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diff --git a/old/12645-h/12645-h.htm b/old/12645-h/12645-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..58b1ae5 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/12645-h/12645-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,1990 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Transitional//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-transitional.dtd"> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml"> +<head> +<meta name="generator" content= +"HTML Tidy for Mac OS X (vers 1st June 2004), see www.w3.org" /> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content= +"text/html; charset=us-ascii" /> +<title>The Mirror of Literature, Issue 483.</title> + +<style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[*/ + + <!-- + body {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + p {text-align: justify;} + blockquote {text-align: justify;} + h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 {text-align: center;} + pre {font-size: 0.7em;} + + hr {text-align: center; width: 50%;} + html>body hr {margin-right: 25%; margin-left: 25%; width: 50%;} + hr.full {width: 100%;} + html>body hr.full {margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 0%; width: 100%;} + hr.short {text-align: center; width: 20%;} + html>body hr.short {margin-right: 40%; margin-left: 40%; width: 20%;} + + .note, .footnote {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-size: 0.9em;} + + span.pagenum {position: absolute; left: 1%; right: 91%; font-size: 8pt;} + + .poem {margin-left:10%; margin-right:10%; margin-bottom: 1em; text-align: left;} + .poem .stanza {margin: 1em 0em 1em 0em;} + .poem p {margin: 0; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem p.i2 {margin-left: 1em;} + .poem p.i4 {margin-left: 2em;} + .poem p.i6 {margin-left: 3em;} + .poem p.i8 {margin-left: 4em;} + .poem p.i10 {margin-left: 5em;} + + .figure {padding: 1em; margin: 0; text-align: center; font-size: 0.8em; margin: auto;} + .figure img {border: none;} + --> +/*]]>*/ +</style> +</head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Mirror of Literature, Amusement, and +Instruction, by Various + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Mirror of Literature, Amusement, and Instruction + Vol. 17, No. 483., Saturday, April 2, 1831 + +Author: Various + +Release Date: June 18, 2004 [EBook #12645] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MIRROR OF LITERATURE, NO. 483 *** + + + + +Produced by Jonathan Ingram, Barbara Tozier and PG Distributed +Proofreaders + + + + + + +</pre> + +<hr class="full" /> +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page225" name="page225"></a>[pg +225]</span> +<h1>THE MIRROR<br /> +OF<br /> +LITERATURE, AMUSEMENT, AND INSTRUCTION.</h1> +<hr class="full" /> +<table width="100%" summary="biblio data"> +<tr> +<td align="left"><b>Vol. 17. No. 483.</b></td> +<td align="center"><b>SATURDAY, APRIL 2, 1831</b></td> +<td align="right"><b>[PRICE 2d.</b></td> +</tr> +</table> +<hr class="full" /> +<h2>GROTTO AT ASCOT PLACE.</h2> +<div class="figure"><a href="images/483-1.png"><img width="100%" +src="images/483-1.png" alt="Grotto at Ascot Place" /></a></div> +<p>Here is a picturesque contrivance of Art to embellish Nature. We +have seen many such labours, but none with more satisfaction than +the Grotto at Ascot Place.</p> +<p>This estate is in the county of Surrey, five miles south-east +from Windsor, on the side of Ascot Heath, near Winkfield. The +residence was erected by Andrew Lindergreen, Esq.; at whose death +it was sold to Daniel Agace, Esq., who has evinced considerable +taste in the arrangement of the grounds. The house is of brick, +with wings. On the adjoining lawn, a circular Corinthian temple +produces a very pleasing effect. The gem of the estate is, however, +the above Grotto, which is situate at the end of a canal running +through the grounds. Upon this labour of leisure much expense and +good taste have been bestowed. It consists of four rooms, but one +only, for the refreshing pastime of tea drinking, appears to be +completed. It is almost entirely covered with a white spar, +intermixed with curious and unique specimens of polished pebbles +and petrifactions. The ceiling is ornamented with pendants of the +same material; and the whole, when under the influence of a strong +sun, has an almost magical effect. These and other decorations of +the same grounds were executed by a person named Turnbull, who was +employed here for several years by Mr. Agace. Our View is copied +from one of a series of engravings by Mr. Hakewill, the ingenious +architect; these illustrations being supplementary to that +gentleman’s quarto <em>History of Windsor</em>.</p> +<p>We request the reader to enjoy with us the delightful +repose—the cool and calm retreat—of the Engraving. Be +he never so indifferent a lover of Nature, he must admire its +picturesque beauty; or be he never so enthusiastic, he must regard +with pleasure the ingenuity of the artist. To an amateur, the +pursuit of decorating grounds is one of the most interesting and +intellectual amusements of retirement. We have worshipped from dewy +morn till dusky eve in rustic temples and “cool grots,” +and have sometimes aided in their construction. The roots, limbs, +and trunks of trees, and straw or reeds, are all the materials +required to build these hallowed and hallowing shrines. We call +them hallowing, because they are either built, or directed to be +built, in adoration of the <span class="pagenum"><a id="page226" +name="page226"></a>[pg 226]</span>beauties of Nature; who, in turn, +mantles them with endless varieties of lichens and mosses. In the +Rookery adjoining John Evelyn’s “Wotton” were +many such temples dedicated to sylvan deities: one of them, to Pan, +consists of a pediment supported by four rough trunks of trees, the +walls being of moss and laths, and enclosed with tortuous limbs. +Beneath the pediment is the following apposite line from +Virgil:</p> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Pan curat oves oviumque magistros.</p> +<p>Pan, guardian of the sheep and shepherds too.</p> +</div> +</div> +<p>Yet the building is not merely ornamental, for the back serves +as a cow-house!</p> +<p>Pope’s love of grotto-building has made it a poetical +amusement. Who does not remember his grotto at +Twickenham—</p> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i10">The EGERIAN GROT,</p> +<p>Where, nobly pensive, ST. JOHN sat and thought;</p> +<p>Where British sighs from dying <em>Wyndham</em> stole,</p> +<p>And the bright flame was shot through Marchmont’s +soul.</p> +<p>Let such, such only, tread this sacred floor,</p> +<p>Who dare to love their COUNTRY, and be poor.</p> +</div> +</div> +<p>—The Grotto, has, however, crumbled to the dilapidations +of time, and the pious thefts of visiters; but, proud are we to +reflect that the poetry of the great genius who dictated its +erection—LIVES; and his fame is untarnished by the canting +reproach of the critics of our time. True it is that the best, or +ripest fruit, is always most pecked at.</p> +<hr /> +<h3>FAIRY SONG.</h3> +<h4>(<em>For the Mirror</em>.)</h4> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Slowly o’er the mountain’s brow</p> +<p class="i2">Rosy light is dawning;</p> +<p>See! the stars are fading now</p> +<p class="i2">In the beam of morning.</p> +<p>Yonder soft approaching ray</p> +<p>Bids us, Fairies, haste away.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Fairy guardians, watching o’er</p> +<p class="i2">Flowers of tender blossom,</p> +<p>Chilling damps descend no more,</p> +<p class="i2">And the flow’ret’s bosom,</p> +<p>Opening to th’ approaching day,</p> +<p>Bids ye, Fairies, haste away.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Hark! the lonely bird of night</p> +<p class="i2">Stays its notes of sadness;</p> +<p>Early birds, that hail the light,</p> +<p class="i2">Soon shall wake to gladness.</p> +<p>Philomel’s concluding lay</p> +<p>Bids us follow night away.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Ye that guard the infant’s rest,</p> +<p class="i2">Or watch the maiden’s pillow;—</p> +<p>Demons seek their home unblest</p> +<p class="i2">’Neath Ocean’s deepest billow:</p> +<p>Harmless now the dreams that play</p> +<p>O’er slumbering eyes, then haste away.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Farewell lovely scenes, that here</p> +<p>Wait the day god’s shining;</p> +<p>We must follow Dian’s sphere</p> +<p class="i2">O’er the hills declining.</p> +<p>Brighter comes the beam of day—</p> +<p>Haste ye, Fairies, haste away.</p> +</div> +<p>G.J.</p> +</div> +<hr /> +<h3>DREAMS PRODUCED BY WHISPERING IN THE SLEEPER’S EAR.</h3> +<h4>(<em>For the Mirror</em>).</h4> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Dreams are but interludes which fancy makes;</p> +<p>When monarch Reason sleeps, this mimic wakes.</p> +</div> +<p>DRYDEN.</p> +</div> +<p>Dr. Abercrombie, in his work on the Intellectual Powers, has +recorded several instances of remarkable dreams.—Among them +is the following extraordinary instance of the power which may be +exercised over some persons while asleep, of creating dreams by +whispering in their ears. An officer in the expedition to +Lanisburg, in 1758, had this peculiarity in so remarkable a degree, +that his companions in the transport were in the constant habit of +amusing themselves at his expense. It had more effect when the +voice was that of a friend familiar to him. At one time they +conducted him through the whole progress of a quarrel, which ended +in a duel, and when the parties were supposed to be met, a pistol +was put into his hand, which he fired, and was awakened by the +report. On another occasion they found him asleep on the top of a +locker, or bunker, in the cabin, when they made him believe he had +fallen overboard, and exhorted him to save himself by swimming. +They then told him a shark was pursuing him, and entreated him to +dive for his life; this he instantly did, but with such force as to +throw himself from the locker to the cabin floor, by which he was +much bruised, and awakened of course. After the landing of the army +at Lanisburg, his companions found him one day asleep in the tent, +and evidently much annoyed by the cannonading. They then made him +believe he was engaged, when he expressed great fear, and an +evident disposition to run away. Against this they remonstrated, +but at the same time increased his fears by imitating the groans of +the wounded and the dying; and when he asked, as he sometimes did, +who were down, they named his particular friends. At last they told +him that the man next him in the line had fallen, when he instantly +sprang from his bed, rushed out of the tent, and was roused from +his danger and his dream together, by falling over the tent +ropes.</p> +<p>By the by, all this is quite contrary to Dryden’s theory, +who says—</p> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>“As one who in a frightful dream would shun</p> +<p>His pressing foe, <em>labours in vain</em> to run;</p> +<p>And his own slowness in his sleep bemoans,</p> +<p>With thick short sighs, weak cries, and tender +groans.”</p> +</div> +</div> +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page227" name="page227"></a>[pg +227]</span> +<p>And again, in his Virgil—</p> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>“When heavy sleep has closed the sight,</p> +<p>And sickly fancy labours in the night,</p> +<p>We seem to run, and, destitute of force,</p> +<p>Our sinking limbs forsake us in the course;</p> +<p>In vain we heave for breath—<em>in vain we +cry</em>—</p> +<p><em>The nerves unbraced, their usual strength deny</em>,</p> +<p><em>And on the tongue the flattering accents +die</em>.”</p> +</div> +</div> +<p>Now this man seems to have had the use not only of his limbs, +but of his faculty of speech, while dreaming; and it was not till +after he awoke that he felt the oppression Dryden describes; for it +is stated, that when he awoke he had no distinct recollection of +his dream, but only a confused feeling of oppression and fatigue, +and used to tell his companions that he was sure they had been +playing some trick upon him.</p> +<p>W.A.R.</p> +<p>P.S. This is a sleepy article; and I would warn its reader to +endeavour not to fall asleep over it, and thus endanger his falling +over his chair; and lest some familiar friend or <em>chere +amie</em> should, finding his instructions in his hand, take the +opportunity of making the experiment, and may be create a little +jealous quarrel or so.</p> +<hr /> +<h3>SONNET TO THE RIVER ARUN.</h3> +<h4>(<em>For the Mirror</em>.)</h4> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Pure Stream! whose waters gently glide along,</p> +<p>In murmuring cadence to the Poet’s ear,</p> +<p>Who, stretch’d at ease your flowery banks among,</p> +<p>Views with delight your glassy surface clear,</p> +<p>Roll pleasing on through Otways sainted wood;</p> +<p>Where “musing Pity” still delights to mourn,</p> +<p>And kiss the spot where oft her votary stood,</p> +<p>Or hang fresh cypress o’er his weeping urn;—</p> +<p>Here, too, retir’d from Folly’s scenes afar,</p> +<p>His powerful shell first studious Collins strung;</p> +<p>Whilst Fancy, seated in her rainbow car,</p> +<p>Round him her flowers Parnassian wildly flung.</p> +<p>Stream of the Bards! oft Hayley linger’d here;</p> +<p>And Charlotte Smith<a id="footnotetag1" name= +"footnotetag1"></a><a href="#footnote1"><sup>1</sup></a> hath +grac’d thy current with a tear.</p> +</div> +<p><em>The Author of “A Tradesman’s Lays.” No. +85, Leather Lane.</em></p> +</div> +<hr class="full" /> +<h2>RETROSPECTIVE GLEANINGS.</h2> +<hr /> +<h3>ANCIENT BLACK BOOKS, &c.</h3> +<h4>(<em>For the Mirror</em>.)</h4> +<p>The Black Book of the Exchequer is said to have been composed in +the year 1175, by Gervase of Tilbury, nephew of King Henry the +Second. It contains a description of the court of England, as it +then stood, its officers, their ranks, privileges, wages, +perquisites, powers, and jurisdictions; and the revenues of the +crown, both in money, grain, and cattle. Here we find, that for one +shilling, as much bread might be bought as would serve a hundred +men a whole day; and the price for a fat bullock was only twelve +shillings, and a sheep four, &c. At the end of this book are +the Annals of William of Worcester, which contain notes on the +affairs of his own times.</p> +<p>The Black Book of the English Monasteries was a detail of the +scandalous enormities practised in religious houses: compiled by +order of the visiters, under King Henry the Eighth, to blacken +them, and thus hasten their dissolution.</p> +<p>Books which relate to necromancy are called Black Books.</p> +<p>Black-rent, or Black-mail, was a certain rate of money, corn, +cattle, or other consideration, paid (says Cowell) to men allied +with robbers, to be by them protected from the danger of such as +usually rob or steal.</p> +<p>P.T.W.</p> +<hr /> +<h3>ANCIENT STATE OF PANCRAS.</h3> +<h4>(<em>For the Mirror</em>.)</h4> +<p>Brewer, in his “London and Middlesex,” +says—“When a visitation of the church of Pancras was +made, in the year 1251, there were only forty houses in the +parish.” The desolate situation of the village, in the latter +part of the 16th century, is emphatically described by Norden, in +his “Speculum Britanniæ.” After noticing the +solitary condition of the church, he says—“Yet about +the structure have bin manie buildings, now decaied, leaving poore +Pancrast without companie or comfort.” In some manuscript +additions to his work, the same writer has the following +observations:—“Although this place be, as it were, +forsaken of all, and true men seldom frequent the same, but upon +deveyne occasions, yet it is visayed by thieves, who assemble not +there to pray, but to waite for prayer; and many fall into their +handes, clothed, that are glad when they are escaped naked. Walk +not there too late.”</p> +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page228" name="page228"></a>[pg +228]</span> +<p>Pancras is said to have been a parish before the Conquest, and +is mentioned in Domesday Book. It derived its name from the saint +to whom the church is dedicated—a youthful Phrygian nobleman, +who suffered death under the Emperor Dioclesian, for his adherence +to the Christian faith.</p> +<p>P.T.W.</p> +<hr /> +<h3>SALT AMONG THE ANCIENT GREEKS.</h3> +<h4>(<em>For the Mirror</em>.)</h4> +<p>Potter, in his “Antiquities of Greece,” +says—“Salt was commonly set before strangers, before +they tasted the victuals provided for them; whereby was intimated, +that as salt does consist of aqueous and terrene particles, mixed +and united together, or as it is a concrete of several aqueous +parts, so the stranger and the person by whom he was entertained +should, from the time of their tasting salt together, maintain a +constant union of love and friendship.”</p> +<p>Others tell us, that salt being apt to preserve flesh from +corruption, signified, that the friendship which was then begun +should be firm and lasting; and some, to mention no more different +opinions concerning this matter, think, that a regard was had to +the purifying quality of salt, which was commonly used in +lustrations, and that it intimated that friendship ought to be free +from all design and artifice, jealousy and suspicion.</p> +<p>It may be, the ground of this custom was only this, that salt +was constantly used at all entertainments, both of the gods and +men, whence a particular sanctity was believed to be lodged in it: +it is hence called divine salt by Homer, and holy salt by others; +and by placing of salt on the table, a sort of blessing was thought +to be conveyed to them. To have eaten at the same table was +esteemed an inviolable obligation to friendship; and to transgress +the salt at the table—that is, to break the laws of +hospitality, and to injure one by whom any person had been +entertained—was accounted one of the blackest crimes: hence +that exaggerating interrogation of Demosthenes, “Where is the +salt? where the hospital tables?” for in despite of these, he +had been the author of these troubles. And the crime of Paris in +stealing Helena is aggravated by Cassandra, upon this +consideration, that he had contemned the salt, and overturned the +hospital table.</p> +<p>P.T.W.</p> +<hr class="full" /> +<h2>THE NOVELIST.</h2> +<hr /> +<h3>THE GAMESTER’S DAUGHTER.</h3> +<h4><em>From the Confessions of an Ambitious Student</em>.</h4> +<p>A fit, one bright spring morning, came over me—a fit of +poetry. From that time the disorder increased, for I indulged it; +and though such of my performances as have been seen by friendly +eyes have been looked upon as mediocre enough, I still believe, +that if ever I could win a lasting reputation, it would be through +that channel. Love usually accompanies poetry, and, in my case, +there was no exception to the rule.</p> +<p>“There was a slender, but pleasant brook, about two miles +from our house, to which one or two of us were accustomed, in the +summer days, to repair to bathe and saunter away our leisure hours. +To this favourite spot I one day went alone, and crossing a field +which led to the brook, I encountered two ladies, with one of whom, +having met her at some house in the neighbourhood, I had a slight +acquaintance. We stopped to speak to each other, and I saw the face +of her companion. Alas! were I to live ten thousand lives, there +would never be a moment in which I could be alone—nor +sleeping, and that face not with me!</p> +<p>“My acquaintance introduced us to each other. I walked +home with them to the house of Miss D——(so was the +strange, who was also the younger lady named.) The next day I +called upon her; the acquaintance thus commenced did not droop; +and, notwithstanding our youth—for Lucy D—— was +only seventeen, and I nearly a year younger—we soon loved, +and with a love, which, full of poesy and dreaming, as from our age +it necessarily must have been, was not less durable, nor less +heart-felt, than if it had arisen from the deeper and more earthly +sources in which later life only hoards its affections.</p> +<p>“Oh, God! how little did I think of what our young folly +entailed upon us! We delivered ourselves up to the dictates of our +hearts, and forgot that there was a future. Neither of us had any +ulterior design; we did not think—poor children that we +were—of marriage, and settlements, and consent of relations. +We touched each other’s hands, and were happy; we read poetry +together—and when we lifted up our eyes from the page, those +eyes met, and we did not know why our hearts beat so violently; and +at length, when we spake of love, <span class="pagenum"><a id= +"page229" name="page229"></a>[pg 229]</span>and when we called each +other Lucy and ——; when we described all that we had +thought in absence—and all we had felt when +present—when we sat with our hands locked each in +each—and at last, growing bolder, when in the still and quiet +loneliness of a summer twilight we exchanged our first kiss, we did +not dream that the world forbade what seemed to us so natural; +nor—feeling in our own hearts the impossibility of +change—did we ever ask whether this sweet and mystic state of +existence was to last for ever!</p> +<p>“Lucy was an only child; her father was a man of wretched +character. A profligate, a gambler—ruined alike in fortune, +hope, and reputation, he was yet her only guardian and protector. +The village in which we both resided was near London; there Mr. +D—— had a small cottage, where he left his daughter and +his slender establishment for days, and sometimes for weeks +together, while he was engaged in equivocal +speculations—giving no address, and engaged in no +professional mode of life. Lucy’s mother had died long since, +of a broken heart—(that fate, too, was afterwards her +daughter’s)—so that this poor girl was literally +without a monitor or a friend, save her own innocence—and, +alas! innocence is but a poor substitute for experience. The lady +with whom I had met her had known her mother, and she felt +compassion for the child. She saw her constantly, and sometimes +took her to her own house, whenever she was in the neighbourhood; +but that was not often, and only for a few days at a time. Her +excepted, Lucy had no female friend.</p> +<p>“One evening we were to meet at a sequestered and lonely +part of the brook’s course, a spot which was our usual +rendezvous. I waited considerably beyond the time appointed, and +was just going sorrowfully away when she appeared. As she +approached, I saw that she was in tears—and she could not for +several moments speak for weeping. At length I learned that her +father had just returned home, after a long absence—that he +had announced his intention of immediately quitting their present +home and going to a distant part of the country, or—perhaps +even abroad.</p> +<hr /> +<p>“It is an odd thing in the history of the human heart, +that the times most sad to experience are often the most grateful +to recall; and of all the passages in our brief and checkered love, +none have I clung to so fondly or cherished so tenderly, as the +remembrance of that desolate and tearful hour. We walked slowly +home, speaking very little, and lingering on the way—and my +arm was round her waist all the time. There was a little stile at +the entrance of the garden round Lucy’s home, and sheltered +as it was by trees and bushes, it was there, whenever we met, we +took our last adieu—and there that evening we stopped, and +lingered over our parting words and our parting kiss—and at +length, when I tore myself away, I looked back and saw her in the +sad and grey light of the evening still there, still watching, +still weeping! What, what hours of anguish and gnawing of heart +must one, who loved so kindly and so entirely as she did, have +afterwards endured.</p> +<p>“As I lay awake that night, a project, natural enough, +darted across me. I would seek Lucy’s father, communicate our +attachment, and sue for his approbation. We might, indeed, be too +young for marriage—but we could wait, and love each other in +the meanwhile. I lost no time in following up this resolution. The +next day, before noon, I was at the door of Lucy’s +cottage—I was in the little chamber that faced the garden, +alone with her father.</p> +<p>“A boy forms strange notions of a man who is considered a +scoundrel. I was prepared to see one of fierce and sullen +appearance, and to meet with a rude and coarse reception. I found +in Mr. D—— a person who early accustomed—(for he +was of high birth)—to polished society, still preserved, in +his manner and appearance, its best characteristics. His voice was +soft and bland; his face, though haggard and worn, retained the +traces of early beauty; and a courteous and attentive ease of +deportment had been probably improved by the habits of deceiving +others, rather than impaired. I told our story to this man, frankly +and fully. When I had done, he rose; he took me by the hand; he +expressed some regret, yet some satisfaction, at what he had heard. +He was sensible how much peculiar circumstances had obliged him to +leave his daughter unprotected; he was sensible, also, that from my +birth and future fortunes, my affection did honour to the object of +my choice. Nothing would have made him so happy, so proud, had I +been older—had I been my own master. But I and he, alas! must +be aware that my friends and guardians would never consent to my +forming any engagement at so premature an age, and they and the +world would impute the <span class="pagenum"><a id="page230" name= +"page230"></a>[pg 230]</span>blame to him; for calumny (he added in +a melancholy tone) had been busy with his name, and any story, +however false or idle, would be believed of one who was out of the +world’s affections.</p> +<p>“All this, and much more, did he say; and I pitied him +while he spoke. Our conference then ended in nothing +fixed;—but—he asked me to dine with him the next day. +In a word, while he forbade me at present to recur to the subject, +he allowed me to see his daughter as often as I pleased: this +lasted for about ten days. At the end of that time, when I made my +usual morning visit, I saw D—— alone; he appeared much +agitated. He was about, he said, to be arrested. He was undone for +ever—and his poor daughter!—he could say no +more—his manly heart was overcome—and he hid his face +with his hands. I attempted to console him, and inquired the sum +necessary to relieve him. It was considerable; and on hearing it +named, my power of consolation I deemed over at once. I was +mistaken. But why dwell on so hacknied a topic as that of a sharper +on the one hand, and a dupe on the other? I saw a gentleman of the +tribe of Israel—I raised a sum of money, to be repaid when I +came of age, and that sum was placed in D——‘s +hands. My intercourse with Lucy continued; but not long. This +matter came to the ears of one who had succeeded my poor aunt, now +no more, as my guardian. He saw D——, and threatened him +with penalties, which the sharper did not dare to brave. My +guardian was a man of the world; he said nothing to me on the +subject, but he begged me to accompany him on a short tour through +a neighbouring county. I took leave of Lucy only for a few days as +I imagined. I accompanied my guardian—was a week +absent—returned—and hastened to the cottage; it was +shut up—an old woman opened the door—they were gone, +father and daughter, none knew whither!</p> +<p>“It was now that my guardian disclosed his share in this +event, so terribly unexpected by me. He unfolded the arts of +D——; he held up his character in its true light. I +listened to him patiently, while he proceeded thus far; but when, +encouraged by my silence, he attempted to insinuate that Lucy was +implicated in her father’s artifices—that she had lent +herself to decoy, to the mutual advantage of sire and daughter, the +inexperienced heir of considerable fortunes,—my rage and +indignation exploded at once. High words ensued. I defied his +authority—I laughed at his menaces—I openly declared my +resolution of tracing Lucy to the end of the world, and marrying +her the instant she was found. Whether or not that my guardian had +penetrated sufficiently into my character to see that force was not +the means by which I was to be guided, I cannot say; but he +softened from his tone at last—apologized for his +warmth—condescended to soothe and remonstrate—and our +dispute ended in a compromise. I consented to leave Mr. +S——, and to spend the next year, preparatory to my +going to the university, with my guardian: he promised, on the +other hand, that if, at the end of that year, I still wished to +discover Lucy, he would throw no obstacles in the way of my search. +I was ill-contented with this compact; but I was induced to it by +my firm persuasion that Lucy would write to me, and that we should +console each other, at least, by a knowledge of our mutual +situation and our mutual constancy. In this persuasion, I insisted +on remaining six weeks longer with S——, and gained my +point; and that any letter Lucy might write, might not be exposed +to any officious intervention from S——, or my +guardian’s satellites, I walked every day to meet the postman +who was accustomed to bring our letters. None came from Lucy. +Afterwards, I learned that D——, whom my guardian had +wisely bought, as well as intimidated, had intercepted three +letters which she had addressed to me, in her unsuspecting +confidence—and that she only ceased to write when she ceased +to believe in me.</p> +<p>“I went to reside with my guardian. A man of a hospitable +and liberal turn, his house was always full of guests, who were +culled from the most agreeable circles in London. We lived in a +perpetual round of amusement; and my uncle, who thought I should be +rich enough to afford to be ignorant, was more anxious that I +should divert my mind, than instruct it. Well, this year passed +slowly and sadly away, despite of the gaiety around me; and, at the +end of that time, I left my uncle to go to the university; but I +first lingered in London to make inquiries after D——. I +could learn no certain tidings of him, but heard that the most +probable place to find him was a certain gaming-house in +K—— Street. Thither I repaired forthwith. It was a +haunt of no delicate and luxurious order of vice; the chain +attached to the threshold indicated suspicion of the spies of +justice; and a grim and sullen face peered jealously upon me before +I was suffered to ascend <span class="pagenum"><a id="page231" +name="page231"></a>[pg 231]</span>the filthy and noisome staircase. +But my search was destined to a brief end. At the head of the +<em>Rouge et Noir</em> table, facing my eyes the moment I entered +the evil chamber, was the marked and working countenance of +D——.</p> +<p>“He did not look up—no, not once, all the time he +played; he won largely—rose with a flushed face and trembling +hand—descended the stairs—stopped in a room below, +where a table was spread with meats and wine—took a large +tumbler of Madeira, and left the house. I had waited +patiently—I had followed him with a noiseless step—I +now drew my breath hard, clenched my hands, as if to nerve myself +for a contest—and as he paused a moment under one of the +lamps, seemingly in doubt whither to go—I laid my hand on his +shoulder, and uttered his name. His eyes wandered with a leaden and +dull gaze over my face before he remembered me. <em>Then</em> he +recovered his usual bland smile and soft tone. He grasped my +unwilling hand, and inquired with the tenderness of a parent after +my health. I did not heed his words. ‘Your daughter,’ +said I, convulsively.</p> +<p>“‘Ah! you were old friends,’ quoth he, +smiling; ‘you have recovered that folly, I hope. Poor thing! +she will be happy to see an old friend. You know of +course—</p> +<p>“‘What?’ for he hesitated.</p> +<p>“‘That Lucy is married!’</p> +<p>“‘Married!’ and as that word left my lips, it +seemed as if my very life, my very soul, had gushed forth also in +the sound. When—oh! when, in the night-watch and the daily +yearning, when, whatever might have been my grief or wretchedness, +or despondency, when had I dreamt, when imaged forth even the +outline of a doom like this? Married! my Lucy, my fond, my +constant, my pure-hearted, and tender Lucy! Suddenly, all the +chilled and revolted energies of my passions seemed to re-act, and +rush back upon me. I seized that smiling and hollow wretch with a +fierce grasp. ‘You have done this—you have broken her +heart—you have crushed mine! I curse you in her name and my +own!—I curse you from the bottom and with all the venom of my +soul!—Wretch! wretch! and he was as a reed in my +hands.’</p> +<p>“‘Madman,’ said he, as at last he extricated +himself from my gripe, ‘my daughter married with her free +consent, and to one far better fitted to make her happy than you. +Go, go—I forgive you—I also was once in love, and with +<em>her</em> mother!’</p> +<p>“I did not answer—I let him depart.</p> +<p>“It was a little while after this interview—but I +mention it now, for there is no importance in the quarter from +which I heard it—that I learned some few particulars of +Lucy’s marriage. There was, and still is, in the +world’s gossip, a strange story of a rich, foolish man, awed +as well as gulled by a sharper, and of a girl torn to a church with +a violence so evident that the priest refused the ceremony. But the +rite was afterwards solemnized by special license, in private, and +at night. The pith of that story has truth, and Lucy was at once +the heroine and victim of the romance. Now, then, I turn to +somewhat a different strain in my narrative.</p> +<p>“You, A——, who know so well the habits of a +university <em>life</em>, need not be told how singularly +monotonous and contemplative it may be made to a lonely man. The +first year I was there, I mixed, as you may remember, in none of +the many circles into which that curious and motley society is +split. My only recreation was in long and companionless rides; and +in the flat and dreary country around our university, the cheerless +aspect of nature fed the idle melancholy at my heart. In the second +year of my college life, I roused myself a little from my +seclusion, and rather by accident than design—you will +remember that my acquaintance was formed among the men considered +most able and promising of our time. In the summer of that year, I +resolved to make a bold effort to harden my mind and conquer its +fastidious reserve; and I set out to travel over the North of +England, and the greater part of Scotland, in the humble character +of a pedestrian tourist. Nothing ever did my character more solid +good than that experiment. I was thrown among a thousand varieties +of character; I was continually forced into bustle and action, and +into <em>providing for myself</em>—that great and indelible +lesson towards permanent independence of character.</p> +<p>“One evening, in an obscure part of Cumberland, I was +seeking a short cut to a neighbouring village through a +gentleman’s grounds, in which there was a public path. Just +within sight of the house (which was an old, desolate building, in +the architecture of James the First, with gable-ends and dingy +walls, and deep-sunk, gloomy windows,) I perceived two ladies at a +little distance before me; one seemed in weak and delicate health, +for she walked slowly and with pain, and stopped often as she +leaned on her companion. I <span class="pagenum"><a id="page232" +name="page232"></a>[pg 232]</span>lingered behind, in order not to +pass them abruptly; presently, they turned away towards the house, +and I saw them no more. Yet that frail and bending form, as I too +soon afterwards learned—that form, which I did not +recognise—which, by a sort of fatality, I saw only in a +glimpse, and yet for the last time on earth,—that +form—was the wreck of Lucy D——!</p> +<p>“Unconscious of this event in my destiny, I left that +neighbourhood, and settled for some weeks on the borders of the +Lake Keswick. There, one evening, a letter, re-directed to me from +London, reached me. The hand-writing was that of Lucy; but the +trembling and slurred characters, so different from that graceful +ease which was wont to characterize all she did, filled me, even at +the first glance, with alarm. This is the letter—read +it—you will know, then, what I have lost:—</p> +<p>“‘I write to you, my dear, my unforgotten +——, the last letter this hand will ever trace. Till +now, it would have been a crime to write to you; perhaps it is so +still—but dying as I am, and divorced from all earthly +thoughts and remembrances, save yours, I feel that I cannot quite +collect my mind for the last hour until I have given you the +blessing of one whom you loved once; and when that blessing is +given, I think I can turn away from your image, and sever willingly +the last tie that binds me to earth. I will not afflict you by +saying what I have suffered since we parted—with what anguish +I thought of what <em>you</em> would feel when you found me +gone—and with what cruel, what fearful violence, I was forced +into becoming the wretch I now am. I was hurried, I was driven, +into a dreadful and bitter duty—but I thank God that I have +fulfilled it. What, what have I done, to have been made so +miserable throughout life as I have been! I ask my heart, and tax +my conscience—and every night I think over the sins of the +day; they do not seem to me heavy, yet my penance has been very +great. For the last two years, I do sincerely think that there has +not been one day which I have not marked with tears. But enough of +this, and of myself. You, dear, dear L——, let me turn +to you! Something at my heart tells me that you have not forgotten +that once we were the world to each other, and even through the +changes and the glories of a man’s life, I think you will not +forget it. True, L——, that I was a poor and friendless, +and not too-well educated girl, and altogether unworthy of your +destiny; but you did not think so then—and when you have lost +me, it is a sad, but it is a real comfort, to feel that that +thought will never occur to you. Your memory will invest me with a +thousand attractions and graces I did not possess, and all that you +recall of me will be linked with the freshest and happiest thoughts +of that period of life in which you first beheld me. And this +thought, dearest L——, sweetens death to me—and +sometimes it comforts me for what has been. Had our lot been +otherwise—had we been united, and had you survived your love +for me (and what more probable!) my lot would have been darker even +than it has been. I know not how it is—perhaps from my +approaching death—but I seem to have grown old, and to have +obtained the right to be your monitor and warner. Forgive me, then, +if I implore you to think earnestly and deeply of the great ends of +life; think of them as one might think who is anxious to gain a +distant home, and who will not be diverted from his way. Oh! could +you know how solemn and thrilling a joy comes over me as I nurse +the belief, the certainty, that we shall meet at length, and for +ever! Will not that hope also animate you, and guide you unerring +through the danger and the evil of this entangled life?</p> +<p>“May God bless you, and watch over you—may He +comfort and cheer, and elevate your heart to him! Before you +receive this, <em>I</em> shall be no more—and my love, my +care for you will, I trust and feel, have become +eternal.—Farewell:</p> +<p>‘L.M.’</p> +<p>“The letter,” continued L——, struggling +with his emotions, “was dated from that village through which +I had so lately passed; thither I repaired that very +night—Lucy had been buried the day before! I stood upon a +green mound, and a few, few feet below, separated from me by a +scanty portion of earth, mouldered that heart which had loved me so +faithfully and so well!”</p> +<p><em>New Monthly Magazine</em>.</p> +<hr /> +<p>A Jew said to the venerable Ali, in argument on the truth of +their religion, “You had not even deposited your +prophet’s body in the earth, when you quarrelled among +yourselves.” Ali replied, “Our divisions proceeded from +the loss of him, not concerning our faith; but your feet were not +yet dry from the mud of the Red Sea, when you cried unto Moses, +saying, ‘Make us gods like unto those of the idolaters, that +we may worship them.’” The Jew was confounded.</p> +<p>W.G.C.</p> +<hr class="full" /> +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page233" name="page233"></a>[pg +233]</span> +<h2>KILCOLMAN CASTLE,<br /> +THE RESIDENCE OF THE POET SPENCER.</h2> +<div class="figure"><a href="images/483-2.png"><img width="100%" +src="images/483-2.png" alt= +"Kilcolman Castle, The Residence of the Poet Spencer." /></a></div> +<p>Few of the original houses of Genius<a id="footnotetag2" name= +"footnotetag2"></a><a href="#footnote2"><sup>2</sup></a> will +excite more interest than the above relic of SPENCER. It is copied +from a lithographic drawing in Mr. T. Crofton Croker’s +“Researches in the South of Ireland,” where it is so +well described, that we can spare but few lines in our abridgement +of the passage:—</p> +<p>Kilcolman Castle is distant three English miles from Doneraile, +and is seated in as unpicturesque a spot as at present could have +been selected. Many of the delightful and visionary anticipations I +had indulged, from the pleasure of visiting the place where the +Fairy Queen had been composed, were at an end on beholding the +monotonous reality of the country. Corn fields, divided from +pasturage by numerous intersecting hedges, constituted almost the +only variety of feature for a considerable extent around; and the +mountains bounding the prospect partook even in a greater degree of +the same want of variety in their forms. The ruin itself stands on +a little rocky eminence. Spreading before it lies a tract of flat +and swampy ground, through which, we were informed, the +“River Bregog hight” had its course; and though in +winter, when swollen by mountain torrents, a deep and rapid stream, +its channel at present was completely dried up.</p> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>“Sometimes, misguided by the tuneful throng,</p> +<p>I look for streams immortalized in song,</p> +<p>That lost in silence and oblivion lie;</p> +<p>Dumb are their fountains, and their channels dry.”</p> +</div> +</div> +<p>Judging from what remains, the original form of Kilcolman was an +oblong square, flanked by a tower at the south-east corner. The +apartment in the basement story has still its stone arched roof +entire, and is used as a shelter for cattle; the narrow, screw-like +stairs of the tower are nearly perfect, and lead to an extremely +small chamber, which we found in a state of complete +desolation.</p> +<p>Kilcolman was granted by Queen Elizabeth, on the 27th June, +1586, to Spencer (who went into Ireland as secretary to Lord Grey), +with 3,028 acres of land, at the rent of 17l. 3s. 6d.; on the same +conditions with the other undertakers (as they were termed) between +whom the forfeited Desmond estate was divided. These conditions +implied a residence on the ground, and their chief object seems to +have been the peopling Munster with English families: a favourite +project of Elizabeth’s for strengthening the English +influence in Ireland, by creating the tie of consanguinity between +the two countries.</p> +<p>It is supposed that this castle was the principal residence of +Spencer for about ten years, during which time he composed the +works that have chiefly contributed to his fame. But the turbulent +and indignant spirit of the Irish regarded not the haunts of the +muse as sacred, and wrapped the poet’s dwelling in +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page234" name="page234"></a>[pg +234]</span>flames. An infant child of Spencer’s, together +with his most valuable property, were consumed, and he returned +into England;—where, dejected, and broken-hearted, he died +soon after, at an inn in King-street, Westminster.</p> +<p>“It does not appear what became of Spencer’s wife +and children. Two sons are said to have survived him, Sylvanus and +Peregrine; Sylvanus married Ellen Nangle or Nagle, eldest daughter +of David Nangle of Moneanymy, in the county of Cork, by whom he had +two sons, Edmund and William Spencer. His other son, Peregrine, +also married, and had a son Hugolin, who, after the restoration of +Charles II. was replaced by the Court of Claims in as much of the +lands as could be found to have been his ancestor’s. Hugolin +attached himself to the cause of James II. and after the +revolution, was outlawed for treason and rebellion. Some time after +his cousin William, son of Sylvanus, became a suitor for the +forfeited property, and recovered it by the interest of Mr. +Montague, afterwards Earl of Halifax, who was then at the head of +the treasury. He had been introduced to Mr. Montague by Congreve, +who with others was desirous of honouring the descendant of so +great a poet. Dr. Birch describes him as a man somewhat advanced in +years, but unable to give any account of the works of his ancestor +which are wanting. The family has been since very imperfectly +traced.”—<em>Chalmers’s Biog. Dic.</em></p> +<p>The visits of Sir Walter Raleigh to Spencer at Kilcolman +increase the interest attached to the place, and are not in the +slightest degree questionable.<a id="footnotetag3" name= +"footnotetag3"></a><a href="#footnote3"><sup>3</sup></a> To the +advice of Raleigh the publication of the first books of the Fairy +Queen has been ascribed; and the existence of a poetical +intercourse between such minds, and in such distracting scenes, is +a delightful recollection that almost warms the heart into +romance.</p> +<p>Amongst the literary pilgrims whose veneration for Spencer has +prompted them to examine Kilcolman was the celebrated Edmund Burke; +nor should the imprudent and enthusiastic Trotter be forgotten; the +account given by him of his visits, in 1817, are very pleasing, +though highly tinged with that fanaticism to which he ultimately +became a victim.</p> +<hr class="full" /> +<h2>THE SELECTOR; AND LITERARY NOTICES OF NEW WORKS.</h2> +<hr /> +<h3>CROTCHET CASTLE.</h3> +<p>The author of <em>Headlong Hall</em> has, under the above title, +produced as lively a little volume of humour and pleasantry as it +has lately been our good fortune to meet with. Every page, nay, +every line is a satire upon the extravagance and precocity of what +Vivian Grey calls our “artificial state;” and all the +weak sides of our age are mercilessly dealt with by the +<em>coterie</em> at Crotchet Castle. The book is altogether +<em>Shandean</em>, and the satire <em>shandied</em> to and fro with +great vivacity. We need not tell the reader what period or event of +the last seven years is pointed to in the following extract. Mr. +Touchandgo, it appears, was a great banker, who was “suddenly +reported absent one foggy morning, with the contents of his +till;” his daughter was to have been married to Mr. Crotchet +but for this untoward event. Here are two of the father’s +letters from his new settlement, and a reply:—</p> +<p>Dotandcarryonetown. State of Apodidraskiana, April 1, +18—.</p> +<p>My dear Child,—I am anxious to learn what are your present +position, intention, and prospects. The fairies who dropped gold in +your shoe, on the morning when I ceased to be a respectable man in +London, will soon find a talismanic channel for transmitting you a +stocking full of dollars, which will fit the shoe, as well as the +foot of Cinderella fitted her slipper. I am happy to say, I am +again become a respectable man. It was always my ambition to be a +respectable man, and I am a very respectable man here, in this new +township of a new state, where I have purchased five thousand acres +of land, at two dollars an acre, hard cash, and established a very +flourishing bank. The notes of Touchandgo and Company, soft cash, +are now the exclusive currency of all this vicinity. This is the +land, in which all men flourish; but there are three classes of men +who flourish especially, methodist preachers, slave-drivers, and +paper-money manufacturers; and as one of the latter, I have just +painted the word BANK, on a fine slab of maple, which was green and +growing when I arrived, and have discounted for the settlers, in my +own currency, sundry bills, which are to be paid when the proceeds +of the crop they have just sown shall return from New Orleans; so +that my <span class="pagenum"><a id="page235" name= +"page235"></a>[pg 235]</span>notes are the representatives of +vegetation that is to be, and I am accordingly a capitalist of the +first magnitude. The people here know very well that I ran away +from London; but the most of them have run away from some place or +other; and they have a great respect for me, because they think I +ran away with something worth taking, which few of them had the +luck or the wit to do. This gives them confidence in my resources, +at the same time that, as there is nothing portable in the +settlement except my own notes, they have no fear that I shall run +away with them. They know I am thoroughly conversant with the +principles of banking; and as they have plenty of industry, no lack +of sharpness, and abundance of land, they wanted nothing but +capital to organize a flourishing settlement; and this capital I +have manufactured to the extent required, at the expense of a small +importation of pens, ink, and paper, and two or three inimitable +copperplates. I have abundance here of all good things, a good +conscience included; for I really cannot see that I have done any +wrong. This was my position: I owed half a million of money; and I +had a trifle in my pocket. It was clear that this trifle could +never find its way to the right owner. The question was, whether I +should keep it, and live like a gentleman; or hand it over to +lawyers and commissioners of bankruptcy, and die like a dog on a +dunghill. If I could have thought that the said lawyers, &c. +had a better title to it than myself, I might have hesitated; but, +as such title was not apparent to my satisfaction, I decided the +question in my own favour; the right owners, as I have already +said, being out of the question altogether. I have always taken +scientific views of morals and politics, a habit from which I +derive much comfort under existing circumstances.</p> +<p>I hope you adhere to your music, though I cannot hope again to +accompany your harp with my flute. My last <em>andante</em> +movement was too <em>forte</em> for those whom it took by surprise. +Let not your <em>allegro vivace</em> be damped by young +Crotchet’s desertion, which, though I have not heard it, I +take for granted. He is, like myself, a scientific politician, and +has an eye as keen as a needle, to his own interest. He has had +good luck so far, and is gorgeous in the spoils of many gulls; but +I think the Polar Basin and Walrus Company will be too much for him +yet. There has been a splendid outlay on credit, and he is the only +man, of the original parties concerned, of whom his Majesty’s +sheriffs could give any account.</p> +<p>I will not ask you to come here. There is no husband for you. +The men smoke, drink, and fight, and break more of their own heads +than of girls’ hearts. Those among them who are musical sing +nothing but psalms. They are excellent fellows in their way, but +you would not like them.</p> +<p><em>Au reste</em>, here are no rents, no taxes, no poor-rates, +no tithes, no church establishment, no routs, no clubs, no rotten +boroughs, no operas, no concerts, no theatres, no beggars, no +thieves, no kings, no lords, no ladies, and only one gentleman, +videlicit your loving father,</p> +<p>TIMOTHY TOUCHANDGO.</p> +<p>P.S. I send you one of my notes; I can afford to part with it. +If you are accused of receiving money from me, you may pay it over +to my assignees. Robthetill continues to be my factotum; I say no +more of him in this place; he will give you an account of +himself.</p> +<p>Dotandcarryonetown, &c.</p> +<p>Dear Miss,—Mr. Touchandgo will have told you of our +arrival here, of our setting up a bank, and so forth. We came here +in a tilted wagon, which served us for parlour, kitchen, and all. +We soon got up a log-house; and, unluckily, we as soon got it down +again, for the first fire we made in it burned down house and all. +However, our second experiment was more fortunate; and we are +pretty well lodged in a house of three rooms on a floor—I +should say the floor, for there is but one.</p> +<p>This new state is free to hold slaves; all the new states have +not this privilege. Mr. Touchandgo has bought some, and they are +building him a villa. Mr. Touchandgo is in a thriving way, but he +is not happy here: he longs for parties and concerts, and a seat in +Congress. He thinks it very hard that he cannot buy one with his +own coinage, as he used to do in England. Besides, he is afraid of +the Regulators, who, if they do not like a man’s character, +wait upon him and flog him, doubling the dose at stated intervals, +till he takes himself off. He does not like this system of +administering justice: though I think he has nothing to fear from +it. He has the character of having money, which is the best of all +characters here, as at home. He lets his old English prejudices +influence his opinions of his new neighbours; but I assure you they +have many virtues. Though they do keep slaves, they are all ready +to fight for their own liberty; and I should not like to be an +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page236" name="page236"></a>[pg +236]</span>enemy within reach of one of their rifles. When I say +enemy, I include bailiff in the term. One was shot not long ago. +There was a trial; the jury gave two dollars damages; the judge +said they must find guilty or not guilty, but the counsel for the +defendant (they would not call him prisoner) offered to fight the +judge upon the point; and as this was said literally, not +metaphorically, and the counsel was a stout fellow, the judge gave +in. The two dollars damages were not paid after all; for the +defendant challenged the foreman to box for double or quits, and +the foreman was beaten. The folks in New York made a great outcry +about it, but here it was considered all as it should be. So you +see, Miss, justice, liberty, and every thing else of that kind, are +different in different places, just as suits the convenience of +those who have the sword in their own hands. Hoping to hear of your +health and happiness, I remain,</p> +<p>Dear Miss, your dutiful servant,</p> +<p>RODERICK ROBTHETILL.</p> +<p>Miss Touchandgo replied as follows, to the first of these +letters:—</p> +<p>My dear Father,—I am sure you have the best of hearts, and +I have no doubt you have acted with the best intentions. My lover, +or I should rather say, my fortune’s lover, has indeed +forsaken me. I cannot say I did not feel it; indeed, I cried very +much; and the altered looks of people who used to be so delighted +to see me, really annoyed me so, that I determined to change the +scene altogether. I have come into Wales, and am boarding with a +farmer and his wife. Their stock of English is very small; but I +managed to agree with them; and they have four of the sweetest +children I ever saw, to whom I teach all I know, and I manage to +pick up some Welsh. I have puzzled out a little song, which I think +very pretty; I have translated it into English, and I send it to +you, with the original air. You shall play it on your flute at +eight o’clock every Saturday evening, and I will play and +sing it at the same time, and I will fancy that I hear my dear papa +accompanying me.</p> +<p>The people in London said very unkind things of you: they hurt +me very much at the time; but now I am out of their way, I do not +seem to think their opinion of much consequence. I am sure, when I +recollect, at leisure, everything I have seen and heard among them, +I cannot make out what they do that is so virtuous, as to set them +up for judges of morals. And I am sure they never speak the truth +about any thing, and there is no sincerity in either their love or +their friendship. An old Welsh bard here, who wears a waistcoat +embroidered with leeks, and is called the Green Bard of Cadair +Idris, says the Scotch would be the best people in the world, if +there was nobody but themselves to give them a character: and so I +think would the Londoners. I hate the very thought of them, for I +do believe they would have broken my heart, if I had not gone out +of their way. Now I shall write you another letter very soon, and +describe to you the country, and the people, and the children, and +how I amuse myself, and every thing that I think you will like to +hear about; and when I seal this letter, I shall drop a kiss on the +cover.</p> +<p>Your loving daughter,</p> +<p>SUSANNAH TOUCHANDGO.</p> +<p>P.S. Tell Mr. Robthetill I will write to him in a day or two. +This is the little song I spoke of:</p> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Beyond the sea, beyond the sea,</p> +<p>My heart is gone, far, far from me;</p> +<p>And ever on its track will flee,</p> +<p>My thoughts, my dreams, beyond the sea.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Beyond the sea, beyond the sea,</p> +<p>The swallow wanders fast and free:</p> +<p>Oh! happy bird, were I like thee,</p> +<p>I, too, would fly beyond the sea.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Beyond the sea, beyond the sea,</p> +<p>Are kindly hearts and social glee;</p> +<p>But here for me they may not be:</p> +<p>My heart is gone beyond the sea.</p> +</div> +</div> +<hr class="full" /> +<h2>SPIRIT OF THE PUBLIC JOURNALS.</h2> +<hr /> +<h3>THE AUTOCRAT’S PRAYER.</h3> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Europe! hear the voice that rose</p> +<p>From the chief of Freedom’s foes—</p> +<p>When he bade war’s thunders roll</p> +<p>O’er the country of the Pole—</p> +<p>To his Cossacks on parade</p> +<p>Thus the Calmuck robber said:</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>“Mine the might, and mine the right,</p> +<p>Stir ye, spur ye to the fight—</p> +<p>Bare the blade, and strike the blow</p> +<p>To the heart’s core of the foe—</p> +<p>Slaughter all the rebel bands</p> +<p>Found with weapons in their hands;</p> +<p>On! the holy work of fate</p> +<p>Russia’s God will consecrate.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>“’Tis decreed that they shall bleed</p> +<p>For their dark and trait’rous deed.</p> +<p>Poles! to us by conquest given,</p> +<p>Ye provoke the wrath of Heaven:</p> +<p>Therefore, purging sword and shot</p> +<p>Use we must, and spare you not.</p> +<p>Guardian of our northern faith,</p> +<p>Guide us to the field of death!</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>“Ere we’ve done, many a one</p> +<p>Shall weep they ever saw the sun.</p> +<p>Rouse the noble in his hall</p> +<p>To a fiery festival;</p> +<p>Dash the stubborn peasant’s mirth—</p> +<p>Drown in blood his alien hearth;</p> +<p>Babe or mother, never falter—</p> +<p>Spear the priest before the altar.</p> +<p>Onward, and avenge our wrong!</p> +<p>God is good, and Russia strong!”</p> +</div> +<p><em>Englishman’s Magazine, No 1.</em></p> +</div> +<hr /> +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page237" name="page237"></a>[pg +237]</span> +<h3>QUEEN ELIZABETH.</h3> +<p class="note"><em>From a paper on the Fine Arts of old in +England, in Blackwood’s Magazine</em>.</p> +<p>The sex and character of Elizabeth herself was no weak +ingredient in the poetic spirit of the time. Loyalty and gallantry +blended in the adoration paid her; and the supremacy which she +claimed and exercised over the church, invested her regality with a +sacred unction that pertained not to feudal sovereigns. It is +scarce too much to say, that the virgin-queen appropriated the +Catholic honours of the Virgin Mary. She was as great as Diana of +the Ephesians. The moon shone but to furnish a type of her bright +and stainless maidenhood. To magnify her greatness, the humility of +courtly adulation merged in the ecstasies of Platonic love. She was +charming by indefeasible right;—a <em>jure divino</em> +beauty. Her fascinations multiplied with her wrinkles, and her +admirers might have anticipated the conceit of Cowley,</p> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>“The antipevistoisis of age</p> +<p>More inflamed their amorous rage.”</p> +</div> +</div> +<p>It is easy for a Whig, or a Puritan, or any other unimaginative +blockhead, to cry out against all this as nauseous flattery, and +assert that after all she was rather an unpoetical personage than +otherwise—a coarse-minded old maid, half prude, half +coquette, whose better part was mannish, and all that belonged to +her sex a ludicrous exaggeration of its weaknesses. But meanwhile, +they overlook the fact, that not the woman Elizabeth, but the +Virgin-queen, the royal heroine, is the theme of admiration. Not +the petty virtues, the pretty sensibilities, the cheap charity, the +prim decorum, which modern flatterers dwell upon, degrading +royalty, while they palaver its possessor, but Britannia’s +sacred majesty, enshrined in chaste and lofty womanhood. Our +ancestors paid their compliments to sex or rank—ours are +addressed to the person. There is no flattery where there is no +falsehood—no falsehood where there is no deception. Loyalty +of old was a passion, and passion has a truth of its own—and +as language does not always furnish expressions exactly adapted, or +native to the feeling, what can the loyal poet do, but take the +most precious portion of the currency, and impress it with the +mint-mark of his own devoted fancy? Perhaps there never was a more +panegyrical rhymer than Spenser, and yet, so fine and ethereal is +his incense, that the breath of morning is not more cool and +salutary:—</p> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>“It falls me here to write of Chastity</p> +<p>That fayrest virtue, far above the rest.</p> +<p>For which what needs me fetch from Faery,</p> +<p>Forreine ensamples it to have exprest,</p> +<p>Sith it is shrined in my soveraine’s brest,</p> +<p>And form’d so lively on each perfect part,</p> +<p>That to all ladies, who have it protest,</p> +<p>Needs but behold the pourtraict of her part,</p> +<p>If pourtray’d it might be by any living art;</p> +<p>But living art may not least part expresse,</p> +<p>Nor life-resembling pencil it can paint,</p> +<p>All it were Zeuxis or Praxiteles—</p> +<p>His dædale hand would faile and greatly faynt,</p> +<p>And her perfections with his error taynt;</p> +<p>Ne poet’s wit that passeth painter farre—</p> +<p>In picturing the parts of beauty daynt,” &c.</p> +</div> +</div> +<p>But neither Zeuxis nor Praxiteles was called from the dead to +mar her perfections, nor record her negative charms. Poetry was the +only art that flourished in the Virgin reign. The pure Gothic, +after attaining its full efflorescence under Henry VII., departed, +never to return. The Grecian orders were not only absurdly jumbled +together, but yet more outrageously conglomerated with the Gothic +and Arabesque. “To gild refined gold—to paint the +lily,” was all the humour of it. A similar inconsistency +infected literature. The classic and the romantic (to use those +terms, which, though popular, are not logically exact) were +interwoven. The Arcadia and the Fairy Queen are glorious offences, +which “make defect perfection.” Perhaps, +Shakspeare’s “small Latin and less Greek,” +preserved him from worse anachronisms than any that he has +committed. Queen Bess’s patronage was of the national breed: +she loved no pictures so well as portraits of herself. As, however, +her painters have not flattered her, it may not uncharitably be +concluded that they were no great deacons in their craft. It is a +much easier thing to assure a homely female, in prose or rhyme, +that she is beautiful, than to represent her so upon canvass. Her +effigies are, I believe, pretty numerous, varying in ugliness, but +none that I have seen even handsome—prettiness, of course, is +out of the question. She was fond of finery, but had no taste in +dress. Her ruff is downright odious; and the liberal exposure of +her neck and bosom anything but alluring. With all her pearls about +her, she looks like a pawnbroker’s lady bedizened for an +Easter ball, with all the unredeemed pledges from her +husband’s shop. She seems to have patronized that chimera in +the ideal or allegorical portrait, at which Reubens and Sir Joshua +were so often doomed to toil. She would not allow a shadow in her +picture, arguing, like a Chinese, or a chop-logic, that shade is +only an accident, and no true property of body. Like Alexander, who +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page238" name="page238"></a>[pg +238]</span>forbade all sculptors but Lysippus to carve his image, +she prohibited all but special cunning limners from drawing her +effigy. This was in 1563, anno regni 5, while, though no chicken, +she still was not clean past her youth. This order was probably +intended to prevent caricatures. At last she quarrelled with her +looking-glass as well as her painters, and her maids of honour +removed all mirrors from her apartments, as carefully as Ministers +exclude opposition papers (we hope not Maga) from the presence of +our most gracious sovereign. It is even said, that those fair +nettles of India took advantage of her weakness, to dress her head +awry, and to apply the rouge to her nose, instead of her cheeks. So +may the superannuated eagle be pecked at by daws. But the tale is +not probable. After all, it is but the captious inference of +witlings and scoffers, that attributes to mere sexual vanity that +superstitious horror of encroaching age, from which the wisest are +not always free. It may be, that they shrink from the reflection of +their wrinkles, not as from the despoilers of beauty, but as from +the vaunt-couriers of dissolution. In rosy youth, while yet the +brow is alabaster-veined with Heaven’s own tint, and the dark +tresses turn golden in the sun, the lapse of time is imperceptible +as the throbbing of a heart at ease. “So like, so very like, +is day to day,”—one primrose scarce more like another. +Whoever saw their first grey hairs, or marked the crow-feet at the +angle of their eyes, without a sigh or a tear, a momentous +self-abasement, a sudden sinking of the soul, a thought that youth +is flown for ever? None but the blessed few that, having dedicated +their spring of life to Heaven, behold in the shedding of their +vernal blossoms, a promise that the season of immortal fruit is +near. It is a frailty, almost an instance of humanity, to aim at +concealing that from others, of which ourselves are painfully +conscious. The herculean Johnson keenly resented the least allusion +to the shortness of his sight. So entirely is man a social animal, +so dependent are all his feelings for their very existence upon +communication and sympathy, that the “fee griefs,” +which none but ourselves are privy to, are forgotten as soon as +they are removed from the senses. The artifices to which so many +have recourse to conceal their declining years, are often intended +more to soothe themselves, than to impose on others. This aversion +to growing old is specially natural and excusable in the celibate +and the childless. The borrowed curls, the pencilled eyebrows,</p> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i10">“The steely-prison’d shape,</p> +<p>So oft made taper, by constraint of tape,”</p> +</div> +</div> +<p>the various cosmetic secrets, well-known to the middle ages, not +only of the softer sex, are not unseemly in a spinster, so long as +they succeed in making her look young. They are intolerable in a +mother of any age. But we, my dear Christopher, resigned and +benevolent old bachelors as we are, can well appreciate the vanity +of the aged heart, that sees not its youth renewed in any growing +dearer self. Nothing denotes the advances of life, at once so +surely and so pleasantly as children springing up around a good +man’s table. Perhaps our famous Queen, in her latter days, +though full of honours as of years, would gladly have changed +places with the wife of any yeoman that had a child to receive her +last blessing, whose few acres were not to pass away to the hungry +expecting son of a hated rival. Her virginity was not like that of +Jephthah’s daughter, a free-will offering to the Lord. Pride, +and policy, and disappointment, and, it may be, hopeless, +self-condemned affection, conspired to perpetuate it. Probably it +was well for England that no offspring of hers inherited her +throne. By some strange ordinance of nature, it generally happens +that these wonderful clever women produce idiots or +madmen.—Witness Semiramis, Agrippina, Catherine de Medicis, +Mary de Medicis, Catherine of Russia, and Lady Wortley Montague. +One miniature of Elizabeth I have seen, which, though not +beautiful, is profoundly interesting: it presents her as she was in +the days of her danger and captivity, when the same wily policy, +keeping its path, even while it seemed to swerve, was needful to +preserve her life, that afterwards kept her firm on a throne. Who +was the artist that produced it? I know not; but it bears the +strongest marks of authenticity, if to be exactly what a learned +spirit would fancy Elizabeth—young, a prisoner, and in +peril—be evidence of true portraiture. There is pride, not +aping humility, but wearing it as a well-beseeming +habit;—there is passion, strongly controlled by the will, but +not extinct, neither dead nor sleeping, but watchful and silent; +brows sternly sustaining a weight of care, after which a crown +could be but light; a manly intellect, allied with female +craft;—but nonsense! it will be said; no colours whatever +could represent all this, and that, too, in little, for the picture +was among Bone’s enamels. <span class="pagenum"><a id= +"page239" name="page239"></a>[pg 239]</span>Well, then, it +suggested it all. Perhaps the finest Madonna ever painted would be +no more than a meek, pious, pretty woman, and an innocent child, if +we knew not whom it was meant for.</p> +<hr /> +<h3>THE HAUNTED HOUSE.</h3> +<h4>(<em>By Mrs. Hemans</em>.)</h4> +<div class="note"> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>I seem like one</p> +<p>Who treads alone</p> +<p class="i2">Some banquet-hall deserted,</p> +<p>Whose lights are fled,</p> +<p>Whose garlands dead,</p> +<p class="i2">And all but he, departed.</p> +</div> +<p>MOORE.</p> +</div> +</div> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Seest thou yon grey gleaming hall,</p> +<p>Where the deep elm shadows fall?</p> +<p>Voices that have left the earth</p> +<p class="i2">Long ago,</p> +<p>Still are murmuring round its hearth,</p> +<p class="i4">Soft and low:</p> +<p>Ever there:—yet one alone</p> +<p>Hath the gift to hear their tone.</p> +<p>Guests come thither, and depart,</p> +<p>Free of step, and light of heart;</p> +<p>Children, with sweet visions bless’d,</p> +<p>In the haunted chambers rest;</p> +<p>One alone unslumbering lies</p> +<p>When the night hath seal’d all eyes,</p> +<p>One quick heart and watchful ear,</p> +<p>Listening for those whispers clear.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Seest thou where the woodbine-flowers</p> +<p>O’er yon low porch hang in showers?</p> +<p>Startling faces of the dead,</p> +<p class="i2">Pale, yet sweet,</p> +<p>One lone woman’s entering tread</p> +<p class="i4">There still meet!</p> +<p>Some with young smooth foreheads fair,</p> +<p>Faintly shining through bright hair;</p> +<p>Some with reverend locks of snow—</p> +<p>All, all buried long ago!</p> +<p>All, from under deep sea-waves,</p> +<p>Or the flowers of foreign graves,</p> +<p>Or the old and banner’d aisle,</p> +<p>Where their high tombs gleam the while,</p> +<p>Rising, wandering, floating by,</p> +<p>Suddenly and silently,</p> +<p>Through their earthly home and place,</p> +<p>But amidst another race.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Wherefore, unto one alone,</p> +<p>Are those sounds and visions known?</p> +<p>Wherefore hath that spell of power</p> +<p class="i2">Dark and dread,</p> +<p>On <em>her</em> soul, a baleful dower,</p> +<p class="i4">Thus been shed?</p> +<p>Oh! in those deep-seeing eyes,</p> +<p>No strange gift of mystery lies!</p> +<p>She is lone where once she moved</p> +<p>Fair, and happy, and beloved!</p> +<p>Sunny smiles were glancing round her,</p> +<p>Tendrils of kind hearts had bound her;</p> +<p>Now those silver cords are broken,</p> +<p>Those bright looks have left no token,</p> +<p>Not one trace on all the earth,</p> +<p>Save her memory of her mirth.</p> +<p>She is lone and lingering now,</p> +<p>Dreams have gather’d o’er her brow,</p> +<p>Midst gay song and children’s play,</p> +<p>She is dwelling far away;</p> +<p>Seeing what none else may see—</p> +<p>Haunted still her place must be!</p> +</div> +<p><em>New Monthly Magazine</em>.</p> +</div> +<hr class="full" /> +<h2>THE GATHERER.</h2> +<div class="note"> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>A snapper up of unconsidered trifles.</p> +</div> +<p>SHAKSPEARE</p> +</div> +</div> +<hr /> +<h3>OCTOGENARIAN REMINISCENCES.</h3> +<p>In 1760, a Mr. Cross was prompter at Drury Lane Theatre, and a +Mr. Saunders the principal machinist. Saunders laboured under an +idea that he was qualified for a turf-man, and, like most who are +afflicted with that disorder, suffered severely. The animals he +kept, instead of being safe running horses for him, generally made +him a safe stalking-horse for others. Upon one occasion he came to +the theatre in great ill-humour, having just received the account +of a race which he had lost. Cross was busily engaged in writing, +and cross at the interruption he met with from Saunders’s +repeated exclamations against his jockey; he at length looked up, +and said impatiently, “His fault—his fault—how +was it his fault?” “Why,” said Saunders, +“the d—d rascal ran my horse against a wagon.” +“Umph!” replied Cross, “I never knew a horse of +yours that was fit to <em>run against any thing +else</em>!”</p> +<p>A musician of the name of Goodall, who belonged to the orchestra +of the Theatre Royal, Richmond, in 1767, was fonder of his, or any +other man’s, bottle than his own bassoon. The natural +consequence was, that he frequently failed in his attendances at +the theatre. Upon one occasion, after an absence of a week, he +returned in the middle of the performances for the evening. A piece +was being acted called the “Intriguing Chambermaid,” in +which there is a character of an old gentleman called <em>Mr. +Goodall</em>, who comes on as from a journey, followed by a servant +carrying his portmanteau. To him there enters a lady, <em>Mrs. +Highman</em>, whose first exclamation is, “Bless my eyes, +what do I see? <em>Mr. Goodall</em> returned?” At that +precise moment Old Goodall happened to put his head into the +orchestra, and fancying himself addressed, called out, “Lord +bless you, ma’am, I’ve been here this half +hour.”</p> +<p>Old Storace (the father of the celebrated composer) had lost +nearly all his teeth at rather an early period of his life. This, +to one who was decidedly a <em>bon vivant</em>, was a great +annoyance. A dentist of eminence undertook to supply the defect: he +drew the few teeth which, remained, and fitted the patient with an +entire new set, which acted by means of springs, and were removable +at pleasure. The operation was so skilfully performed, and the +resemblance so good, that Storace flattered himself that no one +could discover the deception. Being one day in company with Foster +(a performer in the Drury Lane orchestra, and one celebrated among +his companions for quaintness and humour), he said, “Now, +Foster, I’ll surprise you— <span class="pagenum"><a id= +"page240" name="page240"></a>[pg 240]</span>I’ll show you +something you never could have guessed.” So saying, he took +out the ivory teeth, and exclaimed with an air of triumph, +“There, what do you think of that?” “Poh! +nonsense! surprise me,” replied Foster, “I knew +perfectly well they were false.” “How the devil could +you know that?” said Storace. “Why,” rejoined +Foster, “<em>I never knew anything true come out of your +mouth!</em>“—<em>Athenæum</em>.</p> +<hr /> +<p>The King of Prussia, in his correspondence with Voltaire, +relates the following anecdote of the Czar Peter, as illustrative +of Russian despotism:—“I knew Printz, the great marshal +of the court of Prussia, who had been ambassador to the Czar Peter, +in the reign of the late king. The commission with which he was +charged proving very acceptable, the prince was desirous of giving +him conspicuous marks of his satisfaction, and for this purpose a +sumptuous banquet was prepared, and to which Printz was invited. +They drank brandy, as is customary with the Russians, and they +drank it to a brutal excess. The Czar, who wished to give a +particular grace to the entertainment, sent for twenty of the +Strelitz Guards, who were confined in the prisons of Petersburgh, +and for every large bumper which they drank, this hideous monster +struck-off the head of one of these wretches. As a particular mark +of respect, this unnatural prince was desirous of procuring the +ambassador the pleasure (as he called it) of trying his skill upon +these miserable creatures. The Czar was disposed to be angry at his +refusal, and could not help betraying signs of his +displeasure.”</p> +<p>W.G.C.</p> +<hr /> +<h3>POSTHUMOUS HONOURS.</h3> +<p>Poliarchus, the Athenian, according to Ælian, when any of +the dogs or cocks that he particularly loved, happened to die, was +so foolish as to honour them with a public funeral, and buried them +with great pomp, accompanied by his friends, whom he invited on the +<em>solemn</em> occasion. Afterwards he caused monumental pillars +to be erected, on which were engraven their epitaphs.<a id= +"footnotetag4" name="footnotetag4"></a><a href= +"#footnote4"><sup>4</sup></a></p> +<p>JOHN ESLAH.</p> +<hr /> +<h3>THE ENGLISH LANGUAGE.</h3> +<p>Ascham, in the Epistle prefixed to his “Toxophilus,” +1571, observes that</p> +<p>“Manye Englishe writers usinge straunge wordes as Lattine, +Frenche, and Italian, do make al thinges darke and harde. +Ones,” says he, “I communed with a man which reasoned +the Englishe tongue to be enriched and encreased thereby, sayinge, +Who will not prayse that feast, where a man shall drincke at a +dinner both wyne, ale, and beere? Truly (quoth I) they be al good +every one taken by itself alone; but if you put malmesye and sack, +redde wyne and white, ale and beere, and al in one pot, you shall +make a drinke neither easye to be knowen, nor holsom for the +bodye.”</p> +<p>A.V.</p> +<hr /> +<h3>ROYAL WISH.</h3> +<p>When King James I. first saw the public library at Oxford, and +perceived the little chains by which the books were fastened, he +expressed his wish that if ever it should be his fate to be a +prisoner, this library might be his prison, those books his fellow +prisoners, and the chains his fetters.</p> +<p>J.E.H.</p> +<hr /> +<h3>EPITAPH</h3> +<p><em>On a Marine Officer, in the churchyard of Burwick-in-Elmet, +Yorkshire.</em></p> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Here lies, retired from busy scenes,</p> +<p>A first lieutenant of Marines,</p> +<p>Who lately lived in gay content,</p> +<p>On board the brave ship Diligent.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Now stripp’d of all his warlike show,</p> +<p>And laid in box of elm below,</p> +<p>Confin’d in earth in narrow borders,</p> +<p>He rises not till further orders.</p> +</div> +</div> +<hr /> +<h3>ANNUAL OF SCIENCE.</h3> +<p>This Day is published, price 5s.</p> +<p>ARCANA of SCIENCE, and ANNUAL REGISTER of the USEFUL ARTS for +1831.</p> +<p>Comprising POPULAR INVENTIONS, IMPROVEMENTS, and DISCOVERIES +Abridged from the Transactions of Public Societies and Scientific +Journals of the past year. With several Engravings.</p> +<p>“One of the best and cheapest books of the +day.”—<em>Mag. Nat. Hist.</em></p> +<p>“An annual register of new inventions and improvements in +a popular form like this, cannot fail to be +useful.”—<em>Lit. Gaz.</em></p> +<p>Printed for JOHN LIMBIRD, 143. Strand;—of whom may be had +the Volumes for the three preceding years.</p> +<hr class="full" /> +<blockquote class="footnote"><a id="footnote1" name= +"footnote1"></a> <b>Footnote 1</b>: <a href= +"#footnotetag1">(return)</a> +<p>This charming, accomplished poetess has addressed one of her +most beautiful “Elegiac Sonnets” to this inspiring +River. Her tender image of the “infant Otway” is, +however, borrowed from a stanza in Collins’s inimitable +“Ode to Pity:”—</p> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>“Wild Arun, too, has heard thy strains</p> +<p>And echo ’midst my native plains</p> +<p>Been sooth’d by Pity’s lute;</p> +<p>There first the wren thy myrtles shed</p> +<p>On gentlest Otway’s <em>infant head</em>—</p> +<p>To him thy cell was shown,” &c.</p> +</div> +</div> +<a id="footnote2" name="footnote2"></a> <b>Footnote 2</b>: <a href= +"#footnotetag2">(return)</a> +<p>We have the pleasure of informing our esteemed correspondent, +H.H. of Twickenham, that the very interesting memorial of GRAY, to +which he alluded in his last letter, will illustrate an early +number of the <em>Mirror</em>.</p> +<a id="footnote3" name="footnote3"></a> <b>Footnote 3</b>: <a href= +"#footnotetag3">(return)</a> +<p>Raleigh, it will be recollected, became Spencer’s patron, +upon the death of Sir Philip Sidney, whom he celebrates under the +title of “The Shepherd of the Ocean.” Raleigh also +ensured Spencer the favour of Elizabeth, a pension of 50l. per +annum, and the distinction of her laureate.—ED.</p> +<a id="footnote4" name="footnote4"></a> <b>Footnote 4</b>: <a href= +"#footnotetag4">(return)</a> +<p>The late Duchess of York paid the latter honours to her little +canine friends, at Oatlands.</p> +</blockquote> +<hr class="full" /> +<p><em>Printed and Published by J LIMBIRD, 143, Strand, (near +Somerset House,) London; sold by ERNEST FLEISCHER, 626, New Market, +Leipsic; G.G. BENNIS, 55, Rue Neuve, St. Augustin, Paris; and by +all Newsmen and Booksellers.</em></p> + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Mirror of Literature, Amusement, +and Instruction, by Various + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MIRROR OF LITERATURE, NO. 483 *** + +***** This file should be named 12645-h.htm or 12645-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/1/2/6/4/12645/ + +Produced by Jonathan Ingram, Barbara Tozier and PG Distributed +Proofreaders + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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