The Mirror of Literature, Amusement, and Instruction, No. 472 by Various
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Various >> The Mirror of Literature, Amusement, and Instruction, No. 472
THE MIRROR OF LITERATURE, AMUSEMENT, AND INSTRUCTION.
VOL. XVII. No. 472.] SATURDAY, JANUARY 22, 1831. [PRICE 2d.
* * * * *
[Illustration: CHRIST CHURCH, DONCASTER.]
CHRIST CHURCH, DONCASTER.
(_From the Gentleman's Magazine_.)
The town of Doncaster has been long celebrated for its beauty and
cleanliness, for its striking approach from the south, its magnificent
Grand Stand, and celebrated Race Course, its public buildings, its
venerable Gothic Church, and stately tower; and latterly, by the erection
of a beautiful Gothic Church, with an elegant spire, giving an additional
feature to the town from every approach.
This new Church was founded and endowed by a benevolent individual of the
name of Jarrett, whose ancestors had for a number of years been connected
with the town of Doncaster. A monument in the old church states that a
brother of the founder was an alderman of this borough. John Jarrett, Esq.
the founder of Christ Church, was in early life a manufacturer at Bradford;
subsequently, during the war, he became a partner in the extensive
ironworks carried on at Low Moor, near Bradford, under the firm of Jarrett,
Danson, and Hardy, where he acquired a very large fortune. Retiring from
business some years ago, he returned to his native town, to enjoy the
fruits of his honest industry; and during a period of several years, he,
by acts of kindness and benevolence, acquired the respect and esteem of
his fellow-townsmen. It pleased the Great Disposer of events to terminate
his life before the completion of this his last pious work. The first
stone of the church was laid on the 9th of October, 1827; and the founder
died on the 15th of January, 1828, at the age of eighty-three. The sums he
gave were, 10,000_l_. for the building, and 3,000_l_. for the endowment.
The site of the church, at the point where the Thorne road branches from
the great North road, is particularly fine and open, occupying about two
and a half acres of ground, surrounded by wide and spacious public roads.
The style of architecture adopted is that which prevailed in the
fourteenth century. The stone used is from the celebrated quarries of
Roche Abbey.
The plan of the church comprises a tower, nave, two side-aisles, and a
chancel; the latter, together with two vestries, forms a semi-octagonal
projection, which gives the east end a multangular and unusual appearance.
There are six windows to each aisle, and a seventh at the north-east and
south-east vestries. Each of these is divided horizontally by two
cross-mullions, and thereby formed into twelve lights; the centre three
are square quartrefoils; and the tracery at the head forms three other
quartrefoils. The east window is of six principal lights, and the upper
part spread out in tracery.
The principal entrance is through a spacious octangular porch, the whole
size of the tower, which is groined in imitation of stone. The entrance to
the galleries and side-aisles is by the doors on the north and south sides
of the church.
The size of the church from the tower to the chancel, in the interior, is
ninety-four feet long, and fifty-two wide, with galleries at the south and
north sides and west end. The accommodation is for one thousand persons,
of which three hundred seats are free and unappropriated. The ceiling
above the nave is divided into square compartments, by bold ornamented
beams, with bosses at the intersection, which are painted in imitation of
oak. The side-aisles are groined in imitation of stone, having bosses at
the intersection of the ribs, with corbels for the ribs to rise from.
The pulpit, reading, and clerk's desks accord in style with the building,
and are placed in the centre of the middle aisle, which is ten feet wide.
A handsome stone font is placed in front of the west entrance.
We cannot conclude this account without expressing our admiration of this
beautiful specimen of modern architecture, which, although not free from
defects, possesses architectural merit in a very high degree. The uniform
correctness of style in the detail, the beautiful and finely-proportioned
spire, the chaste and elegant tracery of the windows, the light ornamental
buttresses and pinnacles, all combine to give a character to the building
pleasing and satisfactory, and reflect great credit on the architects,
Messrs. Woodhead and Hurst, of Doncaster.
The building was consecrated by his Grace the Archbishop of York, on the
10th of September, 1829; and the church opened for divine service on the
1st of November following.
The Rev. Henry Branson is appointed the first minister to this church; and
the friends of the establishment will hear with satisfaction that, since
the opening, the number of worshippers has increased by those who formerly
attended the dissenting meeting-houses in the town and neighbourhood.
A subscription has been raised for an organ, which is now building by Gray,
of London.
* * * * *
MAGNA CHARTA ISLAND.
(_To the Editor_.)
An early and constant subscriber to the _Mirror_ is very much pleased with
the view of _Magna Charta Island_, in No. 467; but there is something more
attached to this spot than the Editor seems aware of.
About half a mile from _Magna Charta Island_, on the right bank of the
river, in the parish of Wyrardisbury, is a farm house, for many years past
in the occupation of a family of the name of "Groome," as tenants to the
late Alderman Gill, holding an estate in the aforesaid parish. This farm
house was a residence of _King John, whose arms_ are beautifully, painted,
or emblazoned, on stained glass in the windows of the house.
In the kitchen of this farm-house is, or has been, a table of antique
manufacture, upon which the identical _Magna Charta_ was signed, and upon
which the writer hereof has written and sealed many a letter, and partaken
of many a glass of home-brewed ale, and bread and cheese equally
homely--that is, _genuine_. This table is considered as an _heir loom_ in
the family of Mr. Gill, and if removed at all, has been removed to the
manor-house.
It is an erroneous idea that _Magna Charta_ was signed on Runnymede: it
was signed on _Magna Charta Island_, which goes a great way to prove the
identity of the table. If reference is made to the signing of treaties
generally, as well in ancient as in modern times, it will appear that they
have been signed at a distance from the scene of action; each party
(particularly in feudal times) being attended by an equal number of
adherents, to prevent surprise or stratagem.
The writer hereof has caught many a trout and perch off the banks opposite
to the island, and has passed many a contemplative hour on the events of
former ages, which have rendered the spot particularly interesting.
_Gray's Walk, Lambeth._
L.
*** If the writer is not mistaken, _Magna Charta Island_ is an appurtenant
to the manor of Wyrardisbury, and adjoins an estate called _Ankerwicke_,
upon the grounds of which are the remains of an ancient monastery, or
priory.
* * * *
THE WATER KING'S BRIDE.
FROM THE GERMAN OF SCHILLER.
(_For the Mirror_.)
Light o'er the water the sun's ray glanc'd,
While the youths and maidens of Tubingen danc'd.
A stranger youth of noble mien,
Proffered his hand to the village queen.
"Youth, say why is thine hand so white?
The water knows not the daybeams light;
Youth, oh why is so cold thine arm,
Can it in Neckar's flood be warm?"
He led her away from the lime-tree's shade;
"Return my daughter," her mother said.
He led her on to the stream so clear,
"Oh youth let me go, for I tremble with fear."
He danc'd till they reach'd the Neckar's bank,
One shriek, one plunge, in the wave they sank.
"Farewell, farewell, to thee, Tubingen's pride,
Maiden, thou art the Water King's Bride."
H.
* * * * *
WOMAN.
(_For the Mirror_.)
The following curious compliment to the fair sex is extracted from an old
play, entitled "Cupid's Whirligig:"--
"Who would abuse your sex that knows it? O Woman! were we not born of
you?--should we not then honour you? Nursed by you, and not regard you?
Made for you, and not seek you! And since we were made before you, should
we not live and admire you as the last and most perfect work of Nature?
_Man was made when Nature was but an apprentice_; but _Woman when she was
a skilful mistress of her art_. By your love we live in double breath,
even in our offspring after death. Are not all vices masculine, and
virtues feminine? Are not the muses the loves of the learned? Do not all
noble spirits follow the graces because they are women? There is but one
phoenix, and she is a female. Was not the princess and foundress of good
arts, Minerva, born of the brain of highest Jove, a woman? Has not woman
the face of love, the tongue of persuasion, and the body of delight? O
divine, perfectioned woman! If to be of thy sex is so excellent, what is
it then to be a woman enriched by nature, made excellent by education,
noble by birth, chaste by virtue, adorned by beauty!--a fair woman, which
is the ornament of heaven, the grace of earth, the joy of life, and the
delight of all sense, even the very _summum bonum_ of man's existence."
Burns must have had somewhat of the same idea as that which I have
underlined, when he wrote--
"Her 'prentice han' she tried on man,
And then she made the lasses O!"
JAC-CO.
* * * * *
THE VICTORY OF THE CID.
(_For the Mirror_.)
The subject of the following lines is mentioned in the traditional
histories of Spain: that on one occasion, to insure victory in a nocturnal
attack on the Moslem camp, the body of the Cid was taken from the tomb,
and carried in complete armour to the field of battle.
Not a voice was heard at our hour of need,
When we plac'd the corse on his barbed steed,
Save one, that the blessing gave.
Not a light beam'd on the charnel porch
Save the glare which flash'd from the warrior's torch,
O'er the death-pale face of the brave.
We press'd the helm on his ghastly head,
We bound a sword to the hand of the dead,
When the Cid went forth to fight.
Oh where was Castile's battle cry,
The shout of St. James and victory,
And the Christians stalwart might?
The winds swept by with mournful blast,
And sigh'd through the plumes of the dead as he past,
Through troublous skies the clouds flitted fast,
And the moon her pale beam faintly cast,
Where the red cross banner stream'd,
But each breeze bore the shouts of the Moslem throng,
Each sigh was echoed by Paynim song;
Where the silvery crescent beam'd.
Undrawn was the rein, and his own good sword
Ungrasp'd by the nerveless hand of its lord;
His steed pac'd on with solemn tread,
'Neath the listless weight of the mighty deed.
But each warrior's heart beat high,
As he mark'd the beacon's wavering flash,
And heard the Moorish cymbal clash,
For he knew that the Cid was nigh.
We bore him back to his silent bed,
When his plumes with Paynim blood were red,
And the mass was sung, and the prayer was said
For the conqueror from the grave.
We wrapp'd him again in his funeral vest,
We placed his sword on the clay cold breast,
And o'er the place of the hero's rest,
Bade Castile's banner wave.
* * * * *
SPIRIT OF DISCOVERY.
THE AEOLOPHON, A NEWLY-INVENTED INSTRUMENT.
When Lord Stanhope first launched his model-boat on the Serpentine, no one
expected to see the time when steam and paddles should suffice to carry "a
tall ship" across the broad Atlantic. As little did we, when we were first
amused by that very pretty musical toy, the German Eolina, anticipate,
that within three years we should hear such an instrument as the one we
are about to describe. In shape, size, and compass, the AEOLOPHON is the
counterpart of a babinet piano-forte, having six octaves of keys extending
from FF to F; and its sounds are produced by a series of metallic springs,
set in vibration by the action of the air produced from a bellows. It has
three pedals--one for filling the wind-chest, and the others regulating
the swell. The tone of this instrument, particularly in the middle and
lower parts of its compass, is among the most beautiful we have ever heard,
and much superior, both in body and quality, to that of any chamber organ
of equal size; added to which, the Aeolophon has the inestimable advantage
of never varying its pitch, or getting out of tune.
From the nature of this instrument, it will be readily conceived that its
best effects are displayed in slow movements, and the sustaining and
swelling long notes; but, to our surprise as well as pleasure, we found
that a running passage, even of semitones, could be executed upon it, if
not with all the distinctness of a Drouet or a Nicholson, with as much
clearness as on any organ. As an accompaniment to the piano-forte, it will
be found an admirable substitute for the flute, clarinet, oboe, bassoon,
or even violoncello; but perhaps its widest range of usefulness will be
discovered in small orchestras, where the set of wind instruments is
incomplete--the effects of any, or even all of which, may be supplied by
one or two performers on the Aeolophon reading from the score, or even
from separate parts.
It is now about a year since that a patent was obtained for the springs,
and this peculiar mode of applying them, by Messrs. Day and Co.;
immediately upon hearing the effect of which, Mr. Chappell, of Bond-street,
entered into an engagement with the patentees for the agency of their
patent, and the manufacture of instruments under it.
On the 27th of November last Mr. Chappell was honoured with a command to
exhibit the powers of this new instrument before their Majesties, his
Royal Highness the Duke of Sussex, and a small circle of nobility, at St.
James's Palace; when it gave so much satisfaction, that some of the pieces
played upon it were repeated by command, and the whole performance lasted
from nine o'clock till past eleven, when the royal party retired.
(We quote the preceding from _The Harmonicon_, a Journal of Music and
Musical Literature, of high promise. Its recommendation of _The Aeolophon_
may be allowed to rest upon the character of the Journal for critical
acumen.)
* * * * *
THE SKETCH-BOOK.
COACH COMPANY.
(_For the Mirror_.)
Returning (said my friend Mrs. S.) once upon a time, some fifty miles from
a country visit, a few difficulties regarding my conveyance to town were
at length decided by my taking a seat in the ---- Telegraph. A
respectable-looking, middle-aged woman, in widow's mourning, was, I found,
to be my companion for the whole way, whose urbanity and loquacity,
combined, soon afforded me the important information that she was
travelling over England, in order to take the advice of several of the
faculty touching the case of "a poor cripple--a _gentleman_--a relation of
hers." A _gentleman_! But scarcely had I taken another survey of the
honest dame, in order to assure myself that she at least was not a member
of the aristocracy of Great Britain, and thereby to instruct my judgment
as to the actual rank of him whom she designated by so proud a title, when
I was favoured with a long history of "the _lady_ who lost her shawl,
which _I_ found--and she has _visited_ me ever since." A _lady_!--and a
lady, good, agreeable, and condescending, no doubt; but--the query
occurred to my mind involuntarily--what kind of _lady_ must she be who
would "come oft'n to take a cup o' tea, or a sup o' sommat better, wi' me,
in my poor little place?"
I confess, this voluntary information, not less than the tone and language
in which it was delivered, prejudiced me so little in favour of my
companion, that I took up pencil and paper, and was shortly wrapped in the
most agreeable reverie. Briefly, I was in the exquisite _Land of Faerie_:
I beheld the beautiful little people; their tiny feet twinkled in the
dance; their small arms waved lightly and gently; and their perfect forms
were miniature models of all loveliness and grace;--the rosy blush of
affection tinted the delicate cheeks of the fair; their eyes gleamed, like
the minute gems which cluster around the ice-plant;--and lo! a pair, as
far different from these as is darkness from light, now peered into my
face, and a voice, very unlike the blissful tones of the gay music of
Faery Land, exclaimed,
"Um 'fear'd you ar'n't well, mum, hey?"
"Thank you, I am perfectly well."
"Are you indeed? why you set up your eyes, and looked as pale and _peekin_
like, as if you'd seen a _sperrit_."
"Did I? perhaps I was thinking; and naturally I am very pale."
"Oh well--um glad 'tis no _wuss_; but setting there as you do, with your
back to the _osses_, 'tis the most foolishest thing in the _wuld_, for a
sickly-like-looking cretur, as I may say yourself, to think on--_du_ come
o' this side."
I declined the good woman's proposition, alleging that riding backwards I
always found the best preventive of illness from the motion of the vehicle.
"Now really," I exclaimed she, almost aghast with astonishment, "that is
curous! But um fear'd you're faint, though you won't tell me so. Here,"
handing to me a large basket, well stored, I perceived, with provender,
"take a _happle_, or a bun, or a sand_wage_, or a bit o' gingerbread--and
a fine thing too it is for the stomach--or a pear, or a puff, or a
_chiscake_;--_I_ always take a cup of chocolate, and a slice of rich
plum-cake, every morning after breakfast: 'tis peticklar wholesome, a
_gentleman_ of my acquaintance says; and this I know, I should be dead in
no time if I didn't--so _du_ take something."
I could not be so ill-natured as to reject all the offers made me by this
benevolent, but uncouth _gentlewoman_, so accepted a sandwich, and thereby
giving her, as it were, a signal to commence operations. To work she
applied herself upon the contents of her wicker store-room, with such
hearty good-will, that I imagined myself secured from her volubility for
at least one hour. Alas! alas! her tongue and her teeth were, I verily
believe, running a race; and when the good dame discovered that to her
queries and remarks I deigned not a reply, she "just was _so_ glad there
was somebody in the coach to talk to, for 'twas the most _moanfullest_
thing in the wuld to go journeying on and on, for long, long miles,
without ever 'earing a body speak." I would not appear to understand my
persevering friend's insinuation, and was quickly lost in the charming
description of wild, woodland scenery, afforded by one of Sir Walter's
novels: here a slight bridge hung, as in air, between gigantic rocks, and
over a foaming cataract; there, a light column of bluish, curling smoke
told of the shepherd's shieling, situated, bosomed in trees, amid some
solitary pass of the mountains; here, the dark, melancholy pine reared its
mournful head, companioned by the sable fir, the larch, the service-tree,
and the wild cherry; there, the silvery willow laved its drooping branches
in the stormy flood; whilst, with the white foam of the joyous exulting
waters, all trees of beauty, majesty, and grace, rising from a
richly-verdant turfing, formed a delightful contrast. I heard the cry of
the soaring eaglet, as he rose from his eyry in the rock; wild, but
pleasant music was in the cool, strong wind, which flowed now roughly
around, and lashed me, like the sweeping sea-wave.
"Hey? Um 'fear'd you're a trifle ard of 'earing, arn't you? Why then put a
roasted _ingin_ when you go to bed into your _earn_, and I'll warrant
'twill cure you if you do 't _reglar_."
"O dear, no ma'am," I replied; "indeed I'm not _deaf_," with a peculiar
emphasis on this last word.
"_No_? Well, I do declare then, I've been haxing you to admire this fine
country for _this_ ten minutes;--only look! 'tis a vast deal more bootiful
than the road I travelled t'other day!"
So, to please the honest woman, I looked at her "fine country," and beheld
on my side the road (for we were sitting at cross corners) a stunted
hedge-row, inclosing a field or two of stubble; and on hers, a sear,
dismal heath, whereupon were marshalled, in irregular array, a few
miserable, brown furze bushes; amongst which, a meagre, shaggy ass, more
miserable still, with his hind legs logged and chained, was endeavouring
to pick up a scanty subsistence. What the road of the other day could have
been, it surpassed even my capacity, with this specimen of "the bootiful"
before me, to surmise; but my companion was evidently one of those
enviable individuals, whose ignorance is indeed their happiness, or whose
imagination supplies the deficiencies of bare reality.
Shortly afterwards we took up another passenger--a "_lady_" also--whose
figure was youthful, and whose face, perhaps, was not otherwise; but as
she was weeping bitterly, her features were concealed by a white cambric
_mouchoir_ from my curious gaze. Poor creature! Had she parted from a
lover?--a parent?--a child? Was she a reduced lady, quitting, for the
first time and the last, her paternal home, to seek, by the exertion of
her talents, or the labour of her hands, a precarious subsistence in the
cold, wide world? Had she hurried from the bed of death? or, did she
merely indulge in the soft sentimental sorrow, induced by Colburn's, or
Longman's, or Newman's last novel? Alas! the fair mourner informed us not.
I felt delicate on the point of intruding upon private sorrows, and so, I
presume, did my loquacious friend for she was actually _silent_;--albeit,
I perceived that the good woman was embarrassed as to the line of conduct
she ought to adopt towards the afflicted stranger. To make acquaintance
with, and comfort her, was the prompting of her benevolent heart; so she
put a blue glass bottle of smelling-salts into the mournful lady's hand,
which was immediately returned with a dignified, repellant bow. The basket
of provisions was next offered; but this the weeping fair one, it was
clear, did not _see_; and my honest widow, not a little disconcerted, made
yet another attempt to console one who evidently "_would_ not be
comforted," by a full, particular, and authentic relation of certain woful
passages in her own monotonous life. All, however, would not do--Niobe
still wept; and the widow and I felt ourselves in a very awkward,
uncomfortable situation.
After awhile, however, we took up another passenger--a "_lady_" again--and,
Heaven bless the woman! one even more voluble than my first companion, and
decidedly more candid, since she had not been seated five minutes in the
vehicle, ere she unblushingly announced herself--a _baker's wife_! Good
Heavens! and in these march-of-intellect and refinement days, too! Well
might Niobe wake with a start from her trance of woe, and, glancing
sovereign contempt upon the new, unconscious passenger, discover to me a
countenance as plain, withered, and fraught with the impress of evil
passions, as that of the _Lady in the Sacque_, in Sir Walter's tale of the
Tapestried Chamber. I never beheld so fretful and malignant-looking a
being!--and the contrast which her visage afforded to that of my
kind-hearted widow, which beamed with satisfaction and good-humour, was
quite remarkable. This "lady," indeed, now appeared to have regained her
native element, and not to be out-done in frankness by Mistress Baker,
first avowed herself the widow of a chandler, but lately retired from
business; and subsequently I gathered from her discourse that the
_gentleman_ her relation was, until his infirmity deprived him of the
situation--_groom_, in a REAL gentleman's family (the distinction I
particularly admired); and that the _lady_, her condescending friend, was
a grocer's daughter! Niobe, at this precise point of the conversation,
bestowed a ghastly grin upon the new allies, and producing from her
reticule a well-soiled and much be-thumbed volume (whether of plays, or a
novel, I could not discern), commenced perusing it with an avidity
apparently unchecked by its disgusting odour, the which powerfully
assailed me. I, too, was allowed by my loquacious widow, now that she had
fallen in with a bird of her own feather, to read in peace for the space
of some three or four miles; but at length my attention was aroused from
my book by the loud voice of Mrs. Baker, who was promulgating to Dame
Chandler the mysterious manner in which she fattened her dogs, by giving
them, twice or thrice a day, a quartern loaf, crumbed, and sopped in
melted fat, or dripping, which saved meat, since the animals liked that
food far better. But at this instant the Telegraph stopped; and the
coachman demanding his fare, since she had reached the place at which she
had desired to be set down, a violent altercation ensued between them
respecting sixpence; and finally the _lady_ just stepped out of the
vehicle in time to save herself from the indignity of being pulled from it
by its infuriated driver.