The Mirror of Literature, Amusement, and Instruction. by Various
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Various >> The Mirror of Literature, Amusement, and Instruction.
THE MIRROR OF LITERATURE, AMUSEMENT, AND INSTRUCTION.
VOL. 10, NO. 270.] SATURDAY, AUGUST 25, 1827. [PRICE 2d.
TOWN-HALL, LIVERPOOL.
[Illustration: Town-Hall, Liverpool.]
From a small inconsiderable hamlet, Liverpool, within a century and a
half, has been singularly advanced in national importance. In Leland's
time it had only a chapel, its parish church being at Walton, a distance
of four miles from the town.
In the year 1571 the inhabitants of Liverpool sent a memorial to Queen
Elizabeth, praying relief from a subsidy which they thought themselves
unable to bear, wherein they styled themselves "_her majesty's poor
decayed town of Liverpool_." Some time towards the close of this reign,
Henry, Earl of Derby, in his way to the Isle of Man, staid at his house at
Liverpool called the Tower; at which the corporation erected a handsome
hall or seat for him in the church, where he honoured them several times
with his presence.
Liverpool, from this time till the end of the next century, made but a
slow progress either in the extent of its trade or in the number of its
inhabitants; nor is there any remarkable occurrence recorded of it, except
the siege of it by Prince Rupert, in the civil wars in 1644; some traces
of which were discovered, when the foundation of the Liverpool Infirmary
was sunk, particularly the marks of the trenches thrown up by the prince,
and some cartouches, &c. left behind by the besiegers.
About the year 1698 an act of parliament was obtained, empowering the
inhabitants to build a new church. From that time may be traced the rapid
progress of population and commerce, until Liverpool has now become second
only to the metropolis of Great Britain.
In 1760 the inhabitants of Liverpool were computed at 25,787; in 1811, at
94,376; and in 1821, at 118,972!
Far as the eye can trace the prospect round
The splendid tracts of opulence are found;
Yet scarce a hundred annual rounds have run.
Since first the fabric of this power begun;
His noble stream, inglorious, Mersey roll'd,
Nor felt his waves by lab'ring art controll'd:
Along his side a few small cots were spread,
His finny brood their humble tenants fed;
At op'ning dawn with fraudful nets supply'd
The padding skiff would brave his specious tide,
Ply round the shores, nor tempt the dangerous main,
But seek ere night the friendly port again.
The public buildings in Liverpool are not numerous, but they are
worthy of attention. The Town-Hall, which is the subject of our present
embellishment, is in a striking style of architecture. The first stone of
this structure was laid in 1749, and the hall was opened in 1754. It is an
elegant stone building, having two fronts; one towards Castle-street, the
other towards the area formed by the New Exchange Buildings. Each front
consists of an elegant range of Corinthian columns, supporting a pediment,
and are themselves supported by a rustic base. Between the capitals are
heads, and emblems of commerce in basso-relievo; and on the pediment of
the grand front is a noble piece of sculpture representing Commerce
committing her treasures to the race of Neptune. The ground floor of this
building was originally intended as an Exchange for the accommodation of
the merchants, with insurance offices adjoining; but was never used for
that purpose, the merchants prefering to meet in the open street opposite
the building. Since its erection a considerable addition was made to it on
the north side, and some progress towards extending and improving the
rooms and offices within the building, when the fire in 1795 destroyed the
whole of the interior. After this destructive accident the corporation
determined to rebuild the interior upon a new and extended plan, and to
appropriate the whole of the building to the purposes of judicial and
other offices for the police of the town, a mansion for the mayor, a suit
of public assembly rooms, and for offices for the general corporation
business. All the offices, rooms, and passages, on the basement and ground
stories, are now arched with brick, as a security against any future fire.
The Exchange Buildings form three sides of a quadrangle, 194 feet by 180
in the clear space, with arcades or piazzas in front, and the whole is in
a style of architecture corresponding with the north front of the
Town-Hall and Old Exchange, which forms the fourth side of the square at
the head of Castle-street. The east side of these buildings on the ground
floor, contains a coffee-room, 94 feet by 52, with appropriate rooms and
offices for the keeper, &c.; on the second story over the coffee-room, is
a room for the under-writers, upon the principle of Lloyd's in London, 72
feet by 36: a second room, 69 feet by 29, with several other rooms
attached to them. The north and west sides of these buildings are brokers'
and merchants' offices, and counting houses. In the centre of the area is
erected an elegant group of statues in commemoration of the heroic and
immortal Nelson.
* * * * *
THE MONTHS
* * * * *
THE HOP HARVEST.
The southern counties of England, particularly Surrey and Kent, now yield
their valuable produce of hops in this month. The common hop, _humulus
lupulus_, is propagated either by nursery plants or by cuttings. These are
set in _hills_, formed by digging holes in the spring, which are filled
with fine mould, and the number of which varies from 800 to 1,000, or
1,200 per acre. One, two, or three plants are put in each hill; but, if
hops are designed to be raised from cuttings, four or five of these, from
three to four inches in length, are planted and covered one inch deep with
fine mould.
At the end of the first year it becomes necessary to put poles into the
hills, round which the bines reared from plants are wound; at the
expiration of the second year, full-sized poles, from 15 to 20 feet, are
set, (though the hop-bines will run to the height of 50 feet,) in the
proportion of two poles to each hill, and a similar number of hop-plants
are fastened loosely round each pole, by means of withered rushes. Hops
begin to flower about the latter end of June or the beginning of July. The
poles are now entirely covered with verdure, and the pendent flowers
appear in clusters and light festoons. The hops, which are the scaly
seed-vessels of the female plants, are, when the seed is formed,
(generally about the end of August,) picked off by women and children; for
this purpose the poles are taken up with the plants clinging to them. The
seeds are then dried over a charcoal fire, exposed to the air for a few
days, and packed in sacks and sent to market.
The culture of hops, though profitable when it succeeds, is very
precarious: as soon as the plant appears above ground, it is attacked by
an insect somewhat similar to the turnip-fly, which devours the young
heads. Hop-gardens, situated on chalky soils, are peculiarly subject to
its depredations. In the months of June and July, the hops are liable to
be _blown_ by a species of _aphis_, or fly. This insect, however, does not
endanger the growth of the plant, unless it be in a weak state, in
consequence of the depredations committed on its root by the larvae of the
ottermoth, _phalaena humuli_.
The hop is a most valuable plant: in its wild state it is relished by
cows, horses, goats, sheep, and swine. When cultivated, its young tops are
eaten, early in the spring, as substitutes for asparagus, being wholesome
and aperient. Its principal use, however, is in brewing malt liquors,
communicating that fine bitter flavour to our beer, and making it keep for
a longer time than it otherwise would do. Hops also serve some important
purposes in medicine.
* * * * *
LINES TO THE MEMORY OF THE LATE RIGHT HON. GEORGE CANNING.
Why does Britannia bend with pensive mien,
And throbbing bosom o'er that sable bier,
To which yon melancholy group is seen
In mute affliction slowly drawing near,
Whilst weeping genius, pointing to the sky,
In silent anguish heaves a plaintive sigh?
She seems to take a lingering last farewell,
As down her cheek the pearly teardrops flow,
Of some lamented spirit she lov'd well,
By Fate's inexorable shaft laid low;
And thus half broken-hearted to complain
"When shall we look upon thy like again!"
Poor drooping maid--she mourns the doom of one,
Whom at a time like this she ill can spare,--
Her talented and patriotic son,
Whom art could not deceive, nor vice ensnare,
To truth and sacred liberty allied,
His country's hope, her honour and her pride!
Yes--he is gone, whose energetic mind
Upheld the pillars of a mighty state;
Whose wisdom, worth, and eloquence, combin'd,
Earn'd the just tribute of the good and great,
Ensur'd a deathless wreath for coming days--
The poor man's blessing, and the rich one's praise!
Relentless Death!--could _no_ one else suffice?
No less invaluable prize be found?
But must _he_ fall a noble sacrifice
And early victim to thy fatal wound!
Thou stern and merciless destroyer, say,
Why didst thou blight his brief but glorious day?
It is not Albion only who deplores.--
All sympathising Europe wails his doom;
And bright-eyed Freedom hastes from Western shores
To drop a grateful tear upon his tomb;
And fondly hovering round his slumbering shade
Guards the lorn spot where her best friend is laid.
Now, stay my muse--for worthier hands than thine
Will twine the laurel round his hallow'd bust;
And raise in happier and more polish'd line
A splendid trophy to his sacred dust;
When thy untaught and unpretending lay
Shall be forgotten and have pass'd away.
Yet, ere thy chords are mute, oh, once again
My trembling lyre let me touch thy string!
And in a humble, but a heartfelt strain
Of him, the much-lov'd child of Genius sing;
And place this simple, unaffected verse,
With moisten'd eye upon his plumed hearse:--
"If all that virtue, all that fame holds dear,
Deserve a tribute--stop and pay it _here!_"
J.E.S.
* * * * *
THE SKETCH BOOK.
No. XLV.
* * * * *
BEHIND THE SCENES; OR, A BREAKFAST IN NEWGATE.
Returning from the country, I found myself in the Old Bailey, shortly
after seven in the morning. I had some difficulty in making my way through
the crowd there assembled, which I instantly perceived, from the platform
erected in front of Newgate, had been brought together to witness one of
those mournful exhibitions which the administration of criminal justice so
frequently furnishes in this immense metropolis.
My first impulse was to retreat with all possible expedition, but the
impediments opposed to my doing so compelled a pause; and it then struck
me, that however reluctant to witness suffering, there was much in the
scene before me on which a reflecting mind might dwell with interest, if
not with advantage.
The decent gravity of some of the crowd formed a strong contrast to the
jocund vivacity of the majority; and this again with the important swagger
of the constables, who seemed fully to appreciate the consequence which
the modicum of authority dealt out to persons of their standing in society
cannot fail to impart. Then the anxiety to complete their task, which the
workmen who were still employed in preparing the scaffold evinced, gave
another feature perfectly distinct from what had before caught my
attention, while the eagerness of the inhabitant housekeepers to let
"excellent places for seeing," and of certain ambulatory pastrycooks to
accommodate the rapidly increasing multitude with such delicacies as they
had for sale, added to the variety, though not to the solemnity of the
scene.
Some undertaker's men were carrying coffins across the road to the prison,
for the reception of the sufferers after execution. They were much pushed
about, and this caused great mirth. I turned from the general display of
levity with disgust. "On no account," I mentally exclaimed, "will I remain
mixed up with such a herd of heartless beings. But who am I," I retorted
on myself in the next moment, "that I should thus condemn my fellows, and
'bite the chain of nature?'"--for what I saw was nature after all. A mob,
save when depressed by a sense of peril, can never long refrain from some
indications of merriment, however awful the subject of their meeting. The
unfortunate Hackman, in one of his letters to Miss Ray, described himself
to have been shocked by a spectacle of this sort. On the morning of the
day on which Dr. Dodd suffered, Hackman was at Tyburn. While the multitude
were expecting the approach of the culprit, an unfortunate pig ran among
them; and the writer remarks, with indignation, that the brutal populace
diverted themselves with the animal's distress, as if they had come there
to see "a sow baited," instead of attending to behold a fellow creature
sacrificed to justice.
But the pressure of the accumulating thousands was too much for me, and I
asked a female, who, with an infant in her arms, stood full in my way, to
let me pass. I was retiring, when the carriage of one of the sheriffs
drove up to the Sessions-house, and out stepped my friend Sir Thomas ----,
who, in the performance of his duty, came to superintend the last
arrangements within the prison, and to give the governor a _receipt_ for
the bodies of the unfortunates who were to die.
I was instantly recognised, and the sheriff kindly complimented me with
the offer of an introduction to the interior. Such politenesss was not to
be withstood, and I signified my assent with a bow.
We passed up a staircase and into a well furnished and carpeted apartment.
Here I was introduced to the under-sheriff, who, attended by half a dozen
gentlemen, brought in, like myself, as a matter of favour, was about
descending to the room in which the culprits are pinioned. Sir Thomas, who
had bestowed much humane attention on the prisoners, inquired, with real
solicitude, how they had passed the night. His colleague, who had just had
his person embellished with the insignia of office, replied, in a lively
tone. "O, very well, I understand." He added, with infinite coolness and
intelligence--"But you cannot expect men to sleep so well the night before
they are hanged as they are likely to do afterwards!"
He looked round in all our faces, as if to collect our suffrages in favour
of this pleasantry. His _high rank_ and importance _there_, prevented any
word or sign of displeasure. Most of us lifted our upper lip so as just to
show our teeth, thereby intimating that we knew he had said a very good
thing, at which, but for the painful business then in progress, we should
be ready to die with laughing.
We now followed the sheriffs through the Sessions-house, and thence, by a
covered passage on the eastern side of the yard of that building, to the
prison. I shuddered at beholding the numerous precautions which experience
and ingenuity had suggested to cut off hope and prevent escape, Spikes and
pallisades above, and doors of massy iron below, appeared in long and
terrible array against the wretch, who, having eluded the vigilance of the
officers of the gaol, should attempt, by flight, to save his life. At one
of the iron doors, we were severally inspected with as much suspicious
care as if we had been seeking to get out, instead of pressing forward to
be let in.
At length we reached a gloomy apartment, which, I believe, is called the
press-room. Here I found rather a fuller attendance than I had expected;
some eight or ten persons having been admitted by another entrance. These
had formed in two lines, and their eyes were incessantly turned towards
the door. I fancied, when I made my appearance, that they regarded me with
peculiar attention, as if for a moment they had mistaken me for a more
distinguished character than I really was. If I were right in this, they
certainly were soon undeceived. Mingling with them, I looked about me, as
I saw them look about. Silence generally prevailed. A few whispers were
exchanged; and now and then such sentences as, "The time grows short"--
"They will soon be here"--"What must their feelings be at this moment?"
were murmured along the ranks.
That amelioration of the culprit's destiny, which, by relieving him from
the galling fetters heretofore deemed necessary for the safe detention of
his person, now leaves his mind more perfect leisure for communication
with his Creator, had not then taken place. The approach of the prisoners
was signified first by a whisper, and then by the clanking of the irons
attached to the limbs of one of them. It was a dreary morning; and the
sombre aspect of the apartment well accorded with the dismal preparations
of which it was to be the theatre. A block with a small anvil was placed
near the entrance, by which a miserably attired individual was stationed
with a candle, for the purpose of lighting the workman who attended to
remove the irons. The flame of the candle was too small to afford a
general illumination of the room; but its limited power gave to the eye a
more distinct view of a little circle round the anvil, in which the main
objects were the smith, with his hammer already grasped; his assistant,
and two or three officers, were, in the absence of the more important
objects of curiosity, eagerly gazed on by some of the party, and by me for
one, as appendages of the picture not unworthy of notice.
The sound of the fetters was now close at hand, and the voice of the
minister who attended the wearer of them, could be heard. In the next
moment two or three persons entered, and these were followed by the
ordinary and one of the malefactors. The latter looked right and left, as
if he had calculated on recognising there some friend or relative. A
ghastly paleness sat on his cheek, and there was an air of disorder in the
upper part of his face, which his wild but sunken eye, and negligently
combed locks joined to furnish. The unhappy youth, for he was not more
than twenty, advanced with a steady step to where the smith expected him.
He was resigned and tractable. When about to place his foot on the block,
he untied a band, which had passed round his body to sustain the weight of
his irons; and as he disengaged it, he let it carelessly fall, with an
expression in his countenance which told, so I fancied, that, in this
moment, reflecting he should never want it again, the immediate cause and
consequence of the miserable relief flashed full on his imagination, with
all their concomitant horrors. But with calmness he attended to the
workman, who directed him how to stand. He manifested great presence of
mind, and, I thought, seemed to gaze with something of curiosity on the
operation, which he contributed all in his power to facilitate. The heavy
blows echoed through the room, and rudely broke in on the low murmurs and
whispers which had for some little time been the only sounds heard there.
A singularly irrational feeling came over me. I could have reproved the
striker for indecorously breaking silence, and even have questioned his
humanity for being capable of such vigorous exertion at a moment when, as
it struck me, everything ought to have presented the coldness and
motionless stillness of the grave.
The rivet was knocked out, the fetters fell to the floor, and the prisoner
was passed from the anvil to the further extremity of the room. A second
entered. This was a middle-aged man. Reflection seemed with him to have
well performed its duty. Calm and undismayed, he advanced to the anvil,
apparently unconscious of the presence of a single spectator, and wholly
occupied with meditations on eternity. Having already witnessed that part
of the preparatory ceremony which he was then to undergo, I withdrew from
the circle to observe the other sufferer. He had now been joined by the
ordinary, and was standing near a table, on which several ropes were
lying. He was directed to place his hands together, and he was then
pinioned. Here, again, I felt a disposition to criticise the conduct of
the officers, like that which I had previously experienced while
witnessing the labours of the smith. The adroitness and merciful despatch
which I noticed, I could hardly help regarding as meriting censure for the
insensibility which they marked. Those who have to perform a severe duty
cannot often properly fulfil their task, and at the same time conciliate
the admiration of the pitying spectator. Lest what I have said should be
misunderstood, it is right distinctly to say, no want of consideration for
the feelings of the criminals was evinced. The officers who pinioned them,
when their work was done, shook each by the hand with an appearance of
sincere commiseration. The matter-of-course way in which they acquitted
themselves offended me, but I had no right to expect that in performing
what to them were but common-place labours, they should study my
fastidious notions of fitness and effect. But a still greater contrast to
the awful character of the preparations presented itself. When I drew near
the table on which the ropes lay, and by which the miserable being who had
most engrossed my attention then stood, I perceived on that very table the
materials for gambling. Lines, passing across it, had been indented to
prepare it for a game, I believe the same as that which king Henry VIII.
took some trouble to put down, under the name of "Shove-groat." The
strange variety thus placed before me--the mingling symbols of dissipation
and misery, of pastime and of death, caused my mind, already sufficiently
excited, to experience a sudden emotion which I know not how to convey to
another.
The third criminal entered. This was a young man of prepossessing
exterior, who had recently moved in a higher sphere than either of his
companions in suffering. His cheek was flushed when he entered, and he
staggered forward, writhing in agony, and scarcely able to sustain
himself. He looked at those who surrounded him as if he feared to discover
some who had known him in the day of his pride. It was necessary to
support him while his irons were being removed. He was attended by a
benevolent person who commonly assists criminals in their last moments,
and who, though no ecclesiastic by profession, seemed equal to the duty of
imparting religious consolation. His voice now contributed to soothe his
unhappy charge, and in a few moments all that was necessary there to be
done had been performed. The hands of the culprits were secured, and the
halters by which they were to perish were thrown round their shoulders.
The fortitude of the young man first brought in had, till this moment,
enabled him, though not unmoved, to look with calmness on the appalling
scene. But now when he saw that but one more ceremony intervened between
him and the grave, his resolution suddenly failed him. He burst into
tears, and a wild shriek of "O my mother--my poor mother," embodied in
speech a portion of the agony which raged in his bosom. He was conducted
to a bench, on which his fellows had just been seated. A glass of water
was handed to him, with which he moistened his fevered lips, and the voice
of devotion again claimed attention, and commanded silence.
In that moment few, if any, of the spectators remembered the crimes of
those they looked upon. Every mind was solely occupied with the terrible
punishment about to be inflicted.
But distressing as the scene was, before it closed I was sufficiently
myself to recognise, with satisfaction, the majestic march of justice--the
resolute, but humane administration of the law. It was sad to behold the
ghastly pictures of despair then breathing, but destined so speedily to
cease to breathe. Such scenes are rendered familiar to us in romance, but
to gaze on the reality, and to feel that, pity as we may, no joyful
denouement can be furnished to avert the contemplated sacrifice, occasions
for the time excruciating sorrow. But while I felt this, and was persuaded
that each of all who were with me (however idle the curiosity which
brought him there) would have been glad for himself to have given them
life and freedom, I admired the serene determination which still urged on
the proceedings, and the sorrowful concurrence which attended them. It was
the triumph of civilization, to behold every effort made to soothe
calamity, without any abandonment of the forfeit justly claimed on behalf
of society.
The sheriffs inquired if the unfortunates had any thing to impart, or any
request to make. Answered in the negative--they added their voices to
those of their religious assistants, to assure them of their hopes--that
they would find that mercy in another world, which the laws and the
interests of their fellow creatures denied them in this.
This language, however suited to the occasion, had been so often addressed
to them, that the sufferers received it almost as a matter of course, and
made little or no reply, but looking up to heaven, they at least seemed to
feel that thither alone could their thoughts be advantageously directed.