summaryrefslogtreecommitdiff
path: root/old/8m26410h.htm
blob: a4b38722395c1b1c237586f5259c91f6c3e2d5fb (plain) 
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108
109
110
111
112
113
114
115
116
117
118
119
120
121
122
123
124
125
126
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158
159
160
161
162
163
164
165
166
167
168
169
170
171
172
173
174
175
176
177
178
179
180
181
182
183
184
185
186
187
188
189
190
191
192
193
194
195
196
197
198
199
200
201
202
203
204
205
206
207
208
209
210
211
212
213
214
215
216
217
218
219
220
221
222
223
224
225
226
227
228
229
230
231
232
233
234
235
236
237
238
239
240
241
242
243
244
245
246
247
248
249
250
251
252
253
254
255
256
257
258
259
260
261
262
263
264
265
266
267
268
269
270
271
272
273
274
275
276
277
278
279
280
281
282
283
284
285
286
287
288
289
290
291
292
293
294
295
296
297
298
299
300
301
302
303
304
305
306
307
308
309
310
311
312
313
314
315
316
317
318
319
320
321
322
323
324
325
326
327
328
329
330
331
332
333
334
335
336
337
338
339
340
341
342
343
344
345
346
347
348
349
350
351
352
353
354
355
356
357
358
359
360
361
362
363
364
365
366
367
368
369
370
371
372
373
374
375
376
377
378
379
380
381
382
383
384
385
386
387
388
389
390
391
392
393
394
395
396
397
398
399
400
401
402
403
404
405
406
407
408
409
410
411
412
413
414
415
416
417
418
419
420
421
422
423
424
425
426
427
428
429
430
431
432
433
434
435
436
437
438
439
440
441
442
443
444
445
446
447
448
449
450
451
452
453
454
455
456
457
458
459
460
461
462
463
464
465
466
467
468
469
470
471
472
473
474
475
476
477
478
479
480
481
482
483
484
485
486
487
488
489
490
491
492
493
494
495
496
497
498
499
500
501
502
503
504
505
506
507
508
509
510
511
512
513
514
515
516
517
518
519
520
521
522
523
524
525
526
527
528
529
530
531
532
533
534
535
536
537
538
539
540
541
542
543
544
545
546
547
548
549
550
551
552
553
554
555
556
557
558
559
560
561
562
563
564
565
566
567
568
569
570
571
572
573
574
575
576
577
578
579
580
581
582
583
584
585
586
587
588
589
590
591
592
593
594
595
596
597
598
599
600
601
602
603
604
605
606
607
608
609
610
611
612
613
614
615
616
617
618
619
620
621
622
623
624
625
626
627
628
629
630
631
632
633
634
635
636
637
638
639
640
641
642
643
644
645
646
647
648
649
650
651
652
653
654
655
656
657
658
659
660
661
662
663
664
665
666
667
668
669
670
671
672
673
674
675
676
677
678
679
680
681
682
683
684
685
686
687
688
689
690
691
692
693
694
695
696
697
698
699
700
701
702
703
704
705
706
707
708
709
710
711
712
713
714
715
716
717
718
719
720
721
722
723
724
725
726
727
728
729
730
731
732
733
734
735
736
737
738
739
740
741
742
743
744
745
746
747
748
749
750
751
752
753
754
755
756
757
758
759
760
761
762
763
764
765
766
767
768
769
770
771
772
773
774
775
776
777
778
779
780
781
782
783
784
785
786
787
788
789
790
791
792
793
794
795
796
797
798
799
800
801
802
803
804
805
806
807
808
809
810
811
812
813
814
815
816
817
818
819
820
821
822
823
824
825
826
827
828
829
830
831
832
833
834
835
836
837
838
839
840
841
842
843
844
845
846
847
848
849
850
851
852
853
854
855
856
857
858
859
860
861
862
863
864
865
866
867
868
869
870
871
872
873
874
875
876
877
878
879
880
881
882
883
884
885
886
887
888
889
890
891
892
893
894
895
896
897
898
899
900
901
902
903
904
905
906
907
908
909
910
911
912
913
914
915
916
917
918
919
920
921
922
923
924
925
926
927
928
929
930
931
932
933
934
935
936
937
938
939
940
941
942
943
944
945
946
947
948
949
950
951
952
953
954
955
956
957
958
959
960
961
962
963
964
965
966
967
968
969
970
971
972
973
974
975
976
977
978
979
980
981
982
983
984
985
986
987
988
989
990
991
992
993
994
995
996
997
998
999
1000
1001
1002
1003
1004
1005
1006
1007
1008
1009
1010
1011
1012
1013
1014
1015
1016
1017
1018
1019
1020
1021
1022
1023
1024
1025
1026
1027
1028
1029
1030
1031
1032
1033
1034
1035
1036
1037
1038
1039
1040
1041
1042
1043
1044
1045
1046
1047
1048
1049
1050
1051
1052
1053
1054
1055
1056
1057
1058
1059
1060
1061
1062
1063
1064
1065
1066
1067
1068
1069
1070
1071
1072
1073
1074
1075
1076
1077
1078
1079
1080
1081
1082
1083
1084
1085
1086
1087
1088
1089
1090
1091
1092
1093
1094
1095
1096
1097
1098
1099
1100
1101
1102
1103
1104
1105
1106
1107
1108
1109
1110
1111
1112
1113
1114
1115
1116
1117
1118
1119
1120
1121
1122
1123
1124
1125
1126
1127
1128
1129
1130
1131
1132
1133
1134
1135
1136
1137
1138
1139
1140
1141
1142
1143
1144
1145
1146
1147
1148
1149
1150
1151
1152
1153
1154
1155
1156
1157
1158
1159
1160
1161
1162
1163
1164
1165
1166
1167
1168
1169
1170
1171
1172
1173
1174
1175
1176
1177
1178
1179
1180
1181
1182
1183
1184
1185
1186
1187
1188
1189
1190
1191
1192
1193
1194
1195
1196
1197
1198
1199
1200
1201
1202
1203
1204
1205
1206
1207
1208
1209
1210
1211
1212
1213
1214
1215
1216
1217
1218
1219
1220
1221
1222
1223
1224
1225
1226
1227
1228
1229
1230
1231
1232
1233
1234
1235
1236
1237
1238
1239
1240
1241
1242
1243
1244
1245
1246
1247
1248
1249
1250
1251
1252
1253
1254
1255
1256
1257
1258
1259
1260
1261
1262
1263
1264
1265
1266
1267
1268
1269
1270
1271
1272
1273
1274
1275
1276
1277
1278
1279
1280
1281
1282
1283
1284
1285
1286
1287
1288
1289
1290
1291
1292
1293
1294
1295
1296
1297
1298
1299
1300
1301
1302
1303
1304
1305
1306
1307
1308
1309
1310
1311
1312
1313
1314
1315
1316
1317
1318
1319
1320
1321
1322
1323
1324
1325
1326
1327
1328
1329
1330
1331
1332
1333
1334
1335
1336
1337
1338
1339
1340
1341
1342
1343
1344
1345
1346
1347
1348
1349
1350
1351
1352
1353
1354
1355
1356
1357
1358
1359
1360
1361
1362
1363
1364
1365
1366
1367
1368
1369
1370
1371
1372
1373
1374
1375
1376
1377
1378
1379
1380
1381
1382
1383
1384
1385
1386
1387
1388
1389
1390
1391
1392
1393
1394
1395
1396
1397
1398
1399
1400
1401
1402
1403
1404
1405
1406
1407
1408
1409
1410
1411
1412
1413
1414
1415
1416
1417
1418
1419
1420
1421
1422
1423
1424
1425
1426
1427
1428
1429
1430
1431
1432
1433
1434
1435
1436
1437
1438
1439
1440
1441
1442
1443
1444
1445
1446
1447
1448
1449
1450
1451
1452
1453
1454
1455
1456
1457
1458
1459
1460
1461
1462
1463
1464
1465
1466
1467
1468
1469
1470
1471
1472
1473
1474
1475
1476
1477
1478
1479
1480
1481
1482
1483
1484
1485
1486
1487
1488
1489
1490
1491
1492
1493
1494
1495
1496
1497
1498
1499
1500
1501
1502
1503
1504
1505
1506
1507
1508
1509
1510
1511
1512
1513
1514
1515
1516
1517
1518
1519
1520
1521
1522
1523
1524
1525
1526
1527
1528
1529
1530
1531
1532
1533
1534
1535
1536
1537
1538
1539
1540
1541
1542
1543
1544
1545
1546
1547
1548
1549
1550
1551
1552
1553
1554
1555
1556
1557
1558
1559
1560
1561
1562
1563
1564
1565
1566
1567
1568
1569
1570
1571
1572
1573
1574
1575
1576
1577
1578
1579
1580
1581
1582
1583
1584
1585

<!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 http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=ISO-8859-1" />
<title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Mirror of Literature, Amusement, and Instruction, Vol. 10, Issue 264, July 14, 1827, by  Various</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;}
  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%;}
  pre
  {font-size: 0.7em; background-color: #F0F0F0;}
  .poetry
  {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 0%;
  text-align: left;}
  .footnote
  {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;
  font-size: 0.9em;}
  .figure
  {margin-left: 5%; margin-right: 5%;
  text-align: center; font-size: 0.8em;}
  .figure img
  {border: none;}
  span.pagenum
  {position: absolute; left: 1%; right: 91%;
  font-size: 0.7em;}
  	a:link {color:blue;
  			text-decoration:none}
  	link {color:blue;
  			text-decoration:none}
  	a:visited {color:blue;
  			text-decoration:none}
  	a:hover {color:red}

-->
    /*]]>*/
    </style>
</head>
<body>
<h1>The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Mirror of Literature, Amusement, and Instruction, Vol. 10, Issue 264, July 14, 1827, by  Various</h1>

<pre>
Copyright laws are changing all over the world. Be sure to check the
copyright laws for your country before downloading or redistributing
this or any other Project Gutenberg eBook.

This header should be the first thing seen when viewing this Project
Gutenberg file.  Please do not remove it.  Do not change or edit the
header without written permission.

Please read the "legal small print," and other information about the
eBook and Project Gutenberg at the bottom of this file.  Included is
important information about your specific rights and restrictions in
how the file may be used.  You can also find out about how to make a
donation to Project Gutenberg, and how to get involved.


**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts**

**eBooks Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971**

*****These eBooks Were Prepared By Thousands of Volunteers!*****


Title: The Mirror of Literature, Amusement, and Instruction, Vol. 10, Issue 264, July 14, 1827

Author:  Various

Release Date: February, 2006  [EBook #9884]
[This file was first posted on October 27, 2003]

Edition: 10

Language: English

Character set encoding: iso-8859-1

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK, THE MIRROR OF LITERATURE, AMUSEMENT, AND INSTRUCTION, VOL. 10, ISSUE 264, JULY 14, 1827 ***



</pre>
  <h3>
  Note: The zipped version of this HTML file includes the original illustrations.
        See <a href="http://www.ibiblio.org/gutenberg/etext06/8m26410h.zip">http://www.ibiblio.org/gutenberg/etext06/8m26410h.zip</a>
  </h3>
  <br />
<br />
  <center>
  <h3>E-text prepared by Jonathan Ingram<br />
      and Project Gutenberg Distributed Proofreaders</h3>
  </center>
  <br />
  <br />
<hr class="full" />
    <span class="pagenum"><a id="page33" name="page33"></a>[pg 33]</span>
    <!-- Mirror of Literature header -->
    <h1>THE MIRROR<br />
    OF<br />
    LITERATURE, AMUSEMENT, AND INSTRUCTION.</h1>
    <hr class="full" />
    <table width="100%">
      <tr>
        <td align="left"><b>Vol. 10, No. 264.]</b></td>
        <td align="center"><b>SATURDAY, JULY 14, 1827.</b></td>
        <td align="right"><b>[PRICE 2d.</b></td>
      </tr>
    </table>
    <hr class="full" />
    <!-- end of header -->
    <h2>ARCHITECTURAL ILLUSTRATIONS.</h2>
    <h3>NEW CHURCH, REGENT'S PARK.</h3>
    <p class="figure"><a href="images/264-1.png"><img width="100%" src="images/264-1.png"
    alt="" /></a></p>
    <p>The architectural splendour which has lately developed itself in and about the
    precincts of the parish of St. Mary-le-Bonne, exhibits a most surprising and curious
    contrast with the former state of this part of London; and more particularly when
    compared with accounts extracted from newspapers of an early date.</p>
    <p>Mary-le-Bonne parish is estimated to contain more than ten thousand houses, and
    one hundred thousand inhabitants. In the plans of London, in 1707, it was a small
    village one mile distant from the Metropolis, separated by fields&mdash;the scenes of
    robbery and murder. The following from a newspaper of 1716:&mdash;"On Wednesday last,
    four gentlemen were robbed and stripped in the fields between Mary-le-Bonne and
    London." The "Weekly Medley," of 1718, says, "Round about the New Square which is
    building near Tyburn road, there are so many other edifices, that a whole magnificent
    city seems to be risen out of the ground in a way which makes one wonder how it
    should find a new set of inhabitants. It is said it is to be called by the name of
    <i>Hanover Square!</i> On the other side is to be built another square, called Oxford
    Square." From the same article I have also extracted the dates of many of the
    different erections, which may prove <span class="pagenum"><a id="page34"
    name="page34"></a>[pg 34]</span> of benefit to your architectural readers, as tending
    to show the progressive improvement made in the private buildings of London, and
    showing also the style of building adopted at later periods. Indeed, I would wish
    that some of your correspondents&mdash;<i>F.R.Y.</i>, or <i>P.T.W.</i>, for instance,
    would favour us with a <i>list of dates</i> answering this purpose. Rathbone-place
    and John-street (from Captain Rathbone) began 1729. Oxford market opened 1732.
    Newman-street and Berners-street, named from the builders, between 1723 and 1775.
    Portland-place and street, 1770. Portman-square, 1764. Portman-place, 1770.
    Stratford-place, five years later, on the site of Conduit Mead, built by Robert
    Stratford, Esq. This had been the place whereon stood the banquetting house for the
    lord mayor and aldermen, when they visited the neighbouring nine conduits which then
    supplied the city with water. Cumberland-place, 1769. Manchester-square the year
    after.</p>
    <p>Previous to entering upon an architectural description of the superb buildings
    recently erected in the vicinity of Regency Park, I shall confine myself at present
    to that object that first arrests the attention at the entrance, which is the church;
    it has been erected under the commissioners for building new churches. The architect
    is J. Soane, Esq. There is a pleasing originality in this gentleman's productions;
    the result of extensive research among the architectural beauties of the ancients,
    together with a peculiar happy mode of distributing his lights and shadows; producing
    in the greatest degree picturesque effect: these are peculiarities essentially his
    own, and forming in no part a copy of the works of any other architect in the present
    day. The church in question by no means detracts from his merit in these particulars.
    The principal front consists of a portico of four columns of the Ionic order,
    approached by a small flight of steps; on each side is a long window, divided into
    two heights by a stone transum (panelled). Under the lower window is a raised panel
    also; and in the flank of the building the plinth is furnished with openings; each of
    the windows is filled with ornamental iron-work, for the purpose of ventilating the
    vaults or catacombs. The flank of the church has a central projection, occupied by
    antae, and six insulated Ionic columns; the windows in the inter-columns are in the
    same style as those in front; the whole is surmounted by a balustrade. The tower is
    in two heights; the lower part has eight columns of the Corinthian order. Example
    taken from the temple of Vesta, at Tivoli; these columns, with their stylobat&aelig;
    and entablature, project, and give a very extraordinary relief in the perspective
    view of the building. The upper part consists of a circular peristyle of six columns;
    the example apparently taken from the portico of the octagon tower of Andronicus
    Cyrrhestes, or tower of the winds, from the summit of which rises a conical dome,
    surmounted by the Vane. The more minute detail may be seen by the annexed drawing.
    The prevailing ornament is the Grecian fret.</p>
    <p>Mr. Soane, during his long practice in the profession, has erected very few
    churches, and it appears that he is endeavouring to rectify failings that seem
    insurmountable in the present style of architecture,&mdash;that of preventing the
    tower from having the appearance of rising out of the roof, by designing his porticos
    without pediments; if this is the case, he certainly is indebted to a great share of
    praise, as a pediment will always conceal (particularly at a near view) the major
    part of a tower. But again, we find ourselves in another difficulty, and it makes the
    remedy as bad as the disease,&mdash;that of taking away the principal characteristic
    of a portico, (namely, the pediment), and destroying at once the august appearance
    which it gives to the building; we find in all the churches of Sir Christopher Wren
    the campanile to form a distinct projection from the ground upwards; thus
    assimilating nearer to the ancient form of building them entirely apart from the main
    body of the church. I should conceive, that if this idea was followed by introducing
    the beautiful detail of Grecian architecture, according to Wren's <i>models</i> it
    would raise our church architecture to a very superior pitch of excellence.</p>
    <p>In my next I shall notice the interior, and also the elevation towards the
    altar.</p>
    <p>C. DAVY.</p>
    <p><i>Furnivals' Inn</i>,</p>
    <p><i>July 1, 1827.</i></p>
    <hr class="full" />
    <h2>THE MONTHS</h2>
    <hr />
    <h3>THE SEASON.</h3>
    <p>The heat is greatest in this month on account of its previous duration. The reason
    why it is less so in August is, that the days are then much shorter, and the
    influence of the sun has been gradually diminishing. The farmer is still occupied in
    getting the productions of the earth into his garners; but those who can avoid labour
    enjoy as much rest and shade as possible. There is a sense of heat and quiet all over
    nature. The birds are silent. The little brooks are dried up. <span
    class="pagenum"><a id="page35" name="page35"></a>[pg 35]</span> The earth is chapped
    with parching. The shadows of the trees are particularly grateful, heavy, and still.
    The oaks, which are freshest because latest in leaf, form noble clumpy canopies;
    looking, as you lie under them, of a strong and emulous green against the blue sky.
    The traveller delights to cut across the country through the fields and the leafy
    lanes, where, nevertheless, the flints sparkle with heat. The cattle get into the
    shade or stand in the water. The active and air-cutting-swallows, now beginning to
    assemble for migration, seek their prey about the shady places; where the insects,
    though of differently compounded natures, "fleshless and bloodless," seem to get for
    coolness, as they do at other times for warmth. The sound of insects is also the only
    audible thing now, increasing rather than lessening the sense of quiet by its gentle
    contrast. The bee now and then sweeps across the ear with his gravest tone. The
    gnats</p>
    <blockquote class="poetry">
      "Their murmuring small trumpets sounden wide:"&mdash;SPENSER.
    </blockquote>
    <p>and here and there the little musician of the grass touches forth his tricksy
    note.</p>
    <blockquote class="poetry">
      The poetry of earth is never dead;<br />
      When all the birds are faint with the hot sun,<br />
      And hide in cooling trees, a voice will run<br />
      From hedge to hedge about the new-mown mead:<br />
      That is the grasshopper's.<a id="footnotetag1" name="footnotetag1"></a><a
      href="#footnote1"><sup>1</sup></a>
    </blockquote>
    <p>The strong rains, which sometimes come down in summer-time, are a noble
    interruption to the drought and indolence of hot weather. They seem as if they had
    been collecting a supply of moisture equal to the want of it, and come drenching the
    earth with a mighty draught of freshness. The rushing and tree-bowing winds that
    precede them, the dignity with which they rise in the west, the gathering darkness of
    their approach, the silence before their descent, the washing amplitude of their
    out-pouring, the suddenness with which they appear to leave off, taking up, as it
    were, their watery feet to sail onward, and then the sunny smile again of nature,
    accompanied by the "sparkling noise" of the birds, and those dripping diamonds the
    rain-drops;&mdash;there is a grandeur and a beauty in all this, which lend a glorious
    effect to each other; for though the sunshine appears more beautiful than grand,
    there is a power, not even to be looked upon, in the orb from which it flows; and
    though the storm is more grand than beautiful, there is always beauty where there is
    so much beneficence.&mdash;<i>The Months</i>.</p>
    <h3>BATHING</h3>
    <p>It is now the weather for bathing, a refreshment too little taken in this country,
    either summer or winter. We say in winter, because with very little care in placing
    it near a cistern, and having a leathern pipe for it, a bath may be easily filled
    once or twice a week with warm water; and it is a vulgar error that the warm bath
    relaxes. An excess, either warm or cold, will relax, and so will any other excess;
    but the sole effect of the warm bath moderately taken is, that it throws off the bad
    humours of the body by opening and clearing the pores. As to summer bathing, a father
    may soon teach his children to swim, and thus perhaps may be the means of saving
    their lives some day or other, as well as health. Ladies also, though they cannot
    bathe in the open air, as they do in some of the West Indian islands and other
    countries, by means of natural basins among the rocks, might oftener make a
    substitute for it at home in tepid baths. The most beautiful aspects under which
    Venus has been painted or sculptured have been connected with bathing; and indeed
    there is perhaps no one thing that so equally contributes to the three graces of
    health, beauty, and good temper; to health, in putting the body into its best state;
    to beauty, in clearing and tinting the skin; and to good temper, in rescuing the
    spirits from the irritability occasioned by those formidable personages, "the
    nerves," which nothing else allays in so quick and entire a manner. See a lovely
    passage on the subject of bathing in Sir Philip Sydney's "Arcadia," where "Philoclea,
    blushing, and withal smiling, makeing shamefastnesse pleasant, and pleasure
    shamefast, tenderly moved her feet, unwonted to feel the naked ground, until the
    touch of the cold water made a pretty kind of shrugging come over her body; like the
    twinkling of the fairest among the fixed stars."&mdash;<i>Ibid</i>.</p>
    <h3>INSECTS</h3>
    <p>Insects now take the place of the feathered tribe, and, being for the most part
    hatched in the spring, they are now in full vigour. It is a very amusing sight in
    some of our rural rambles, in a bright evening after a drizzling summer shower, to
    see the air filled throughout all its space with sportive organized creatures, the
    leaf, the branch, the bark of the tree, every mossy bank, the bare earth, the pool,
    the ditch, all teeming with animal life; and the mind that is ever framed for
    contemplation, must awaken now in viewing such a profusion and variety of <span
    class="pagenum"><a id="page36" name="page36"></a>[pg 36]</span> existence. One of
    those poor little beings, the fragile <i>gnat</i>, becomes our object of attention,
    whether we regard its form or peculiar designation in the insect world; we must
    admire the first, and innocently, perhaps, conjecture the latter. We know that
    Infinite Wisdom, which formed, declared it "to be very good;" that it has its
    destination and settled course of action, admitting of no deviation or substitution:
    beyond this, perhaps, we can rarely proceed, or, if we sometimes advance a few steps
    more, we are then lost in the mystery with which the incomprehensible Architect has
    thought proper to surround it. So little is human nature permitted to see, (nor
    perhaps is it capable of comprehending much more than permitted,) that it is blind
    beyond thought as to secondary causes; and admiration, that pure fountain of
    intellectual pleasure, is almost the only power permitted to us. We see a wonderfully
    fabricated creature, decorated with a vest of glorious art and splendour, occupying
    almost its whole life in seeking for the most fitting station for its own
    necessities, exerting wiles and stratagems, and constructing a peculiar material to
    preserve its offspring against natural or occasional injury, with a forethought
    equivalent to reason&mdash;in a moment, perhaps, with all its splendour and instinct,
    it becomes the prey of some wandering bird! and human wisdom and conjecture are
    humbled to the dust. We can "see but in part," and the wisest of us is only, perhaps,
    something less ignorant than another. This sense of a perfection so infinitely above
    us, is the <i>natural</i> intimation of a Supreme Being; and as science improves, and
    inquiry is augmented, our imperfections and ignorance will become more manifest, and
    all our aspirations after knowledge only increase in us the conviction of knowing
    nothing. Every deep investigator of nature can hardly be possessed of any other than
    a humble mind.</p>
    <hr />
    <h3>THE PEACOCK.</h3>
    <h4>(<i>For the Mirror.</i>)</h4>
    <p>Of this bird, there are several species, distinguished by their different colours.
    The male of the common kind is, perhaps, the most gaudy of all the bird-kind; the
    length and beauty of whose tail, and the various forms in which the creature carries
    it, are sufficiently known and admired among us. India is, however, his native
    country; and there he enjoys himself with a sprightliness and gaiety unknown to him
    in Europe. The translators of Hindoo poetry concur in their description of his
    manners; and is frequently alluded to by the Hindoo poets.</p>
    <blockquote class="poetry">
      "Dark with her varying clouds, and peacocks gay."
    </blockquote>
    <p>It is affirmed, among the delightful phenomena which are observable at the
    commencement of the rainy season, (immediately following that of the withering hot
    winds,) the joy displayed by the peacocks is one of the most pleasing. These birds
    assemble in groups upon some retired spot of verdant grass; jump about in the most
    animated manner, and make the air re-echo with their cheerful notes.</p>
    <blockquote class="poetry">
      "Or can the peacock's animated hail."
    </blockquote>
    <p>The wild peacock is also exceedingly abundant in many parts of Hindoostan, and is
    especially found in marshy places. The habits of this bird are in a great measure
    aquatic; and the setting in of the rains is the season in which they pair; the
    peacock is, therefore, always introduced in the description of cloudy or rainy
    weather. Thus, in a little poem, descriptive of the rainy season, &amp;c., the author
    says, addressing his mistress,&mdash;</p>
    <blockquote class="poetry">
      "Oh, thou, whose teeth enamelled vie<br />
      &nbsp;&nbsp;With smiling <i>Cunda's</i> pearly ray,<br />
      Hear how the peacock's amorous cry<br />
      &nbsp;&nbsp;Salutes the dark and cloudy day."<br />
    </blockquote>
    <p>And again, where he is describing the same season:&mdash;</p>
    <blockquote class="poetry">
      "When smiling forests, whence the tuneful cries<br />
      Of clustering pea-fowls shrill and frequent rise,<br />
      Teach tender feelings to each human breast,<br />
      And please alike the happy or distressed."<br />
    </blockquote>
    <p>The peacock flies to the highest station he can reach, to enjoy himself; and rises
    to the topmost boughs of trees, though the female makes her nest on the ground.</p>
    <p>F.R.Y.</p>
    <hr />
    <h3>A WARNING TO FRUIT EATERS.</h3>
    <h4>(<i>For the Mirror</i>.)</h4>
    <p>The mischiefs arising from the bad custom of many people swallowing the stones of
    plums and other fruit are very great. In the <i>Philosophical Transactions</i>, No.
    282, there is an account of a woman who suffered violent pains in her bowels for
    thirty years, returning once in a month, or less, owing to a plum-stone which had
    lodged; which, after various operations, was extracted. There is likewise an account
    of a man, who dying of an incurable colic, which had tormented him many years, and
    baffled the effects of medicine, was opened after his death, and in his bowels was
    found the cause of his distemper, which was a ball, composed of tough and hard
    matter, resembling a stone, being six inches in circumference, <span
    class="pagenum"><a id="page37" name="page37"></a>[pg 37]</span> when measured, and
    weighing an ounce and a half; in the centre of this there was found the stone of a
    common plum. These instances sufficiently prove the folly of that common opinion,
    that the stones of fruits are wholesome. Cherry-stones, swallowed in great
    quantities, have occasioned the death of many people; and there have been instances
    even of the seeds of strawberries, and kernels of nuts, collected into a lump in the
    bowels, and causing violent disorders, which could never be cured till they were
    carried off.</p>
    <p>P.T.W.</p>
    <hr />
    <h3>THE NIGHTINGALE,</h3>
    <h4>BY THE AUTHOR OF "AHAB."</h4>
    <h4>(<i>For the Mirror</i>.)</h4>
    <blockquote class="poetry">
      In the low dingle sings the nightingale.<br />
      &nbsp;&nbsp;And echo answers; all beside is still.<br />
      The breeze is gone to fill some distant sail,<br />
      &nbsp;&nbsp;And on the sand to sleep has sunk the rill.<br />
      The blackbird and the thrush have sought the vale.<br />
      &nbsp;&nbsp;And the lark soars no more above the hill,<br />
      For the broad sun is up all hotly pale,<br />
      &nbsp;&nbsp;And in my reins I feel his parching thrill.<br />
      <br />
      Hark! how each note, so beautifully clear,<br />
      &nbsp;&nbsp;So soft, so sweetly mellow, rings around.<br />
      Then faintly dies away upon the ear,<br />
      &nbsp;&nbsp;That fondly vibrates to the fading sound.<br />
      Poor bird, thou sing'st, the thorn within thy heart,<br />
      &nbsp;&nbsp;And I from sorrows, that will not depart.<br />
    </blockquote>
    <p>S.P.J.</p>
    <hr class="full" />
    <h2>SPIRIT OF THE PUBLIC JOURNALS</h2>
    <hr />
    <h3>A NIGHT ATTACK.</h3>
    <p>Charlton and I were in the act of smoking our cigars, the men having laid
    themselves down about the blaze, when word was passed from sentry to sentry, and
    intelligence communicated to us, that all was not right towards the river. We started
    instantly to our feet. The fire was hastily smothered up, and the men snatching their
    arms, stood in line, ready to act as circumstances might require. So dense, however,
    was the darkness, and so dazzling the effect of the glare from the bivouac, that it
    was not possible, standing where we stood, to form any reasonable guess, as to the
    cause of this alarm. That an alarm had been excited, was indeed perceptible enough.
    Instead of the deep silence which five minutes ago had prevailed in the bivouac, a
    strange hubbub of shouts, and questions, and as many cries, rose up the night air;
    nor did many minutes elapse, ere first one musket, then three or four, then a whole
    platoon, were discharged. The reader will <i>easily</i> believe that the latter
    circumstance startled us prodigiously, ignorant as we were of the cause which
    produced it; but it required no very painful exertion of patience to set us right on
    this head; flash, flash, flash, came from the river; the roar of cannon followed, and
    the light of her own broadside displayed to us an enemy's vessel at anchor near the
    opposite bank, and pouring a perfect shower of grape and round shot into the
    camp.</p>
    <p>For one instant, and only for an instant, a scene of alarm and consternation
    overcame us; and we almost instinctively addressed to each other the question, "What
    can all this mean?" But the meaning was too palpable not to be understood at once.
    "The thing cannot end here," said we&mdash;"a night attack is commencing;" and we
    made no delay in preparing to meet it. Whilst Charlton remained with the picquet, in
    readiness to act as the events might demand, I came forward to the sentries, for the
    purpose of cautioning them against paying attention to what might pass in their rear,
    and keeping them steadily engaged in watching their front. The men were fully alive
    to the peril of their situation. They strained with their hearing and eyesight to the
    utmost limits; but neither sound nor sight of an advancing column could be perceived.
    At last, however, an alarm was given. One of the rifles challenged&mdash;it was the
    sentinel on the high road; the sentinel who communicated with him challenged also;
    and the cry was taken up from man to man, till our own most remote sentry caught it.
    I flew to his station; and sure enough the tramp of many feet was most distinctly
    audible. Having taken the precaution to carry an orderly forward with me, I caused
    him to hurry back to Charlton with intelligence of what was coming, and my earnest
    recommendation that he would lose no time in occupying the ditch. I had hardly done
    so, when the noise of a column deploying was distinctly heard. The tramp of horses,
    too, came mingled with the tread of men; in a word, it was quite evident that a large
    force, both of infantry and cavalry, was before us.</p>
    <p>There was a pause at this period of several moments, as if the enemy's line,
    having effected its formation, had halted till some other arrangement should be
    completed; but it was quickly broke. On they came, as far as we could judge from the
    sound, in steady array, till at length their line could be indistinctly seen rising
    through the gloom. The sentinels with one consent gave their fire. <span
    class="pagenum"><a id="page38" name="page38"></a>[pg 38]</span> They gave it
    regularly and effectively, beginning with the rifles on their left, and going off
    towards the 85th on their right, and then, in obedience to their orders, fell back.
    But they retired not unmolested. This straggling discharge on our part seemed to be
    the signal to the Americans to begin the battle, and they poured in such a volley, as
    must have proved, had any determinate object been opposed to it, absolutely
    murderous. But our scattered videttes almost wholly escaped it; whilst over the main
    body of the picquet, sheltered as it was by the ditch, and considerably removed from
    its line, it passed entirely harmless.</p>
    <p>Having fired this volley, the enemy loaded again, and advanced. We saw them
    coming, and having waited till we judged that they were within excellent range, we
    opened our fire. It was returned in tenfold force, and now went on, for a full half
    hour, as heavy and close a discharge of musketry as troops have perhaps ever faced.
    Confident in their numbers, and led on, as it would appear, by brave officers, the
    Americans dashed forward till scarcely ten yards divided us; but our position was an
    admirable one, our men were steady and cool, and they penetrated no farther. On the
    contrary, we drove them back, more than once, with a loss which their own inordinate
    multitude tended only to render the more severe.</p>
    <p>The action might have continued in this state about two hours, when, to our horror
    and dismay, the approaching fire upon our right flank and rear gave testimony that
    the picquet of the 85th, which had been in communication with us, was forced.
    Unwilling to abandon our ground, which we had hitherto held with such success, we
    clung for awhile to the idea that the reverse in that quarter might be only
    temporary, and that the arrival of fresh troops might yet enable us to continue the
    battle in a position so eminently favourable to us. But we were speedily taught that
    our hopes were without foundation. The American war-cry was behind us. We rose from
    our lairs, and endeavoured, as we best could, to retire upon the right, but the
    effort was fruitless. There too the enemy had established themselves, and we were
    surrounded. "Let us cut our way through," cried we to the men. The brave fellows
    answered only with a shout; and collecting into a small compact line, prepared to use
    their bayonets. In a moment we had penetrated the centre of an American division; but
    the numbers opposed to us were overwhelming; our close order was lost; and the
    contest became that of man to man. I have no language adequate to describe what
    followed. For myself, I did what I could, cutting and thrusting at the multitudes
    about me, till at last I found myself fairly hemmed in by a crowd, and my sword-arm
    mastered. One American had grasped me round the waist, another, seizing me by the
    wrist, attempted to disarm me, whilst a third was prevented from plunging his bayonet
    into my body, only from the fear of stabbing one or other of his countrymen. I
    struggled hard, but they fairly bore me to the ground. The reader will well believe,
    that at this juncture I expected nothing else than instant death; but at the moment
    when I fell, a blow upon the head with the butt-end of a musket dashed out the brains
    of the man who kept his hold upon my sword-arm, and it was freed. I saw a bayonet
    pointed to my breast, and I intuitively made a thrust at the man who wielded it. The
    thrust took effect, and he dropped dead beside me. Delivered now from two of my
    enemies, I recovered my feet, and found that the hand which dealt the blow to which
    my preservation was owing, was that of Charlton. There were about ten men about him.
    The enemy in our front were broken, and we dashed through. But we were again hemmed
    in, and again it was fought hand to hand, with that degree of determination, which
    the assurance that life and death were on the issue, could alone produce. There
    cannot be a doubt that we should have fallen to a man, had not the arrival of fresh
    troops at this critical juncture turned the tide of affairs. As it was, little more
    than a third part of our picquet survived, the remainder being either killed or
    taken; and both Charlton and myself, though not dangerously, were wounded. Charlton
    had received a heavy blow upon the shoulder, which almost disabled him; whilst my
    neck bled freely from a thrust, which the intervention of a stout leathern stock
    alone hindered from being fatal. But the reinforcement gave us all, in spite of
    wounds and weariness, fresh courage, and we renewed the battle with alacrity.</p>
    <p>In the course of the struggle in which we had been engaged, we had been borne
    considerably out of the line of our first position, and now found that the main-road
    and the picquet of the rifles, were close in our rear. We were still giving
    way&mdash;for the troops opposed to us could not amount to less than fifteen hundred
    men, whilst the whole force on our part came not up to one hundred&mdash;when Captain
    Harris, major of brigade to Colonel Thornton, came up with an additional company to
    our support. Making way <span class="pagenum"><a id="page39" name="page39"></a>[pg
    39]</span> for them to fall in between us and the rifles, we took ground once more to
    the right, and driving back a body of the enemy, which occupied it, soon recovered
    the position from which we had been expelled. But we did so with the loss of many
    brave men, and, among others, of Captain Harris. He was shot in the lower part of the
    belly at the same instant that a musket-ball struck the hilt of his sword, and forced
    it into his side. Once more established in our ditch, we paused, and from that moment
    till the battle ceased to rage we never changed our attitude.</p>
    <p>It might be about one o'clock in the morning,&mdash;the American force in our
    front having fallen back, and we having been left, for a full half hour to breathe,
    when suddenly the head of a small column showed itself in full advance towards us. We
    were at this time amply supported by other troops, as well in communication as in
    reserve; and willing to annihilate the corps now approaching, we forbade the men to
    fire till it should be mingled with us. We did even more than this. Opening a passage
    for them through our centre, we permitted some hundred and twenty men to march across
    our ditch, and then wheeling up, with a loud shout, we completely enclosed them.
    Never have I witnessed a panic more perfect or more sudden than that which seized
    them. They no sooner beheld the snare into which they had fallen, than with one voice
    they cried aloud for quarter; and they were to a man made prisoners on the spot. The
    reader will smile when he is informed that the little corps thus captured consisted
    entirely of members of the legal profession. The barristers, attorneys, and notaries
    of New Orleans having formed themselves into a volunteer corps, accompanied General
    Jackson in his operations this night; and they were all, without a solitary
    exception, made prisoners. It is probably needless to add, that the circumstance was
    productive of no trifling degree of mirth amongst us; and to do them justice, the
    poor lawyers, as soon as they recovered from their first alarm, joined heartily in
    our laughter.</p>
    <p>This was the last operation in which we were engaged to-night. The enemy, repulsed
    on all sides, retreated with the utmost disorder, and the whole of the advance,
    collecting at the sound of the bugle, drew up, for the first time since the
    commencement of the affair, in a continuous line. We took our ground in front of the
    bivouac, having our right supported by the river, and our left covered by the chateau
    and village of huts. Among these latter the cannon were planted; whilst the other
    divisions, as they came rapidly up, took post beyond them. In this position we
    remained, eagerly desiring a renewal of the attack, till dawn began to appear, when,
    to avoid the fire of the vessel, the advance once more took shelter behind the bank.
    The first brigade, on the contrary, and such portion of the second as had arrived,
    encamped upon the plain, so as to rest their right upon the wood; and a chain of
    picquets being planted along the entire pathway, the day was passed in a state of
    inaction.</p>
    <p>I hardly recollect to have spent fourteen or fifteen hours with less comfort to
    myself than these. In the hurry and bustle of last night's engagement, my servant, to
    whose care I had intrusted my cloak and haversack, disappeared; he returned not
    during the whole morning; and as no provisions were issued out to us, nor any
    opportunity given to light fires, I was compelled to endure, all that time, the
    extremes of hunger, weariness, and cold. As ill luck would have it, too, the day
    chanced to be remarkably severe. There was no rain, it is true, but the sky was
    covered with gray clouds; the sun never once pierced them, and a frost, or rather a
    vile blight, hung upon the atmosphere from morning till night. Nor were the objects
    which occupied our senses of sight and hearing quite such as we should have desired
    to occupy them. In other parts of the field, the troops, not shut up as we were by
    the enemy's guns, employed themselves in burying the dead, and otherwise effacing the
    traces of warfare. The site of our encampment continued to be strewed with carcases
    to the last; and so watchful were the crew of the schooner, that every effort to
    convey them out of sight brought a heavy fire upon the party engaged in it. I must
    say, that the enemy's behaviour on the present occasion was not such as did them
    honour. The house which General Kean had originally occupied as head-quarters, being
    converted into an hospital, was filled at this time with wounded, both from the
    British and American armies. To mark its uses, a yellow flag, the usual signal in
    such cases, was hoisted on the roof&mdash;yet did the Americans continue to fire at
    it, as often as a group of six or eight persons happened to show themselves at the
    door. Nay, so utterly regardless were they of the dictates of humanity, that even the
    parties who were in the act of conveying the wounded from place to place, escaped not
    without molestation. More than one such party was dispersed by grape-shot, and more
    than one poor maimed soldier was in consequence <span class="pagenum"><a id="page40"
    name="page40"></a>[pg 40]</span> hurled out of the blanket in which he was borne.</p>
    <p>The reader will not doubt me when I say, that seldom has the departure of
    day-light been more anxiously looked for by me, than we looked for it now. It is
    true, that the arrival of a little rum towards evening served in some slight degree
    to elevate our spirits; but we could not help feeling, not vexation only, but
    positive indignation, at the state of miserable inaction to which we were
    condemned.</p>
    <p>There was not a man amongst us who would have hesitated one moment, had the choice
    been submitted to him, whether he would advance or lie still. True, we might have
    suffered a little, because the guns of the schooner entirely commanded us; and in
    rushing out from our place of concealment some casualties would have occurred; but so
    irksome was our situation, that we would have readily run all risks to change it. It
    suited not the plans of our general, however, to indulge these wishes. To the bank we
    were enjoined to cling; and we did cling to it, from the coming in of the first gray
    twilight of the morning, till the last twilight of evening had departed.</p>
    <p>As soon as it was well dark, the corps to which Charlton and myself were attached
    received orders to file off to the right. We obeyed, and passing along the front of
    the hospital, we skirted to the rear of the village, and established ourselves in the
    field beyond. It was a positive blessing this restoration to something like personal
    freedom. The men set busily to work, lighting fires and cooking provisions;&mdash;the
    officers strolled about, with no other apparent design than to give employment to
    their limbs, which had become stiff with so protracted a state of inaction. For
    ourselves we visited the wounded, said a few kind words to such as we recognised, and
    pitied, as they deserved to be pitied, the rest. Then retiring to our fire, we
    addressed ourselves with hearty good will to a frugal supper, and gladly composed
    ourselves to sleep.&mdash;<i>A Subaltern in America.&mdash;Blackwood's
    Magazine.</i></p>
    <hr />
    <h3>SONNET&mdash;NOCHE SERENA.</h3>
    <blockquote class="poetry">
      How tranquil is the night! The torrent's roar<br />
      Dies off far distant; through the lattice streams<br />
      The pure, white, silvery moonshine, mantling o'er<br />
      The couch and curtains with its fairy gleams.<br />
      Sweet is the prospect; sweeter are the dreams<br />
      From which my loathful eyelid now unclosed:&mdash;<br />
      Methought beside a forest we reposed,<br />
      Marking the summer sun's far western beams,<br />
      A dear-loved friend and I. The nightingale<br />
      To silence and to us her pensive tale<br />
      Sang forth; the very tone of vanish'd years<br />
      Came o'er me, feelings warm, and visions bright;<br />
      Alas! how quick such vision disappears,<br />
      To leave the spectral moon and silent night!<br />
    </blockquote>
    <p><i>Delta of Blackwood's Magazine.</i></p>
    <hr class="full" />
    <h2>ARTS AND SCIENCES.</h2>
    <hr />
    <h3>THE BEECH TREE.&mdash;A NONCONDUCTOR OF LIGHTNING.</h3>
    <p>Dr. Beeton, in a letter to Dr. Mitchill of New York, dated 19th of July, 1824,
    states, that the beech tree (that is, the broad leaved or American variety of
    <i>Fagus sylvatiea</i>,) is never known to be assailed by atmospheric electricity. So
    notorious, he says, is this fact, that in Tenessee, it is considered almost an
    impossibility to be struck by lightning, if protection be sought under the branches
    of a beech tree. Whenever the sky puts on a threatening aspect, and the thunder
    begins to roll, the Indians leave their pursuit, and betake themselves to the shelter
    of the nearest beech tree, till the storm pass over; observation having taught these
    sagacious children of nature, that, while other trees are often shivered to
    splinters, the electric fluid is not attracted by the beech. Should farther
    observation establish the fact of the non-conducting quality of the American beech,
    great advantage may evidently be derived from planting hedge rows of such trees
    around the extensive barn yards in which cattle are kept, and also in disposing
    groups and single trees in ornamental plantations in the neighbourhood of the
    dwelling houses of the owners.&mdash;<i>New Monthly Magazine.</i></p>
    <h3>ANTIQUITIES.</h3>
    <p>A valuable discovery was made the other day in Westminster Abbey. It had become
    necessary to make repairs near the tomb of Edward the Confessor, when, by removing a
    portion of the pavement, an exquisitely beautiful piece of carved work, which had
    originally formed part of the shrine of Edward's tomb, was discovered. This fine
    relic, the work of the eleventh or twelfth century, appears to have been studded with
    precious stones; and the presumption is, that during the late civil wars it was taken
    down for the purpose of plunder, and after the gems were taken out, buried under the
    ground (very near the surface of the earth) to avoid
    detection.&mdash;<i>Ibid.</i></p>
    <hr class="full" />
    <span class="pagenum"><a id="page41" name="page41"></a>[pg 41]</span>
    <h2>ARCHERY</h2>
    <p class="figure"><a href="images/264-2.png"><img width="100%" src="images/264-2.png"
    alt="" /></a><br />
    </p>
    <p>Previous to introducing the communication of a much respected correspondent, who
    has well described, by drawing and observation, a Royal Archer of Scotland, we shall
    offer a few general remarks on the subject of the above engraving, which relates to
    an amusement which we are happy to find is patronized in many counties in England by
    respectable classes of society at this day. No instrument of warfare is more ancient
    than that of the bow and arrow, and the skill of the English bowmen is celebrated. It
    seems, that in ancient times the English had the advantage over enemies chiefly by
    their archers and light-armed troops.</p>
    <p>The <i>archers</i> were armed with a long-bow, a sheaf of arrows, a sword, and a
    small shield.</p>
    <p>The <i>cross-bowmen</i>, as their name implies, were armed with the cross-bow, and
    arrows called <i>quarrels</i>.</p>
    <p>Even after the invention of guns, the English archers are spoken of as excelling
    those of all other nations; and an ancient writer affirms that an English arrow, with
    a little wax upon its point, would pass through any ordinary corselet or cuirass. It
    is uncertain how far the archers with the long-bow could send an arrow; but the
    cross-bowmen could shoot their quarrels to the distance of forty rods, or the eighth
    part of a mile. For a more general and extended notice of the history of archery,
    however, we refer our readers to a recent volume,<a id="footnotetag2"
    name="footnotetag2"></a><a href="#footnote2"><sup>2</sup></a> and here we have the
    correspondence alluded to a few lines above.</p>
    <h3>A ROYAL ARCHER OF SCOTLAND.</h3>
    <span class="pagenum"><a id="page42" name="page42"></a>[pg 42]</span>
    <h4>(<i>For the Mirror.</i>)</h4>
    <p class="figure"><a href="images/264-3.png"><img width="50%" src="images/264-3.png"
    alt="" /></a></p>
    <blockquote class="poetry">
      "Good-morrowe, good fellow,&mdash;<br />
      Methinks, by this bowe thou beares in thy hand<br />
      A good archere thou shouldst bee."<br />
    </blockquote>
    <p><i>Old Ballad</i>.</p>
    <p>I feel happy that it is in my power to present a drawing, made expressly for the
    purpose, of the picturesque costume worn by the Royal Company of Archers, or King's
    Body Guard of Scotland. This is described in Stark's "Picture of Edinburgh"
    thus:&mdash;"Their uniform is 42nd tartan, with green velvet collar and cuffs, and a
    Highland bonnet, with feathers; on the front of the bonnet is the cross of St.
    Andrew, and a gold arrow on the collar of the jacket." There is a something in the
    very idea of an archer, and in the name of <i>Robin Hood</i>, particularly charming
    to most bosoms, coming as they do to us fraught with all delicious associations; the
    wild, free forest life, the sweet pastime, the adventures of bold outlaws amid the
    heaven of sylvan scenery, and the national renown of British bowmen which mingles
    with the records of our chivalry in history and romance; while the revival of
    <i>archery</i> in England of late years, as an elegant amusement, sufficiently proves
    that the high feeling which seems mysteriously to blend a present age with one long
    since gone by, is not totally extinct. Shall I venture to assert, that for this we
    are indebted to the charmed light cast around a noble and ancient pastime by the
    antiquary, poet, and romance-writer of modern times? But to return, the Scottish
    archers were first formed into a company and obtained a charter, granting them great
    privileges, under the reign of queen Anne, for which they were to pay to the crown,
    annually, a pair of barbed arrows. One of these allowances was, that they might
    <i>meet and go forth under their officer's conduct, in military form, in manner of
    weapon-showing, as often as they should think convenient</i>. "But they have made no
    public parade since 1743,"<a id="footnotetag3" name="footnotetag3"></a><a
    href="#footnote3"><sup>3</sup></a> owing, probably, to the state of parties in
    Edinburgh, for their attachment to the Stuart family was well understood, and falling
    under the suspicion of the British government after the rebellion of 1745, they were
    watched, "and spies appointed to frequent their company." The company possess a house
    built by themselves, termed Archers' Hall. All their business is transacted by a
    president and six counsellors, who are nominated by the members at large, and have
    authority to admit or reject candidates <i>ad libitum</i>. The number of this
    association is now very great, having been of late years much increased; they have
    standards, with appropriate emblems and mottoes, and shoot for several prizes
    annually; amongst these are a silver bowl and arrows, which, by a singular
    regulation, "are retained by the successful candidate only one year, when he appends
    a medal to them; and as these prizes are of more than a hundred years standing, the
    number of medals now attached to them are very curious."</p>
    <p>To this notice may I be permitted to subjoin a few stanzas? Old Izaak Walton hath
    put songs and sylvan poesy in plenty into the mouths of his anglers and rural
    <i>dramatis personae</i>, and shall <i>I</i> be blamed for following, in all
    humility, his illustrious example? Perchance&mdash;but hold! it is one of the fairest
    of summer mornings; the sun sheds a pure, a silvery light on the young, fresh,
    new-waked foliage and herbage; a faint mist veils the blue distance of the landscape;
    but the pearly shroud conceals not yonder troop of young blithe men, who, arranged in
    green, after the olden fashion, each bearing the implements of archery, and tripping
    lightly over the heath, are carolling in the joy of their free spirits, while the
    fresh breeze brings to my ear most distinctly the words of</p>
    <h3>THE ARCHER'S SONG.</h3>
    <blockquote class="poetry">
      Away!&mdash;away!&mdash;yon golden sun<br />
      Hath chas'd nights' shadows damp and dun;<br />
      Forth from his turfy couch, the lark<br />
      Hath sprung to meet glad day: and hark!<br />
      A mingling and delicious song<br />
      Breathes from the blithe-voiced plumy throng;<br />
      While, to the green-wood hasten <i>we</i><br />
      Whose craft is, gentle archery!<br />
      <br />
      Now swift we bound o'er dewy grass!<br />
      Rousing the red fox as we pass,<br />
      And startling linnet, merle, and thrush,<br />
      As recklessly the boughs we brush.<br />
      The <i>hunter's</i> horn sings thro' the brakes.<br />
      And its soft lay apt echo takes;<br />
      But soon her sweet enamoured tone<br />
      Shall tell what song is all <i>our</i> own!<br />
      <br />
      On!&mdash;on!&mdash;glad brothers of the bow!<br />
      The dun deer's couching place ye know,<br />
      And gallant bucks this day shall rue<br />
      Our feather'd shafts,&mdash;so swift,&mdash;so true;<br />
      Yet, sorer than the sylvan train,<br />
      Our foes, upon the battle-plain,<br />
      Will mourn at the unerring hands<br />
      Of Albion's <i>matchless</i> archer bands!<br />
      <br />
      Now hie we on, to silent shades,<br />
      To glist'ning streams, and sunlit glades,<br />
      Where all that woodland life can give,<br />
      Renders it bliss indeed, to <i>live</i>.<br />
      Come, ye who love the shadowy wood,<br />
      Whate'er your days, whate'er your mood.<br />
      And join <i>us</i>, freakish knights that be<br />
      Of grey-goose wing, and good yew-tree!<br />
      <br />
      Say&mdash;are ye <i>mirthful</i>?&mdash;then we'll sing<br />
      Of wayward feasts and frolicking;&mdash;<br />
      Tell jests and gibes,&mdash;nor lack we store<br />
      <span class="pagenum"><a id="page43" name="page43"></a>[pg 43]</span> Of knightly
      tales, and monkish lore;<br />
      High freaks of dames and cavaliers,<br />
      Of warlocks, spectres, elfs, and seers,<br />
      Till with glad heart, and blithesome brow,<br />
      Ye bless your brothers of the bow!<br />
      <br />
      Is <i>sadness</i> courted?&mdash;ye shall lie<br />
      When summer's sultry noons are high,<br />
      By darkling forest's shadow'd stream<br />
      To muse;&mdash;or, sweeter still, to dream<br />
      Day-dreams of love; while round ye rise<br />
      Distant, delicious harmonies;<br />
      Until ye languishing declare<br />
      An archer's life, indeed is fair!<br />
    </blockquote>
    <p>M. L. B.</p>
    <hr class="full" />
    <h2>THE NOVELIST</h2>
    <h3>NO. CV.</h3>
    <hr />
    <h3>THE GHIBELLINES.</h3>
    <h4><i>A Fragment of a Tuscan Tale</i>.</h4>
    <h4>BY MISS EMMA ROBERTS.</h4>
    <blockquote>
      "His name's Gonzago.&mdash;The story is extant, and written in very choice
      Italian."
    </blockquote>
    <p>Ten thousand lights burned throughout the Alberoni palace, and all the nobility of
    Florence flocked to the bridal of its wealthy lord. It was a fair sight to see the
    stately mirrors which spread their shining surfaces between pillars of polished
    marble reflecting the gay assemblage, that, radiant with jewels, promenaded the
    saloon, or wreathed the dance to the witching music of the most skilful minstrels in
    all Tuscany. Every lattice was open, and the eye, far as it could reach, wandered
    through illuminated gardens, tenanted by gay groups, where the flush of the roses,
    the silver stars of the jasmine, the crimson, purple, orange, and blue of the
    variegated parterre were revealed as if the brightest blaze of day flashed upon their
    silken leaves. Amid all this pomp of beauty and splendour the bride moved along,
    surpassing all that was fair and resplendent around her by the exceeding loveliness
    of a face and form to which every eye and every heart paid involuntary homage. At her
    side appeared the exulting bridegroom, to whom, however, more it should seem through
    diffidence than aversion, her eyes were never raised; for though Count Alberoni had
    advanced beyond the middle age of life, yet he still retained the majestic port and
    commanding lineaments for which he had been distinguished in early youth; his riches
    rendered him all potent in Florence, and none dared dispute with him the possession
    of its fairest flower. Intoxicated with the pleasures offered at the banquet and the
    ball, whatever of envy or of jealousy might have been hidden in the bosoms of the
    guests while contemplating the treasure which the triumphant Alberoni had snatched
    from contending suitors, it was concealed, and the most cheerful hilarity prevailed.
    Yet, amid the general expression of happiness, there were two persons who, attracting
    notice by the meanness of their attire, and the melancholy gloom upon their
    countenances, seemed to be out of place in so stately and so joyous an assembly. They
    were brother and sister, the descendants of Ghibellines who had died in exile, and
    distant relations of the Count, who though not choosing to regard them as his heirs,
    had, when the abolition of a severe law enabled the proscribed faction to return to
    Florence, accorded them shelter and protection. Meanly clad in vestments of coarse
    serge, there were yet no cavaliers who fluttered in silk and velvet who could compare
    in personal beauty with Francesco Gonzago; and the bride alone, of all the beauties
    who shone in gold and silver, appeared superior in feminine charms to the lovely
    Beatrice, notwithstanding that her cumbrous robe of grey stuff obscured the delicate
    proportions of her sylph-like form. Buoyant in spirit, and animated by the scene
    before her, occasionally a gleam of sunshine would irradiate her brow as she gazed
    upon the sparkling throng who formed the brilliant pageant which so much delighted
    her; but as she turned to express her feelings to her brother, his pale pensive
    features and the recollection of the intense anguish which wrung his heart, subdued
    her gaiety, the smile passed away from her lip, the rose deserted her cheek, and she
    stood by his side sad and sorrowful as some monumental statue. Many persons grieved
    at the depressed fortunes of the once powerful Gonzagos, but there were others who
    sneered at their present degradation, enjoying the cruel mockery with which Alberoni
    had forced the man who had cherished hopes of succeeding as heir-at-law to his
    immense estates, to witness the downfall of those flattering expectations. Few and
    slight were the salutations which passed between the dejected pair and the more
    illustrious guests; but as the bride made the circuit of the apartments, she paused
    when approaching her husband's neglected relatives, and raising eyes swimming with
    drops of sympathy, greeted them with unaffected tenderness. Francesco was unprepared
    for the gentle kindness of her address; his stern heart melted, his proud glance
    suddenly changed to one of gracious courtesy; he gazed upon her as upon some angelic
    being sent down from heaven to <span class="pagenum"><a id="page44"
    name="page44"></a>[pg 44]</span> soothe and gladden his perturbed soul; and
    henceforward he saw nothing in the glare, and the crowd, and the splendour around
    him, save the sweet face and the delicate form of the Countess Alberoni; his charmed
    eyes followed her from place to place, and so entirely was he engrossed by one
    object, that he did not perceive that the attention of Beatrice was almost wholly
    occupied by a young and sprightly cavalier, who pursued her like a shadow, pouring
    tender tales in a not unwilling ear. Group by group the guests retired from the
    festive scene, and the brother and sister, scarcely able to define the new feelings
    which sprung up in the heart of each, quitted the magnificent palace to seek their
    forlorn abode. A pavilion, nearly in ruins, was the sole shelter which the proud lord
    of Alberoni afforded to the only surviving branches of his family, when returning to
    their native city they found their patrimonial estates confiscated, and themselves
    dependent upon the niggard bounty of a cold and selfish relative. Slowly recovering
    from a severe wound which he had received in the wars of Lombardy, and disgusted with
    the ingratitude of the prince he served, the ill-starred Francesco was at first
    rejoiced to obtain any refuge from the storms of a tempestuous world; and the
    unceasing efforts of his young and affectionate sister to reconcile him to a bitter
    lot were not wholly unavailing. Summer had spread her richest treasures upon the lap
    of Nature; and the fairy hands of Beatrice transformed the bare walls of the
    dilapidated edifice which they inhabited into bowers of luxuriant foliage; the most
    delicious fruit also, the spontaneous product of the garden, cooled at some crystal
    fount and heaped with flowers, tempted her brother's languid appetite; and, waking
    the soft notes of her lute, she soothed his desponding spirit with music's gentlest
    sound. Fondly trusting that Francesco might be won to prize the simple enjoyments of
    which fortune could not despoil him, and to find his dearest happiness in an
    approving conscience, the light hearted girl indulged in delusive hopes of future
    felicity. But these expectations were soon damped; as Francesco's health returned he
    became restless and melancholy; he saw no prospect of arriving at distinction by his
    talents, or by his sword; peace reigned throughout the Tuscan states, and the
    jealousy of the government of all who bore the mark of Ghibelline extraction, forbade
    the chance of successful exertion and honourable reward; his days were spent in moody
    abstraction, his nights in feverish dreams; his misfortunes, his accomplishments and
    his virtues failed to excite affection in the breast of his kinsman, who, jealous of
    the youth and personal attractions of the man apparently destined to be his heir,
    grew uneasy at the thought of benefitting a person he had learned to hate; and
    suddenly resolving to cut off at once the presumptuous expectations which the
    luckless exile might have cherished, exerted the influence procured by his wealth to
    form an alliance with the most peerless beauty which the city boasted. A new source
    of anguish added to the misery already sustained by the wretched Gonzago; his arm was
    paralyzed by the utter hopelessness of any attempt to emerge from the obscurity to
    which fate had condemned him; he brooded over the dismal futurity which opened before
    him; and, as a solace to these gloomy meditations, suffered his imagination to dwell
    upon the charms and graces of the lovely Giacinta, his kinsman's gentle bride. He saw
    her sometimes flitting through the myrtle groves which skirted the neighbouring
    palace; and when night favoured his concealment, he would approach the marble
    porticos to catch the sound of her voice as, accompanied by a lute, she wasted its
    melody upon the silent stars. Beatrice, in the mean time, experienced only in the
    pale brow and haggard form of her brother an alloy to her happiness. Alessandro, the
    young heir of the Orsini family, had abandoned the gay revels of Florence to share
    the solitude of the despised Ghibellines; and although there seemed to be little
    chance of ultimate triumph over the obstacles which opposed themselves to an alliance
    between the prosperous scion of a noble house and the unportioned orphan of a
    banished man, yet hope pre-ponderated over fear, and, blessed by her enchanting
    smiles, the lover indulged in delightful anticipations.</p>
    <p>...</p>
    <p>Again was the Alberoni palace illumined by innumerable tapers; again were the
    glittering saloons filled with all the noble population of Florence. A second nuptial
    feast, more splendid and joyous than the first, was celebrated; again Giacinta,
    lovelier than ever, shone as the bride, and by her side a cavalier appeared, whose
    summer of life was better adapted to match with her tender years than the mature age
    of her late husband had been.</p>
    <p>The Count Alberoni Gonzago was dead; and Francesco succeeding to his wealth, had
    obtained the hand of his widow. Beatrice, also a bride, followed in the train of the
    Countess, but followed more like a mourner at some funeral solemnity <span
    class="pagenum"><a id="page45" name="page45"></a>[pg 45]</span> than as the newly
    wedded consort of the husband of her choice. Francesco all smiles and triumph, as he
    stood with the fairest hand in Florence hanging on his arm, proudly greeting the
    guests who crowded to pay him homage, turned frequently, and cast looks of piercing
    examination and reproach upon his pale and trembling sister, and, as if fascinated by
    his glance, she would rally her, failing spirits and smile languidly upon the
    bridegroom, who bent over her enamoured; and then, as if beguiled from some painful
    contemplation by the sweet accents of the man she loved, she became calm, and her
    quivering features resumed their wonted placidity. But these moments of tranquillity
    were of short duration; she started at every shadow; the flash of one of the jewels
    which broidered her satin robe would cause a fit of trembling; and at length, when
    seated at the banquet opposite her brother and his bride, a richly clad domestic
    offered wine in a golden goblet; for a moment she held it to her lips, and then
    dashed it away, exclaiming&mdash;"It is poison! Hide me,&mdash;save me. I see it
    every where; in those green leaves from whence it was distilled.&mdash;Oh! Francesco,
    Francesco, let us be poor and happy!" The guests shrunk aghast from the speaker, who,
    falling from her seat, expired in convulsions.</p>
    <p>The power conferred by Gonzago's immense riches silenced the whispered murmurs of
    the assembly. No man rose to higher eminence in the state than the idolized husband
    of the beautiful Giacinta; but a dark cloud hung upon his house, his children were
    all cut off in their infancy, and, after a few brief years of outward felicity,
    struck from his horse by the fragment of a building which fell upon him as he rode in
    pomp through the city, he received a mortal wound, surviving the accident only long
    enough to unburthen his soul to his confessor.</p>
    <p>His dying words were addressed to Alessandro, from whom since the hour of his
    nuptials he had been estranged; pressing his hand, he exclaimed&mdash;"She was
    innocent! she heard not of the murder until it had been
    accomplished."&mdash;<i>London Weekly Review</i>.</p>
    <hr class="full" />
    <h2>THE SELECTOR; AND LITERARY NOTICES OF NEW WORKS.</h2>
    <hr />
    <h3>RAFTS AND RHINE SCENERY.</h3>
    <p>Between Andernach and Bonn I saw two or three of those enormous rafts which are
    formed of the accumulated produce of the Swiss and German forests. One was anchored
    in the middle of the river, and looked like a floating island. These <i>Krakens</i>
    of the Rhine are composed of oak and fir floated in smaller rafts down the tributary
    streams, and, their size constantly increasing till they arrive hereabouts, they make
    platforms of from four hundred to seven hundred feet long, and one hundred and forty
    feet in breadth. When in motion, a dozen boats and more precede them, carrying
    anchors and cables to guide and arrest their course. The navigation of a raft down
    the Rhine to Dort, in Holland, which is the place of their destination,<a
    id="footnotetag4" name="footnotetag4"></a><a href="#footnote4"><sup>4</sup></a> is a
    work of great difficulty. The skill of the German and Dutch pilots who navigate them,
    in spite of the abrupt turnings, the eddies, the currents, rocks and shoals that
    oppose their progress, must indeed be of a very peculiar kind, and can be possessed
    but by few. It requires besides a vast deal of manual labour. The whole complement of
    rowers and workmen, together with their wives and children, on board one of the
    <i>first-rates</i>, amounts to the astonishing number of nine hundred or a thousand;
    a little village, containing from forty to sixty wooden houses, is erected upon each,
    which also is furnished with stalls for cattle, a magazine for provisions, &amp;c.
    The dwelling appropriated to the use of the master of the raft and the principal
    super-cargoes was conspicuous for its size and commodiousness. It is curious to
    observe these rafts, on their passage, with their companies of rowers stationed at
    each end, making the shores ring again to the sound of their immense oars.</p>
    <p>The succession of grand natural pictures, which I had been gazing upon since my
    departure from Mentz and the district of the Rheingau, are undoubtedly similar, but
    not the same; there is alternately the long noble reach, the sudden bend, the
    lake-like expanse, the shores on both sides lined with towns whose antique
    fortifications rise in distant view, and villages whose tapering spires of blue slate
    peer above the embosoming foliage; the mountains clothed with vines and forests,
    their sides bristled and their summits crowned with the relics of feudal
    residences,<a id="footnotetag5" name="footnotetag5"></a><a
    href="#footnote5"><sup>5</sup></a> or <span class="pagenum"><a id="page46"
    name="page46"></a>[pg 46]</span> of cloistered fanes: but the varieties in the shape
    and character of all these are inexhaustible; it is this circumstance that enhances
    the pleasure of contemplating, scenery, in which there is, as Lord Byron says,</p>
    <blockquote class="poetry">
      "A blending of all beauties, streams and dells,<br />
      Fruit, foliage, crag, wood, corn-field, mountain, vine,<br />
      And chiefless castles breathing stern farewells,<br />
      From gray but leafy walls where ruin greenly dwells."
    </blockquote>
    <p>The oppositions of light and shade; the rich culture of the hills contrasted with
    the rugged rocks that often rise from out of the midst of fertility; the bright
    verdure of the islands which the Rhine is continually forming; the purple hues and
    misty azure of the distant mountains&mdash;these and a thousand other indescribable
    charms constitute sources of visual delight which can be imparted only by a view of
    the objects themselves. And is excitement awakened in contemplating the borders of
    this graceful and magnificent river? Yes. When we revert to the awful convulsions of
    the physical world, and the important revolutions of human society, of which the
    regions it flows through have been successively the theatre&mdash;when we meditate on
    the vast changes, the fearful struggles, the tragic incidents and mournful
    catastrophes, which they have witnessed from the earliest ages to the very times in
    which we have ourselves lived and marked the issue of events&mdash;"the battles,
    sieges, fortunes" that have passed before its green tumultuous current, or within ken
    of its mountain watch-towers&mdash;the shouts of nations that have resounded, and the
    fates of empires that have been decided, on its shores&mdash;when we think of the
    slaughtered myriads whose bones have bleached on the neighbouring plains, filled up
    the trenches of its rock-built strong-holds, or found their place of sepulture
    beneath its wave&mdash;when, at each survey we take of the wide and diversified
    scene, the forms of centuries seem to be embodied with the objects around us, and the
    record of the past becomes vividly associated with the impression of present
    realities&mdash;it is then that we are irresistibly led to compare the greatness of
    nature with the littleness of man; it is then that we are forcibly struck with the
    power and goodness of the Author of both; and that the deepest humility unites itself
    in a grateful mind, with the highest admiration, at the sight of "these His lowest
    works."</p>
    <p>But do you pretend, it may be asked, in the course of a three days' journey,
    however lengthened by celerity of conveyance, or favoured by advantages of season or
    weather&mdash;do you pretend to have experienced that very eminent degree of
    gratification which the country is capable of communicating? Certainly not. I speak
    of these scenes but as of things, which before my own hasty and unsatisfied glances
    came like shadows&mdash;so departed. Instead of two or three days, a whole month
    should be spent between Mentz, Coblentz, and Bonn, in order fully to know and
    thoroughly to enjoy the beauties and grandeurs with which that space
    abounds.&mdash;<i>Stevenson's Tour in France, &amp;c.</i></p>
    <hr />
    <h3>THE BARBER.</h3>
    <blockquote class="poetry">
      Nick Razorblade a barber was,<br />
      &nbsp;&nbsp;A <i>strapping</i> lad was he;<br />
      And he could shave with such a grace,<br />
      &nbsp;&nbsp;It was a joy to see!<br />
      <br />
      And tho' employ'd within his house,<br />
      &nbsp;&nbsp;He kept like rat in hole;<br />
      All those that pass'd the barber's door,<br />
      &nbsp;&nbsp;Could always see his <i>pole</i>!<br />
      <br />
      His dress was rather plain than rich,<br />
      &nbsp;&nbsp;Nor fitted over well;<br />
      Yet, tho' no <i>macaroni</i>, Nick,<br />
      &nbsp;&nbsp;He often <i>cut a swell</i>!<br />
      <br />
      And Nick was brave, and he could fight,<br />
      &nbsp;&nbsp;As many times he proved;<br />
      A lamb became a lion fierce,<br />
      &nbsp;&nbsp;Whenever he was moved!<br />
      <br />
      Like many of his betters, who<br />
      &nbsp;&nbsp;To field with pistols rush,<br />
      When Nicky <i>lather'd</i> any one,<br />
      &nbsp;&nbsp;He was obliged to <i>brush</i>!<br />
      <br />
      Some say Nick was a brainless <i>block</i>,<br />
      &nbsp;&nbsp;While those who've seen him waving<br />
      His bright sharp razor, o'er scap'd chins,<br />
      &nbsp;&nbsp;Declare he was a <i>shaving</i>!<br />
      <br />
      His next door neighbour, Nelly Jones,<br />
      &nbsp;&nbsp;A maid of thirty-eight,<br />
      'Twas said regarded Nick with smiles,<br />
      &nbsp;&nbsp;But folks will always prate.<br />
      <br />
      'Tis known in summer time that she,<br />
      &nbsp;&nbsp;(A maid and only daughter)<br />
      To show her love for Razorblade,<br />
      &nbsp;&nbsp;Kept Nicky in <i>hot water</i>!<br />
      <br />
      For politics Nick always said,<br />
      &nbsp;&nbsp;He never cared a fig;<br />
      Quoth he:&mdash;"If I a Tory were,<br />
      &nbsp;&nbsp;I likewise <i>wear a wig</i>!"<br />
      <br />
      No poacher he, yet <i>hairs</i> he <i>wired</i>,<br />
      &nbsp;&nbsp;With skill that made maids prouder;<br />
      And though he never used a gun,<br />
      &nbsp;&nbsp;He knew the use of <i>powder</i>!<br />
      <br />
      He never took offence at words,<br />
      &nbsp;&nbsp;However broad or blunt;<br />
      But when maids brought a <i>front</i> to dress,<br />
      &nbsp;&nbsp;Of course he took a <i>front</i>!<br />
      <br />
      Beneath his razor folks have slept,<br />
      &nbsp;&nbsp;So easy were they mown;<br />
      Yet (oh! most passing strange it was!)<br />
      &nbsp;&nbsp;His <i>razor</i> was his <i>own</i>!<br />
      <br />
      <span class="pagenum"><a id="page47" name="page47"></a>[pg 47]</span> Nick
      doubtless had a tender heart,<br />
      &nbsp;&nbsp;But not for Nelly Jones;<br />
      He made Miss Popps "bone of his bone,"<br />
      &nbsp;&nbsp;But never made old bones!<br />
      <br />
      He died and left an only son,<br />
      <br />
      &nbsp;&nbsp;A barber too by trade;<br />
      <br />
      But when they ope'd his will, they found<br />
      &nbsp;&nbsp;A cruel will he'd made.<br />
      <br />
      And doubtless he was raving mad,<br />
      &nbsp;&nbsp;(To slander I'm unwilling)<br />
      For tho' a <i>barber</i>, Nicky cut<br />
      &nbsp;&nbsp;His <i>heir</i> off with <i>a shilling!</i><br />
    </blockquote>
    <p><i>Absurdities: in Prose and Verse</i>.</p>
    <hr />
    <h3>BONAPARTE ATTEMPTS SUICIDE.</h3>
    <p>While we endeavour to sum up the mass of misfortunes with which Bonaparte was
    overwhelmed at this crisis, it seems as if Fortune had been determined to show that
    she did not intend to reverse the lot of humanity, even in the case of one who had
    been so long her favourite, but that she retained the power of depressing the obscure
    soldier, whom she had raised to be almost king of Europe, in a degree as humiliating
    as his exaltation had been splendid. All that three years before seemed inalienable
    from his person, was now reversed. The victor was defeated, the monarch was
    dethroned, the ransomer of prisoners was in captivity, the general was deserted by
    his soldiers, the master abandoned by his domestics, the brother parted from his
    brethren, the husband severed from the wife, and the father torn from his only child.
    To console him for the fairest and largest empire that ambition ever lorded it over,
    he had, with the mock name of emperor, a petty isle, to which he was to retire,
    accompanied by the pity of such friends as dared express their feelings, the
    unrepressed execrations of many of his former subjects, who refused to regard his
    present humiliation as an amends for what he had made them suffer during his power,
    and the ill-concealed triumph of the enemies into whose hands he had been
    delivered.</p>
    <p>A Roman would have seen, in these accumulated disasters, a hint to direct his
    sword's point against his breast; a man of better faith would have turned his eye
    back on his own conduct, and having read, in his misuse of prosperity, the original
    source of those calamities, would have remained patient and contrite under the
    consequences of his ambition. Napoleon belonged to the Roman school of philosophy;
    and it is confidently reported, especially by Baron Fain, his secretary, though it
    has not been universally believed, that he designed, at this extremity, to escape
    from life by an act of suicide.</p>
    <p>The emperor, according to this account, had carried with him, ever since the
    retreat from Moscow, a packet containing a preparation of opium, made up in the same
    manner with that used by Condorcet for self-destruction. His valet-de-chambre, in the
    night betwixt the 12th and 13th of April, heard him arise and pour something into a
    glass of water, drink, and return to bed. In a short time afterwards, the man's
    attention was called by sobs and stifled groans&mdash;an alarm took place in the
    chateau&mdash;some of the principal persons were roused, and repaired to Napoleon's
    chamber. Yvan, the surgeon, who had procured him the poison, was also summoned; but
    hearing the emperor complain that the operation of the poison was not quick enough,
    he was seized with a panic-terror, and fled from the palace at full gallop. Napoleon
    took the remedies recommended, and a long fit of stupor ensued, with profuse
    perspiration. He awakened much exhausted, and surprised at finding himself still
    alive; he said aloud, after a few moments' reflection, "Fate will not have it so,"
    and afterwards appeared reconciled to undergo his destiny, without similar attempts
    at personal violence. There is, as we have already hinted, a difference of opinion
    concerning the cause of Napoleon's illness; some imputing it to indigestion. The fact
    of his having been very much indisposed is, however, indisputable. A general of the
    highest distinction transacted business with Napoleon on the morning of the 13th of
    April. He seemed pale and dejected, as from recent and exhausting illness. His only
    dress was a night-gown and slippers, and he drank from time to time a quantity of
    tisan, or some such liquid, which was placed beside him, saying he had suffered
    severely during the night, but that his complaint had left him.</p>
    <p>After this crisis, and having ratified the treaty which his mareschals had made
    for him. Napoleon appeared more at his ease than he had been for some time before,
    and conversed frankly with his attendants upon the affairs of France.</p>
    <h3>NAPOLEON TAKES LEAVE OF THE IMPERIAL GUARD.</h3>
    <p>Napoleon having now resigned himself entirely to his fate, whether for good or
    evil, prepared, on the 20th of April, to depart for his place of retreat. But first,
    he had the painful task of bidding farewell to the body in the universe most attached
    to him, and to which he was probably most attached,&mdash;his celebrated Imperial
    Guard. Such of them as could be collected were drawn out before him <span
    class="pagenum"><a id="page48" name="page48"></a>[pg 48]</span> in review. Some
    natural tears dropped from his eyes, and his features had the marks of strong emotion
    while reviewing for the last time, as he must then have thought likely, the
    companions of so many victories. He advanced to them on horseback, dismounted, and
    took his solemn leave. "All Europe," he said, "had armed against him; France herself
    had deserted him, and chosen another dynasty. He might," he said, "have maintained
    with his soldiers a civil war of years, but it would have rendered France unhappy. Be
    faithful," he continued, (and the words were remarkable,) "to the new sovereign whom
    France has chosen. Do not lament my fate; I will always be happy while I know you are
    so. I could have died&mdash;nothing was easier&mdash;but I will always follow the
    road of honour. I will record with my pen the deeds we have done together. I cannot
    embrace you all, but I embrace your general,"&mdash;(he pressed the general to his
    bosom.)&mdash;"Bring hither the eagle,"&mdash;(he embraced the standard, and
    concluded)&mdash;"Beloved eagle, may the kisses I bestow on you long resound in the
    hearts of the brave!&mdash;Adieu, my children,&mdash;Adieu, my brave
    companions.&mdash;Surround me once more&mdash;Adieu." Drowned in grief, the veteran
    soldiers heard the farewell of their dethroned leader; sighs and murmurs broke from
    their ranks, but the emotion burst out in no threats or remonstrances. They appeared
    resigned to the loss of their general, and to yield, like him, to
    necessity.&mdash;<i>Scott's Napoleon</i>.</p>
    <hr />
    <h3>THE ARK OF NOAH</h3>
    <p>The Rabbins make the giant Gog or Magog contemporary with Noah, and convinced by
    his preaching. So that he was disposed to take the benefit of the Ark. But here lay
    the distress; it by no means suited his dimensions. Therefore, as he could not enter
    in, he contented himself to ride upon it astride. And though you must suppose that,
    in that stormy weather, he was more than half boots over, he kept his seat, and
    dismounted safely, when the Ark landed on Mount Ararat. Image now to yourself this
    illustrious Cavalier mounted on his <i>hackney</i>; and see if it does not bring
    before you the Church, bestrid by some lumpish minister of state, who turns and winds
    it at his pleasure. The only difference is, that Gog believed the preacher of
    righteousness and religion.&mdash;<i>Warburton's Letters</i>.</p>
    <hr class="full" />
    <h2>THE GATHERER.</h2>
    <blockquote class="poetry">
      "I am but a <i>Gatherer</i> and disposer of other men's stuff."&mdash;<i>Wotton</i>
    </blockquote>
    <hr />
    <p>A preacher had held forth diffusely and ingeniously upon the doctrine that the
    Creator of the universe had made all things beautiful. A little crooked lawyer met
    him at the church door, and exclaimed, "Well, doctor, what do you think of my figure?
    does it correspond with your tenets of this morning?"&mdash;"My friend," replied the
    preacher, with much gravity, "you are handsome for a hunch-backed man."</p>
    <hr />
    <p>Kosciusko once wished to send some bottles of good wine to a clergyman of
    Solothurn; and as he hesitated to send them by his servant, lest he should smuggle a
    part, he gave the commission to a young man of the name of Zeltner, and desired him
    to take the horse which he himself usually rode. On his return, young Zeltner said
    that he would never ride his horse again unless he gave him his purse at the same
    time. Kosciusko asking what he meant, he answered, "As soon as a poor man on the road
    takes off his hat and asks for charity, the horse immediately stands still, and won't
    stir till something is given to the petitioner; and, as I had no money about me, I
    was obliged to make believe to give something, in order to satisfy the horse."</p>
    <hr />
    <p>Persons in warm countries certainly possess powers of imagination superior to
    persons in colder climates. The following description of a small room will appear
    very poetic to an English reader: "I am now," says a Turkish spy, writing to his
    employers, "in an apartment so little, that the least suspicion cannot enter it."</p>
    <hr />
    <p>An author, as too often happens, was very irritable in his disposition, and very
    unfortunate in his productions. His tragedy and comedy had both been rejected by the
    managers of both theatres. "I cannot account for this," said the unfortunate bard to
    his friend; "for no one can say that my tragedy was a <i>sad</i> performance, or that
    my comedy was a thing to laugh at."</p>
    <hr class="full" />
    <!-- Footnotes -->
    <blockquote class="footnote">
      <a id="footnote1" name="footnote1"></a> <b>Footnote 1</b>: <a
      href="#footnotetag1">(return)</a>
      <p><i>Poems</i>, by John Keats, p. 93.</p>
    </blockquote>
    <blockquote class="footnote">
      <a id="footnote2" name="footnote2"></a> <b>Footnote 2</b>: <a
      href="#footnotetag2">(return)</a>
      <p>MIRROR, Vol. viii., p. 324.</p>
    </blockquote>
    <blockquote class="footnote">
      <a id="footnote3" name="footnote3"></a> <b>Footnote 3</b>: <a
      href="#footnotetag3">(return)</a>
      <p>Their part in the procession formed to welcome our monarch to his Scottish
      metropolis, should be excepted.</p>
    </blockquote>
    <blockquote class="footnote">
      <a id="footnote4" name="footnote4"></a> <b>Footnote 4</b>: <a
      href="#footnotetag4">(return)</a>
      <p>About twelve of these rafts annually arrive at Dort, in July or August; when the
      German timber merchants, having converted their floats into good Dutch ducats,
      return to their own country. When the water is low, those machines are sometimes
      months upon the journey.&mdash;<i>Campbell's Guide</i>.</p>
    </blockquote>
    <blockquote class="footnote">
      <a id="footnote5" name="footnote5"></a> <b>Footnote 5</b>: <a
      href="#footnotetag5">(return)</a>
      <p>There are the ruins of fourteen castles on the left bank, and of fifteen on the
      right bank of the Rhine, from Mentz to Bonn, a distance of thirty-six leagues.</p>
    </blockquote>
    <!-- Footer -->
    <hr class="full" />
    <p><i>Printed and Published by J. LIMBIRD, 143, Strand, (near Somerset House,) and
    sold by all Newsmen and Booksellers.</i></p>
    <hr class="full" />

<pre>



*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK, THE MIRROR OF LITERATURE, AMUSEMENT, AND INSTRUCTION, VOL. 10, ISSUE 264, JULY 14, 1827 ***

This file should be named 8m26410h.htm or 8m26410h.zip
Corrected EDITIONS of our eBooks get a new NUMBER, 8m26411h.htm
VERSIONS based on separate sources get new LETTER, 8m26410ah.htm


Project Gutenberg eBooks are often created from several printed
editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the US
unless a copyright notice is included.  Thus, we usually do not
keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition.

We are now trying to release all our eBooks one year in advance
of the official release dates, leaving time for better editing.
Please be encouraged to tell us about any error or corrections,
even years after the official publication date.

Please note neither this listing nor its contents are final til
midnight of the last day of the month of any such announcement.
The official release date of all Project Gutenberg eBooks is at
Midnight, Central Time, of the last day of the stated month.  A
preliminary version may often be posted for suggestion, comment
and editing by those who wish to do so.

Most people start at our Web sites at:
<a href="http://gutenberg.net">http://gutenberg.net</a> or
<a href="http://promo.net.pg">http://promo.net/pg</a>

These Web sites include award-winning information about Project
Gutenberg, including how to donate, how to help produce our new
eBooks, and how to subscribe to our email newsletter (free!).


Those of you who want to download any eBook before announcement
can get to them as follows, and just download by date.  This is
also a good way to get them instantly upon announcement, as the
indexes our cataloguers produce obviously take a while after an
announcement goes out in the Project Gutenberg Newsletter.

<a href="http://www.ibiblio.org/gutenberg/etext04">http://www.ibiblio.org/gutenberg/etext05</a> or
<a href="ftp://ftp.ibiblio.org/pub/docs/books/gutenberg/etext04">ftp://ftp.ibiblio.org/pub/docs/books/gutenberg/etext05</a>

Or /etext05, 04, 03, 02, 01, 00, 99, 98, 97, 96, 95, 94, 93, 92, 92, 91 or 90

Just search by the first five letters of the filename you want,
as it appears in our Newsletters.


Information about Project Gutenberg (one page)

We produce about two million dollars for each hour we work.  The
time it takes us, a rather conservative estimate, is fifty hours
to get any eBook selected, entered, proofread, edited, copyright
searched and analyzed, the copyright letters written, etc.   Our
projected audience is one hundred million readers.  If the value
per text is nominally estimated at one dollar then we produce $2
million dollars per hour in 2002 as we release over 100 new text
files per month:  1240 more eBooks in 2001 for a total of 4000+
We are already on our way to trying for 2000 more eBooks in 2002
If they reach just 1-2% of the world's population then the total
will reach over half a trillion eBooks given away by year's end.

The Goal of Project Gutenberg is to Give Away 1 Trillion eBooks!
This is ten thousand titles each to one hundred million readers,
which is only about 4% of the present number of computer users.

Here is the briefest record of our progress (* means estimated):

eBooks Year Month

    1  1971 July
   10  1991 January
  100  1994 January
 1000  1997 August
 1500  1998 October
 2000  1999 December
 2500  2000 December
 3000  2001 November
 4000  2001 October/November
 6000  2002 December*
 9000  2003 November*
10000  2004 January*


The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation has been created
to secure a future for Project Gutenberg into the next millennium.

We need your donations more than ever!

As of February, 2002, contributions are being solicited from people
and organizations in: Alabama, Alaska, Arkansas, Connecticut,
Delaware, District of Columbia, Florida, Georgia, Hawaii, Illinois,
Indiana, Iowa, Kansas, Kentucky, Louisiana, Maine, Massachusetts,
Michigan, Mississippi, Missouri, Montana, Nebraska, Nevada, New
Hampshire, New Jersey, New Mexico, New York, North Carolina, Ohio,
Oklahoma, Oregon, Pennsylvania, Rhode Island, South Carolina, South
Dakota, Tennessee, Texas, Utah, Vermont, Virginia, Washington, West
Virginia, Wisconsin, and Wyoming.

We have filed in all 50 states now, but these are the only ones
that have responded.

As the requirements for other states are met, additions to this list
will be made and fund raising will begin in the additional states.
Please feel free to ask to check the status of your state.

In answer to various questions we have received on this:

We are constantly working on finishing the paperwork to legally
request donations in all 50 states.  If your state is not listed and
you would like to know if we have added it since the list you have,
just ask.

While we cannot solicit donations from people in states where we are
not yet registered, we know of no prohibition against accepting
donations from donors in these states who approach us with an offer to
donate.

International donations are accepted, but we don't know ANYTHING about
how to make them tax-deductible, or even if they CAN be made
deductible, and don't have the staff to handle it even if there are
ways.

Donations by check or money order may be sent to:

Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation
PMB 113
1739 University Ave.
Oxford, MS 38655-4109

Contact us if you want to arrange for a wire transfer or payment
method other than by check or money order.

The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation has been approved by
the US Internal Revenue Service as a 501(c)(3) organization with EIN
[Employee Identification Number] 64-622154.  Donations are
tax-deductible to the maximum extent permitted by law.  As fund-raising
requirements for other states are met, additions to this list will be
made and fund-raising will begin in the additional states.

We need your donations more than ever!

You can get up to date donation information online at:

<a href="http://www.gutenberg.net/donation.html">http://www.gutenberg.net/donation.html</a>


***

If you can't reach Project Gutenberg,
you can always email directly to:

<a href="mailto:hart@pobox.com">Michael S. Hart [hart@pobox.com]</a>

Prof. Hart will answer or forward your message.

We would prefer to send you information by email.


**The Legal Small Print**


(Three Pages)

***START**THE SMALL PRINT!**FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN EBOOKS**START***
Why is this "Small Print!" statement here? You know: lawyers.
They tell us you might sue us if there is something wrong with
your copy of this eBook, even if you got it for free from
someone other than us, and even if what's wrong is not our
fault. So, among other things, this "Small Print!" statement
disclaims most of our liability to you. It also tells you how
you may distribute copies of this eBook if you want to.

*BEFORE!* YOU USE OR READ THIS EBOOK
By using or reading any part of this PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm
eBook, you indicate that you understand, agree to and accept
this "Small Print!" statement. If you do not, you can receive
a refund of the money (if any) you paid for this eBook by
sending a request within 30 days of receiving it to the person
you got it from. If you received this eBook on a physical
medium (such as a disk), you must return it with your request.

ABOUT PROJECT GUTENBERG-TM EBOOKS
This PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm eBook, like most PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm eBooks,
is a "public domain" work distributed by Professor Michael S. Hart
through the Project Gutenberg Association (the "Project").
Among other things, this means that no one owns a United States copyright
on or for this work, so the Project (and you!) can copy and
distribute it in the United States without permission and
without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, set forth
below, apply if you wish to copy and distribute this eBook
under the "PROJECT GUTENBERG" trademark.

Please do not use the "PROJECT GUTENBERG" trademark to market
any commercial products without permission.

To create these eBooks, the Project expends considerable
efforts to identify, transcribe and proofread public domain
works. Despite these efforts, the Project's eBooks and any
medium they may be on may contain "Defects". Among other
things, Defects may take the form of incomplete, inaccurate or
corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other
intellectual property infringement, a defective or damaged
disk or other eBook medium, a computer virus, or computer
codes that damage or cannot be read by your equipment.

LIMITED WARRANTY; DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES
But for the "Right of Replacement or Refund" described below,
[1] Michael Hart and the Foundation (and any other party you may
receive this eBook from as a PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm eBook) disclaims
all liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including
legal fees, and [2] YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE OR
UNDER STRICT LIABILITY, OR FOR BREACH OF WARRANTY OR CONTRACT,
INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE
OR INCIDENTAL DAMAGES, EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE
POSSIBILITY OF SUCH DAMAGES.

If you discover a Defect in this eBook within 90 days of
receiving it, you can receive a refund of the money (if any)
you paid for it by sending an explanatory note within that
time to the person you received it from. If you received it
on a physical medium, you must return it with your note, and
such person may choose to alternatively give you a replacement
copy. If you received it electronically, such person may
choose to alternatively give you a second opportunity to
receive it electronically.

THIS EBOOK IS OTHERWISE PROVIDED TO YOU "AS-IS". NO OTHER
WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, ARE MADE TO YOU AS
TO THE EBOOK OR ANY MEDIUM IT MAY BE ON, INCLUDING BUT NOT
LIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR A
PARTICULAR PURPOSE.

Some states do not allow disclaimers of implied warranties or
the exclusion or limitation of consequential damages, so the
above disclaimers and exclusions may not apply to you, and you
may have other legal rights.

INDEMNITY
You will indemnify and hold Michael Hart, the Foundation,
and its trustees and agents, and any volunteers associated
with the production and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm
texts harmless, from all liability, cost and expense, including
legal fees, that arise directly or indirectly from any of the
following that you do or cause:  [1] distribution of this eBook,
[2] alteration, modification, or addition to the eBook,
or [3] any Defect.

DISTRIBUTION UNDER "PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm"
You may distribute copies of this eBook electronically, or by
disk, book or any other medium if you either delete this
"Small Print!" and all other references to Project Gutenberg,
or:

[1]  Only give exact copies of it.  Among other things, this
     requires that you do not remove, alter or modify the
     eBook or this "small print!" statement.  You may however,
     if you wish, distribute this eBook in machine readable
     binary, compressed, mark-up, or proprietary form,
     including any form resulting from conversion by word
     processing or hypertext software, but only so long as
     *EITHER*:

     [*]  The eBook, when displayed, is clearly readable, and
          does *not* contain characters other than those
          intended by the author of the work, although tilde
          (~), asterisk (*) and underline (_) characters may
          be used to convey punctuation intended by the
          author, and additional characters may be used to
          indicate hypertext links; OR

     [*]  The eBook may be readily converted by the reader at
          no expense into plain ASCII, EBCDIC or equivalent
          form by the program that displays the eBook (as is
          the case, for instance, with most word processors);
          OR

     [*]  You provide, or agree to also provide on request at
          no additional cost, fee or expense, a copy of the
          eBook in its original plain ASCII form (or in EBCDIC
          or other equivalent proprietary form).

[2]  Honor the eBook refund and replacement provisions of this
     "Small Print!" statement.

[3]  Pay a trademark license fee to the Foundation of 20% of the
     gross profits you derive calculated using the method you
     already use to calculate your applicable taxes.  If you
     don't derive profits, no royalty is due.  Royalties are
     payable to "Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation"
     the 60 days following each date you prepare (or were
     legally required to prepare) your annual (or equivalent
     periodic) tax return.  Please contact us beforehand to
     let us know your plans and to work out the details.

WHAT IF YOU *WANT* TO SEND MONEY EVEN IF YOU DON'T HAVE TO?
Project Gutenberg is dedicated to increasing the number of
public domain and licensed works that can be freely distributed
in machine readable form.

The Project gratefully accepts contributions of money, time,
public domain materials, or royalty free copyright licenses.
Money should be paid to the:
"Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation."

If you are interested in contributing scanning equipment or
software or other items, please contact Michael Hart at:
hart@pobox.com

[Portions of this eBook's header and trailer may be reprinted only
when distributed free of all fees.  Copyright (C) 2001, 2002 by
Michael S. Hart.  Project Gutenberg is a TradeMark and may not be
used in any sales of Project Gutenberg eBooks or other materials be
they hardware or software or any other related product without
express permission.]

*END THE SMALL PRINT! FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN EBOOKS*Ver.02/11/02*END*
</pre>

</body>
</html>
generated by cgit v1.2.3 (git 2.25.1) at 2026-02-25 23:30:37 +0000