend to it, and the
cask remained at his cellar door; the
servants contrived to get at it, and while
their masters and mistresses were shedding
tears at the tragedy, they sipped the
poet’s wine. There was generally a supper
after the play, where more than once
two hundred people sat down, and Voltaire
had something to say to every one
of his guests. As the gates of the town
are shut at night, many of them usually
remained in the château, poorly accommodated
with beds. One night as M. de
B—-, was groping in the dark, for a
place where he might lie down to sleep,
he accidently put his finger into the
mouth of M. de Florian, who bit it. Voltaire kept company only with the
aristocracy of Geneva; neither his liberality
nor his wit secured him the good-will
of the patriots placed out of the sphere of
his influence; they only saw him a sham
philosopher, without principles and solidity;
a courtier, the slave of rank and
fashion; the corrupter of their country,
of which he made a jest. Quand je
secoue ma perruque, he used to say, je
poudre toute la republique! Whatever might be Voltaire’s antipathy
to the visits of strangers at his château,
he seems to have met with an equal
specimen of that temper from an Englishman.
When in London, he waited upon
Congreve, the poet, and passed him some
compliments as to the reputation and
merit of his works. Congreve thanked
him; but at the same, time told Voltaire
he did not choose to be considered as an
author, but only as a private gentleman,
and in that light expected to be visited.
Voltaire answered, that if he had never
been any thing but a private gentleman,
in all probability he had never been
troubled with that visit. He also observes,
in his own account of this affair,
he was not a little disgusted with so unseasonable
a piece of vanity. The memory of Voltaire and Rousseau
is still cherished by the French people
with great fondness; their busts or figures
in bronze or plaster are frequently met
with, and remind one of Penates, or household
gods. PHILO.
POPULAR SUPERSTITIONS.WITCHCRAFT. (For the Mirror.) —Why should the envious world
Throw all their scandalous malice upon me?
‘Cause I am poor, deform’d, and ignorant;
And like a bow, buckled and bent together,
By some more strong in mischiefs than myself:
Must I for that be made a common sink
For all the filth and rubbish of men’s tongues,
To fall and run into? some call me witch;
And, being ignorant of myself, they go
About to teach me how to be one; urging
That my bad tongue (by their bad usage made so)
Forespeaks their cattle, doth bewitch their corn,
Themselves, their servants, and their babes at nurse;
This they enforce upon me; and in part
Make me to credit it. Witch of Edmonton. The belief in witchcraft may be considered
as forming a prominent and important
feature in the history of the human
mind. It is certainly one link of
the degrading chain of superstitions which
have long enslaved mankind, but which
are now quivering to their fall. The
desire for power to pry into hidden things,
and more especially events to come, is
inherent in the human race, and has always
been considered as of no ordinary
importance, and rendered the supposed
possessors objects of reverence and fear.
The belief in astrology, or the power to
read in the stars the knowledge of futurity,
from time immemorial has been considered
as the most difficult of attainment,
and important in its results. And by
the aid of a little supernatural machinery,
both magicians and astrologers exercised
the most unlimited influence over the understandings
of their adherents. An astrologer,
only two or three centuries since,
was a regular appendage to the establishments
of princes and nobles. Sir Walter
Scott has drawn an interesting portrait of
one in Kenilworth; and the eagerness
with which the Earl of Leicester listened
to his doctrines and predictions, affords a
good specimen of the manners of those
times. The movements of the heavenly
bodies, (imperfectly as they were then
understood,) seemed to afford the most
plausible vehicle for these “oracles of
human destiny;” and even now, while
we are tracing these lines, the red and
glaring appearance of the planet Mars,
shining so beautifully in the south-east,
is considered by the many as a forerunner
and sign of long wars and much bloodshed: These dreams and terrors magical,
These miracles and witches,
Night walking sprites, et cetera,
Esteem them not two rushes. Mankind are universally prone to the
belief in omens, and the casual occurrence
of certain contingent circumstances soon
creates the easiest of theories. Should a
bird of good omen, in ancient times, perch
on the standard, or hover about an army,
the omen was of good import, and favourable
to conquest. Should a raven or crow
accidentally fly over the field of action,
the spirits of the combatants would be
proportionably depressed. Should a planet
be shining in its brilliancy at the
birth of any one whose fortunes rose to
pre-eminence, it was always thought to
exert an influence over his future destiny.
Such was the origin of many of our later
superstitions, which “grew with their
growth, and strengthened with their
strength,” till the more extensive introduction
of the art of printing partly dissipated
the illusion.
It has been remarked, therefore, that
the existence of the parent stock of the
subject more immediately under our consideration,
witchcraft, may be traced to a
very remote period indeed. It is, however,
needless to enter into any remarks on those
witches mentioned in the Scriptures.
The earliest dabbler of the genus, as a
contemporary writer observes, is said to
be Zoroaster, thought to be the king of
the Bactrians, who flourished about 3,800
years ago, or A.M. 2000. He is supposed
to have been well versed in the arts
of divination and astrology, and was the
origin of the Persian magi. “At his
birth,” remarks an old writer, “he
laughed; and his head did so beat, that
it struck back the midwife’s hand—a
good sign of abundance of spirits, which
are the best instruments of a ready wit.”
The magi in Persia, the Brahmins in
India, the Chaldae in Assyria, the magicians
of Arabia, the priesthood of Egypt,
Greece, and Rome, and the Druids of
Britain, were all members of a class which
comprised astrology, omens, divination,
conjuration, portents, chiromancy, and
sorcery; and all united in the pursuit of
enslaving mankind for the purposes of
gain and power, with artfully devised
schemes, and a skilful series of impostures;
and we can easily imagine the
influence they must have exercised over
the minds of their proselytes, when we
bear in mind the effect produced by similar
contrivances in later days.
The enchantress Theoris of Athens
seems to have been the first witch that
had recourse to charms. Demosthenes
uses the terms both of witchery and imposture
in speaking of her. This witch
was put to death by the Athenians—an
accomplice having displayed to them the
charms, &c., by which she wrought her
miracles. Our Saviour’s words, that
faith can remove mountains, are applicable
particularly to the supposed powers
of witchcraft; and the influence of charms
and amulets in averting disease is well
known.
We have alluded, in our first paper, to
the trial of Rose Cullender and Amy
Duny, at Norwich, for witchcraft; and we
now give the speech of Sir Thomas
Browne, the celebrated physician of that
period, (1664,) to whom, in consequence
of defect in the proof, the case was referred,
which was the cause of their conviction.
Sir Thomas Browne offered it
as his opinion, “that the devil, in such
cases, did work upon the bodies of men
and women, upon a natural foundation,
(that is) to stir up and excite such humours
superabounding in their bodies to
a great excess, whereby he did, in an
extraordinary manner, afflict them with
such distempers as their bodies were most
subject to, as particularly appeared in the
children of Dorothy Dunent, (one of the
indictments against the prisoners being
for their bewitchment;) for he conceived
that these swooning fits were natural, and
nothing else but that they call the mother,
but only heightened to a great excess
by the subtilty of the devil co-operating
with the malice of these, which we term
witches, at whose instance he doth the
villanies.” The ceremony of initiation to the dreadful
vocation and great powers of witchcraft
was attended with considerable form
and mystery:— —-They call me hag and witch.
What is the name? When, and by what art learned?
With what spell, what charm or invocation,
May the thing call’d _familiar_ be purchas’d? The older and more ugly the performer
in these appalling ceremonies, the better.
Some witches seem to have had the devil
quite at their beck; but his visits to most
of them appear to have been “few and
far between.” The convention (remarks
John Gaule, an old writer) for such a
solemn initiation being proclaimed (by
some herald imp) to some others of the
confederation, on some great holy or
Lord’s day, they meet in some church,
either before the consecrated bell hath
tolled, or else very late, after all the services
are past and over. “The party, in
some vesture for that purpose, is presented
by some confederate or familiar to the
prince of devills, sitting now in a throne
of infernall majesty, appearing in the
form of a man, only labouring to hide his
cloven foot. To whom, after bowing and
homage done, a petition is presented to be
received into his association and protection;
and first, if the witch be outwardly
Christian, baptism must be renounced,
and the party must be re-baptised in the
devill’s name, and a new name is also
imposed by him, and here must be godfathers
too … But above all he is very
busie with his long nails, in scraping and
scratching those places of the forehead
where the signe of the crosse was made,
or where the chrisme was laid. Instead
of both which, he impresses or inures the
mark of the beast (the devill’s flesh brand)
upon one or other part of the body.
Further, the witch (for her part) vows,
either by word of mouth, or peradventure
by writing, (and that in her owne bloode,)
to give both body and soul to the devill,
to deny and defy God the Father, the
Son, and the Holy Ghost; but especially
the blessed Virgin, convitiating her with
one infamous nickname or other; to abhor
the word and sacraments, but especially
to spit at the saying of masse; to
spurn at the crosse, and tread saints’
images under feet; and as much as possibly
they may, to profane all saints’
reliques, holy water, consecrated salt, wax,
&c.; to be sure to fast on Sundays, and
eat flesh on Fridays; not to confess their
sins, whatsoever they do, especially to a
priest; to separate from the Catholic
church, and despise his vicar’s primacy;
to attend the devill’s nocturnal conventicles,
sabbaths, and sacrifices; to take him
for their god, worship, invoke, and obey
him; to devote their children to him, and
to labour all that they may to bring
others into the same confederacy. Then
the devill, for his part, promises to be
always present with them, to serve them
at their beck; that they shall have their
wills upon any body; that they shall
have what riches, honours, and pleasures
they can imagine; and if any be so wary
as to think of their future being, he tells
them they shall be princes ruling in the
aire, or shall be but turned into impes at
worst. Then he preaches to them to be
mindful of their covenant, and not to fail
to revenge themselves upon their enemies,
Then, he commends to them (for this purpose)
an imp, or familiar in the shape of
a cat, &c. After this they shake hands,
embrace in arms, dance, feast, and banquet,
according as the devill hath provided
in imitation of the supper. Nay,
ofttimes he marries them ere they part,
either to himselfe, or to their familiar, or
to one another, and that by the Book of
Common Prayer, as a pretender to witch-finding
told me, in the presence of many.”
After this they part, and a general meeting
is held thrice a year, on some holy
day; they are “conveyed to it as swift as
the winds from the remotest parts of the
earth, where they that have done the most
execrable mischiefe, and can brag of it,
make most merry with the devill;” while
the “indiligent” are jeered and derided
by the devil and the others. Non-attendance
was severely punished by the culprits
being beaten on the soles of the feet,
whipped with iron rods, “pinched and
sucked by their familiars till their heart’s
blood come—till they repent them of their
sloth, &c.” Many regulations were, however, to be
observed after the above initiatory ceremony,
which we have given at length in
consequence of its singularity. There
existed a community or commonwealth, of
“fallen angels” or spirits, with the various
titles of kings, dukes, &c., prelates
and knights, of which the head was Baal,
“who, when he was conjured up, appeared
with three heads, one like a man,
one like a toad, and one like a cat.” The
title of king conferred no extra power;
indeed, Agares, “the first duke, came
in the likeness of a faire old man, riding
upon a crocodile, and carrying a hawk
on his fist”—Marbas, who appeared
in the form of a “mightie lion”—Amon,
“a great and mightie marques, who
came abroad in the likeness of a wolf,
having a serpent’s taile, and breathing
out and spitting flames of fire,” and was
one of the “best and kindest of devills,”
with sixty-five more of these master-spirits,
enumerated in Scot, “appeared to
be entirely and exclusively appropriated
to the service of witches,” were alike possessed
of nearly similar power, and had
many hundreds of legions of devils (each
legion 6,666 in number) at their command. There were stated times for each rank
of devils to be called on, for they aught
not to be invoked “rashly or at all seasons;”
and the following extracts from
Reginald Scot are fully explanatory of
the formalities to be observed on these
occasions:— “The houres wherein the principal
devills may be raised.—A king may be
raised from the third houre till noone,
and from the ninth hour till evening.
Dukes may be raised from the first hour
till noon, and clear weather is to be observed.
Marquesses may be raised from
the ninth hour till compline, and from
compline till the end of day. Countes,
or earles, may be raised at any hour of
the day, so it be in the woodes or fieldes,
where men resort not. Prelates likewise
may be raised at any houre of the day.
A president may not be raised at any
hour of the day, except the king, whom
he obeyeth, be invocated; nor at the shutting
in of the evening. Knights from
day-dawning till sun-rising, or from even-song
till sun-set. “The forme of adjuring and citing the
spirits aforesaid to appeare.—When you
will have any spirit, you must knowe his
name and office; you must also fast and
be cleane from all pollution three or foure
days before; so will the spirit be more
obedient unto you. Then make a circle,
and call up the spirit with great intention,
rehearse in your owne name, and
your companion’s, (for one must alwaies
be with you,) this prayer following; and
so no spirit shall annoy you, and your
purpose shall take effect. And note how
thw prayer agreeth with popish charmes
and conjurations.” The prayer alluded to (see Scot’s Discovery,
b. 15, c. 2) is of the most diabolical
and blasphemous nature. A contemporary
writer observes, that there is not
the least doubt but that the witches of the
olden time observed all the formalities of
these ridiculous and disgusting ceremonies
to the very letter. In later times,
however, though the formalities were
quite simple, yet the hag of the sixteenth
century exercised her vocation with all its
ancient potency. The broomstick has been the theme of
many a story connected with this subject:— As men in sleep, though motionless they lie,
Fledged by a dream, believe they mount and fly;
So witches some enchanted wand bestride
And think they through the airy regions ride. But the reason of its possessing such extensive
powers of locomotion, or rather
aërostation, is not generally understood.
The witches either steal or dig dead
children out of their graves, which are
then seethed in a cauldron, and the ointment
and liquid so produced, enables
them, “observing certain ceremonies, to
immediately become a master, or rather a
mistresse, in the practise or faculty” of
flying in the air:— High in, air, amid the rising storm
—-wrapt in midnight
Her doubtful form appears and fades!
Her spirits are abroad! they do her bidding!
Hark to that shriek! In addition to the above, they possessed
another very useful faculty, for the
transfer of the patent of which, I doubt
not scores of adventurers would have
given a tolerable consideration. It is
briefly that of “sailing in an egg-shell, a
cockle, or a muscle-shell, through and
under the tempestuous seas.” From the length to which this article
has extended, I must reserve an account
of witch-finders, charms, dreams, and confessions,
&c. for the next and concluding
paper. VYVYAN.
Spirit of Discovery.
Paper from Straw. At a recent meeting of the Royal Institution,
there were exhibited some specimens
of paper manufactured from straw,
by a new process. Hardening Steel. From the observation of travellers, that
the manufacture of Damascus blades was
carried on only during the time when the
north winds occurred, M. Anozoff made
experiments on the hardening of steel instruments,
by putting them, when heated,
into a powerful current of air, instead
of quenching them in water. From the
experiments already made, he expects
ultimate success. He finds that, for very
sharp-edged instruments, this method is
much better than the ordinary one; that
the colder the air and the more rapid its
stream, the greater is the effect. The
effect varies with the thickness of the
mass to be hardened. The method succeeds
well with case-hardened goods.—
From the French. Detection of Blood. A controversy has recently taken place
in Paris, relative to the efficacy of certain
chemical means of ascertaining whether
dried spots or stains of matter suspected
to be blood, are or were blood, or not.
M. Orfila gives various chemical characters
of blood under such circumstances,
which he thinks sufficient to enable an
accurate discrimination. This opinion is
opposed by M. Raspail, who states, that
all the indications supposed to belong to
true blood, may be obtained from, linen
rags, dipped, not into blood, but into a
mixture of white of egg and infusion of
madder, and that, therefore, the indications
are injurious rather than useful. Cedars of Lebanon. Mr. Wolff, the missionary, counted on
Mount Lebanus, thirteen large and ancient
cedars, besides the numerous small
ones, in the whole 387 trees. The largest
of these trees was about 15 feet high, not
one-third of the height of hundreds of
English cedars; for instance, those at
Whitton, Pain’s Hill, Caenwood, and
Juniper Hall, near Dorking. Leeches. In the Medical Repository, a case is
quoted, where some leeches, which had
been employed first on a syphylitic patient
and afterwards on an infant, communicated
the disease to the latter. Stinging Flies. There is a fly which exteriorly much
resembles the house-fly, and which is
often very troublesome about this time;
this is called the stinging fly, one of the
greatest plagues to cattle, as well as to
persons wearing thin stockings. Mont Blanc. The height of Mont Blanc and of the
Lake of Geneva has lately been carefully
ascertained by M. Roger, an officer of
engineers in the service of the Swiss Confederation.
The summit of the mountain
appears to be 4,435 metres, or 14,542
English feet above the Lake of Geneva,
and the surface of the Lake 367 metres,
or 1,233 English feet above the sea. The
mountain is, therefore, 15,775 feet above
the level of the sea. Bird Catching. The golden-crested wren may be taken
by striking the bough upon which it is
sitting, sharply, with a stone or stick.
The timid bird immediately drops to the
ground, and generally dead. As their
skins are tender, those who want them for
stuffing will find this preferable to using
the gun.—Mag. Nat. Hist. Shower of Herrings in Ross-shire. In April last, as Major Forbes, of
Fodderty, in Strathpfeffer, was traversing
a field on his farm, he found a considerable
portion of the ground covered with
herring fry, of from three to four inches
in length. The fish were fresh and entire,
and had no appearance of being
dropped by birds—a medium by which
they must have been bruised and mutilated.
The only rational conjecture that can be
formed of the circumstance is, that the fish
were transported thither in a water-spout—a
phenomenon that has before occurred
in the same county. The Firth of Dengwall
lies at a distance of three miles from
the place in question; but no obstruction
occurs between the field and the sea, the
whole is a level strath or plain, and water
spouts have been known to travel even
farther than this.—Inverness Courier. Spanish Asses. The Duke of Buckingham has, at his
seat at Avington, a team of Spanish
asses, resembling the zebra in appearance,
which are extremely tractable, and take
more freely to the collar than any of our
native species. Drawing Instrument. An ingenious invention of this description
was recently exhibited at the Royal
Institution. A pencil and a small bead
are so connected together by means of a
thread passing over pullies, that if a person,
looking through an eye-piece, will
hold the pencil upon a sheet of paper,
and then, watching the bead, will move
his hand, so that the bead shall trace the
lines of any object that is selected or
looked at, he will find that, whilst he
has been doing this, he has also made a
drawing of the subject upon the paper;
for the pencil and the bead describe exactly
the same lines, though upon different
planes. Thus, a drawing is made,
without even looking at the paper, but
solely at the object. White Cats. In a recent number we quoted from
Loudon’s Gardener’s Magazine, that
“white cats with blue eyes are always
deaf,” of which extraordinary fact there
is the following confirmation in the _Magazine
of Natural History_, No. 2, likewise
conducted by Mr. Loudon:—”Some
years ago a white cat of the Persian
kind (probably not a thorough-bred
one) procured from Lord Dudley’s at
Hindley, was kept in my family as a favourite.
The animal was a female, quite
white, and perfectly deaf. She produced,
at various times, many litters of kittens,
of which, generally, some were quite
white, others more or less mottled, tabby,
&c. But the extraordinary circumstance
is, that of the offspring produced at one
and the same birth, such as, like the
mother, were entirely white, were, like her,
invariably deaf; while those that had the
least speck of colour on their fur, as invariably
possessed the usual faculty of
hearing—” W. T. Bree, Allersley Rectory,
near Coventry. Ultramarine. A French journal announces a discovery
of the method of making Ultramarine,
by which means the public are
supplied with the article at one guinea
per ounce, the colour having hitherto
been sold from two guineas to two pounds
ten shillings per ounce. Indication of Storms. Professor Scott, of Sandhurst College,
observed in Shetland, that drinking-glasses
placed in an inverted position
upon a shelf in a cupboard, on the
ground floor of Belmont House, occasionally
emitted sounds as if they were
tapped with a knife, or raised up a little,
and then let fall on the shelf. These
sounds preceded wind, and when they
occurred, boats and vessels were immediately
secured. The strength of the
sound is said to be proportional to the
tempest that follows.—Brewster’s Jour. To preserve Wine in draught. M. Imery, of Toulouse, gives the following
simple means of preserving wine
in draught for a considerable time; it is
sufficient to pour into the cask a flask of
fine olive oil. The wine may thus continue
in draught for more than a year.
The oil spread in a thin layer upon the
surface of the wine, hinders the evaporation
of its alcoholic part, and prevents
it from combining with the atmospheric
air, which would not only turn the wine
sour, but change its constituent parts. Union of the Atlantic and Pacific. A letter from Amsterdam states, that
the project of cutting a canal, to unite
the Gulf of Mexico with the Pacific
Ocean, is about to be revived. Vesuvius. An eruption took place on the morning
of last March 22nd. An eye-witness writes
“the cone of the mountain puts you in
mind of an immense piece of artillery,
firing red-hot stones, and ashes, and
smoke into the atmosphere; or, of a
huge animal in pain, groaning;, crying,
and vomiting; or, like an immense
whale in the arctic circle, blowing after it
has been struck with several harpoons.” Bees in Mourning. A correspondent in Loudon’s Magazine
of Natural History, states that in the
neighbourhood of Coventry, there is a
superstitious belief, that in the event of
the death of any of the family, it is necessary
to inform the bees of the circumstance,
otherwise they will desert the
hive, and seek out other quarters. Rare Insects. There exists in Livonia, a very rare
insect, which is not met with in more
northern countries, and whose existence
was for a long time considered
doubtful, called the Furia Infernalis.
It is so small that it is very difficult to
distinguish it by the naked eye; and its
sting produces a swelling, which, unless
a proper remedy be applied, proves mortal. During the hay harvest, other insects
named Meggar, occasion great injury
both to men and beasts. They are of the
size of a grain of sand. At sunset they
appear in great numbers, descend in a
perpendicular line, pierce the strongest
linen, and cause an itching, and pustules,
which if scratched, become dangerous.
Cattle, which breathe these insects, are
attacked with swellings in the throat,
which destroy them, unless promptly relieved.
SPIRIT OF THE PUBLIC JOURNALS
MEN AND MONKEYS. Monkeys are certainly, there is no denying
it, very like men; and, what is
worse, men are still more like monkeys.
Many worthy people, who have a high
respect for what they choose to call the
Dignity of Human Nature, are much
distressed by this similitude, approaching
in many cases to absolute identity; and
some of them have written books of considerable
erudition and ingenuity, to prove
that a man is not a monkey; nay, not so
much as even an ape; but truth compels
us to confess, that their speculations have
been far from carrying conviction to our
minds. All such inquirers, from Aristotle
to Smellie, principally insist on two
great leading distinctions—speech and
reason. But it is obvious to the meanest
capacity, that monkeys have both speech
and reason. They have a language of
their own, which, though not so capacious
as the Greek, is much more so than the
Hottentottish; and as for reason, no man
of a truly philosophical genius ever saw
a monkey crack a nut, without perceiving
that the creature possesses that endowment,
or faculty, in no small perfection.
Their speech, indeed, is said not to be
articulate; but it is audibly more so than
the Gaelic. The words unquestionably
do run into each other, in a way that, to
our ears, renders it rather unintelligible;
but it is contrary to all the rules of sound
philosophizing, to confuse the obtuseness
of our own senses with the want of any
faculty in others; and they have just as
good a right to maintain, and to complain
of, our inarticulate mode of speaking, as
we have of theirs—indeed much more—for
monkeys speak the same, or nearly
the same, language all over the habitable
globe, whereas men, ever since the Tower
of Babel, have kept chattering, muttering,
humming, and hawing, in divers ways
and sundry manners, so that one nation
is unable to comprehend what another
would be at, and the earth groans in vain
with vocabularies and dictionaries. That
monkeys and men are one and the same
animal, we shall not take upon ourselves
absolutely to assert, for the truth is, we,
for one or two, know nothing whatever
about the matter; all we mean to say is,
that nobody has yet proved that they are
not, and farther, that whatever may be
the case with men, monkeys have reason
and speech. The monkey has not had justice done
him, we repeat and insist upon it; for
what right have you to judge of a whole
people, from a few isolated individuals,—and
from a few isolated individuals, too,
running up poles with a chain round their
waist, twenty times the length of their
own tail, or grinning in ones or twos
through the bars of a cage in a menagerie?
His eyes are red with perpetual weeping—and
his smile is sardonic in captivity.
His fur is mouldy and mangy, and he is
manifestly ashamed of his tail, prehensile
no more—and of his paws, “very hands,
as you may say,” miserable matches to
his miserable feet. To know him as he
is, you must go to Senegal; or if that be
too far off for a trip during the summer
vacation, to the Rock of Gebir, now
called Gibraltar, and see him at his gambols
among the cliffs. Sailor nor slater
would have a chance with him there,
standing on his head on a ledge of six
inches, five hundred feet above the level
of the sea, without ever so much as once
tumbling down; or hanging at the same
height from a bush by the tail, to dry, or
air, or sun himself, as if he were flower
or fruit. There he is, a monkey indeed;
but you catch him young, clap a pair of
breeches on him, and an old red jacket,
and oblige him to dance a saraband on
the stones of a street, or perch upon the
shoulder of Bruin, equally out of his
natural element, which is a cave among
the woods. Here he is but the ape of a
monkey. Now if we were to catch you
young, good subscriber or contributor,
yourself, and put you into a cage to crack
nuts and pull ugly faces, although you
might, from continued practice, do both
to perfection, at a shilling a-head for
grown-up ladies and gentlemen, and sixpence
for children and servants, and even
at a lower rate after the collection had
been some weeks in town, would you not
think it exceedingly hard to be judged of
in that one of your predicaments, not only
individually, but nationally—that is, not
only as Ben Hoppus, your own name,
but as John Bull, the name of the people
of which you are an incarcerated specimen?
You would keep incessantly crying
out against this with angry vociferation,
as a most unwarrantable and unjust
Test and Corporation Act. And, no
doubt, were an Ourang-outang to see you
in such a situation, he would not only
form a most mean opinion of you as an
individual, but go away with a most false
impression of the whole human race.
Blackwood’s Magazine.
SONNET WRITTEN IN THE SPRING.
How heavenly o’er my frame steals the life-breath
Of beautiful Spring! who with her amorous gales
Kissing the violets, each stray sweet exhales
Of May-thorn, and the wild flower on the heath.
I love thee, virgin daughter of the year!
Yet, ah! not cups,—dyed like the dawn, impart
Their elves’ dew-nectar to a fainting heart!—
Ye birds! whose liquid warblings far and near
Make music to the green turf-board of swains;
To me, your light lays tell of April joy,—
Of pleasures—idle, as a long-loved toy;
And while my heart in unison complains,
Tears like of balm-tree flow in trickling wave,
And white forms strew with flowers a maid’s untimely grave!
New Monthly Mag.
THE KING OF ARRAGON’S LAMENT FOR HIS
BROTHER.[1]
“If I could see him, it were well with me!”
Coleridge’s Wallenstein. >
There were lights and sounds of revelling in the vanquished city’s halls,
As by night the feast of victory was held within its walls;
And the conquerors filled the wine-cup high, after years of bright blood shed:
But their Lord, the King of Arragon, ‘midst the triumph, wailed the dead. He looked down from the fortress won, on the tents and towers below,
The moon-lit sea, the torch-lit streets—and a gloom came o’er his brow:
The voice of thousands floated up, with the horn and cymbals’ tone;
But his heart, ‘midst that proud music, felt more utterly alone.
And he cried, “Thou art mine, fair city! thou city of the sea!
But, oh! what portion of delight is mine at last in thee?
—I am lonely ‘midst thy palaces, while the glad waves past them roll,
And the soft breath of thine orange-bowers is mournful to my soul. “My brother! oh! my brother! thou art gone, the true and brave,
And the haughty joy of victory hath died upon thy grave:
There are many round my throne to stand, and to march where I lead on;
There was one to love me in the world—my brother! thou art gone! “In the desert, in the battle, in the ocean-tempest’s wrath,
We stood together, side by side; one hope was our’s—one path:
Thou hast wrapt me in thy soldier’s cloak, thou hast fenced me with thy breast;
Thou hast watched beside my couch of pain—oh! bravest heart, and best! “I see the festive lights around—o’er a dull sad world they shine;
I hear the voice of victory—my Pedro where is thine?
The only voice in whose kind tone my spirit found reply—
Oh! brother! I have bought too dear this hollow pageantry! “I have hosts, and gallant fleets, to spread my glory and my sway,
And chiefs to lead them fearlessly—my _friend_ hath passed away!
For the kindly look, the word of cheer, my heart may thirst in vain,
And the face that was as light to mine—it cannot come again! “I have made thy blood, thy faithful blood, the offering for a crown;
With love, which earth bestows not twice, I have purchased cold renown:
How often will my weary heart ‘midst the sounds of triumph die,
When I think of thee, my brother! thou flower of chivalry! “I am lonely—I am lonely! this rest is ev’n as death!
Let me hear again the ringing spears, and the battle-trumpet’s breath;
Let me see the fiery charger’s foam, and the royal banner wave—
But where art thou, my brother?—where?—in thy low and early grave!” And louder swelled the songs of joy through that victorious night,
And faster flowed the red wine forth, by the stars and torches light;
But low and deep, amidst the mirth, was heard the conqueror’s moan—
“My brother! oh! my brother! best and bravest! thou art gone!” Mrs. Hemans.—Monthly Magazine.
A SUMMER TOUR. If called upon to propose any summer’s
journey for a young English traveller,
(and it is a call often made with reference
to continental tours,) we might reasonably
suggest the coasts of Great Britain,
as affording every kind of various interest,
which can by possibility be desired. Such
a scheme would include the ports and
vast commercial establishments of Liverpool,
Bristol, Greenock, Leith, Newcastle,
and Hull; the great naval stations
of Plymouth, Portsmouth, Chatham,
and Milford; the magnificent
estuaries of the Clyde and Forth, and of
the Bristol Channel, not surpassed by
any in Europe; the wild and romantic
coasts of the Hebrides and Western Highlands;
the bold shore of North Wales;
the Menai, Conway, and Sunderland
bridges; the gigantic works of the Caledonian
Canal and Plymouth Breakwater;
and numerous other objects, which it is
beyond our purpose and power to enumerate.
It cannot be surely too much to
advise, that Englishmen, who have only
slightly and partially seen these things,
should subtract something from the
length or frequency of their continental
journeys, and give the time so gained to
a survey of their own country’s wonders
of nature and art. To the agriculturist, and to the lover
of rural scenery, England offers much
that is remarkable. The rich alluvial
plains of continents may throw out a
more profuse exuberance and succession
of crops; but we doubt whether agriculture,
as an art, has anywhere (except in
Flanders and Tuscany alone) reached the
same perfection as in the less fertile soils
of the Lothians, Northumberland, and
Norfolk. Still more peculiar is the rural
scenery of England, in the various and
beautiful landscape it affords—in the undulating
surface—the greenness of the
enclosures—the hamlets and country
churches—and the farm houses and cottages
dispersed over the face of the country,
instead of being congregated into
villages, as in France and Italy. We
might select Devonshire, Somersetshire,
Herefordshire, and others of the midland
counties, as pre-eminent in this character
of beauty, which, however, is too
familiar to our daily observation to make
it needful to expatiate upon it. Nor will our limits allow us to dwell
upon that bolder form of natural scenery
which we possess in the Highlands of
Scotland, in Wales, Cumberland, and
Derbyshire, and which entitles us to
speak of this island as rich in landscape
of the higher class. In the scale of objects,
it is true that no comparison can
exist between the mountain scenery of
Britain, and that of many parts of the
continent of Europe. But it must be remembered,
that magnitude is not essential
to beauty; and that even sublimity
is not always to be measured by yards
and feet. A mountain may be loftier, or
a lake longer and wider, without any
gain to that picturesque effect, which
mainly depends on form, combination,
and colouring. Still we do not mean to
claim in these points any sort of equality
with the Alps, Apennines, or Pyrenees;
or to do more than assert that, with the
exception of these, the more magnificent
memorials of nature’s workings on the
globe, our own country possesses as large
a proportion of fine scenery as any part
of the continent of Europe.—Q. Rev.
Notes of a Reader
HERODOTUS. Perhaps few persons are aware how often
they imitate this great historian. Thus,
says the Edinburgh Review, “Children
and servants are remarkably Herodotean
in their style of narration. They tell
every thing dramatically. Their says hes
and says shes are proverbial. Every person
who has had to settle their disputes
knows that, even when they have no intention
to deceive, their reports of conversation
always require to be carefully
sifted. If an educated man were giving
an account of the late change of administration,
he would say, ‘Lord Goderich
resigned; and the king, in consequence,
sent for the Duke of Wellington.’ A
porter tells the story as if he had been
behind the curtains of the royal bed at
Windsor: ‘So Lord Goderich says, ‘I
cannot manage this business; I must go
out.’ So the king, says he, ‘Well, then,
I must send for the Duke of Wellington—that’s
all.’ This is in the very manner
of the father of history.”
SPLENDOUR OF THE CHURCH OF
ROME. “In the days of her power and importance,
the church of Rome numbered amongst
her vassals and servants the most renowned
spirits of the earth. She called
them from obscurity to fame, and to all
who laboured to spread and sustain her
influence, she became a benefactress. Her
wealth was immense, for she drew her
revenue from the fear or superstition of
man, and her spirit was as magnificent as
her power. The cathedrals which she
every where reared are yet the wonders of
Europe for their beauty and extent; and
in her golden days, the priests who held
rule within them were, in wealth and
strength, little less than princes. For a
time her treasure was wisely and munificently
expended; and the works she
wrought, and the good deeds she performed,
are her honour and our shame.
She spread a table to the hungry; she
gave lodgings to the houseless; welcomed
the wanderer; and rich and poor, and
learned and illiterate, alike received shelter
and hospitality. Under her roof the
scholar completed his education; the historian
sought and found the materials for
his history; the minstrel chanted lays of
mingled piety and love for his loaf and
raiment; the sculptor carved in wood, or
cast in silver, some popular saint; and
the painter gave the immortality of his
colours to some new legend or miracle.”—All
who have visited the cathedrals and
churches of the continent, or who have
studied their history at home, must acknowledge
the truth and force of these
excellent observations. They are copied
from an ably-written article on the History
of Italian Painting, in the second
number of the Foreign Review.
Frederick the Great, in a letter to Voltaire,
says, “I look on men as a herd of
deer in a great man’s park, whose only
business is to people the enclosures.”—This
is one of the great men of history.
POTATOES. A few years after the discovery, potatoes
were carried to Spain at first as sweetmeats
and delicacies. Oviedo says that
“they were a dainty dish to set before
the king,” Labat describes potatoes a
hundred years ago, as cultivated in
Western Africa, and says of them, “Il y
en a en Irlande, et en Angleterre,” and
that he had seen very good ones at Rochelle.
PAINTING Represents nature, or poetic nature at
the most, and, therefore, addresses itself
as much as poetry does to the feeling and
imagination of man. Though it deals in
nature exalted by genius, embellished by
art and purified by taste, still it is nature,
still it makes its appeal to the men of this
world, and by them it is applauded or
condemned. It works for men, and not
for gods; therefore every man, as far as
his taste is natural and sound, is a judge
of its productions.—For. Rev.
LAVER. Such of our readers as are not addicted
to epicurism may have been somewhat
puzzled at the display of “Fine Fresh
Laver” in the Italian warehouses and
provision shops of the metropolis. The
truth is, laver is a kind of reddish sea-weed,
forming a jelly when boiled, which
is eaten by some of the poor people in
Angus with bread instead of butter; but
which the rich have elevated into one of
the greatest dainties of their tables. In
Scotland, laver is called slake; and Dr.
Clarke mentions that it is used with the
fulmar to make a kind of broth, which
constitutes the first and principal meal of
the inhabitants. It is curious to know
that what is eaten at a duchess’s table in
Piccadilly as a first-rate luxury, is used
by the poor people of Scotland twice or
thrice a day. It is an expensive dish;
but knowledge of this fact may perhaps
abate its cost.
GARDENS. Ferdinand I. of Naples prided himself
upon the variety and excellence of the
fruit produced in his royal gardens, one
of which was called Paradise. Duke
Hercules, of Ferrara, had a garden celebrated
for its fruits in one of the islands
of the Po. The Duke of Milan, Ludovico,
carried this kind of luxury so far,
that he had a travelling fruit-garden; and
the trees were brought to his table, or
into his chamber, that he might with his
own hands gather the living fruit.
SNUFF. Even among the rudest and poorest of
the inhabitants of Scotland, and at a period
when their daily meal must have been
always scanty, and frequently precarious,
one luxury seems to have established
itself, which has unaccountably found its
way into every part of the world. We
mean tobacco. The inhabitants of Scotland,
and especially of the Highlands, are
notorious for their fondness for snuff; and
many were the contrivances by which
they formerly reduced the tobacco into
powder. Dr. Jamieson, the etymologist,
defines a mill to be the vulgar name for a
snuff-box, one especially of a cylindrical
form, or resembling an inverted cone.
“No other name,” says he, “was formerly
in use. The reason assigned for
this designation is, that when tobacco
was introduced into this country, those
who wished to have snuff were wont to
toast the leaves before the fire, and then
bruise them with a bit of wood in the
box; which was therefore called a mill,
from the snuff being ground in it.” This,
however, is said to be not quite correct;
the old snuff-machine being like a nutmeg-grater,
which made snuff as often as
a pinch was required.
Estimating the population of London
and its environs at 1,200,000, its proportion
of paupers would amount to 100,000!
SCOTCH LIVING. Roast meat was formerly seldom seen
among farmers in Scotland; and is even
now rare, compared with its use among the
same class in England. Less than half a
century ago, a mart was regularly bought
or fattened by the most respectable farmers,
and even by many citizens. This was a
cow or ox killed and salted at Martinmas
for winter provision; a custom which,
though not uncommon in England, perhaps,
one hundred years ago, has certainly
not been followed, except in remote and
sequestered districts, or by very old-fashioned
farmers within that period.
Falstaff’s “Buck-Basket” has puzzled
the commentators; but Dr. Jamieson
thus explains it:—Bouk is the Scotch
word for a lye used to steep foul linen in,
before it is washed in water; the buckbasket,
therefore, is the basket employed
to carry clothes, after they have been
bouked, to the washing-place.
PLEASURES OF EGYPT. Sweet are the songs of Egypt on paper.
Who is not ravished with gums, balms,
dates, figs, pomegranates, circassia, and
sycamores, without recollecting that amidst
these are dust, hot and fainting winds,
bugs, mosquitos, spiders, flies, leprosy,
fevers, and almost universal blindness.—Ledyard’s Travels.—The same writer
also says the people are poorly clad,
the youths naked, and that they rank infinitely
below any savages he ever saw.
There cannot be a more ill-boding sign
to a nation, than when the people, to
avoid hardships at home, are forced by
heaps to forsake their native country.—Milton.
TOBACCO. As the devil is a deceiver, and hath the
knowledge of the virtue of herbs, so he
did show the virtue of this herb, that by
the means thereof they might see their
imaginations and visions that he hath represented
unto them.
WHISKY. From official documents it appears that
long previous to 1690, there had been a
distillery of aqua vitae, or whisky, on the
lands of Farintosh, belonging to Mr.
Forbes, of Culloden.
TRAVELLING INCENTIVES. If there be a sudden accession of fortune,
the earliest use of it is in passing over to
the continent; if misfortunes occur, the
first suggestion is that of seeking solace
in another land. The assumption of the
toga virilis by our youth, may be practically
translated, the putting on of the
travelling cloak. Marriage, instead of
being the means of more extended family
union, is the plea for immediate separation;
and the newly-married pair drive
from the church to the packet-boat. If
the elders of a family are snatched away
by death, the first idea which occurs to
their successors, is that of distant removal
from home. Sorrows are not endured,
but fled from; and misfortune becomes
the signal for dispersion to those who
survive it.—Q. Rev.
Christoval Acosta, speaking of the
pine-apple, says that “no medicinal virtues
have been discovered in it, and it is
good for nothing but to eat.”
SMOKING. Joshuah Silvester questioned whether
the devil had done more harm in
latter ages by means of fire and smoke,
through the invention of guns, or of tobacco-pipes;
and he conjectured that
Satan introduced the fashion, as a preparatory
course of smoking for those who
were to be matriculated in his own college: As roguing Gipsies tan their little elves,
To make them tann’d and ugly, like themselves.
LAW Must be kept as a garden, with frequent
digging, weeding, turning, &c., for that
which was in one age convenient, and,
perhaps, necessary, becomes in another
prejudicial.—Roger North.
THE GATHERER.“A snapper-up of unconsidered trifles.”
SHAKSPEARE
THE WIFE’S COMPLAINT. Havard, the actor, (better known from
the urbanity of his manners, by the familiar
name of Billy Havard) had the
misfortune to be married to a most notorious
shrew and drunkard. One day
dining at Garrick’s, he was complaining
of a violent pain in his side. Mrs. Garrick
offered to prescribe for him. “No,
no,” said her husband; “that will not
do, my dear; Billy has mistaken his disorder;
his great complaint lies in his
rib.”
HOW TO SECURE A COACH. A facetious friend of Dr. Kitchiner’s,
on a very wet night, after several messengers,
whom he had despatched for a
coach, had returned without obtaining
one; at last, at “past one o’clock, and a
rainy morning,” the wag walked himself
to the next coach-stand, and politely advised
the waterman to mend his inside
lining with a pint of beer, and go home
to bed; for said he, “there will be nothing
for you to do to night, I’ll lay you
a shilling that there’s not a coach out.”
“Why, will you, your honour? then
done,” cried Mr. Waterman; “but are
you really serious, ’cause, if so be as
you be, I must make haste and go and
get one.” Being assured he would certainly
touch the twelvepenny if he did,
he trotted off on his “nag a ten toes,”
and in ten minutes returned with a leathern
conveyance.
Epicure Quin used to say, it was “not
safe to sit down to a Turtle Feast at one
of the City Halls, without a basket-hilted
knife and fork.”—Another of his quips
was, “Of all the banns of marriage I ever
heard, none gave me half such pleasure
as the union of ANN-CHOVY with good
JOHN-DORY.”
ONION SOUP Is thought highly restorative by the
French. It is considered peculiarly grateful,
and gently stimulating to the stomach,
after hard drinking or night-watching,
and holds among soups the place
that champagne, soda-water, or ginger-beer,
does among liquors.
Lobsters and crabs are in season from
March till October; so that they supply
the place of oysters, which come in about
the time lobsters go out of season. Lobsters
are held in great esteem by gastrologers
for the firmness, purity, and flavour
of their flesh. When they find refuge
in the rocky fastnesses of the deep
from the rapacity of sharks and fishermen,
they sometimes attain an immense
size, and have been found from eighteen
inches to upwards of two feet in length.
Apicius, who ought to be the patron saint
of epicures, made a voyage to the coast of
Africa on hearing that lobsters of an unusually
large size were to be found there,
and, after encountering much distress at
sea, met with a disappointment. Very
large lobsters are at present found on the
coasts of Orkney. Some naturalists affirm
(Olaus Magnus and Gesner,) that in the
Indian seas, and on the wild shores of
Norway, lobsters have been found twelve
feet in length, and six in breadth, which
seize mariners in their terrible embrace,
and, dragging them into their caverns,
devour them. However this may be, the
lobsters and crabs for being devoured are
best when of the middle size, and when
found on reefs or very rocky shores.
THE INVISIBLE HAIR. A monk was showing the relics of his
convent before a numerous assembly; the
most rare, in his opinion, was a hair of
the Holy Virgin, which he appeared to
show to the people present, opening his
hands as if he were drawing it through
them. A peasant approached with great
curiosity, and exclaimed, “but, reverend
father, I see nothing.” “Egad, I believe
it” replied the monk, “for I have
shown the hair for twenty years, and have
not yet beheld it myself.”
CURIOSITY CURED. A servant travelling, was bothered by
a super-curious person, who, after several
indirect attempts to discover whence he
came, or whither he was going, at last
popt the question plainly, “Are your
family before?”—”No.”—”Oh! you
left them behind, I suppose?”—”No”
“No?”—”No, they are on one
side!”
TO GROW A SHOULDER OR LEG OF MUTTON. This art is well known to the London
bakers. Have a very small leg or shoulder;
change it upon a customer for one a
little larger, and that upon another for
one better still, till by the dinner hour
you have a heavy, excellent joint in lieu
of your original small one.
Printed and Published by J. LIMBIRD,
143, Strand, London; sold by ERNEST
FLEISCHER, 626, New Market, Leipsic, and
by all Newsmen and Booksellers.
FOOTNOTES: [1] The grief of Ferdinand, King of Arragon,
for the loss of his brother, Don Pedro, who was
killed during the siege of Naples, is affectingly
described by the historian Mariana. It is also
the subject of one of the old Spanish ballads, in
Lockhart’s beautiful collection. |
