THE MIRROR
OF
LITERATURE, AMUSEMENT, AND INSTRUCTION.

MONKEY ISLAND.

This picturesque spot is situate in the middle of the river
Thames, near Cliefden, Bucks,¹ and about
three-quarters of a mile from the village of Bray.² It was purchased and decorated for
the enjoyment of fishing parties by the third Duke of Marlborough.
Upon its fine sward he erected a small rustic building called
Monkey Hall, from the embellishments of the interior being in part
fancifully painted with a number of monkeys dressed in human
apparel, and imitating human actions. Some are represented
diverting themselves with fishing, others with hunting, &c. One
is drawn gravely sitting in a boat, smoking, while a female
“waterman” is labouring at the oar, rowing him across a river. The
ceiling and cornices are ornamented with aquatic plants and
flowers. In another building, raised at the expense of the Duke, on
this island, and named the Temple, is an elegant saloon, painted
with green and gold, and enriched with figures in stucco-work
superbly gilt, representing mermaids, sea-lions, fish, shells, and
other objects. The place altogether might be called
Marlborough’s Folly.

The perfection of the monkey embellishments would delight the
admirers of Mr. Landseer’s famed Monkeyana.

Monkey Island has had several owners since the Duke of
Marlborough disposed of it: the lease of the place at
£25l. a-year was, in 1787, purchased for 240 guineas,
by Henry Townley Ward, Esq. who bequeathed it to P.C. Bruce, Esq.,
of Taplow. Its vicinity to “Cliefden’s hanging woods” and
picturesque home scenery must render it a delightful retreat.

Its establishment is stated to have cost the Duke of Marlborough
ten thousand guineas.

SONG,

From the French of Béranger.

LE ROI D’YVETOT.

(For the Mirror.)

TO A LADY WHO SAID SHE WAS THE SAME AGE AS HIMSELF.

FROM THE FRENCH OF BERANGER.

(For the Mirror.)

ENGLISH BALLAD SINGING.

(For the Mirror.)

The minstrels were once a great and flourishing body in England;
but their dignity being interwoven with the illusory splendour of
feudal institutions, declined on the advance of moral cultivation:
they became in time vulgar mountebanks and jugglers, and in the
reign of Elizabeth were suppressed as rogues and vagabonds.
Banished from the highways they betook themselves to
alehouses—followed the trade of pipers and fiddlers—and
minstrelsy was no longer known in England.

The suppression of “the order” of minstrels, gave rise to that
of the Ballad-singers, who relied upon the quality of their voices
for success. The subjects of many of the songs handed down by the
minstrels were still held in honour by the ballad-singers. The
feats of “Elym of the Clough,” “Randle of Chester,” and “Sir
Topaz,” which had faded under the kind keeping of the minstrels,
were now refreshed and brought more boldly in the new version
before the sense. Robin Hood and Friar Tuck had their honours
enlarged by the new dynasty; more maidens and heroes were inspired
by their misfortunes. Drayton’s allusions to the propagation of
Robin’s fame may give an idea of the diffusion of the
ballad-singers:

The new race started in the field with the full tide of
popularity; they had the glory of being opposed to and triumphing
over the votaries of the muses. The poets of the first class
confessed their uneasiness at the success of the innovators. Of
this fact we have abundant instances in Spencer’s “Tears of the
Muses,” and the mighty Shakspeare would bring the calling into
contempt.

The ballad-singers did not enjoy [pg 371] empty
popularity, as may be understood from the number of candidates
who yearly sought refuge in their camp. One of the most popular
singers of this early time was a boy, distinguished from the nature
of his voice “Outroaring Dick,” as honestly bestowed as any hero of
“jaw-breaking” memory in Greek or Latin history. His earnings,
according to Mr. Warton, averaged ten shillings a day; he was a
well-known character in Essex, and was not missed for many a day
from Braintree fair; and in the decline of life spent his days like
an amateur. But Cheetre, for such was his real name, was haunted
amidst his glory by a rival. Will Wimbars had a voice of as much
flexibility as Dick. Dick was the most popular, for he sang every
thing he could, but Will had a select list he never departed from.
The former was sought as a companion; the latter pleased best in
the public exercise of his talents.

The most universally esteemed singer of his age was Mat. Nash,
who had a vehement style; his “Hunts-up,” a song which obtained him
“much favor,” was one of his most celebrated efforts. However, it
happened that the great Secretary Cecil was so captivated with his
singing, that he soon enabled him to retire from his
profession.

The accident that led to this fortunate reconnoitre is not
impertinent to our subject: in a time of dearth, which was severely
felt in the city, the famous ballad-maker Delone composed a song
reflecting on her Majesty. The ballad-maker and singer were both
committed to the compter, but the poet defied government even while
in the lion’s den. In a letter to the Lord Mayor, he avowed the
ballad, and justified it. Nash, in the meantime, in an interview
with the Secretary, established his innocence, and laid the
foundation of his future prosperity.

The Gipsies furnished a number of singers about this time. The
laws and prejudices of society concurred in denouncing this
race; but, nevertheless, the best received ballad-singers of their
time were of this bronzed tribe.

In the reigns of James the First and his successor, the taste of
the people for nature and simplicity kept up the profession of
ballad-singing. We are to look upon ballad-singers from this time
as a corporation. Custom had established yearly festivals for them
in the classic regions of St. Giles’s, which were frequented
by the wits of the day—Swift, Gay, Bolingbroke, Steele,
&c. From these high followers of the muses, yearly contingents
of ballads were expected. Swift contracted for the humourous songs:
Gay who had, as Goldsmith says, “a happy strain of
ballad-thinking,” was set down for the pathetic ones; and those of
a miscellaneous character were divided amongst a number of amateur
bards. No importunities, even of his friends, could induce Pope to
attend any of these assemblies. He was prevailed on to write an
epitaph for a young creature whom he had seen, and who was known by
the name of Clarinda: favoured by the great, if she had not been
attached to the life of a ballad-singer, she might, with her
accomplishments, have risen to distinction and fortune.

Gay and Swift had naturally a relish for low society, and were
hailed by the fraternity as the most precious sources of profit.
Amongst other songs which Swift sent into the world through the
medium of ballad-singers, was a severe satire upon the Duke of
Marlborough, beginning “Our Johnny is come from the wars:” it drew
much attention, and excited the strongest resentment against the
author in the breast of the Duchess, who remained implacable until
the publication of Gulliver, when she offered her friendship to
Swift, through his friend Gay.

There was a young creature among the ballad-singers known to the
world by no other title than Clara, who drew much attention at this
time by the sweetness and pathos of her tones. She was the original
singer of “Black-eyed Susan,” and one or two songs which were
afterwards introduced into the “Beggar’s Opera;” but her
recommendation to particular notice was the circumstance of her
being for many years the object of Bolingbroke’s enthusiastic
affection. The poor girl strayed for some time, during which his
Lordship had not seen her: it was after this interval, that,
meeting her, he addressed to her the tender lines, beginning,

And concluding thus:

A series of calamities totally ruined her vocal powers, and she
afterwards subsisted by the sale of oranges at the Court of
Requests.

The profession did not continue to maintain its rank. The
disappointed author in “Roderick Random,” who set about writing for
ballad-singers, was introduced into one of their assemblies,
[pg
372] and his testimony establishes their degeneracy.

In fact, the history of ballad-singing, during the remainder of
last century, affords but an unsatisfactory subject of reflection
to lovers of song; whether they have regenerated in the present
age, we leave the reader to judge.

E.J.H.

LOVE AT COURT AND LOVE IN THE COUNTRY.

Translated from the French of Madame Deshoulieres.

NOTES OF A READER.

CORRUPT STATE OF THE WESTERN CHURCH IN THE ELEVENTH
CENTURY.

From the following facts an inference may be drawn of the
tendency of the Western church to a system of externals, applying
itself solely to continual discipline and fasting, instead of the
improvement of the heart. For the perusal of the sacred writings
and spiritual lessons of the ancient fathers of the church, was
substituted that of legends and decretals, and the Book of Canons,
by which the whole Western church was governed. Images and relics
of the saints acquired an excessive adoration; and continual
discoveries were being made of the bodies of miracle-working
saints. Impostors were to be found, appearing every day under new
names and with fresh miracles, imposing on the credulity of the
public, and amassing wealth by defrauding the pious multitude. Some
of these impostors, too insolent in their practices, were
discovered and punished, whilst others derived from them their
whole fortune and subsistence. It went to such a pass, that an arm
of St. Augustine was found and sold to William, Duke of Aquitaine,
for 100 talents. The head of St. John the Baptist was dug up, and
attracted an immense multitude of spectators, amongst whom was
Robert, King of France.³

The principal supporters of this religious mania were the
Crusaders; that is to say, those persons who went on a pilgrimage
to Jerusalem. These persons, on their return to their own country,
finding all their substance exhausted, exerted their utmost cunning
to regain it; pretending that they had found some relics of the
ancient martyrs or apostles, or some object relative to the life or
death of our Saviour. By these means an immense number of persons,
excited by religious curiosity, repaired to the places where these
objects were exposed, and the churches and the provinces of which
became enriched by them. With the same motive, in the year 1008, a
portion of the rod of Moses was discovered in France, which
attracted a vast number of visiters, both from that country and
Italy. In 1014, some monks, on their return from a pilgrimage to
Jerusalem, brought with them a part of the napkin with which our
Saviour wiped the feet of the apostles at the Last Supper; and, in
order to prove its authenticity, they passed it uninjured through
the flames. This kind of miracles, which were in such favour with
the ignorant multitude in those days, produces no effect, since
chemical science has enabled us to penetrate into the hidden
secrets of nature; and if history is diligently examined, we shall
perceive that the human mind was occupied in the discovery of that
science at this period. The alchemists perhaps, although persecuted
as the followers of the devil, were not altogether extinct, and
still read some books which laid open the discoveries of the
ancient Greeks and Romans. The commercial cities of Italy, in
communication with the East, acquired extraordinary knowledge, of
which they availed themselves disadvantageously to the morality and
piety of the Christian church. About this time, too (the year
1000), the epoch at which, according to prediction, the world was
to be at an end, men began to make fresh researches, and to build
new churches, to repair the old ones, and to invent novelties. The
prophecy of Daniel, which says, “Tempus, tempora, dimidium
temporis,” proving by experience to be inapplicable to the
interpretation which the monks and ecclesiastics had generally
given it, produced a new energy in the human mind: and if at first,
the wealth of the churches were aggrandized by profuse largesses,
we shall hereafter see them struggling to preserve it. A
disposition also to study was now induced: and a certain Guido, a
monk of Pomposa, being called [pg 373] to Rome as a music-master,
whilst very young, invented the scale or gamut of C notes, which
was then esteemed miraculous.⁴ Happily
for him the matter took this turn; for otherwise he would have
suffered death. The religious superstition was so strong, that any
unusual effects of human nature were attributed to diabolical
operations; and, in such instances, the reputed authors were either
beheaded or burnt. Such was the fate of an unhappy wretch who had
discovered the secret of making glass malleable. This sublime
genius made a goblet of this glass; and, being conducted into the
presence of Henry, in 1022, he threw it on the ground, when,
instead of breaking, it bent, and suddenly resumed its original
shape. The ignorant emperor, believing him to be possessed with the
devil, ordered him to be beheaded.—Life of Gregory VII. By
Sir Roger Greisley, Bart.

ODD DISPUTE.

During the coronation of Conrad II., Emperor of Germany, in
1204, a dispute arose between a Roman and a German for a vile ox’s
hide. It began with blows, proceeded with stones, and ended by an
appeal to arms; and, after a stout resistance on the part of the
Roman people against the German army, the former were obliged to
fly, and were almost totally massacred. The remainder, although
humbled, and in a wretched condition, were constrained the next day
to pass barefooted before the emperor,—the freemen with their
swords unsheathed, the slaves with a knot round their
necks,—declaring themselves ready to obey him, and asking
pardon. What a beautiful contrast between the guardians and
defenders of the Roman people in their frocks and mitres, with
these brave men in their helmets and togas! Such was the triumph
over a nation overcome more by its prejudices than by force, and
under such solemn circumstances.

Ibid.

AN INDIAN TALE, AND OTHER POEMS.

This is a pleasant little volume by our indefatigable
correspondent, Benjamin Gough. The tale is founded on
an Indian story, by the author of the Kuzzilbash, which
appeared in the fifth number of the Metropolitan Magazine;
and to it are appended several minor pieces. The main poem will be
read with interest. There are in it touches of fine feeling, which
would not discredit hands of much higher pretensions. Take this
specimen:

And one of the minor pieces:

A RHAPSODY ON NATURE.

We are happy to find in Mr. Gough’s List of Subscribers to his
work, a host of royal and noble patrons, the ministers of the
country, the Earl of Eldon, the Lord and Lady Mayoress, and a few
of the Court of Aldermen—patronage, court and
city—combining to encourage Mr. Gough’s praiseworthy
efforts.

CAPTAIN MUNDY’S VISIT TO THE TOMB OF NAPOLEON, AT ST.
HELENA.

Having passed two hours on the spot where Napoleon lived and
died, we rode onwards to the vale which contains his bones: it is
about half a mile from Longwood, and within a few hundred yards of
the cottage of Madame Bertrand, to whom he indicated the spot in
which he desired to rest, should the English not allow his remains
to lie on the banks of the Seine. Soon after leaving Bertrand’s
house, we caught sight of the tomb, at the bottom of the ravine
called Slane’s valley, and, descending a zig-zag path, we quickly
reached the spot. About half an acre round the grave is railed in.
At the gate we were received by an old corporal of the St. Helena
corps, who has the care of the place. The tomb itself consists of a
square stone, about ten feet by seven, surrounded with a plain
iron-railing. Four or five weeping-willows, their stems leaning
towards the grave, hang their pensile branches over it.

Who could contemplate without interest the little spot of earth
which covers all that remains of mortal of the man who made Europe
tremble! who carried his victorious arms from the Nile to the Elbe,
from Moscow to the Pillars of Hercules; who bore his eagles
triumphantly through Vienna, Rome, Berlin, Madrid! Beneath our feet
lay he, who “du monde entre ses mains a vu les
destinées”—

“They that see thee,” saith the inspired prophet, “they that see
thee shall narrowly look upon thee, and consider thee, saying, Is
this the man that made the earth to tremble, and did shake
kingdoms; that made the world as a wilderness, and destroyed the
cities thereof; that opened not the house of his prisoners? All the
kings of the nations, even all of them, lie in glory every one in
his own house. Thou shalt not be joined with them in burial,
because thou hast destroyed thy land, and slain thy people; the
seed of evil-doers shall never be renowned.”⁵

The willows are decaying fast, and one of them rests upon the
sharp spears of the railing, which are buried in its trunk—as
though it were comitting suicide for very grief! The foliage of the
rest is thinned and disfigured by the frequent and almost excusable
depredations of visiters. Fresh cuttings have however, been planted
by the Governor, who intends, moreover, to set cypresses round the
outer fence. Madame Bertrand’s immortelles have proved, alas!
mortal.

The fine, tall, old corporal, who came out from England with the
ex-emperor, was full of his praises: “I saw the General often,”
said the old fellow; “he had an eye in his head like an eagle!” He
described the visit of the French pilgrims to this spot—their
Kibla—as most affecting. Some are extravagant beyond measure
in their grief, falling on their faces round the railing (which
they never enter, as foreigners do), praying, weeping, and even
tearing their hair. Whilst we were there, my friend of yesterday
came towards the spot; but when he saw our large, and, I fear me,
rather unimpressed party, he turned upwards, and disappeared. After
inscribing our names in a book—into which also appropriate
poetry, as well as ribald nonsense finds its way—we drank to
Napoleon’s immortal memory in his own favourite spring, and
mounting our steeds spurred towards Plantation House.

On the road, we passed within view of “the Briars,” where the
chief resided during the building of Longwood; and where he,

played at whist with the owner, Mr. Balcombe, for
sugar-plums!

ANECDOTE GALLERY.

OUR ANECDOTAGE.

(From the New Monthly Magazine.)

Daniel De Foe said there was only this difference between the
fates of Charles the First, and his son James the Second; that the
former’s was a wet martyrdom and the other’s a dry one. When Sir
Richard Steele was made a Member of the Commons it was expected
from his ingenious writings that he would have been an admirable
orator, but it not proving so, De Foe said “He had better have
continued the Spectator than the Tatler.”

The local designation of the following anecdote confirms its
authenticity, which however required no other indication than the
characteristic humour of Addison in his odd conception of old
Montaigne.

When Mr. Addison lodged in Kensington Square, he read over some
of “Montaigne’s Essays,” and finding little or no information in
the chapters of what their titles promised, he closed the book more
confused than satisfied.

“What think you of this famous French author?” said a gentleman
present.

“Think!” said he, smiling. “Why that a pair of manacles, or a
stone doublet would probably have been of some service to that
author’s infirmity.”

“Would you imprison a man for singularity in writing?”

“Why let me tell you,” replied Addison, “if he had been a horse
he would have been pounded for straying, and why he ought to be
more favoured because he is a man, I cannot understand.”

A medical confession, frankly delivered by that eminent
physician and wit, Sir Samuel Garth, has been fortunately
preserved; perhaps the truth it reveals is as conspicuous as its
humour.

Dr. Garth (so he is called in the manuscript) who was one of the
Kit-Kat Club, coming there one night, declared he must soon begone,
having many patients to attend; but some good wine being produced
he forgot them. When Sir Richard Steele reminded him of his
appointments, Garth immediately pulled out his list, which amounted
to fifteen—and said, “It’s no great matter whether I see them
to-night or not, for nine of them have such bad constitutions, that
all the physicians in the world can’t save them, and the other six
have so good constitutions that all the physicians in the world
can’t kill them.”

Sir Godfrey Kneller latterly painted more for profit than for
praise, and is said to have used some whimsical preparations in his
colours which made them work fair and smoothly off, but not endure.
A friend noticing it to him said, “What do you think posterity will
say, Sir Godfrey Kneller, when they see these pictures some years
hence?”

“Say!” replied the artist: “Why they’ll say Sir Godfrey Kneller
never painted them!”

An extraordinary prosecution for a singular libel occurred under
the administration of the Duke of Buckingham. Some fiddlers at
Staines were indicted for singing scandalous songs of the Duke. The
songs also did not fail to libel both James and Charles. The Bench
were puzzled how to proceed. The offensive passages they would not
permit to be openly read in court, lest the scandals should spread.
It was a difficult point to turn. They were anxious that the people
should see that they did not condemn these songs without due
examination. They hit upon this expedient. Copies of the songs were
furnished to every Lord and Judge present; and the Attorney-General
in his charge, when touching on the offending passages, did not, as
usual, read them out, but noticed them by only repeating the first
and the final lines, and when he had closed they were handed to the
fiddlers at the bar, interrogating them whether these were not the
songs which they had sung of the Duke? To this they confessed, and
were condemned in a heavy fine of 500l. and to be pilloried
and whipped.

This novel and covert mode of trial excited great discontent
among the friends of civil freedom. It was asserted, that all
trials should be open, and that a court of justice was always a
public place, where the judges publicly delivered the reasons and
the grounds of their judgment. The mode now resorted to, was
turning a court of judgment into a private chamber, and excluding
the hearers from understanding the reasons of every judge’s
opinion, and the court themselves from hearing each other’s. It was
farther alleged, that in the present case, the Lords could not be
sure that the copies showed to the prisoners were the same as that
which each had before him, or that every Lord had looked into the
same paper which was showed to the fiddlers, so that they might be
condemned for that in which they stood not implicated.—I
suppose this singular case of the Fiddlers of Staines, to be
unique, and never to have been perpetuated in any of our law
books.

CHAPEL OF ST. JOHN THE BAPTIST, AT HAMPTON WICK.

Hampton Wick is a cheerful little village in Middlesex, at the
foot of Kingston Bridge. This Chapel occupies a prominent position
on a road lately formed through the village, having its western
front towards Bushy Park and the road leading to Hampton Court. The
character of the building is the modern Gothic, forming an
agreeable elevation, without any display of ornament. The building
is faced with Suffolk brick and Bath stone. The interior dimensions
are sixty-five feet by forty-three feet, with galleries on three
sides, and a handsome recessed window over the altar-piece at the
east end. The principal timbers of the roof are formed into Gothic
perforated compartments, which give an addition of height to the
Chapel, and an airy, decorative ceiling, at a small expense. The
Chapel is calculated to contain eight hundred sittings, of which
four hundred are free and unappropriated; and great benefit is
anticipated from its erection in this populous neighbourhood, the
parish church being at the distance of two miles and a half from
the hamlet. The architect was Mr. Lapidge, who built Kingston
Bridge, in the immediate vicinity. Mr. Lapidge generously gave the
site, and inclosed one side of the ground at his own expense. The
building was defrayed by a parliamentary grant from His Majesty’s
Church Commissioners, on an understanding with the parishioners,
that the Church at Hampton should, at the same time, be enlarged by
the parish. The cost of the Chapel and the inclosure of the site
was about £4,500.

The first stone was laid on the 7th of October, 1829, and the
building was finished previous to the 8th of November, 1830. The
Hamlet of Hampton Wick has been since made a District for
Ecclesiastical purposes, whereby the Chapel has become the Church
of that District.

THE TOPOGRAPHER.

TUNBRIDGE WELLS.

In our last volume we noticed the announcement of a volume of
Descriptive Sketches of Tunbridge Wells, by Mr. Britton: and
here it is, with prints and plans, and a deep roseate
binding—one of the most elegant volumes of the season, and
yet purchasable for a crown. We did not expect a dull,
unsatisfactory guidebook—a mere finger-post folio—nor
has the author produced such a commonplace volume. Hence these
“Sketches” have much of the neatness and polish, the patient
investigation and research of an author who has delighted in
attachment to his subject. The work contains a few of the scenes
and objects of the road from London to the Wells in outline; a
panoramic sketch of the Wells; the olden characteristics; and the
modern improvements, including the Calverley Park estate; the
natural history of the district, including the air, water,
[pg
377] and diseases for which the water is recommended by Dr.
Yeats; and the geological features of the country, from the able
pen of Mr. Gideon Mantell, of Lewes; lastly, brief notice of seats,
scenes, and antiquities in the environs of the Wells.

Of Tunbridge Wells, as an olden and modern resort, we have very
recently spoken,⁶ and we are
happy to perceive that the association of the place with the
literary characters of the last century, as pleasantly recorded by
Samuel Richardson, has been turned to interesting account in the
pages before us. Cumberland, the dramatist, we omitted to
mention, not only resided for some years, but wrote many of his
works, at Tunbridge Wells: and here he recognised the sterling
talent of Dowton, the comedian, who, through Cumberland, was first
introduced to the London stage. “One of the houses at Mount
Ephraim, (at the Wells,) adjoining the Tunbridge Ware manufactory,
formerly belonged to the infamous judge Jeffries;” and an adjoining
house was built by Sir Edmund King, physician to Charles II., and
his frequent residence here probably attracted the court. The
antiquities of the environs are very attractive. On a lofty knoll
are the remains of an ancient encampment, called Saxon-bury Castle,
from its name, ascribed to the Saxons; a neighbouring spot bears
the name of Dane’s Gate, and is supposed to be part of an old
trackway or military road. “On Edridge Green continued, for many
years, a curious mortar or large gun, said to have been the first
made in England. The tradition is that it was cast at Buxted
furnace about twelve miles north of Lewes. It is preserved in the
British Museum; and some account of it, with a print, is given in
the Archaeologia, vol. x. p. 472.” Next is the estate of
Edridge, among the lords of which were Godwin, Earl of Kent and the
Earl of Montaigne and Cornwall: Mayfield, was possessed by the see
of Canterbury before the Norman conquest, and at its palace Sir
Thomas Gresham lived in sumptuous style, and probably entertained
Queen Elizabeth in one of her progresses; among the curiosities
here the anvil, hammer, and tongs, which are traditionally said to
have belonged to the noted St. Dunstan, “and, who is also said to
have used the last instrument most ungallantly, and even brutishly,
in twinging the nose of Old Nick, who tempted the immaculate
prelate in the form of a fine lady;” Bayham, or Bageham Abbey,
about 6 miles south-east of the Wells, was a monastery of great
extent in 1200, but is now so dilapidated and overgrown as scarcely
to enable the antiquary to trace its architectural features: here
too is an immense pollard ash-tree, which Gough describes, in his
additions to Camden’s Britannia, as being “several yards in
girth, as old, if not older, than the abbey, and supposed to be the
largest extant.” Mr. Britton likewise noticed here a curious
instance of ivy, which has not only covered nearly the whole
surface of the (abbey) building, but has insinuated its treacherous
branches into the joints and crevices of the masonry. “The wood,”
says our observant author, “has grown to a great size, and
displaced columns, mouldings, mullions, &c. and thus overturned
and destroyed the very objects it was intended to adorn.” What a
picture is this of the wild luxuriance of nature devastating the
trim and chiselled glories of art! Next is Scotney Castle, the
ancient part of which is said to have been a fortress in the reign
of Richard II.; the moat still remains. The author hints that the
tour may be advantageously extended to Bodiam Castle; Winchelsea,
near which is Camber, one of the fortresses built by Henry VIII. to
guard the south coast; Battle Abbey, founded by William the Norman,
and calling up in review the battle of Hastings, and the Bayeaux
tapestry; the Roman fort of Pevensey; and Hurstmonceaux Castle
built by Roger Fiennes, treasurer to King Henry VI. Returning to
the Wells, and in the more immediate vicinity, are Somer Hill,
whose chase, manor, and appurtenances were conveyed by Queen
Elizabeth to her favourite Dudley, Earl of Leicester, and
subsequently to the widow of the magnanimous but ill-fated Earl of
Essex; also, Great Bounds, of the age of Elizabeth, and conveyed to
her relative Henry Cary, Lord Hunsden. Come we then to Tunbridge
Castle, built by De Tonbridge, a kinsman of the Conqueror, who came
with the invaders to share the spoil of their victory: “here, it is
said, he congregated his retainers and vassals. These were all
called into active service soon after the death of William I.,” for
De Tonbridge, (or Earl Clare, as he had been created,) espoused the
cause of Robert Curtoise, in opposition to William Rufus, who had
seized the crown. The castle is described by Mr. Britton with
interesting and not dry-as-dust minuteness, although only some
dilapidated and almost undefinable fragments remain. Tunbridge
Priory and [pg 378] the Free Grammar School are next
mentioned, the latter in connexion with Dr. Vicesimus Knox, who was
master of the school for some years.

Let us hope that the frequenters of the Wells will not, in their
grave moments, forget the olden glory of Penshurst, about
six miles N.W. of the gay resort,—Penshurst, as Mr. Britton
terms it, “the memorable, the once splendid, but now sadly
dilapidated mansion of the Sydneys,” or as Charlotte Smith sung
with touching simplicity, in 1788:

Yet, how can we enumerate the ancient fame of Penshurst in this
brief memoir; from Sir John de Poulteney, who first embattled the
mansion in the reign of Edward II:, to Sir John Shelley Sydney, the
present proprietor of the estate; or how can we here describe the
mansion, wherein that pains-taking investigator, Mr. Carter, in
1805, recognised the architectural characteristics of the reigns of
Henry II., Richard III., Henry VIII., Elizabeth, James I. and
George I. and III. But we must observe, “it is presumed, that
whilst residing here, Henry VIII. became acquainted with Anne
Boleyn, then living with her father at Hever Castle, in this
neighbourhood.” Among the more glorious events of the place, is the
birth of the amiable Sir Philip Sydney here, Nov. 29, 1554, as
Spencer dignified him, “the president of nobleness and chivalrie;”
the celebrated Algernon; and his daughter, the Saccharissa
of Waller. In this romantic retreat, Sydney probably framed his
Arcadia; here he may have sung

Enough of the baronial hall at Penshurst has been spared to show
the lantern for ventilation in the roof, “the original fire-hearth
beneath it, with a large and-iron for sustaining the blazing log;”
though of the place generally, Mr. Britton observes, “A house that
has been so long deserted by its masters must exhibit various
evidences of ruin and decay. Not only walls, roofs, and timbers,
but the interior furniture and ornaments are assailed by moth,
rust, and other destructive operations.” Alas! the fittest scene of
Burke’s lament for chivalry would have been the hall of Penshurst.
Yet, a Sir Philip Sydney exists, and has lately been
honoured with some distinction, as Churchill would say, “flowing
from the crown.” In the park at Penshurst, is, however, one of
Nature’s memorials of one of her proudest sons—”a fine old
oak tree, said to have been planted at Sir Philip Sydney’s birth:”
and in Penshurst churchyard, on the south side of the mansion,
several of the Sydneys lie sleeping. Requiescant in
pace.

Hever Castle, built in the reign of Edward III., already
mentioned as the residence of the Boleyns, is about four miles
north-west of Penshurst.

We have left ourselves but space to mention in the vicinity of
the Wells, Buckhurst and Knole, magnificent seats of the
Sackvilles, Earls of Dorset, whose splendid details have already
filled volumes. Lastly, we promise the Wells visiter some
gratification, by extending his tour to Brambletye House,
memorialized in Horace Smith’s entertaining novel. These few traits
may serve to show the picturesqueness of the environs of the Wells,
and consequently of Mr. Britton’s volume; and we leave the reader
with their grateful impression on his memory.

SPIRIT OF THE PUBLIC JOURNALS.

TO CAROLINE, VISCOUNTESS VALLETORT.

WRITTEN AT LACOCK ABBEY, JANUARY, 1832.

By Thomas Moore, Esq.

Metropolitan.

PROGRESS OF CRIME.

(From a paper in Fraser’s Magazine, entitled the
Schoolmaster in Newgate—evidently from the hand of a
shrewd observer, and the result of considerable experience and
laborious investigation.)

By a reference to the Old Bailey session calendar, it will be
seen that about 3,000 prisoners are annually committed to Newgate,
making little short of 400 each session, of which there are eight
in a year. Out of the gross number, about 350 are discharged by
proclamation. Of these nothing can be said, as they must be
considered innocent of the crimes with which they were charged,
there not being primâ facie evidence to send them on
their trials. There remain 2,550 who are tried, with the
progressive increase of 4-7ths annually. Some persons have supposed
this accumulation of offenders bears a regular proportion to the
progress of population. As well may they assert that the demand for
thieves in society regulates the supply, as in other markets of
merchandise. The cause is in the maladministration of the
laws—the sending out so many old offenders every session to
teach and draw in the more juvenile and less experienced
hands—with the uncertainty of punishment, by the inequality
of sentences for crimes of a like nature—to which may be
added the many instances of mistaken, or rather mis-directed
leniency, compared with others of enormous severity for trifling
offences; all which tend to induce the London thieves to entertain
a contempt for that tribunal. An opinion prevails throughout the
whole body, that justice is not done there. I do not mean to say
they complain of the sentences being too severe generally; that
would be natural enough on their parts, and not worth notice. They
believe everything done at that court a matter of chance; that
in the same day, and for a like crime, one man will be
sentenced to transportation for life, while another may be
let off for a month’s imprisonment, and yet both equally bad
characters.

It only needs that punishment should be sure to follow the
conviction for crime, and that the judgments should be uniform and
settled, to strike terror into the whole body of London criminals.
Out of the 2,550 annually tried, nearly one-fourth are acquitted,
leaving little short of 2,000 for sentence in each year. Of these
the average transported are 800; deduct 200 for cases of an
incidental nature, i.e. crimes not committed by regular offenders,
and there remain 1,000 professed thieves who are again turned loose
in a short period on the town, all of whom appear in due course
again at the court of the Old Bailey, or at some other, many times
in the revolution of one year. Here lies the mischief. An old thief
will be sure to enlist others to perpetuate the race. There is no
disguising the fact: the whole blame is with the court whose duty
it is to take cognizance of these characters. Whilst the present
system is pursued, of allowing so many old offenders to escape with
trifling punishments, the evils will be increased, and the business
of the court go on augmenting, by its own errors. The thief is now
encouraged to speculate on his chances—in his own
phraseology, “his good luck.” Every escape makes him more reckless.
I knew one man who was allowed a course of seventeen imprisonments
and other punishments before his career was stopped by
transportation; a sentence which does, however, sooner or later
overtake them, and which would be better both for themselves and
the country were it passed the first time they were in the hands of
the court as known thieves. Observing only a certain, and nearly an
equal, number transported each session, they have imbibed a notion,
that the recorder cannot exceed it, and that he selects those to
whom he takes a dislike at the bar, not for the magnitude of their
offence, but from caprice or chance. It is under this impression
they are afraid of speaking when in court, lest they should give
offence, and excite petulance in the judge, which would, in their
opinion, inevitably include them in the devoted batch of
transports, of which their horror is inconceivable; 1st, because
many have already undergone the punishment; and 2dly, all who have
not are fully aware of the privations to which it subjects them.
Their anxious inquiry regarding every particular relating to the
treatment, is a strong manifestation of their uneasiness on this
subject. Yet Mr. Wontner and Mr. Wakefield (says the
Quarterly reviewer) think neither transportation nor the
hulks have any terrors for them. How they come to this opinion, I
cannot imagine. If they draw their inference from the noise and
apparent mirth of the prisoners [pg 380] when they leave
Newgate for the hulks, I think their premises false.

The transports are taken from Newgate in parties of twenty-five,
which is called a draft. When the turnkeys lock up the wards of the
prison at the close of the day, they call over the names of the
convicts under orders for removal, at the same time informing them
at what hour of the night or morning they will be called for, and
to what place and ship they are destined. This notice, which
frequently is not more than three or four hours, is all that is
given them; a regulation rendered necessary to obviate the bustle
and confusion heretofore experienced, by their friends and
relatives thronging the gates of the prison, accompanied by
valedictory exclamations at the departure of the van in which they
are conveyed. Before this order arrives, most of them have endured
many months’ confinement, and having exhausted the liberality, or
funds—perhaps both—of their friends, have been
constrained to subsist on the goal allowance. This, together with
the sameness of a prison life, brings on a weariness of mind, which
renders any change agreeable to their now broken spirits; the
prospect of a removal occasions a temporary excitement, which, to
those unaccustomed to reason on the matter, may appear like gaiety,
and carelessness of the future. The noise and apparent
recklessness, however, on these occasions, are produced more by
those prisoners who are to remain behind, availing themselves of
the opportunity to beguile a few hours of tedious existence by a
noisy and forced merriment, which they know the officers on duty
will impute to the men under orders for the ship. This is confirmed
by the inmates of the place being, on all other nights of the year,
peaceable after they have been locked up in their respective wards.
Those who suppose there is any real mirth or indifference among
them at any time, have taken but a superficial view of these
wretched men. Heaviness and sickness of heart are always with them;
they will at times make an effort to feel at ease, but all their
hilarity is fictitious and assumed—they have the common
feelings of our nature, and of which they can never divest
themselves. Those who possess an unusual buoyancy of spirits, and
gloss over their feelings with their companions, I have ever
observed on the whole, to feel the most internal agony. I have seen
upwards of two thousand under this sentence, and never conversed
with one who did not appear to consider the punishment, if it
exceeded seven years, equal to death. May, the accomplice of
Bishop and Williams, told me, the day after his respite, if they
meant to transport him, he did not thank them for his life. The
following is another striking instance of the view they have of
this punishment. A man named Shaw, who suffered for housebreaking
about two years since, awoke during the night previous to his
execution, and said, “Lee!” (speaking to the man in the cell with
him) “I have often said I would be rather hanged than transported;
but now it comes so close as this, I begin to think otherwise.”
Shortly afterwards he turned round to the same man and said, “I was
wrong in what I said just now; I am still of my former opinion:
hanging is the best of the two;” and he remained in the same mind
all the night. The first question an untried prisoner asks of those
to whom he is about to entrust his defence is, “Do you think I
shall be transported? Save me from that, and I don’t mind any thing
else.” One thing, however, is clear: no punishment hitherto has
lessened the number of offenders; nor will any ever be efficient,
until the penalties awarded by the law unerringly follow
conviction, especially with the common robbers.

Turn over the pages of the Old Bailey session papers for years
past, and you cannot but be struck with the anomalies which are
there apparent, with respect to crimes and the sentences which have
followed. The impression a perusal of these papers made on my mind,
was as if all the business had been done by lottery; and my
observation during twenty-two sessions on the occurring cases has
tended to convince me, that a distribution of justice from that
wheel of chance could not present a more incongruous and confused
record of convictions and punishments. In no case (always excepting
the capitals) can any person, however acute and experienced, form
the slightest opinion of what the judgment of the court will be. Of
this the London thieves are fully aware. I never could succeed in
persuading one before his trial, that he was deprived of all chance
of escape. They will answer, “Look what a court it is! how many
worse than me do scramble through; and who knows but I may
be lucky.” What men know they must endure, they fear; what they
think they can escape, they despise: their calculation of
three-fourths escaping is very near the truth. Hope, the spring of
action, induces each to say to himself, “Why may I not be
[pg
381] the lucky one?” THE CHANCE THUS GIVEN OF ACQUITTAL IS
THE MAIN CAUSE OF CRIME. I do not mean to say three-fourths come
off free; they are subjected to some kind of punishment (excepting
a few cases of judgment respited); the others feel, no doubt, what
they undergo, but it is only as a soldier in the fight considers a
scratch—otherwise coming off with a whole skin, being ready
for action again. Another evil arises out of this irregularity of
judgments. All punishments are rendered severe and useful in
proportion as the offender feels he deserves it, and is conscious
of having only his quantum meritus.. This the convict can
now never feel, seeing his companion in crime let off for a few
months’ imprisonment, he (his companion) having been guilty of an
offence equal to his own, and for which he (the convict) is
transported for life. Those connected with the court, in the
conversations I have had with them, say, “circumstances of
character occasion the apparent anomalies;” being unable, or
perhaps unwilling, to give a better. That a good character does not
avail the prisoner, or direct the court in its judgments, may be
seen by a mere inspection of the printed trials, and is better
known to all who have watched the proceedings of this court for any
time. Hundreds of cases might be cited to illustrate this fact. I
remember the case of two butchers, whose briefs I wrote, which
occurred last year. One was an old, the other a young man, both
having been in the employ of the prosecutor. They were charged with
stealing a breast of mutton from their master: both were found
guilty. The old man had persons to speak as to his character for
honesty for forty years last past (his former masters); the young
one had not a solitary witness to say a word for him. The former
was sentenced to fourteen years’ transportation; the latter to six
months in the house of correction. When the prosecutor heard of the
circumstance, he got up a petition to the secretary of state for a
remission of the sentence, in which he stated that on the trial he
himself had given the old man a good character, and not the other.
Instances of this kind occur out of number to confirm the rogues in
their preconceived notions of the uncertainty of punishment, and
that “the greatest crimes come off the best.” This is an aphorism
among the thieves. I have seen some of them, after being sentenced
by the court, dance for hours, calling out continuously, “Did I not
tell you all, the biggest rogues get off the best?” The scene in
the several yards of Newgate on the sentence-days, after the
judgments have been passed, defies any description on paper. Some
will be seen jumping and skipping about for hours, frenzied with
joy at the very unexpectedly mild sentence passed on them; others
are cursing and swearing, calling down imprecations on the head of
the recorder, for having, as they say, so unfairly measured out
justice; all agreeing there is no proportion in the punishments to
the crimes. It may be said, it is of little import what these men
think, so they are punished. But is it of no importance under what
impression the others are discharged? If the discharged feel (as
assuredly they do) that punishment is a matter of chance, they
return to their habits as the hazard-player goes again to the dice,
in hopes of coming off a winner, and reimbursing himself for former
losses. There is another evil comes out of these unequal sentences.
The discontent it produces on the minds of those who fall under the
more heavy judgments, which militates against their reformation:
instead of reflecting on their situation as brought on by
themselves, they take refuge in complaint and invective, declaring
they are “sacrificed”—in their own language, “murdered men.”
I have often said, “Why complain? You knew the consequence of
detection.” “Yes,” would be the reply; “but look at the case of Tom
—— and Bill ——. Not that I am sorry they
have got off; but is it not a shame to give me a lifer, and
they only a month each?” Such answers are always given when any
attempt is made to reconcile them to their fate. They carry this
feeling with them to the hulks, where they amuse each other with
all the tales of hardship within their knowledge; meditating
revenge, by which they mean becoming more desperate in crime, and
making reprisals on the public, when they shall be again at large.
They become imbued with a notion the judge has more to answer for
than themselves. Opinions of this nature are very common among
them, and prevent the discipline to which they are submitted having
its proper effect. Minds in the state of theirs seize on any
supposed injury to brood over and stifle their own reproaches. Of
this dernier ressort they would be deprived, if equal
sentences were passed on all for like offences. They are now all
ill-used men, by comparison with others who have been more
fortunate. The present system holds out so many chances for the
offender to escape, that it acts as an [pg 382] inducement to continue
his practices, and to all loose characters, not yet accomplished in
the art of plunder, to become so. Again, by the discharge of so
many known thieves every sessions, so many masters are sent into
the town to draw in and teach others, by which a regular supply is
brought up to fill the ranks of those who fall in the conflict.

THE SELECTOR; AND LITERARY NOTICES OF NEW WORKS.

SCRIPTURAL ANTIQUITIES.

A little volume has just appeared, with the title of The
Truth of Revelation demonstrated by an appeal to existing
monuments, sculptures, gems, coins, and medals. The author is
stated to be “a Fellow of several learned Societies,” and has
dedicated his work to Dr. Chalmers, who approved of its original
plan. We confess this to be too extensive for us to explain in a
few lines, although we do not hesitate to say, that a more amusing
book upon abstruse subjects has scarcely ever met our attention. It
is literally filled with facts and closely-packed inquiries, and
these are so attractively arranged as to amuse a listless
reader.

The Ark of Noah and Mount Ararat.

“It has been supposed that the ark rested on Mount Ararat in
Armenia: Josephus countenances this view of it, and it is
interesting to observe, that the name of the Armenian city where it
has been supposed the ark at last grounded, signifies the Place
of Descent, from the Greek [Greek: aporataeeion]:—others
have, however, urged that it rested upon Mount Caucasus, near
Apamea, in Phrygia, from the circumstance that in Genesis xi. 2,
the sons of the patriarch are represented as journeying westward
from the place of descent, and Mount Ararat in Armenia being
west of this country. The language of the sacred writer does
not particularly define the question. Mount Ararat, according to
Morier, is at once awful in its elevation, and beautiful in its
form. Sir Robert Ker Porter describes this celebrated mountain as
divided, by a chasm of about seven miles wide, into two distinct
peaks, called The Great and The Little Ararat, and is of opinion
that the ark finally rested in this chasm. This pleasing and
elegant writer gives a beautiful description of Ararat. ‘I beheld
Ararat in all its amplitude of grandeur. From the spot on which I
stood, it appeared as if the hugest mountains of the world had been
piled upon each other, to form this one sublime immensity of earth,
and rock, and snow. The icy peaks of its double heads rose
majestically into the clear and cloudless heavens; the sun blazed
bright upon them, and the reflection sent forth a dazzling radiance
equal to other suns. This point of the view united the utmost
grandeur of plain and height, but the feelings I experienced while
looking on the mountain are hardly to be described. My eye, not
able to rest for any length of time on the blinding glory of its
summits, wandered down the apparently interminable sides, till I
could no longer trace their vast lines in the mists of the horizon;
when an inexpressible impulse immediately carrying my eye upwards
again, refixed my gaze on the awful glare of Ararat; and this
bewildered sensibility of sight, being answered by a similar
feeling in the mind, for some moments I was lost in a strange
suspension of the powers of thought.'”

The Deluge.

“Nothing seems to be better substantiated and established than
the circumfusion of the waters of the deluge. The language of the
Sacred Volume is clear and decisive on this point. ‘The waters
prevailed exceedingly on the earth; and all the high hills that
were under the whole heaven were covered. Fifteen cubits upwards
did the waters prevail, and the mountains were covered.’ The
attestations to this fact, in organic remains, are universal, and
completely conclusive. In Italy entire skeletons of whales have
been found at an elevation of not less than one thousand two
hundred feet above the level of the Mediterranean. In a letter of
the 5th May, 1830, to the Asiatic Society of Calcutta, M. Gerard
states, that he had collected shells among the snowy mountains of
the frontiers of Thibet: some of them were obtained on the crest of
a pass, seventeen thousand feet above the level of the sea. Here
were also found fragments of rock, bearing impressions of shells,
detached from the contiguous peak rising far above the elevated
level: generally, however, it would appear, that the rocks from
whence these shells were collected, rise to an altitude of about
sixteen thousand feet; one cliff was no less than a mile in
perpendicular height above the nearest level. M. Gerard continues,
‘Just before crossing the boundary of Sudak into Bassalier, I was
exceedingly gratified by the discovery of a bed of fossil oysters
clinging to the rock as if they had been alive.’ No [pg 383] doubt
many of the rocks are in more sublime relief now, than they were in
the antediluvian world. The subsidence of the land and lower
levels, and the action of submarine currents would scoop out deep
valleys; and no doubt, much that is now ‘dry land,’ once formed the
bed of the ocean. Alpine structures have emerged from the deep, and
volcanoes have heaped up elevations on mountains already lofty and
sublime; as Cotopaxi, Antisana, and Tunguragua, amid the range of
the Cordilleras of the Andes. The Geological Society has a series
of ammonites from India. These fossils are objects of adoration to
the Hindoos: they fall on the S.W. side of the Himala mountains
from an altitude which exceeds that of perpetual congelation: they
are picked up by the natives, and religiously preserved, being
concealed as much as possible from the scrutiny of Europeans. Mont
Perdu, among the Appennines, which rise to an altitude of eleven
thousand feet above the sea’s level, encloses an innumerable
multitude of testacea: and Humboldt found sea-shells among the
Andes, fourteen thousand feet above the level of the ocean. At
Touraine, on the Continent, is a bed of shells which extends nearly
twenty-seven miles, having a depth of twenty feet. Mount Bolca
contains upwards of one hundred species of fish from the four
quarters of the earth, and collected together in one immense
assemblage.”

(To be continued.)

THE NATURALIST.

NOTES UPON NOTES.

We abridge the following from a few Horticultural Notes on a
Journey from Rome to Naples, in March last, contributed to that
excellent work, the Gardeners’ Magazine, by W. Spence, Esq.
F.L.S.

Italian Inn.—Mr. Spence says, “Our rooms at the inn
at Capua, where we slept, opened on a terraced garden, with orange
trees, vines trained on arched trellises, marble fountains,
&c., which, for ten shillings expense, might have been made
very gay and attractive; but all was forlornness and disorder, the
beds untrimmed, and the walks littered with dirt. Two magnificent
plants of Opuntia vulgaris, which flanked one of the windows, the
waiter said, were planted there ‘per pompa‘ (for pomp’s
sake); a motive, unfortunately, so often the leading one in Italy,
without any regard to the humbler ones of neatness and order.”

Pontine Marshes.—Mr. Spence observes “the desolate
aspect attributed to these twenty-four miles of the road between
Rome and Naples is one of the many exaggerations which prevail with
regard to Italy.” He describes the surface as dead-flat, with
occasional portions covered with reeds, or overflowed with water,
giving the whole a fenny character, yet, as happily, there are no
pollard willows, and the road runs the whole way between two rows
of tall elm trees, the general effect to the eye is not offensive,
and far less repulsive than some parts of Holland or
Lincolnshire.

Italian Landscapes.—The absence of fine full-grown
trees is the great defect of landscape scenes in Italy, where you
sometimes travel a hundred miles (as in Lombardy) without setting
eyes on a tree that has not been pollarded or lopped.

Palming.—In the north of Italy palm-trees are
cultivated, to sell their leaves to the Romish churches for
Palm-Sunday.

Italian Climate.—The true Italian climate is
confined to a very small portion of Italy, namely, to some favoured
spots on the western coast. Here the approximation of the Apennines
to the sea, at once keeps off the north and east winds, and
reflecting the sun’s rays, affords the temperature which the
orange, lemon, &c. require. The moment you recede from the
coast, especially if a very trifling elevation of ground takes
place, farewell to oranges and lemons at least in any
perfection.

Sweet Lemon.—At Naples a curious variety of lemon
is exposed in the streets for sale, having externally the exact
colour and shape of an orange, except that at the stalk end is a
depression, and on this a prominence, as in the lemon, but within
having the pale pulp of the lemon, and sweet juice.

Economy.—In the square of the town of Caserta, Mr.
Spence saw exposed for sale bundles of green lupine plants pulled
up by the roots, and of the roots of couch grass, which we burn,
but which the Italians more wisely give as a saccharine and
grateful food to horses.

Campagna Felice is the title given to the extensive tract
of land which lies between the mountains to the north-east of
Caserta and Naples, and the Mediterranean. The whole is cultivated
like a garden: rows of lopped elms or poplars intersect the fields,
at the distance of 40 or 50 feet between each row, to which vines
are trained: and the intermediate space is occupied by luxuriant
wheat; lupines, pulled green for fodder; [pg 384]
garden-beans; or ground prepared for ploughing by two oxen, without
a driver, for Indian corn, &c. This is one of the grand
advantages of the climate of Italy, that, while in northern Europe
vast tracts of land are devoted to the exclusive growth of barley
for beer, the Italians obtain a far better beverage from the very
same land that supplies their bread corn, and without materially
interfering with its produce: for both the vines and the trees that
support them are planted so deep as to consume only the manure,
which, in any case, would be washed away; and their slight shade is
rather beneficial than injurious to the crops below.

Fruit at Naples.—Mr. Spence saw in March grapes of
several varieties, kept through the winter, not much shrivelled,
and quite free from mouldiness. Oranges in glorious profusion
(chiefly from Sorrento, fifteen miles distant,) and so cheap as to
allow the poorest of the poor to enjoy (what Dr. Johnson complained
he had never had of peaches but once) their fill of them, and that
daily. The middle-sized ones (which are the best) sell at four for
a grano, which is at the rate of ten for a penny English; and the
poor get twice as many of those beginning to decay.

THE GATHERER.

Ancient Starvation.—Hume tells us “The Monks and
Prior of St. Swithin threw themselves, one day, prostrate on the
ground, and in the mire, before Henry II., complaining, with many
tears and much doleful lamentation, that the Bishop of Winchester,
who was also their Abbot, had cut off three dishes from their
tables. ‘How many has he left you?’ said the king, ‘Ten
only‘ replied the disconsolate monks. ‘I, myself,’ exclaimed
the king, ‘never have more than three, and I enjoin your bishop to
reduce you to the same number.'” P.T.W.

Ice Water.—The Chinese rise at day-break, after a
hard frost to gather ice, which they melt, and carefully bottle up
as a remedy for fever in the hot months.

A French marquess having received several blows over his
shoulders with a stick, which he never thought of resenting, a
friend asked him how he could reconcile it with his honour, to
suffer them to pass without notice. “Póh,” said the
marquess, “I never trouble myself with anything that passes behind
my back.”

Epitaph in Wycombe Churchyard, 1688.

General Generalissimo.—Bayle tells us of a General
of the Jesuits at Rome, once exulting of his greatness and his
order—who thus expressed himself to a friend:—”I will
tell you, in this very chamber, I govern Rome—what am I
talking about? Rome! I govern all Italy—what do I say? Italy!
I govern Europe itself; and not Europe alone, but the whole world.”
P.T.W.

Classic Felony.—Sir John Hayward, was imprisoned by
order of Queen Elizabeth, on account of some things advanced in his
Life and Reign of Henry IV. She applied to Bacon to see if
he could discover any passages that were treasonable, but his reply
was, that “for treason he found none, but for felony, very many,”
which he explained by saying, that the author had stolen many
sentences from Tacitus, and translated them into English.
P.T.W.

A Likeness.—One of our old travellers on the
continent, tells the following anecdote of a capuchin preacher: The
friar observed, that whenever he held forth to his congregation, a
certain man never failed to burst into tears, and continue weeping
during the sermon. Supposing he had touched the man’s soul by the
eloquence of his oratory, the friar, with much self-satisfaction,
one day ventured to inquire why he wept. “Ah, father!” said the
peasant, “I never see you but I think of a venerable goat, which I
lost at Easter! We were bred up together in the same family; he was
the very picture of your reverence; one would swear you were
brothers. Poor Baudoim! He died of a fall—God rest his soul!
I would willingly pay for a couple of masses to pray him out of
purgatory.” W.G.C.

The Peerage.—The following is the number in each grade of
the English peerage:—Dukes, 25; Marquesses, 34; Earls, 142;
Viscounts, 22; Barons, 125; Countess, 1; Viscountess, 1; and
Baronesses, 4.

*** In the article “Premiers,” page 320, of the present volume,
for Mr. Fox 7, read 9. W.G.C.

Footnote 1:(return)

For a View and Description of Cliefden, see Mirror, vol.
xv. p. 97.

Footnote 2:(return)

For a View of Bray Church, see Mirror, vol. xvii. p
209.

Footnote 3:(return)

“One head of St. John the Baptist (for there are many, and John
was at last [Greek: ekaton ta kephalas],) was found at the
monastery of St. John of Angeli, at Saintange.”—Jortin’s
Remarks on Eccles. Hist. ann. 1010.

Footnote 4:(return)

Erycius Puteanus (Vander Putten,) added the seventh note to
complete the octave, in the sixteenth century.

Footnote 5:(return)

Isaiah, xiv. 16, 17, 18, 20.

Footnote 6:(return)

See Mirror, vol. xiv. p. 66, and vol. xviii. p. 225.

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