The Mirror of Literature, Amusement, and Instruction, Vol. 17, No. by Various
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Various >> The Mirror of Literature, Amusement, and Instruction, Vol. 17, No.
"His shame in crowds, his solitary pride!"
I used sometimes to hurry through this part of my occupation, while the
Letter-Bell (which was my dinner-bell) summoned me to the fraternal
board, where youth and hope
"Made good digestion wait on appetite
And health on both"--
or oftener I put it off till after dinner, that I might loiter longer
and with more luxurious indolence over it, and connect it with the
thoughts of my next day's labours.
The dustman's-bell, with its heavy, monotonous noise, and the brisk,
lively tinkle of the muffin-bell, have something in them, but not much.
They will bear dilating upon with the utmost license of inventive prose.
All things are not alike _conductors_ to the imagination. A learned
Scotch professor found fault with an ingenious friend and arch-critic
for cultivating a rookery on his grounds: the professor declared
"he would as soon think of encouraging a _froggery_." This was
barbarous as it was senseless. Strange that a country that has produced
the Scotch Novels and Gertrude of Wyoming should want sentiment!
The postman's double-knock at the door the next morning is "more
germain to the matter." How that knock often goes to the heart!
We distinguish to a nicety the arrival of the Two-penny or the General
Post. The summons of the latter is louder and heavier, as bringing
news from a greater distance, and as, the longer it has been delayed,
fraught with a deeper interest. We catch the sound of what is to be
paid--eightpence, ninepence, a shilling--and our hopes generally rise
with the postage. How we are provoked at the delay in getting change--at
the servant who does not hear the door! Then if the postman passes, and
we do not hear the expected knock, what a pang is there! It is like the
silence of death--of hope! We think he does it on purpose, and enjoys
all the misery of our suspense. I have sometimes walked out to see the
Mail-Coach pass, by which I had sent a letter, or to meet it when I
expected one. I never see a Mail-Coach, for this reason, but I look
at it as the bearer of glad tidings--the messenger of fate. I have
reason to say so.--The finest sight in the metropolis is that of the
Mail-Coaches setting off from Piccadilly. The horses paw the ground, and
are impatient to be gone, as if conscious of the precious burden they
convey. There is a peculiar secresy and despatch, significant and full
of meaning, in all the proceedings concerning them. Even the outside
passengers have an erect and supercilious air, as if proof against the
accidents of the journey. In fact, it seems indifferent whether they are
to encounter the summer's heat or winter's cold, since they are borne
through the air in a winged chariot. The Mail-Carts drive up; the
transfer of packages is made; and, at a signal given, they start off,
bearing the irrevocable scrolls that give wings to thought, and that
bind or sever hearts for ever. How we hate the Putney and Brentford
stages that draw up in a line after they are gone! Some persons think
the sublimest object in nature is a ship launched on the bosom of the
ocean; but give me, for my private satisfaction, the Mail-Coaches that
pour down Piccadilly of an evening, tear up the pavement, and devour
the way before them to the Land's End!
In Cowper's time, Mail-Coaches were hardly set up; but he has
beautifully described the coming in of the Post-Boy:--
"Hark! 'tis the twanging horn o'er yonder bridge,
That with its wearisome but needful length
Bestrides the wintry flood, in which the moon
Sees her unwrinkled face reflected bright;--
He comes, the herald of a noisy world,
With spattered boots, strapped waist, and frozen locks;
News from all nations lumbering at his back.
True to his charge, the close packed load behind,
Yet careless what he brings, his one concern
Is to conduct it to the destined inn;
And having dropped the expected bag, pass on.
He whistles as he goes, light-hearted wretch!
Cold and yet cheerful; messenger of grief
Perhaps to thousands, and of joy to some;
To him indifferent whether grief or joy.
Houses in ashes and the fall of stocks.
Births, deaths, and marriages, epistles wet
With tears that trickled down the writer's cheeks
Fast as the periods from his fluent quill,
Or charged with amorous sighs of absent swains
Or nymphs responsive, equally affect
His horse and him, unconscious of them all."
And yet, notwithstanding this, and so many other passages that seem
like the very marrow of our being, Lord Byron denies that Cowper was a
poet!--The Mail-Coach is an improvement on the Post-Boy; but I fear it
will hardly bear so poetical a description. The picturesque and dramatic
do not keep pace with the useful and mechanical. The telegraphs that
lately communicated the intelligence of the new revolution to all France
within a few hours, are a wonderful contrivance; but they are less
striking and appalling than the beacon fires (mentioned by Aeschylus,)
which, lighted from hill-top to hill-top, announced the taking of Troy
and the return of Agamemnon.
_Monthly Magazine._
* * * * *
THE SELECTOR; AND LITERARY NOTICES OF _NEW WORKS_.
* * * * *
THE DREAM GIRL.
There is a certain valley in Languedoc, at no great distance from the
palace of the Bishop of Mendes, where to this day the traveller is
struck by some singular diversities of scenery. The valley itself is
the most quiet and delightful that France can boast. A stream wanders
through it, with just rapidity enough to keep its waters sweet and
clear; and, on either side of this line of beauty, some gently swelling
meadows extend--on one side to a chain of smooth green hills, and on the
other, to the base of a mountain of almost inaccessible rocks. The river
is bordered by willows and other shrubs, crowding to dip their branches
in the transparent wave; and here and there in its neighbourhood, groves
of walnut-trees stud the meadows, serving as a rendezvous of amusement
for innumerable nightingales, which at the first dawn of summer assemble
on the branches, and, as if in mockery of the poets, fill the evening
air with their mirthful music.
The village of Rossignol (so named, probably, on account of the
abundance of nightingales in the neighbourhood) was inhabited by
very poor, but very happy people. It is true that, in common with
other cultivators of the fickle earth, they had sometimes to mourn the
overthrow of the husbandman's hopes; and that even their remote and
lonely situation did not always protect them from the exactions of those
whom birth, violence, or accident had made the lords of the domain.
But in such cases, the villagers of Rossignol had a resource, limited,
indeed, and attended by hardship, and even danger, but, to a certain
extent, absolutely unfailing.
It must not be supposed, however, that, even in an Arcadia like this,
"The course of true love _always_ did run smooth."
There was one young girl, called Julie, who was cruel enough to have
depopulated a whole nation of lovers. She was the most beautiful
creature, it is said, that ever skimmed the surface of this breathing
world. Her light brown hair was illumined in the bends of the curls with
gleams resembling those of auburn, and it was so long and luxuriant,
that when, in the ardour of the chase, it became unbound, and floated in
clouds around her, that seemed just touched on their golden summits by
the sun, she looked more like a thing of air than of earth.
Nor was the illusion dissipated when, flinging away with her white
arm the redundant tresses, her face flashed upon the gazer. There
was nothing in it of that tinge of earth--for there is no word for
the thought--which identifies the loveliest and happiest faces with
mortality. There was no shade of care upon her dazzling brow--no touch
of tender thought upon her lip--no flash, even of hope, in her radiant
eyes. Her expression spoke neither of the past nor the future--neither
of graves nor altars. She was a thing of mere physical life--a gay and
glorious creature of the sun, and the wind, and the dews; who exchanged
as carelessly and unconsciously as a flower, the sweet smell of her
beauty for the bounties of nature, and pierced the ear of heaven with
her mirthful songs, from nothing higher than the instinct of a bird.
It seemed as if what was absent in her mind had been added to her
physical nature. She had the same excess of animal life which is
observed in young children; but, unlike them, her muscular force was
great enough to give it play. Her walk was like a bounding dance, and
her common speech like a gay and sparkling song;--her laugh echoed
from hill to hill, like the tone of some sweet, but wild and shrill
instrument of music. She out-stripped the boldest of the youths in the
chase; skimmed like some phantom shape along the edge of precipices
approached even by the wild goat with fear; and looked round with
careless joy, from pinnacles which interrupted the flight of the eagle
through the air.
With such beauty, and such accomplishments, for the place and time, how
many hearts might not Julie have broken! Julie did not break one. She
was admired, loved, followed; and she fled, rending the air with her
shrieks of musical laughter. Disconcerted, stunned, mortified, and
alarmed, the wooer pursued his mistress only with his eyes, and blessed
the saints that he had not gained such a phantom for a wife.
_Romance of History._
* * * * *
INTERIOR OF ST. PAUL'S CATHEDRAL.
If in exterior magnificence St. Paul's surpasses all our other
buildings, the interior, however, from many causes, is not so beautiful.
You enter, and the naked loftiness of the walls, and the cold and barren
stateliness of every thing around, would induce one to believe that an
enemy--were such a thing possible in Britain--had taken London, and
plundered the cathedral of all its national and religious paintings,
together with a world of such rare works of curiosity or antiquity
as find a sanctuary in the great churches of other countries. A few
statues, some of them of moderate worth, are scattered about the
recesses; and certain coloured drawings, done by the yard by Sir James
Thornhill, may be distinguished far above; but all between is empty
space, save where some tattered banners, pierced with many a shot,
the memorials of our naval victories, hang dusty half-pillar high.
This nakedness, however, is not so much the fault of the architect as
of the clergy, who aught to have adorned this noble pile more largely
by the hand of the painter and the sculptor. It was the wish of Wren
to beautify the inside of the cupola with rich and durable Mosaic,
and he intended to have sought the help of four of the most eminent
artists in Italy for that purpose; but he was frustrated by the seven
commissioners, who said the thing was so much of a novelty that it would
not be liked, and also so expensive that it could not be paid for. The
present work, too, over the communion table was intended only to serve
till something more worthy could be prepared; and, to supply its place,
Wren had modelled a magnificent altar, consisting of four pillars
wreathed of the finest Greek marbles, supporting a hemispherical canopy,
richly decorated with sculpture. But marble, such as he liked, could not
readily be procured: dissensions arose, and the work remained in the
models. The interposition of the Duke of York--the malevolence of the
commissioners--the Puritanic, for I will not call them Protestant,
prejudices of the clergy--and, I must add, the tastelessness of the
nation at large, have all conspired to diminish the interior glory
of St. Paul's, and render it less imposing on the mind than many a
cathedral of less mark and reputation.--George III. saw what was
wanting, and would have endeavoured to supply it; but all his efforts to
overcome the ecclesiastical objections were unavailing. Let us hope that
some of that truly good and English king's descendents may have better
success.--_Family Library_, No. xix.
* * * * *
DEATH OF RICHELIEU.
Richelieu in the meantime had reached his palace in the capital.
Roman despot was never more courted nor more feared; but death was
coming fast to close his triumphant career. A mortal malady wasted him:
yet the cardinal abated nothing of his pride, nor of his vindictiveness.
He exiled some of the king's personal and cherished officers; he
insulted Anne of Austria, the queen: remained seated during a visit that
she paid him, and threatened to separate her from her children. Even his
guards no longer lowered their arms in the presence of the monarch. His
demeanor to Louis XIII. was that of one potentate to another. In
December of 1642 the malady of the cardinal became inveterate, and every
hope of life was denied him. He summoned the king to his dying bed,
recapitulated the great and successful acts of his administration, and
recommended Mazarin as the person to continue its spirit, and to be his
successor. Louis promised obsequiousness. Richelieu then received the
last consolations of religion, and went through these pious and touching
ceremonies with an apparently firm and undisturbed conscience. The man
of blood knew no remorse. His acts had all been, he asserted, for his
country's good; and the same unbending pride and unshaken confidence
that had commanded the respect of men, seemed to accompany him into the
presence of his Maker. He died like a hero of the Stoics, though clad in
the trappings of a prince of the church. Most of those present were
edified by his firmness; but one bishop, calling to mind the life, the
arrogance, and the crimes of the minister, observed, that "the
confidence of the dying Richelieu filled him with terror." The crime of
having trodden out the last spark of his country's liberties, and of
having converted its monarchic government into pure despotism, is that
for which Richelieu is most generally condemned. But the state of
anarchy which he removed was license, not liberty. The task of
reconciling private independence with public peace, civil rights with
the existence of justice,--and this without precedent or tradition,
without that rooted stock on which freedom, in order to grow and bear
fruit, must be grafted,--was a conception which, however familiar to our
age, was utterly unknown, and impracticable to that of Richelieu. With
the horrors of civil war fresh in the memory of all, the general desire
was for tranquillity and peace, not liberty; to which, moreover, had it
been contemplated, the first necessary step was that of humbling the
aristocracy. It was impossible that constitutional freedom could grow
out of the chaos of privileges, and anarchy, and organized rebellion,
that the government had to contend with. In building up her social
fabric France had in fact gone wrong, destroyed the old foundations, and
rebuilt on others without solidity or system. To introduce order or add
solidity to so ill-constructed a fabric, was impossible; Richelieu found
it necessary to raze all at once to the ground, except the central
donjon of despotism, which he left standing. Had Richelieu, with all
his genius and sagacity, undertaken for liberty what he achieved for
royalty, his age would have rejected or misunderstood him, as it did
Bacon and Galileo. He might, indeed, as a man of letters, have consigned
such a political dream to the volume of an Utopia, but from action or
administration he would have been soon discarded as a dreamer. Liberty
must come of the claim of the mass; of the general enlightenment,
firmness, and probity. It is no great physical secret, which a single
brain, finding, may announce and so establish: it is a moral truth,
which, like a gem, hides its ray and its preciousness in obscurity, nor
becomes refulgent till all around it is beaming with light.--_Cabinet
Cyclopaedia--History of France._
* * * * *
THE GATHERER.
A snapper up of unconsidered trifles.
SHAKSPEARE.
* * * * *
From what town in England does all the butter come in the London
market?--Cowes.
Which is the closest town in Ireland, and is the best when drawn?--Cork.
_A Dirty Member._--A member of a certain house was noticed the
other night to be very dirty in his appearance, which a wit accounted
for by saying he supposed the gentleman had been assisting the
Chancellor of the Exchequer in taking the duty off coals!--_From "the
Age."_
* * * * *
LUXURY
Was once restricted by an English law, wherein the prelates and nobility
were confined to two courses at every meal, and two kinds of food in
every course, except on great festivals: it also prohibited all who did
not enjoy a free estate of L100. per annum, from wearing furs, skins,
or silk, and the use of foreign cloth was confined to the royal family
alone, to all others it was prohibited, 1337. In 1340, an edict was
issued by Charles VI. of France, which says, "Let no one presume to
treat with more than a soup and two dishes."
T. GILL.
* * * * *
KNAVE
Formerly signified valet or servant as appears from Wickliffe's New
Testament, kept in Westminster Library, and where we read--"_Paul the
knave of Jesus Christ_." Hence the introduction of the knave in the
pack of cards.
* * * * *
STEEL THREE HUNDRED TIMES DEARER THAN GOLD.
Steel may be made three hundred times dearer than standard gold, weight
for weight; six steel wire pendulums, weight one grain, to the artists
7s. 6d. each, 2l. 5s.; one grain of gold only 2d.
T. GILL.
* * * * *
SCRAPS.
Omai, the South Sea Islander, was once at a dinner in London, where
stewed Morello cherries were offered to him. He instantly jumped up, and
quitted the room. Several followed him; but he told them that he was no
more accustomed to partake of human blood than they were. He continued
rather sulky for some time, and it was only by the rest of the company
partaking of them, that he would be convinced of his error, and induced
to return to the table.
At White Hall Mill, in Derbyshire, a sheet of paper was manufactured
last year, which measured 13,800 feet in length, four feet in width,
and would cover an acre and a half of ground.
Among the ancient Saxons at Magdeburgh, the greatest beauties were at
stated times deposited in charge of the magistrates, with a sum of money
as the portion of each, to be publicly fought for; and fell to the lot
of those who were famous at tilting.
W.G.C.
* * * * *
AN OLD APPLE-WOMAN'S STORY ABOUT APSLEY HOUSE.
When London did not extend so far as Knightsbridge, George II. as he was
one morning riding, met an old soldier who had served under him at the
battle of Dettingen; the king accosted him, and found that he made his
living by selling apples in a small hut. "What can I do for you?" said
the king.--"Please your majesty to give me a grant of the bit of ground
my hut stands on, and I shall be happy."--"Be happy," said the king, and
ordered him his request. Years rolled on, the appleman died, and left a
son, who from dint of industry became a respectable attorney. The then
chancellor gave lease of the ground to a nobleman, as the apple-stall
had fallen to the ground, where the old apple man and woman laid also.
It being conceived the ground had fallen to the crown, a stately mansion
was soon raised, when the young attorney put in claims; a small sum was
offered as a compromise and refused; finally, the sum of four hundred
and fifty pounds per annum, ground rent, was settled upon.
J.G.B.
* * * * *
COMETS AND WOMEN.
(_For the Mirror_.)
Comets, doubtless, answer some wise and good purpose in the creation; so
do women. Comets are incomprehensible, beautiful, and eccentric; so are
women. Comets shine with peculiar splendour, but at night appear most
brilliant; so do women. * * * * Comets confound the most learned, when
they attempt to ascertain their nature; so do women. Comets equally
excite the admiration of the philosopher, and of the clod of the valley;
so do women. Comets and women, therefore are closely analogous: but the
nature of each being inscrutable, all that remains for us to do is, to
view with admiration the one, and almost to adoration love the other.
W.N.B.
* * * * *
Dr. John Thomas, Bishop of Lincoln, was married four times. The motto,
or posy, on the wedding ring, at his fourth marriage was--
"If I survive
I'll make them five."
* * * * *
A PRINCELY GAMBLER.
Casimir the second, King of Poland, when Prince of Sandomir, won at play
all the money of one of his nobility, the loser, who, incensed at his
ill-fortune, struck the prince a blow on the ear. The offender instantly
fled; but being pursued and taken, he was condemned to lose his head:
Casimir interposed. "I am not surprised," said the prince, "that, not
having it in his power to revenge himself on Fortune, he should attack
her favourite." He revoked the sentence, returned the nobleman his
money, and declared that he alone was faulty, as he had encouraged, by
his example, a pernicious practice, that might terminate in the ruin,
of his people.
P.T.W.
* * * * *
EPITAPH ON CHARLES I.
So falls that stately Cedar; while it stood
That was the onely glory of the wood;
Great Charles, thou earthly God, celestial man,
Whose life, like others, though it were a span;
Yet in that span, was comprehended more
Than earth hath waters, or the ocean shore;
Thy heavenly virtues, angels should rehearse,
It is a theam too high for humane verse:
Hee that would know thee right, then let him look
Upon thy rare-incomparable book,
And read it or'e; which if he do,
Hee'l find thee _King_, and _Priest_, and _Prophet_ too;
And sadly see our losse, and though in vain,
With fruitlesse wishes, call thee back again.
Nor shall oblivion sit upon thy herse,
Though there were neither monument, nor verse.
Thy suff'rings and thy death let no man name;
It was thy Glorie, but the kingdom's shame.
(_From the Eikon Basilike, printed_ A.D. 1648.)
C.C.
* * * * *
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