The Mirror of Literature, Amusement, and Instruction, Vol. 12, by Various
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Various >> The Mirror of Literature, Amusement, and Instruction, Vol. 12,
Tormenting himself with such speculations, he arrived at his father's
house. Here he was surprised, bewildered, almost shocked, to observe a
new and handsome farm-house in place of the old one. On looking farther
on, however, he did detect the ancient habitation of his family, in its
original site; but it seemed, from the distance where he stood, to be
falling into ruins. His whole race must either be dead or banished, and
a new tribe of successors settled in their place; or else uncle William
must be deceased, and have left his father money enough to build a new
house. He walked up to the door, where he stood trembling for some
minutes, without courage to put his hand to the latch, and at last went
round to the window, and, with a desperate effort, looked in. How his
heart bounded! His father was there, still a stout healthy man of middle
life, his hair hardly beginning to be grizzled, by the meddling finger
of the old painter Time; and his mother, as handsome as ever, and her
face relieved by the smile either of habitual happiness, or of some
momentary cause of joyful excitation, from the Madonna cast which had
distinguished it in less prosperous days; and his sister, with only
enough left of her former delicacy of complexion to chasten the
luxuriant freshness of health on the ripe cheeks of nineteen. John,
indeed, was not there; but a vacant chair stood by the table ready to
receive him, and another--a second chair, beside it, only nearer the
fire--for whom?--for himself. His heart told him that it was. Some one
must have brought the tidings of his arrival; the family circle were at
that moment waiting to receive him; he could see his old letters lying
on the table before them, and recognised the identical red splash he had
dropped, as if accidentally, on the corner of one--the dispatch he had
written after his first action--although he had taken the trouble to go
to the cock-pit to procure, for the occasion, this valorous token of
danger and glory. But John--it was so late for him to be from
home!--and, as a new idea passed across his mind, he turned his eyes
upon the old house, which was distant about a hundred yards. It was
probable, he thought, nay, more than probable, that his father, when
circumstances enabled him to build a new house for himself, had given
the old one to his eldest son; and John, doubtless, was established
there as the master of the family, and perhaps at this moment was
waiting anxiously for a message to require his presence on the joyful
occasion of his brother's arrival. He did not calculate very curiously
time or ages, for his brother was only his senior by two years; he felt
that he was himself a man long ago, and thought that John by this time
must be almost an old man.
While these reflections were passing through his mind, he observed a
light in the window of the old house; but he could not well tell whether
it was merely the reflection of a moonbeam on the glass, or a candle in
the interior. He walked forward out of curiosity; but the scene, as he
approached the building, was so gloomy, and the air so chill, that he
wished to turn back; however, he walked on till he reached the door, and
there, sure enough, his brother was waiting on the threshold to receive
him. They shook hands in silence, for William's heart was too full to
speak, and he followed John into the house; and an ill-cared-for house
it was. He stumbled among heaps of rubbish in the dark passage; and, as
he groped along the wall, his hand brought down patches of old lime, and
was caught in spiders' webs almost as strong as if the spinner had meant
to go a-fowling. When they had got into the parlour, he saw that the
building was indeed a ruin; there was not a whole pane of glass in the
window, nor a plank of wood in the damp floor; and the fireplace,
without fire, or grate to hold it, looked like the entrance to a
burying-vault. John, however, walked quietly in, and sat down on a heap
of rubbish by the ingleside; and William, following his example, sat
down over-against him. His heart now began to quake, and he was afraid,
without knowing what he had to fear. He ran over in his mind the
transactions of the evening--his walk, his reflections, his
anxieties--embracing the whole, as if in one rapid and yet detailed
glance of the soul, and then turned his eyes upon his brother both in
fear and curiosity. What fearful secret could John have to communicate
in a place like this? Could he not have spoken as well in the open air,
where it was so much warmer, and in the blessed light of the moon? No
one was dead, or likely to die, that he cared for; his dearest and
almost only friends were at this moment talking and laughing round their
social table, and near a bright fire, expecting his arrival, and John
and he were--here! At length, repressing by a strong effort the
undefined and undefinable feelings that were crowding upon him, he broke
the silence, which was now beginning to seem strange and embarrassing.
"And how have you been, John?" said he, in the usual form of friendly
inquiries; "and how have you got on in the world since we parted?"
"I have been well." replied John; "and I have got on as well as mortal
man could desire."
"Yet you cannot be happy; you must have something to say--something I am
almost afraid to hear. Out with it, in God's name! and let us go home."
"Yes," said John, "I have something to say; but it will not take long to
hear, and then we shall both go home. I was apprenticed to the
boat-building four years ago." "I know it," replied William; "you wrote
to me about it yourself, John."
"I was made foreman before my time was out."
"I know that, too," said William; "Fanny gave me the whole particulars
in a letter I received at Smyrna;--surely that cannot be all."
"I have more to tell," said John, solemnly: "my apprenticeship is out."
"What, in four years!--you are mad, John! What do you mean?"
"The indenture was cancelled this evening."
"How?" cried William, with a gasp, and beginning to tremble all over,
without knowing why.
"I was wounded on the beach," said John, rising up, and walking
backwards towards the window; while the moon, entering into a dense
cloud, had scarcely sufficient power to exhibit the outlines of his
figure. "It was by the point of a dagger," continued he, his voice
sounding distant and indistinct, "_and I died of the wound!_"
William was alone in the apartment, and he felt the hair rising upon his
head, and cold drops of sweat trickling down his brow. His ghastly and
bewildered look was hardly noticed by his parents and sister during the
first moments of salutation; and, when it was, the excuse was illness
and fatigue. He could neither eat nor drink, (it seemed as if he had
lost altogether the faculty of swallowing,) but sat silent and
stupified, turning his head ever and anon to the door, till it struck
one o'clock. About this time a knocking was heard, and the sister,
jumping up, cried it was John come home, and ran to open the door. But
it was not John; it was the minister of the parish; and he had scarcely
time to break the blow to the parents with the shield of religion, when
the dead body of their eldest son was brought into the house.--_Orient.
Herald_.
* * * * *
SPIRIT OF DISCOVERY.
_Zoological Gardens._
It is stated that upwards of one hundred and eighty pounds have been
received for the admission of the public to these gardens during one
week.
We omitted to mention last week, that one of the lamas was presented by
Robert Barclay, Esq. of Bury Hill; a leopard by Lord Auckland; several
animals from the Arctic regions by the Hudson's Bay Company, &c. The
pair of emus were bred at Windsor, by Lord Mountcharles. The emu is
hunted in New South Wales for its oil; it frequently weighs 100 lbs.,
and its taste, when cooked, more resembles beef than fowl.--See _Notes_,
p. 378, vol. xi. MIRROR.
_Venerable Orange Tree._
There is an orange tree, still living and vigorous, in the orangery at
Versailles, which is well ascertained to be above 400 years old. It is
designated the Bourbon, having belonged to the celebrated constable of
that name in the beginning of the 16th century, and been confiscated to
the crown in 1522, at which time it was 100 years old. A crown is placed
on the box in which it is planted, with this inscription, "Sown in
1421."
Thirty-four orange-trees have lately been received at Windsor, as a
present from the king of France to George IV.
_Potato Mortar._
M. Cadet-de-Vaux found mortar of lime and sand, and also that made from
clay, greatly improved in durability by mixing boiled potatoes with it.
_An Experimental Farm,_
As a school of practical husbandry for a part of central France, has
been formed by the celebrated Abbe de Pradt. It is situated about a
league from Avranches, on the great road from that city to Bort, in the
department of Correze.--_Foreign Q. Rev._
_A Tunnel under the Vistula, at Warsaw,_
Has been projected. This mode of communication will be of the utmost
utility, especially at the times of the breaking up of the frost, when
all intercourse is interrupted. The architect is a foreigner, and has
engaged to complete the work in the space of three years.--_Paris
Paper._
_Small White Slugs,_
In gardens, are more injurious than the larger variety, because their
diminutive size escapes the gardener's eye. A good way to keep them
under is to make small holes, about an inch deep, and about the diameter
of the little finger, round the plants which they infest. Into these
holes the slugs will retreat during the day, and they may be killed
there by dropping in a little salt, quicklime in powder, or by strong
lime and water.--_Gardener's Mag._
_Turkish Method of Preserving Filberts._
When perfectly ripe, remove the husks, and dry the nuts, by rubbing with
a coarse cloth; sprinkle the bottom of a stone jar with a very little
salt; then place a layer of filberts, adding a small quantity of salt
between each layer. The jar must be perfectly dry and clean. Secure the
top from air, and keep them in a dry place; and, at the end of six
months, they will peel.--_Ibid._
_Extinction of Fires._
When a chimney or flue is on fire, throw into the fire-place one handful
after another of flower of sulphur. This, by its combustion, effects the
decomposition of the atmospheric air, which is, in consequence,
paralysed, or, in effect, annihilated.
_Oysters._
After the month of May, it is felony to carry away the caltch (the spawn
adhering to stones, old oyster-shells, &c.) and punishable to take any
oysters, except those of the size of a half-crown piece, or such as,
when the two shells are shut, will admit of a shilling rattling between
them.
The liquor of the oyster contains incredible multitudes of small embryo
oysters, covered with little shells, perfectly transparent, swimming
nimbly about. One hundred and twenty of these in a row would extend one
inch. Besides these young oysters, the liquor contains a great variety
of animalcules, five hundred times less in size, which emit a phosphoric
light. The list of inhabitants, however, does not conclude here, for
besides these last mentioned, there are three distinct species of worms
(called the oyster-worm,) half an inch long, found in oysters, which
shine in the dark like glow-worms. The sea-star, cockles, and muscles,
are the great enemies of the oyster. The first gets within the shell
when they gape, and sucks them out.
While the tide is flowing, oysters lie with the hollow side downwards,
but when it ebbs they turn on the other side.[6]
[6] See Bishop Spratt on Oysters.
_Swarming of Bees._
An interesting communication was read, at a recent sitting of the Royal
Society, from T.A. Knight, Esq. describing the precaution taken by a
swarm of bees, in reconnoitering the situation where they intend to
establish their new colony, or swarm from the parent hive. The bees do
not go out in a considerable body, but they succeed each other in going
and returning, until the whole of the swarm have apparently made good
the survey, after which the whole body take their departure in a mass.
If by any chance a large portion of a swarm take their departure without
the queen bee, they never proceed to take up the ulterior quarters
without her majesty's presence. The result of Mr. Knight's observations
tends to prove, that all the operations of a swarm of bees are dictated
by previous concert, and the most systematic arrangement.
* * * * *
SPIRIT OF THE PUBLIC JOURNALS
LADDER OF LOVE.
Men and women,--more or less,--
Have minds o' the self-same metal, mould, and form!--
Doth not the infant love to sport and laugh,
And tie a kettle to a puppy's tail?--
Doth not the dimpled girl her 'kerchief don
(Mocking her elder) mantilla wise--then speed
To mass and noontide visits; where are bandied
Smooth gossip-words of sugared compliment?
But when at budding womanhood arrived,
She casts aside all childish games, nor thinks
Of aught save some gay paranymph--who, caught
In love's stout meshes, flutters round the door,
And fondly beckons her away from home,--
The whilst, her lady mother fain would cage
The foolish bird within its narrow cell!--
And then, the grandame idly wastes her breath,
In venting saws 'bout maiden modesty--
And strict decorum,--from some musty volume:
But the clipp'd wings will quickly sprout again;
And whilst the doating father thinks his child
A paragon of worth and bashfulness,--
_Her_ thoughts are hovering round the precious form
Of her sweet furnace-breathing Don Diego!--
And he, all proof 'gainst dews and nightly blasts,
In breathless expectation waits to see
His panting Rosa at the postern door;--
While she sighs forth "My gentle cavalier!"--
And then they straightway fall to kissing hands,
And antic-gestures--such as lovers use,--
Expressive of their wish quickly to tie
The gordian knot of marriage;--Pretty creatures!--
But why not earlier to have thought of this?--
When he, the innocent youth, was wont to play
At coscogilla; and the prattling girl,
Amid her nursery companions, toiled
In sempstress labours for her wooden dolls.--
Ah! wherefore, did I ask?--Because forsooth,
Their ways are changed with their increasing years!--
For when for gallantry the time be come--
And when the stagnant blood begins to boil
Within the veins, my master--then the lads
Cast longing looks on damosels--for nature
Defies restraint--and kin-birds flock together!--
And think not, Master, _Chance_ disposes thus;
Or were it so, then chance directs us all--
Whene'er we have attain'd the important age!
I, ------, am a living instance!--
Was I not once a lively laughing boy?
And, in my stripling age, did I not love
The pastimes suited to those madcap days?--
Oh! would to heaven those times were present still!
But wherefore fret myself with hopes so vain?--
The silly thought doth find no shelter here,--
That any beauty, with dark roguish eyes,
With sparkling blood, and rising warmth of youth,
Would e'er affect this wrinkled face of mine:--
The very thought doth smack of foolishness!--
And, though the truth may be a bitter pill,
Yet,--
It is most fitting that we know ourselves.
_Spanish Comedy--Foreign Review._
* * * * *
A HINT TO RETIRING CITIZENS.
Ye Cits who at White Conduit House,
Hampstead or Holloway carouse,
Let no vain wish disturb ye;
For rural pleasures unexplored,
Take those your Sabbath strolls afford,
And prize your _Rus in urbe_.
For many who from active trades
Have plung'd into sequester'd shades,
Will dismally assure ye,
That it's a harder task to bear
Th' ennui produced by country air,
And sigh for _Urbs in rure_.
The cub in prison born and fed,
The bird that in a cage was bred,
The hutch-engender'd rabbit,
Are like the long-imprison'd Cit,
For sudden liberty unfit,
Degenerate by habit.
Sir William Curtis, were he mew'd
In some romantic solitude,
A bower of rose and myrtle,
Would find the loving turtle dove
No succedaneum for his love
Of London Tavern turtle.
Sir Astley Cooper, cloy'd with wealth,
Sick of luxurious ease and health,
And rural meditation,
Sighs for his useful London life,
The restless night--the saw and knife
Of daily amputation.
Habit is second nature--when
It supersedes the first, wise men
Receive it as a warning,
That total change comes then too late,
And they must e'en assimilate
Life's evening to its morning.
Thrice happy he whose mind has sprung
From Mammon's yoke while yet unwrung
Or spoilt for nobler duty:--
Who still can gaze on Nature's face
With all a lover's zeal, and trace
In every change a beauty.
No tedium vitae round him lowers,
The charms of contrast wing his hours,
And every scene embellish:--
From prison, City, care set free,
He tastes his present liberty
With keener zest and relish.
_New Monthly Mag_.
* * * * *
THE GATHERER.
A snapper up of unconsidered trifles.
SHAKSPEARE.
* * * * *
ACCOMMODATION FOR THREE HALFPENCE.
A gentleman on a wet evening entered the bar of an inn, and while
standing before the fire, called to a servant girl who had come to
receive his orders, "Margaret, bring me a glass of ale, a clean pipe, a
spitoon, a pair of snuffers, and the newspaper. And Margaret, take away
my great coat, carry it into the kitchen, and hang it before the fire to
dry, and dry my umbrella, and tell me what o'clock it is; and if Mr.
Huggins should come in, request him to come this way, for I think 'tis
near seven, and he promised to meet me at that hour. And Margaret, get
me change for a sovereign, and see that all the change is good, take for
the glass of ale out of it, and put the coppers in a piece of paper. And
Margaret, tell Jemima to bring some more coals, take away the ashes, and
wipe the table. And Margaret, pull down the blinds, shut the door, and
put-to the window-shutters."--N.B. The gentleman had his own tobacco.
* * * * *
TWO EVILS, (EXTEMPORE.)
Can man sustain a greater curse
Than to possess an empty purse?
Yes, with abundance to be blest,
And not enjoy the pow'r to taste.
G.K.
* * * * *
EPIGRAM, FROM THE GERMAN.
If one has served thee, tell the deed to many?
Hast thou served many?--tell it not to any.
J.L.S.
* * * * *
A GENTLEMAN.
To tell the reader exactly what class of persons was meant to be
designated by the word _gentleman_, is a difficult task. The last time
we heard it, was on visiting a stable to look at a horse, when,
inquiring for the coachman, his stable-keeper replied, "He has just
stepped to the public-house along with another gentleman."
The following is the negro's definition of a _gentleman_:--"_Massa make
de black man workee--make de horse workee--make de ox workee--make every
ting workee, only de hog: he, de hog, no workee; he eat, he drink, he
walk about, he go to sleep when he please, he liff like a GENTLEMAN_."
* * * * *
"VERY BAD."
Why are washer-women, busily engaged, like Adam and Eve in Paradise?
Because they are _so-apy_ (so happy).
Why is a widower, going to be married, like Eau de Cologne? Because he
is _re-wiving_.
Why is a vine like a soldier? Because it is listed and trained, has
_ten-drills_, and shoots.
Why is a sailor, when at sea, not a sailor? Because he's _a-board_.
Why is a city gentleman, taken poorly in Grosvenor-square, like a
recluse? Because he is _sick-westward_ (sequestered.)
Why is it better for a man to have two losses than one? Because the
first is a loss, and the second is _a-gain_.
"If Britannia rules the waves," said a qualmish writing-master, going to
Margate last week in a storm, "I wish she'd rule 'em _straighter_."--
_Lit. Gaz._
* * * * *
_Printed and Published by J. LIMBIRD, 143, Strand, (near Somerset
House,) London; sold by ERNEST FLEISCHER, 626, New Market, Leipsic; and
by all Newsmen and Booksellers._