THE MIRROR
OF
LITERATURE, AMUSEMENT, AND INSTRUCTION.

The Royal Observatory, Greenwich.

In the present almanack season, as it is technically
called, the above illustration of our pages may not be
inappropriate or ill-timed, inasmuch as it represents the
spot whence all English astronomers make their calculations.

The Observatory was built by Charles II., in the year
1675—probably, observes a recent writer, “with no
better motive than to imitate Louis XIV.,” who had just
completed the erection and endowment of an observatory at
Paris. The English Observatory was fortunately placed under
the direction of the celebrated Flamstead, whose name the
hill, or site of the building, still retains. He was
appointed astronomer-royal in 1676; but Charles (as in the
case of the curious dial at Whitehall, described by us a few
weeks since¹),
neglected to complete what he had so well begun: and
Flamstead entered upon the duties of his appointment with
instruments principally provided at his own expense,
and that of a zealous patron of science, James Moore. It
should seem that this species of parsimony is hereditary in
the English Government, for, upon the authority of the
Quarterly Review, we learn that “within the wide range
of the British Islands there is only one observatory
(Greenwich), and scarcely one supported by the
Government. We say scarcely one, because we believe that
some of the instruments in the observatory at Greenwich were
purchased out of the private funds of the Royal Society of
London.”²

The first stone of this Observatory was laid by Flamstead, on
the 10th of August, 1675. It stands 160 feet above low-water
mark, and principally consists of two separate buildings: the
first contains three rooms on the ground-floor—viz. the
transit-room, towards the east, the quadrant-room, towards
the west, and the assistant’s sitting and calculating-room,
in the middle; above which is his bed-room, the latter being
furnished with sliding shutters in the roof. In
[pg
402] the transit-room is an eight-feet
transit-instrument, with an axis of three feet, resting on
two piers of stone: this was made by Bird, but has been much
improved by Dolland, Troughton, and others. Near it is a
curious transit-clock, made by Graham, but greatly improved
by Earnshaw, who so simplified the train as to exclude two or
three wheels, and also added cross-braces to the
gridiron-pendulum, by which an error of a second per day,
arising from its sudden starts, was corrected. The
quadrant-room has a stone pier in the middle, running north
and south, having on its east face a mural-quadrant, of eight
feet radius, made by Bird, in 1749, by which observations are
made on the southern quarter of the meridian, through an
opening in the roof three feet wide, produced by means of two
sliding shutters; on its west face is another eight-feet
mural quadrant, with an iron frame, and an arch of brass,
made by Graham, in 1725: this is applied to the north quarter
of the meridian. In the same apartment is the famous
zenith-sector, twelve feet in length, with which Dr. Bradley,
at Wanstead, and at Kew, made those observations which led to
the discovery of the aberration and nutation: here also is
Dr. Hooke’s reflecting telescope, and three telescopes by
Harrison. On the south side of this room is a small building,
for observing the eclipses of Jupiter’s satellites,
occultations, &c., with sliding shutters at the roof and
sides, to view any portion of the hemisphere, from the prime
verticle down to the southern horizon: this contains a
forty-inch achromatic, by the inventor, Mr. John Dolland,
with a triple object-glass, a most perfect instrument of its
kind; and a five-feet achromatic, by John and Peter Dolland,
his sons. Here, likewise, are a two-feet reflecting-telescope
(the metals of which were ground by the Rev. Mr. Edwards),
and a six-feet reflector, by Dr. Herschell.

The lower part of the house serves merely for a habitation;
but above is a large octagonal room, which, being now seldom
wanted for astronomical purposes, is used as a repository for
such instruments as are too large to be generally employed in
the apartments first described, or for old instruments, which
modern improvements have superseded. Among the former is a
most excellent ten-feet achromatic, by the present Mr.
Dolland, and a six-feet reflector, by Short, with a clock to
be used with them. In the latter class, besides many curious
and original articles, which are deposited in boxes and
cupboards, is the first transit instrument that was,
probably, ever made, having the telescope near one end of the
axis; and two long telescopes with square wooden tubes, of
very ancient date. Here, likewise, is the library, which is
stored with scarce and curious old astronomical works,
including Dr. Halley’s original observations, and Captain
Cook’s Journals. Good busts of Flamstead and Newton, on
pedestals, ornament this apartment; and in one corner is a
dark narrow staircase, leading to the leads above, whence the
prospect is uncommonly grand; and to render the pleasure more
complete, there is, in the western turret, a camera
obscura, of unrivalled excellence, by which all the
surrounding objects, both movable and immovable, are
beautifully represented in their own natural colours, on a
concave table of plaster of Paris, about three feet in
diameter.

On the north side of the Observatory are two small buildings,
covered with hemispherical sliding domes, in each of which is
an equatorial sector, made by Sisson, and a clock, by Arnold,
with a three-barred pendulum, which are seldom used but for
observing comets. The celebrated Dry-well, which was
made to observe the earth’s annual parallax, and for seeing
the stars in the day-time, is situated near the south-east
corner of the garden, behind the Observatory, but has been
arched over, the great improvements in telescopes having long
rendered it unnecesary. It contains a stone staircase,
winding from the top to the bottom.

The Rev. John Flamstead, Dr. Halley, Dr. Bradley, Dr. Bliss,
Dr. Nev. Maskelyne, and John Pond, Esq. have been the
successive astronomers-royal since the foundation of this
edifice.

TWIN SISTERS.

(For the Mirror.)

The most extraordinary instance of this kind on record is
that of the united twins, born at Saxony, in Hungary, in
1701; and publicly exhibited in many parts of Europe, among
others in England, and living till 1723. They were joined at
the back, below the loins, and had their faces and bodies
placed half side-ways towards each other. They were not
equally strong nor well made, and the most powerful, (for
they had separate wills) dragged the other after her, when
she wanted to go any where. At six years, one had
[pg
403] a paralytic affection of the left side, which
left her much weaker than the other. There was a great
difference in their functions and health. They had different
temperaments; when one was asleep the other was often awake;
one had a desire for food when the other had not, &c.
They had the small pox and measles at one and the same time,
but other disorders separately. Judith was often convulsed,
while Helen remained free from indisposition; one of them had
a catarrh and a cholic, while the other was well. Their
intellectual powers were different; they were brisk, merry,
and well bred; they could read, write, and sing, very
prettily; could speak several languages, as Hungarian,
German, French, and English. They died together, and were
buried in the Convent of the Nuns of St. Ursula, at
Presburgh.

P.T.W.

ELEGY ON THE DEATH OF A SPARROW.

(For the Mirror.)

T.C.

FINE ARTS

GOTHIC ARCHITECTURE.

(For the Mirror.)

The following explanation of a few of the terms employed to
designate parts of Gothic architecture, may, perhaps, prove
acceptable to some of your readers. Having felt the need of
such assistance in the course of my own reading, &c.
&c.—I extracted them from an expensive work on the
subject, and have only to lament that my vocabulary should be
so defective.

Buttresses.—Projections between the windows and
at the corners.

Corbel.—An ornamental projection from the wall
to support an arch, niche, beam, or other apparent weight. It
is often a head or part of a figure.

Bands.—Either small strings around shafts, or
horizontal lines of square, round, and other formed panels,
used to ornament spires, towers, and similar works.

Cornice.—The tablet at the top of a wall,
running under the battlement. It becomes a

Basement when at the bottom of it, and beneath this
the wall is generally thicker.

Battlement.—It may be indented or plain; sunk,
panelled, or pierced.

Crockets.—Small bunches of foliage, ornamenting
canopies and pinnacles.

Canopies.—Adorned drip-stones.—Vide
Dripstone.

Crypts.—Vaulted chapels under some large
churches, and a few small ones.

Crisps.—Small arches; sometimes
double-feathered, and according to the number of them
in immediate connexion; they are termed tre-foils,
quatre-foils, cinque-foils, &c.

Dripstone.—The tablet running round doors and
windows.

Featherings or Foliations.—Parts of
tracery ornamented with small arches and points, are termed
Feathered, or Foliated.

Finials.—Large crockets surmounting canopies and
pinnacles. This term is frequently applied to the whole
pinnacle.

Machicolations.—Projecting battlements, with
intervals for discharging missiles on the heads of
assailants.

Mullions.—By these, windows are divided into
lights.

Parapet.—When walls are crowned with a parapet,
it is straight at the top.

Pinnacle.—A small spire, generally four-sided,
and placed on the top of buttresses, &c., both exterior
and interior.

Piers.—Spaces in the interior of a building
between the arches.

Rood Loft.—In ancient churches, not collegiate,
a screen between the nave and chancel was so called, which
had on the top of it a large projection, whereon were placed
certain images, especially those which composed the rood.

Set-offs.—The mouldings and slopes dividing
buttresses into stages.

Spandrells.—Spaces, either plain or
[pg
404] ornamented, between an arch and the square formed
round it.

Stoups.—The basins in niches, which held holy
water. Near the altar in old churches, or where the altar has
been, is sometimes found another niche, distinguished from
the stoup, by having in it at the bottom, a small
aperture for carrying off the water; it is often double with
a place for bread.

Tabernacle-work.—Ornamented open work over
stalls; and generally any minute ornamental open-work.

Tablets.—Small projecting mouldings or strings,
mostly horizontal.

Tracery.—Ornaments of the division at the heads
of windows. Flowing, when the lines branch out into
flowers, leaves, arches, &c. Perpendicular, when
the mullions are continued through the straight lines.

Transoms.—The horizontal divisions of windows
and panelling.

Turrets.—Towers of great height in proportion to
their diameter are so called. Large towers have often turrets
at their corners; often one larger than the other, containing
a staircase; and sometimes they have only that one.

BRITISH STYLES OF ARCHITECTURE, AND THEIR DURATION.

The Norman—Commenced before the conquest, and
continued until the reign of Henry II. A.D., 1189. It is
characterized by semicircular, and sometimes pointed, arches,
rudely ornamented.

Early English.—This style lasted until the reign
of Edward I., A.D. 1307. Its characteristics are, pointed
arches, long narrow windows, and the jagged or toothed
ornament.

Decorated English—Lasted to the end of Edward
III., A.D. 1377. It is characterized by large windows with
pointed arches divided into many lights by mullions. The
tracery of this style is in flowing lines, forming figures.
It has many ornaments, light and delicately wrought.

Perpendicular English.—This last style employed
latterly only in additions, was in use, though much debased,
even as late as 1630-40. The latest whole building in it, is
not later than Henry VIII. Its characteristics are the
mullions of the windows, and ornamental panelings, run in
perpendicular lines; and many buildings in this style are so
crowded with ornament, that the beauty of the style is
destroyed. The carvings of it are delicately executed.

M.L.B.

THE NOVELIST.

ABAD AND ADA.

(For the Mirror.)

In the days of Caliph Haroun Alraschid, the neighbourhood of
Bagdad was infested by a clan of banditti, known by the name
of the “Ranger Band.” Their rendezvous was known to be the
forests and mountains; but their immediate retreat was a
mystery time had not divulged.

That they were valiant, the intrepidity with which they
attacked in the glare of noonday would demonstrate; that they
were numerous, the many robberies carried on in the different
parts of the Caliph’s dominions would indicate; and that they
were bloody, their invariable practice of killing their
victim before they plundered him would argue. They had sworn
by their Prophet never to betray one another, and by the
Angel of Death to shed their blood in each other’s defence.
No wonder, then, that they were so difficult to be captured;
and when taken, no tortures or promises of reward could
extract from them any information as to the retreat of their
comrades.

One day, as Giafar, the Vizier, and favourite of the Caliph,
was walking alone in a public garden of the city, a stranger
appeared, who, after prostrating himself before the second
man in the empire, addressed him in these words: “High and
mighty Vizier of Alraschid, Lord of the realms of Alla upon
earth, whose delegate and vicegerent he is, hear the humblest
of the sons of men—Vizier, hear me!”

“Speak, son,” said the Vizier, “I am patient.”

“And,” continued the stranger, “what I have to communicate,
be pleased to transmit to our gracious and well-beloved
Caliph.”

“Let me hear thy suit—it may be in my power to assist
you,” replied the Vizier.

“The beauteous Ada is in the clutches of ruffians,” responded
the stranger; “and”—

“Well,” said the Vizier, “proceed.”

“To be brief, the forest bandit snatched her from my
arms—we were betrothed. I have applied to a mighty
enchanter, the Genius of the Dale, who tells me she is still
living, and in the cavern of the bandit—that her beauty
and innocence melted the hearts of robbers, and that were
they not afraid of [pg 405] their haunt being
discovered, they would have restored her to liberty; but
where that cavern is was beyond his power to tell. However,
he has informed me how I may demand and obtain the assistance
of a much more powerful enchanter than himself; but that
genius being the help of Muloch, the Spirit of the Mountain,
I need the aid of the Caliph himself. May it please the
highness of mighty Giafar to bend before the majesty of the
Sovereign of the East, and supplicate in behalf of thy
servant Abad.”

“How,” said the Vizier, “can the Caliph be of service to
thee?”

“It is requisite,” replied the stranger, “that my hand be
stained with the blood of the Caliph, before I summon this
most mighty fiend!”—

“How!” cried the astonished Vizier, “would’st thou shed the
blood of our beloved master?—No, by Alla!”—

“Pardon me,” rejoined the stranger, interrupting him, “and
Heaven avert that any thought of harm against the father of
his people should warm the breast of Abad; I wish only to
anoint my finger with as much of his precious blood as would
hide the point of the finest needle; and should this most
inestimable favour be conferred upon me, I undertake, under
pain of suffering all the tortures that human ingenuity can
devise, or devilish vengeance inflict, to exterminate the
hated race of banditti who now infest the forests of the
East.”

“Son,” said the aged Vizier, “I will plead thy cause; meet me
here on the morrow, and in the mean time consider thy request
as granted.”

“Father, I take my leave; and may the Guardian of the Good
shower down a thousand blessings on thy head!”

Abad made a profound obeisance to the Vizier, and they
separated: the latter to conduct the affairs of the state,
and the former to toil through the more menial labours of the
day.

Morning came; Abad was at the appointed spot before sunrise,
and waited with impatience for the expected hour when the
Vizier was to arrive. The Vizier was punctual; and with him,
in a plain habit, was the Caliph himself, who underwent the
operation of having blood drawn from him by the hand of Abad.

At midnight, Abad, as he had been directed by the Genius of
the Dale, went to the cave of the Spirit of the Mountain. He
was alone! It was pitchy dark; the winds howled through the
thick foliage of the forest; the owls shrieked, and the
wolves bayed; the loneliness of the place was calculated to
inspire terror! and the idea of meeting such a personage, at
such an hour, did not contribute to the removal of that
terror! He trembled most violently. At length, summoning up
courage he entered the mystic cell, and commenced challenging
the assistance of the Spirit of the Mountain in the following
words:

“In the name of the Genius of the Dale I conjure you! by our
holy Prophet I command you! by the darkness of this murky
night I entreat you! and by the blood of a Caliph, shed by
this weak arm, I allure you, most potent Muloch, to appear!
Muloch rise! help! appear!”

At this instant the monster appeared, in the form of a human
being of gigantic stature and proportions, having a fierce
aspect, large, dark, rolling eyes, bushy eyebrows, and a
thick black beard—attired in the habit of a blacksmith!
He bore a huge hammer in his right hand, and in his left he
carried a pair of pincers, in which was grasped a piece of
shapeless metal. His eyes flashed with indignation as he
flourished the ponderous hammer over his head, as though it
had been a small sword—when, striking the metal he held
in the forceps, a round, well-formed shield fell from the
stroke.

“Mortal!” vociferated the enchanter, in a voice of thunder,
“there is thy weapon and defence!”—flinging the weighty
hammer on the ample shield, the collision of which produced a
sound in unison with the deep bass of Muloch’s voice; nor did
the reverberation that succeeded cease to ring in the ears of
Abad until several minutes after the spectre had disappeared.

Abad rejoiced when the fearful visit was over, and, well
pleased with his success, was preparing to depart; but his
joy was damped on finding the hammer so heavy that he could
not, without difficulty, remove it from off the shield. He
left it in the cave, and returned with the shield only,
comforting himself that however he might be at a loss for a
weapon, he had a shield that would render him invincible.

His next care was to discover the retreat of the robbers,
otherwise he was waging a war with shadows. After making
every inquiry, and wandering in vain for several months in
quest of them, he was not able to obtain a glimpse of the
objects of his search. Still they seemed to possess ubiquity.
Their depredations continued, murders multiplied, and their
attacks became more open and formidable. Missions were sent
daily to the royal city from the
[pg
406] emirs and governors of provinces residing at a
distance with the most lamentable accounts, and soldiers were
dispatched in large bodies to scour the country, but all was
of no avail.

Abad had almost abandoned himself to despair, when, one
lovely evening, as he wandered along the banks of the Tigris,
he observed a boat, laden with armed men, sailing rapidly
down the river. “These must be a party of the ranger band.
Oh, Mahomet!” said he, prostrating himself on the earth, “be
thou my guide!” At length the crew landed on the opposite
shore, which was a continued series of crags, and fastening a
chain attached to the boat to a staple driven into the rock,
under the surface of the water, they suffered the vessel to
float with the stream beneath the overhanging rocks, which
afforded a convenient shelter and hiding place for it, as it
was impossible for any one passing up or down the river to
notice it.

Having landed, the party ascended the acclivity, when,
suddenly halting and looking round, to ascertain that they
were not observed, they removed a large rolling stone that
blockaded the entrance, and went into what appeared a natural
cavern, then closing the inlet. Not a vestige of them
remained in sight, and nature seemed to reign alone amidst
the sublimest of her works.

Hope again glowed in the breast of Abad; he soon found means
for crossing the stream, and marched boldly to the very
entrance of the robber’s cave, and with all his might
attempted to roll the stone from its axis. But here he was
again doomed to disappointment: without the possession of the
talisman, kept by the captain of the band, he might as well
have attempted to roll the mountain on which he stood into
the water beneath, as to have shifted the massy portal: the
strength of ten thousand men, could their united efforts have
been made available at one and the same time, would not have
been sufficient even to stir it.

Abad was returning, disappointed and murmuring at his fate,
when he bethought himself of the hammer which Muloch, the
Spirit of the Mountain, had promised should be of such
powerful aid. He hastened to the place where he had left the
large instrument, and the next day brought it to the robbers’
cave. He was in the act of lifting the massive weight, to
have shattered the adamantine stoppage, when he was surprised
by a noise behind him. He looked, and saw the banditti
trooping up the ravine: they were returning, on horseback,
from an expedition of plunder, laden with conquest. Abad
hastily, to avoid discovery, struck the large stone with the
charmed hammer, when it receded from the blow and, admitting
him into the cave, closed itself upon him. The bandit chief,
on seeing a stranger enter, ordered his men to advance
rapidly up the ravine, which leads from the waters of the
Tigris to the very threshold of the cave, embosomed amidst
gigantic and stately rocks.

The captain in vain applied the magic talisman to the charmed
stone; the more potent shield of Muloch was within. Enraged
at being thus thwarted, he demanded admittance. Abad made no
reply, but, raising the enchanted hammer against the
ponderous bulwark with his whole strength (and he felt as
though gifted with more than mortal strength), he, at one
tremendous blow, dislodged the stone which had stood at the
entrance of the cave, amidst the shock of tempests and the
convulsions of nature, from the creation of the
world—as hard as adamant, heavy as gold, and as round
as the balls on the cupolas of Bagdad. The bulk rolled down
the ravine, bearing with it trees and fragments of rock; men
and horses, and all meaner obstructions, were crushed to
atoms beneath its weight, as it thundered down the sloping
track, and occasionally fell over the steep precipices, which
only served to increase its velocity! nor did it stop in its
headlong career until it had annihilated the whole of the
ranger band, and disappeared amidst the boiling foam of the
angry Tigris!

Abad, wrapt in wonder, cast his eyes on the earth, to view
the terrific instrument with which he had performed so
wonderful an exploit; but, to add more to his astonishment,
the hammer and shield had vanished!

Curiosity, and the hope of meeting his betrothed, now led him
to explore the winding recesses of the mystic cavern, which
consisted of numerous archways—some artificial, others,
the natural formation of subterranean rocks, leading to a
large apartment, in which were deposited the spoils which a
century of plunder had contributed to accumulate. Whilst
feasting his eyes on the rich piles of jewellery, and
reviewing the bags of gold which everywhere presented
themselves, his eyes met the features of a female. He could
not be mistaken—he looked again as she advanced nearer
the light—it was the beauteous Ada, still young and
lovely! Bagdad did not possess such a maiden,
[pg
407] nor did poet ever paint a fairer form! Abad
thought her nothing inferior to the Houris of Paradise. She
fulfilled every expectation through a long and virtuous life,
during which time they enjoyed the ill-gotten wealth of the
ranger band; and, although the splendour of their living was
exceeded only by that of the Caliph’s, they were bountiful to
their dependents: they built an asylum for the
destitute—were universally beloved and
respected—and their magnificence was only surpassed by
their benevolence!

CYMBELINE.

OLD POETS.

SHAME.

PARENTS.

SIN.

WISDOM.

CHARITY.

COURAGE.

ENVY.

OPINION.

SLANDER.

SLEEP.

WAR.

EXCELLENCE.

[pg
408]

THE NATURALIST.

COCHINEAL INSECT AND PLANT.

The frequent mention of the Cochineal Insect and Plant in our
pages will, probably, render the annexed cut of more than
ordinary interest to our readers.³

The plant on which the Cochineal Insect is found, is called
the Nopal, a species of Opuntia, or Prickly Pear,
which abounds on all the coasts of the Mediterranean; and is
thus described by Mr. Thompson, in his work entitled,
Official Visit to Guatemala; “The nopal is a plant
consisting of little stems, but expanding itself into wide,
thick leaves, more or less prickly according to its different
kind: one or two of these leaves being set as one plant, at
the distance of two or three feet square from each other, are
inoculated with the cochineal, which, I scarcely need say, is
an insect; it is the same as if you would take the blight off
an apple or other common tree, and rub a small portion of it
on another tree free from the contagion, when the consequence
would be, that the tree so inoculated would become covered
with the blight; a small quantity of the insects in question
is sufficient for each plant, which in proportion as it
increases its leaves, is sure to be covered with this costly
parasite. When the plant is perfectly saturated, the
cochineal is scraped off with great care. The plants are not
very valuable for the first year, but they may be estimated
as yielding after the second year, from a dollar and a half
profit on each plant.”

The insect is famous for the fine scarlet dye which it
communicates to wool and silk. The females yield the best
colour, and are in number to the males as three hundred to
one. Cochineal was at first supposed to be a grain, which
name it retains by way of eminence among dyers, but
naturalists soon discovered it to be an insect. Its present
importance in dyeing is an excellent illustration of
chemistry applied to the arts; for long after its
introduction, it gave but a dull kind of crimson, till
a chemist named Kuster, who settled at Bow, near London,
about the middle of the sixteenth century, discovered the use
of the solution of tin, and the means of preparing with it
and cochineal, a durable and beautiful scarlet.

Fine cochineal, which has been well dried and properly kept,
ought to be of a grey colour inclining to purple. The grey is
owing to a powder which covers it naturally, a part of which
it still retains; the purple tinge proceeds from the colour
extracted by the water in which it has been killed. Cochineal
will keep a long time in a dry place. Hellot says, that he
tried some one hundred and thirty years old, and found it
produce the same effect as new.

LARGE CHESTNUT-TREE.

There is now in the neigbourhood of Dovercourt, in Essex,
upon the estate of Sir T. Gaisford, a chestnut-tree fifty-six
feet in circumference, which flourishes well, and has had a
very good crop of chestnuts for many years.

J.T.

SPIRIT OF THE PUBLIC JOURNALS.

I’D BE AN ALDERMAN

Monthly Magazine.

A PROVINCIAL REPUTATION.

I once resided in a country town; I will not specify whether
that town was Devizes or Doncaster, Beverley or Brighton: I
think it highly reprehensible in a writer to be
personal, and scarcely more venial do I consider the
fault of him who presumes to be local. I will,
however, state, that my residence lay among the manufacturing
districts; but lest any of my readers should be misled by
that avowal, I must inform them, that in my estimation
all country towns, from the elegant Bath, down to the
laborious Bristol, are (whatever their respective polite or
mercantile inhabitants may say to the contrary), positively,
comparatively, and superlatively, manufacturing towns!

Club-rooms, ball-rooms, card-tables, and confectioners’
shops, are the factories; and gossips, both male and
female, are the labouring classes. Norwich boasts of
the durability of her stuffs; the manufacturers I allude to
weave a web more flimsy. The stuff of tomorrow will seldom be
the same that is publicly worn to-day; and were it not for
the zeal and assiduity of the labourers, we should want
novelties to replace the stuff that is worn out hour by hour.

No man or woman who ever ventures to deviate from the beaten
track should ever live in a country town. The gossips all
turn from the task of nibbling one another, and the character
of the lusus naturae becomes public property. I am the
mother of a family, and I am known to have written romances.
My husband, in an evil hour, took a fancy to a house at a
watering-place, which, by way of distinction, I shall
designate by the appellation of Pumpington Wells:
there we established ourselves in the year 1800.

The manufacturers received us with a great show of
civility, exhibiting to us the most recent stuff, and
discussing the merits of the newest fabrications. We,
however, were not used to trouble ourselves about matters
that did not concern us, and we soon offended them.

We turned a deaf ear to all evil communications. If we were
told that Mr. A., “though fond of show, starved his
servants,” we replied, we did not wish to listen to the tale.
If we heard that Mr. B. though uxorious in public, was known
to beat his wife in private, we cared not for the matrimonial
anecdote. When maiden ladies assured us that Mrs. C. cheated
at cards, we smiled, for we had no dealings with her;
and when we were told that Mrs. D. never paid her bills, we
repeated not the account to the next person we met; for as we
were not her creditors, her accounts concerned us not.

We settled ourselves, much to our satisfaction, in our
provincial abode: it was a watering-place, which my husband,
as a bachelor, had frequented during its annual season.

As a watering-place he knew it well. Such places are vastly
entertaining to visiters, having no “local habitation,” and
no “name”—caring not for the politics of the place, and
where, if any thing displeases them, they may pay for their
lodgings, order post-horses, and never suffer their names to
appear in the arrival book again.

But with those who live at watering-places, it is
quite another affair. For the first six months we were deemed
a great acquisition. There were two or three sets in
Pumpington Wells—the good, the bad, and the
indifferent. The bad left their cards, and asked us to
dances, the week we arrived; the indifferent knocked at our
door in the first month; and even before the end of the
second, we were on the visiting lists of the good. We knew
enough of society to be aware that it is impolitic to rush
into the embraces of all the arms that are extended to
receive strangers; but feeling no wish to affront any one in
return for an intended civility, we gave card for card; and
the doors of good, bad, and indifferent, received our names.

All seemed to infer, that the amicable gauntlet, which had
been thrown down, having been courteously taken up, the
ungloved hands were forthwith to be grasped in token of good
fellowship; we had left our names for them, and by the
invitations that poured in upon us, they seemed to say with
Juliet—

No man, not even a provincial, can visit every body; and it
seems but fair, that if a selection is to be made, all should
interchange the hospitalities of
[pg
410] life with those persons in whose society they
feel the greatest enjoyment.

Many a dinner, therefore, did we decline—many a route
did we reject; my husband’s popularity tottered, and the
inviters, though they no longer dinned their dinners in our
ears, and teazed us with their “teas,” vowed secret
vengeance, and muttered “curses, not loud, but deep.”

I have hinted that we had no scandalous capabilities; and
though slander flashed around us, we seldom admitted morning
visiters, and our street-door was a non-conductor.

But our next door neighbours were maiden ladies, who had
been younger, and, to use a common term of commiseration,
had seen better days—by which, I mean the days of
bloom, natural hair, partners, and the probability of
husbands.

Their vicinity to us was an infinite comfort to the town, for
those who were unable to gain admittance at our door to
disturb our business and desires,

were certain of better success at our neighbours’, where they
at least could gain some information about us “from
eye-witnesses who resided on the spot.”

My sins were numbered, so were my new bonnets; and for
a time my husband was pitied, because “he had an extravagant
wife;” but when it was ascertained that his plate was
handsome, his dinner satisfactory in its removes, and
comme il faut in its courses, those whose feet had
never been within our door, saw clearly “how it must all end,
and really felt for our trades-people.”

I have acknowledged that I had written romances; the
occupation was to me a source of amusement; and as I had been
successful, my husband saw no reason why he should discourage
me. A scribbling fool, in or out of petticoats,
should be forbidden the use of pen, ink, and paper; but my
husband had too much sense to heed the vulgar cry of “blue
stocking.” After a busy month passed in London, we saw my new
novel sent forth to the public, and then returned to our
mansion at Pumpington Wells.

As we drove up to our door, our virgin neighbours gazed on
us, if possible, with more than their former interest. They
wiped their spectacles; with glances of commiseration they
saw us alight, and with unwearied scrutiny they witnessed the
removal of our luggage from the carriage. We went
out—every body stared at us—the people we
did know touched the hands we extended, and hastened
on as if fearful of infection; the people we did not
know whispered as they passed us, and looked back afterwards;
the men servants seemed full of mysterious flurry when we
left our cards at the doors of acquaintances, and the
maid-servants peeped at us up the areas; the shopkeepers came
from their counters to watch us down the streets—and
all was whispering and wonder.

I could not make it out; was it to see the authoress? No; I
had been an authoress when they last saw me. Was it the
brilliant success of my new work? It could be nothing
else.

My husband met a maiden lady, and bowed to her; she passed on
without deigning to notice him. I spoke to an insipid man who
had always bored me with his unprofitable intimacy, and he
looked another way! The next lady we noticed tossed her head,
as if she longed to toss it at us; and the next man we
met opened his eyes astonishingly wide, and said—

“Are you here! Dear me! I was told you could not show
your—I mean, did not mean to return!”

There was evidently some mystery, and we determined to wait
patiently for its developement. “If,” said I, “it bodes us
good, time will unravel it.” “And if,” said my
husband, “it bodes us evil, some d—d good-natured
friend will tell us all about it.”

We had friends at Pumpington Wells, and good ones too, but no
friend enlightened us; that task devolved upon an
acquaintance, a little slim elderly man, so frivolous and so
garrulous, that he only wanted a turban, some rouge, and a
red satin gown, to become the most perfect of old women.

He shook his head simultaneously as he shook our hands, and
his little grey eyes twinkled with delight, while he
professed to feel for us both the deepest commiseration.

“You are cut,” said he; “its all up with you in Pumpington
Wells.”

“Pray be explicit,” said I faintly, and dreading some cruel
calumny, or plot against my peace.

“You’ve done the most impolitic thing! the most
hazardous”—

“Sir!” said my husband, grasping his cane.

“I lament it,” said the little man, turning to me; “your book
has done it for you.”

I thought of the reviews, and trembled.

“How could you,” continued our tormentor,
[pg
411] “how could you put the Pumpington Wells people in
your novel?”

“The Pumpington Wells people!—Nonsense; there are good
and bad people in my novel, and there are good and bad people
in Pumpington Wells; but you flatter the good, if you think
that when I dipped my pen in praise, I limited my sketches to
the virtuous of this place; and what is worse, you
libel the bad if you assert that my sketches of vice were
meant personally to apply to the vicious who reside here.”

“I libel—I assert!” said the old
lady-like little man; “not I!—every body says
so!”

“You may laugh,” replied my mentor and tormentor combined,
“but personality can be proved against you; and all the
friends and relations of Mr. Flaw declare you meant the bad
man of your book for him.”

“His friends and relations are too kind to him.”

“Then you have an irregular character in your book, and Mrs.
Blemish’s extensive circle of intimates assert that nothing
can be more pointed than your allusion to her conduct
and her character.”

“And pray what do these persons say about it themselves?”

“They are outrageous, and go about the town absolutely wild.”

“Fitting the caps on themselves?”

The little scarecrow shook his head once more; and declaring
that we should see he had spoken too true, departed, and then
lamented so fluently to every body the certainty of our being
cut, that every body began to believe him.

I have hinted that my bonnets and my husband’s plate
occasioned heartburnings: no—that is not a correct
term, the heart has nothing to do with such
exhalations—bile collects elsewhere.

Those who had conspired to pull my husband from the throne of
his popularity, because their parties excited in us no
party spirit, and we abstained from hopping at their
hops, found, to their consternation, that when the novelty of
my novel misdemeanour was at an end, we went on as if
nothing had occurred. However, they still possessed heaven’s
best gift, the use of their tongues, they said of us
everything bad which they knew to be false, and which they
wished to see realized.

Their forlorn hope was our “extravagance.” “Never mind,” said
one, “Christmas must come round, and then we shall
see.”

When once the match of insinuation is applied to the train of
rumoured difficulties, the suspicion that has been
smouldering for awhile bounces at once into a report,
and very shortly its echo is bounced in every parlour in a
provincial town.

Long bills, that had been accustomed to wait for payment
until Christmas, now lay on my table at midsummer; and
tradesmen, who drove dennetts to cottages once every evening,
sent short civil notes, regretting their utter inability to
make up a sum of money by Saturday night, unless I
favoured them, by the bearer, with the sum of ten pounds,
“the amount of my little account.”

Dennett-driving drapers actually threatened to fail for the
want of ten pounds!—pastry-cooks, who took their
families regularly “to summer at the sea,” assisted the
counter-plot, and prematurely dunned my husband!

It is not always convenient to pay sums at midsummer, which
we had been in the habit of paying at Christmas; if, however,
a single applicant was refused, a new rumour of inability was
started and hunted through the town before night. People
walked by our house, looking up wistfully at the windows;
others peeped down the area, to see what we had for dinner.
One gentleman went to our butcher, to inquire how much
we owed him; and one lady narrowly escaped a legal
action, because when she saw a few pipkins lying on the
counter of a crockery-ware man, directed to me, she
incautiously said, in the hearing of one of my servants, “Are
you paid for your pipkins?—ah, it’s well if you ever
get your money!”

Christmas came at last; bills were paid, and my husband did
not owe a shilling in Pumpington Wells. Like the old ladies
in the besieged city, the gossips looked at us, wondering
when the havoc would begin.

Ho who mounts the ladder of life, treading step by step upon
the identical footings marked out, may live in a
provincial town. When we want to drink spa waters, or vary
the scene, we now visit watering-places; but rather than
force me to live at one again, “stick me up,” as Andrew
Fairservice says, in Rob Roy, “as a regimental
target for ball-practice.” We have long ceased to live in
Pumpington.

Fleeting are the tints of the rainbow—perishable the
leaf of the rose—variable the love of
woman—uncertain the sunbeam of April; but naught on
earth can be fleeting; so perishable, so variable, or so
uncertain, as the popularity of a provincial reputation.

Monthly Magazine.

[pg
412]

LONDON LYRICS.

JACK JONES, THE RECRUIT.—A HINT FROM OVID.

New Monthly Magazine.

THE SELECTOR; AND LITERARY NOTICES OF NEW WORKS.

THE JUVENILE KEEPSAKE,

Edited by Mr. Thomas Roscoe, and dedicated to Professor
Wilson, is no less attractive than its “Juvenile” rivals.
Indeed, a few of the tales take a higher range than either of
theirs,—as the Children’s Island, an interesting Story,
from the French of Madame Genlis; the Ball Dress; the Snow
Storm; and the Deserted Village. The Heir of Newton Buzzard,
a Tale in four cantos, by the late Mrs. John Hunter, is
perhaps one of the prettiest juvenile novelties of the
season. It is divided into
Infancy—Childhood—Boyhood—and
Youth—all which contain much amusement and moral point
without dulness. We have not room for an entire story, but
select one of Miss Mitford’s village portraits:

“Dash was as beautiful a dog as eyes could be set on; one of
the large old English Spaniels which are now so rare, with a
superb head, like those which you see in Spanish pictures,
and such ears! they more than met over his pretty spotted
nose; and when he lapped his milk, dipped into the pan at
least two inches. His hair was long and shiny and wavy, not
curly, partly of a rich dark liver colour, partly of a
silvery white, and beautifully feathered about the thighs and
legs. He was extremely lively and intelligent, and had a sort
of circular motion, a way of flinging himself quite round on
his hind feet, something after the fashion in which the
French dancers twist themselves round on one leg, which not
only showed unusual agility in a dog of his size, but gave
token of the same spirit and animation which sparkled in his
bright hazel eye. Anything of eagerness or impatience was
sure to excite this motion, and George Dinely gravely assured
his sisters, when they at length joined him in the hall, that
Dash had flung himself round six and twenty times whilst
waiting the conclusion of their quarrel.

“Getting into the lawn and the open air did not tend to
diminish Dash’s glee or his capers, and the young party
walked merrily on; George telling of school pranks and school
misfortunes—the having lost or spoilt four hats since
Easter, seemed rather to belong to the first class of
adventures than the second—his sisters listening
dutifully and wonderingly; and Dash, following his own
devices, now turning up a mouse’s nest from a water furrow in
the park—now springing a covey of young partridges in a
corn field—now plunging his whole hairy person in the
brook; and now splashing Miss Helen from head to foot? by
ungallantly jumping over her whilst crossing a stile, being
thereunto prompted by a whistle from his young master, who
had, with equal want of gallantry, leapt the stile first
himself, and left his sisters to get over as they could;
until at last the whole party, having passed the stile, and
crossed the bridge, and turned the churchyard corner, found
themselves in the shady recesses of the vicarage-lane, and in
full view of the vine-covered cottage of Nurse Simmons.”

Our closing extract is from “Anecdotes of South African
Baboons,” by Thomas Pringle, Esq.:

“It is the practice of these animals to descend from their
rocky fastnesses in order to enjoy themselves on the banks of
the mountain rivulets, and to feed on the nutritious bulbs
which grow in the fertile valley ground. While thus occupied,
they generally take care to be within reach of a steep crag,
or precipice, to which they may fly for refuge on the
appearance of an enemy; and one of their number is always
placed as a sentinel on some large stone, or other prominent
position, in order to give timely warning to the rest, of the
approach of danger. It has frequently been my lot, when
riding through the secluded valleys of that country, to come
suddenly, on turning a corner of a wild glen, upon a troop of
forty or fifty baboons thus quietly congregated. Instantly on
my appearance, a loud cry of alarm being raised by the
sentinel, the whole tribe would scamper off with
precipitation; splashing through the stream, and then
scrambling with most marvellous agility up the opposite
cliffs, often several hundred feet in height, and where no
other creature without wings, certainly, could attempt to
follow them; the large males bringing up the rear-guard,
ready to turn with fury upon the dogs, if any attempted to
molest them; the females, with their young ones in their
arms, or on their shoulders, clinging with arms clasped
closely round the mothers’ necks. And thus climbing, and
chattering, and squalling, they would ascend the almost
perpendicular crags, while I looked on and watched
them—interested by the almost human affection which
they evinced for their mates and their offspring; and
sometimes not a little amused, also, by the angry
vociferation with which the old ones would scold me when they
had got fairly upon the rocks, and felt themselves secure
from pursuit.”

There are Seven Plates and a Vignette, and a glazed,
ornamented cover which will withstand the wear and tear of
the little play or book-room.

PICTURE OF SHEFFIELD.

(Concluded from page 396.)

In the manufacture of a razor, it proceeds through a dozen
hands; but it is afterwards submitted to a process of
grinding, by which the concavity is perfected, and the fine
edge produced. They are made from 1 s. per dozen, to 20 s.
per razor, in which last the handle is valued at 16s.6d.

“Scissors, in like manner, are made by hand, and every pair
passes through sixteen or seventeen hands, including fifty or
sixty operations, before they are ready for sale. Common
scissors are cast, and when riveted, are sold as low as 4s.
6d. per gross! Small pocket knives, too, are cast, both in
blades and handles, and sold at 6 s. per gross, or a
halfpenny each! These low articles are exported in vast
quantities in casks to all parts of the world.

“Snuffers and trays are also articles of extensive
production, and the latter are ornamented with landscapes,
etched by a Sheffield artist, on a resinous varnish, and
finished by being dipped in diluted nitric acid for a few
seconds or minutes.

“Messrs. Rodgers also introduced me to an extensive range of
workshops for the manufacture of plated and silver ware, in
which are produced the most superb breakfast and dinner
services. The method of making the silver plate here and at
Birmingham merits special notice, because the ancient method
was by dissolving mercury in nitrous acid, dipping the
copper, and depending on the affinity of the metals, by which
a very slight article was produced. But at Sheffield and
Birmingham, all plate is now produced by rolling ingots of
copper and silver together. About the eighth of an inch in
thickness of silver is united by heat to an inch of copper in
ingots about the size of a brick. It is then flattened by
steel rollers worked by an eighty horse power. The greater
malleability of the silver occasions it to spread equally
with the copper into a sheet of any required thickness,
according to the nature of the article for which it is
wanted. I saw some pieces of plated metal, the eighth of an
inch thick, rolled by hand into ten times their surface, the
silver spreading equally; and I was told that the plating
would be perfect if the rolling had reduced it to the
thinness of silver paper! This mode of plating secures to
modern plate a durability not possessed by any plate silvered
by immersion. Hence plated goods are now sought all over the
world, and, if fairly used, are nearly as durable as silver
itself. Of this material, dinner and dessert services have
been manufactured from 50 to 300 guineas, and breakfast sets
from 10 to 200 guineas, as sold on the spot.

“At Sheffield are actually cast and finished, most, if not
all, the parts of grates sold as their own make by the London
furnishing ironmongers. Their names are placed on them, but,
in truth, [pg 413] they merely put the parts
together. I saw in Messrs. Picklay’s rooms superior castings
for backs of grates, little inferior in delicacy to plaster
of Paris; and for grates connected with one of these
patterns, I was told 100 guineas each was lately paid by a
northern squire. Grates with folding doors are made here as
well as at Chesterfield. The doors are in half heights, so as
to serve two purposes, and grates so supplied sell for about
two guineas extra. Mr. Picklay has brought the kitchen range
to great perfection. With one fire he roasts, boils with
water and steam, and bakes. Economy and completeness were
never more usefully combined; and a public establishment in
Sheffield is fitted with one which has cooked a dinner
complete for above three hundred persons. It cost nearly
£300, but such grates for small families may be had at
ten guineas.

“The mercantile part of the Sheffield trade is performed
chiefly by travellers, but the principal shops in London deal
directly with the manufacturers here. To humour public
prejudice in regard to “Town make,” as it is called,
and to serve as an advertisement for various retailers in
London and other large towns, their connexions in Sheffield
keep steel brands, with which their names are placed on the
articles, and they thereby pass with the public as the real
manufacturers. I saw in different workshops, in Sheffield,
the steel brands of our famous town makers, and the
articles in wholesale quantities packing up to meet the
demand in London for “real town made.” This is a
standing joke at the expense of cockney credulity among the
Sheffield cutlers.

“Sheffield is noted for the manufacture of superior files;
and many anecdotes are told of the artifices which have been
made use of to aggrandize or to repudiate the celebrity of
the marks of some well-known makers.

“In Sheffield generally the workmen get from 20s. to 24s. per
week. Dry grinders get £2, and some £5 or
£6, and these high wages are paid as an equivalent for
the shortness of life. Many women are employed as filers,
burnishers, polishers, finishers, &c. &c.; and they
get from 6s. to 12s. per week.

“Very fine cutlery is manufactured by Mr. Crawshaw. I
saw in his warehouse all those elegant patterns of pen-knives
which, in the best shops of London, Bath, &c. excite so
much admiration. His lobster knives, with four or more
blades, on slit springs, with pearl and tortoiseshell
handles, are the most perfect productions of British
manufacture. His pen-knives with rounded or beveled backs, to
turn in the quill and shave the point, are simple and
effective improvements. He showed me plain pocket-knives so
highly finished, that the first cost is 38s., yet so
deceptive is cutlery, that I might have preferred others
which I saw at only 7s. or 8s. It is the same in regard to
the scissors of Champion and Son,—articles at two or
three guineas did not appear to my uninstructed eye worth
more than others at a few shillings; yet in all these high
priced articles, nearly the whole cost is in workmanship, and
there are but few workmen who can produce them. At the same
time, Mr. Crawshaw deals in pen-knives at 5s. per dozen, and
Mr. Champion in scissors at 2s. or 3s. per dozen.

“The novelties and curiosities in this way are extremely
numerous, and the makers and inventers are as modest and
communicative as they are original and ingenious. Thus a
knife an inch long, weighing eight pennyweights six grains,
containing seventy odd blades and instruments, cost £30
in making: scissors the eighth of an inch long, twenty-five
of which weigh but a grain, sold at 3s. per pair: a knife,
mounted in gold and pearl, containing thirty blades, is
valued at £30; pocket-knives with twenty-six parts are
sold at six guineas; the very best two blades mounted with
pearl and gold, made by Crawshaw, are in common sale at two
guineas in Sheffield. Messrs. Champion are esteemed the best
makers of scissors; and ladies’ working scissors, in general
commerce, are finished and mounted as high as five or ten
guineas. The best pocket-knives are made by Crawshaw, and
fetch, in mounting, from two to five guineas. He is also the
general maker of what are called the ‘best town made.’ I may
here add, that Messrs. Champion can make a single set of
table knives and forks, the fair market price of which would
be 100 guineas.

“The mechanical ingenuity of Mr. Crawshaw has also been
displayed in the construction of AN ORRERY consisting of at
least 1,000 wheels, which, by a single winch, turns all the
planets in their respective periods; and also the whole of
the satellites, including those of Herschell. This orrery,
perhaps the completest in the world, was made in all its
details by this gentleman, and, in its wheel-work, is an
astonishing production.

“One of the wonders of Sheffield is its Grinding
Establishments. To aid [pg 414] the grinders, companies
have erected very spacious buildings divided into small
rooms, and provided the whole with steam engines. The rooms
are then let out by the month to master grinders; and at
properly adjusted grindstones in each room I saw every
variety of grinding, sharpening, and polishing. The finest
work is polished by hand, and in this slavery I saw the
delicate hands of the superior sex solely employed. The
payment is trifling; but I was told that the hand of woman is
the softest, most pliable, and most accommodating tool which
has yet been discovered for conferring the finest polish on
the refractory substance of steel. Can we wonder at its
effect in softening the ruggedness of the other sex, and how
hard must be the heart of that man which does not yield to an
influence which subdues even the hardness of steel.

“The manufacture of spectacles, telescopes, microscopes, etc.
is carried on to a great extent in Sheffield. Above five
gross per day are ground of convex and concave glasses in one
shop. Concave basins cast in iron of the radii of curvature
of proposed lenses are fixed in rows on a frame, and rubbed
with water and emery. A concentric convex basin is then
covered with round pieces of plate glass fixed with pitch;
and the convex stir face, with its glass pieces, is then
turned and wabbled in the concave basin by steam
power. In this manner from six to twelve dozen glasses are
ground at once by one basin working within the other on an
eccentric axle which wabbles the inner basin while it
is revolved. Of course, in time, i.e. in eight or ten hours,
the glasses are so abraded, that the outside of one basin
exactly fits the other, and the lenses between are of the
true curvature. They are then knocked off the pitch; turned
and worked on the other side, on the second day; cleaned with
spirit of tar, rounded or clipt with blunt scissors, and
fitted in spectacle frames or tubes. In Mr. Cutt’s factory I
saw twenty-six of these basins for spectacles, and about
eighteen for telescopes and microscopes; several being at
work.”

“The Sheffield trades require and promote the Fine Arts in
many ways. Chantrey was a carver and gilder here, and many
persons in Sheffield were his first patrons, when he began to
model. He was a native of Norton, where his parents still
reside, and his first youthful employment was that of
bringing milk to the town on asses, as is the present custom.
At present, Mr. Law is an exquisite modeller in wax; and
there are some ladies who copy the best pictures with a
degree of taste and perfection which is astonishing. I allude
particularly to those of Miss Green, of Westville House, and
Miss Sambourne, at Highfield Green. Then this district
possesses a treasure in Mr. Cowen, of Rotherham, whose merit
as a landscape painter, has recommended him to the zealous
patronage of Earl Fitzwilliam and the Duke of Devonshire. I
confess I have never seen more exquisitely finished and more
poetical productions.”

“The Shrewsbury Hospital, at Sheffield, has lately been
rebuilt in an improved situation, by Messrs. Woodhead and
Hurst, of Doncaster. It accommodates eighteen aged men and
eighteen women in a very convenient manner. It has been
liberally supported by the present Duke of Norfolk, and is
managed by trustees of his nomination. The men are allowed
10s. per week, and the women 8s. There is also another
hospital, founded by a Mr. Hollis, a Sheffield cutler; as a
provision for sixteen cutlers’ widows, who besides
habitations, receive 7s. per week, coals, and a gown every
two years.

“In conclusion I have assembled some miscellaneous
facts. Sheffield parish is ten miles by three. The Park of
2,000 acres was inclosed in Queen Anne’s time.

“The Duke of Norfolk is Lord of the Manor, from his ancestors
the Lovetots, Furnivals, Nevilles, Talbots, and Howards.

“Roger de Busli had 46 manors in Yorkshire, and in
Nottinghamshire and Derbyshire 179.

“The Cutlers’ Company was incorporated 21st James
I.—The cutlers are 8,000 or 10,000 in number.

“In 1751, the first stage-wagon went from Sheffield to
London. In 1762, the first stage-coach.

“In 1752, the plated manufacture began.

“In 1770, the first bank was opened.

“In 1786, the first steam-engine grinding-wheel was
established.

“The casting or melting of steel began 60 years ago, till
which time Swedish bar-steel was used.

“There are iron-forges near every Roman station, and Abbey
Dale is full of cinders from smelting, with apertures to
windward to serve as blasts.

“Beds of scoriae found in the parish, on which trees grow,
and in old pleasure [pg 415] parks.—Roman coins
are also found in scoria.—A quarry of stone at
Wincobank Hill, contains fossilized vegetables, chiefly
calamites. They are succulent, and of the bamboo family. In
the coal districts, branches and trunks of trees are found;
and Mr. Rhodes took out of solid stone, a fossil post of
walnut wood. South-east of Tickhill, is an accumulation of
subterranean trees, in black earth, mixed with shells and
rounded stones.

“It is believed at Sheffield, that the executioner of Charles
I., was a person of the name of William Walker, a native of
Darnall, near Sheffield. Such was the tradition at his native
place. He died at Darnall in 1700 and was buried in Sheffield
church, where there was a brass plate to his memory. It is
certain that a Walker, was one of the masks, and that this
Walker was an active partizan: but he was a man of learning,
and wrote some tracts on mathematics and politics.

“Dr. Buchan, began his career as a Scotch physician at
Sheffield, and actually wrote his famous ‘Domestic Medicine,’
in the house at the south corner of Hartshead, in which for
many years has resided Mr. J. Montgomery.”

The varied and attractive character of our extract is the
best plea for its length; but reading like this never
tires.—-Sir R. Phillips’ Personal Tour.

THE GATHERER.

DARK DAY.

At St. Lawrence, October 13, 1828, wind S.W. the atmosphere
was filled with smoke, which, with intervening clouds,
intercepted the sun’s light, so as to require the use of
candles several times during the day. The water which fell in
the afternoon and evening was so much affected by the smoke
as to be bitter to the taste.

THE LIQUOR OF LIFE.

When the art of distilling spirits, generally attributed to
Raymond Lully, was discovered, the secret of longevity was
supposed to have been brought to light, the mercurius
volatilis to be at length fixed, and the pernicious
product received the name of aqua vitae—liquor
of life; “A discovery concerning which,” says a learned
physician, “it would be difficult to determine, whether it
has tended most to diminish the happiness, or shorten the
duration of life. In one sense it may be considered the
elixir of life, for it speedily introduces a man to
immortality!”

C.J.T.

SOUP

Is manufactured in great abundance in Paris from the bones of
butchers’ meat. At one of the hospitals upwards of 1,000
basins of soup are furnished daily.

ABYSSINIAN CATTLE

Are remarkable for the extraordinary size of their horns,
some of which are four feet long, seven inches in diameter
near the head, and hold ten quarts.

ECCENTRIC INVITATION.

Paul Spencer exhibits the following distich on his door, in
Glasgow:—

C.J.T.

CANALS.

According to a calculation recently made, there are 103
canals in Great Britain—extending 2,682 miles, and
formed at an expense of thirty millions sterling.

C.J.T.

“Do you know what made my voice so melodious?” said a
celebrated vocal performer, of awkward manners, to Charles
Bannister. “No,” replied the other. “Why, then, I’ll tell
you: when I was about fifteen, I swallowed, by accident, some
train oil.” “I don’t think,” rejoined Bannister, “it would
have done you any harm if, at the same time, you had
swallowed a dancing-master!”

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Footnote 1:
(return)

For this very accurate Description with an Engraving, see
MIRROR, No. 400.

Footnote 2:
(return)

For the remainder of the Extract, &c. see MIRROR, vol.
xii. p. 151. Only a few days since we saw recorded an
instance of enthusiasm in the study of astronomy, which
will never be forgotten. We allude to Mr. South’s splendid
purchase at Paris; yet all the aid he received was some
trifling remission of duty!

Footnote 3:
(return)

See the Propagation of the Insect in Spain, MIRROR, vol.
xii. and an attempt to naturalize the same at the Cambridge
Botanical Garden, page 217, of the present volume.

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