The Mirror of Literature, Amusement, and Instruction, Vol. 20, No. by Various
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THE MIRROR OF LITERATURE, AMUSEMENT, AND INSTRUCTION.
VOL. 20, NO. 580.] SUPPLEMENTARY NUMBER. [PRICE 2d.
* * * * *
SPIRIT OF THE ANNUALS FOR 1833.
[Illustration: ST. GOAR, (_on the Rhine._)]
THE PICTURESQUE ANNUAL.
This is certainly one of the most splendid works of the kind ever
produced in this or any other country. This is high but not unmerited
praise; as the reader will believe when we tell him, that it contains
twenty-six large plates, from drawings by Stanfield, engraved by
first-rate artists, and superintended by Mr. Charles Heath. They are
all, strictly speaking, PICTURESQUE scenes, chosen with great skill,
and with right understanding of the Picturesque. The literary portion
consists of Travelling Sketches on the Rhine, and in Belgium, and in
Holland, by Mr. Leitch Ritchie. The plates are, of course, intended as
illustrations to the letter-press; but it is too evident, that the
latter has been _written_ to the plates. However, that matters not,
for the twenty-six engravings are amply worth twenty-one shillings, the
cost of the volume. The author's share is lively and jaunty, and of the
most here-and-there description. We only intend to quote the portion
accompanying the Engraving on the annexed page.[1]
ST. GOAR, (_on the Rhine_).
"We now arrived at St. Goar, and the ruins of the castle of Rheinfels:
but here the pen gives willing place to the pencil. In the view, the
town and river are seen through an arch, in such a way as to convey
a complete idea of what we call the Lakes of the Rhine. In entering
St. Goar by the gate of the Rhine, a stranger of these every-day times
thinks of nothing but being bothered about his passport. It was once
very different. A traveller of any consideration, who visited the town
for the first time, was asked by the functionary, 'Sir, My Lord, or Sir
Knight'--as it happened--'with what do you please to be baptized, wine
or water?'--'With wine,' of course was the answer, if the respondent
happened to be a man of any kind of good sense or virtuous habits; and,
after being commanded to prepare himself for the ceremony, by giving
alms to the poor, he was straightway led by his sponsors to the Fleur
de Lys. In this ancient hostelrie, the neophyte was seated amidst the
assembled brethren, a brazen crown placed on his head, and the rules of
the Order of the Collar read to him. A huge goblet of silver was then
presented to him, filled to the lip with wine, and this he was commanded
to drain to the health of the Emperor; a second was emptied to the
honour of the Landgrave of Hesse; and a third gurgled salutation to the
company. The same ceremony was gone through by the sponsors; and the
name of the baptized being duly entered in the register of the Order,
a second collection was made for the poor, and he was permitted to
continue his way into the town. If, instead of wine, the misguided
individual desired baptism with water, he was justly punished for the
immorality, by a bucket of the insipid element being tumbled over his
head. This Order, it is said, had its origin in the reconciliation at
St. Goar of the two sons of Charlemagne; which was doubtless accompanied
by much out-pouring of wine, and in memory whereof they hung up at the
gates a brazen collar."
This is the second volume of the _Picturesque Annual._ The Public
are stated, in its preface, to have contributed from ten to twelve
thousand guineas to the support of last year's volume; and we are
inclined to think, that, in his next, the Editor will have the
gratification of reporting still more munificent patronage: for,
if guineas be somewhat less abundant than twelve months since, the
disposition to foster British art, and a liberal appreciation of its
merits, has been and is on the increase; and, though the proverb be
somewhat musty, "Where there is a will," &c.
[1] Copied by permission of the Proprietor.
* * * * *
THE BOOK OF BEAUTY.
[This is a title of no small pretension. It is in certain respects ill
chosen, though it may, in some degree, denote the exquisite triumphs
which art has here accomplished. The Illustrations consist of eighteen
portraits of every order of beauty, of variety enough to realize Sir
Philip Sidney's aphorism, that "whatsoever is liked, to the liker is
beautiful." But here all must be liked; therefore all are beautiful. The
very names would make out a sort of court-roll of Venus, and the book
itself the enchanting effect of the goddess' embroidered girdle, which
had the gift of inspiring love. This charm will doubtless ensure the
volume hundreds of possessors. The names of a few of the galaxy will
give the reader a faint idea of their charms, unless the reader accord
with Juliet's somewhat peevish "What's in a name." Thus, we find Julia,
the queen of sentimentality; Belinda, gay and sparkling; Madeline, the
early prey of despair; Lolah, languishing amid Eastern magnificence;
the Orphan, pencilled in the very simplicity of nature, and finely
contrasted with the coquetry of art; Theresa, the very type of romance;
Geraldine, Meditation, the Bride, and Lucy Ashton. But we must not omit
the heroine of our extract--with tall, etherial form, raven ringlets,
and pearly eyes--such charms as would attune the wise man to another
Song of Beauty.
The letter-press of the volume is too in the type of beauty--from the
chastely-elegant pen of Miss Landon. It consists of tales and sketches,
lights and shadows, such as none but her accomplished pen could tell or
harmonize. Here is probably the best illustration--]
THE ENCHANTRESS. (_By herself._)
You see in me, "the only living descendant of those Eastern Magi to whom
the stars revealed their mysteries, and spirits gave their power. Age
after age did sages add to that knowledge which, by bequeathing to their
posterity, they trusted would in time combat to conquer their mortality.
But the glorious race perished from the earth, till only my father was
left, and I his orphan child. Marvels and knowledge paid his life of
fasting and study. All the spirits of the elements bowed down before
him; but the future was still hidden from his eyes, and death was
omnipotent. His power of working evil had no bounds, but his power of
good was limited; and yet it was good that he desired. How dared he put
in motion those mighty changes, which seemed to promise such happiness
on earth, while he was ignorant of what their results might be? and of
what avail was the joy he might pour out on life, over whose next hour
the grave might close, and only make the parting breath more bitter
from the blessings which it was leaving behind?"
I was no unworthy daughter of such a sire; I advanced in these divine
studies even to his wish, and looked to the future with a hope which
many years had deadened in himself, but from which I caught an omen of
ultimate success. Alas! he mastered not his destiny: I have said before,
his ashes are in yonder urn. A few unwholesome dews on a summer night
were mightier than all his science. For a time I struggled not with
despair; but youth is buoyant, and habit is strong. Again I pored over
the mystic scroll--again I called on the spirits with spell and with
sign. Many a mystery was revealed, many a wonder grew familiar; but
still death remained at the end of all things, as before. One night
I was on the terrace of my tower. Above me was the deep, blue sky,
with its stars--worlds filled, perchance, with the intelligence which
I sought. On the desert below was the phantasm of a great city.
I looked on its small and miserable streets, where hunger and cold
reigned paramount, and man was as wretched as if flung but yesterday
on the earth, and there had been as yet no time for art to yield its
assistance, or labour to bring forth its fruit. I gazed next on scenes
of festivity, but they were not glad; for I looked from the wreath into
the head it encircled, and from the carcanet of gems to the heart which
beat beneath--and I saw envy, and hate, and repining, and remorse.
I turned my last glance on the palace within its walls; but there the
purple was spread as a pall, and the voice of sorrow and the cry of pain
were loud on the air. I bade the shadows roll away upon the winds, and
rose depressed and in sorrow. I was not alone: one of those glorious
spirits, whose sphere was far beyond the power of our science, whose
existence we rather surmised than knew; stood beside me.
From that hour a new existence opened before me. I loved, and I was
beloved--love, to which imagination gave poetry, and mind gave strength,
was the new element added to my being. Alas! how little do the miserable
race to which I belong know of such a feeling. They blend a moment's
vanity, a moment's gratification, into a temporary excitement, and they
call it love. Such are the many, and the many make the wretchedness of
earth. And yet your own heart, Leoni, and that of my gentle cousin, may
witness for my words, there are such things as truth, and tenderness,
and devotion in the world; and such redeem the darkness and degradation
of its lot. Nay, more, if ever the mystery of our destiny be unravelled,
and happiness be wrought out of wisdom, it will be the work of love.
It matters little to tell you of my blessedness; but my very heart was
filled with the light of those radiant eyes, which were to me what the
sun is to the world. Yet one dark shadow rested on my soul, beyond even
their influence. Death had been the awful conqueror with whom my race
had so often struggled, and to whom they had so often yielded. A mortal,
I loved an immortal, and the fear of separation was ever before me; yet
a long and happy time passed away before my fear found words.
It was one evening we were floating over the earth, and the crimson
cloud on which we lay was the one where the sun's last look had rested.
Its gleam fell on a small nook, while all around was fast melting
into shade. Still it was a sad spot which was thus brightened--it was
a new made grave. Over the others the long grass grew luxuriantly,
and speckled, too, by many small and fragrant flowers; but on this,
the dark-brown earth had been freshly turned up, and the red worm,
writhed restlessly about its disturbed habitation. Some roses had been
scattered, but they were withered; their sweet leaves were already damp
and discoloured. All wore the present and outward signs of our eternal
doom--to perish in corruption.
The shadows of the evening fell, deepening the gloom into darkness--the
one last, bright ray had long been past, when a youth came from the
adjacent valley. That grave but yesterday received one who was to have
been his bride--his betrothed from childhood, for whose sake he had been
to far lands and gathered much wealth, but who had pined in his absence
and died. He flung himself on the loathsome place, and the night-wind
bore around the ravings of his despair. Wo for that selfishness which
belonged to my mortality! I felt at that moment more of terror than of
pity! I thought of myself: Thus must I, with all my power, my science,
and loved by one into whose sphere death comes not, even thus must
I perish! True, the rich spices, the perfumed woods, the fragrant oils,
which would feed the sacred fire of my funeral pyre, would save my
mortal remains from that corruption which makes the disgust of death
even worse than its dread. A few odoriferous ashes alone would be
left for my urn. Yet not the less must I share the common doom of my
race--I must die!
"Nay, my beautiful!" said the voice, which was to me as the fiat of
life and of death, so utterly did it fill my existence: "why should
we thus yield to a vague terror? Listen, my beloved! I know where the
waters of the fountains of life roll their eternal waves--I know I can
bear you thither and bid you drink from their source, and over lips so
hallowed death hath no longer dominion. But, alas! I know not what may
be the punishment. Like yourselves, the knowledge of our race goes on
increasing, and our experience, like your own, hath its agonies. None
have dared what I am about to dare, and the future of my deed is even
to me a secret. But what may not be borne for that draught which makes
my loved one as immortal as my love!"
I gazed on the glorious hope which lighted up his radiant brow, and
I said to him, "Give me an immortality which must be thine." Worlds
rolling on worlds lay beneath our feet when we stood beside the waters
of life. A joyful pride swelled in my heart. I, the last and the weakest
of my race, had won that prize which its heroes and its sages had found
too mighty for their grasp. A sound, as of a storm rushing over ocean,
startled me when I stooped to drink, the troubled waves rose into
tumultuous eddies, their fiery billows parted, and from amid them
appeared the dark and terrible Spirit of Necessity. The cloud of his
awful face grew deeper as it turned on me. "Child of a sinful and a
fallen kind!" said he, and he spoke the language most familiar to my
ear, which yet sounded like that of another world, "who have ever
measured by their own small wisdom that which is infinite--drink, and be
immortal! Be immortal, without the wisdom or the power belonging unto
immortality. Drink!"
I shrunk from the starry waters as they rose to my lip, but a power
stronger than my will compelled me to their taste. The draught ran
through my veins like ice. Slowly I turned to where my once-worshipped
lover was leaning. The same change had passed over both. Our eyes met,
and each looked into the other's heart, and there dwelt hate--bitter,
loathing, and eternal hate. I had changed my nature; I was no longer the
gentle, up-looking mortal he had loved. I had changed my nature; he was
no longer to me the one glorious and adored being. We gazed on each
other with fear and abhorrence. The dark power, whose awful brow was
fixed upon us like Fate, again was shrouded in the kindling waters. By
an impulse neither could control, the Spirit and I flung ourselves down
the steep, blue air, but apart and each muttering, "Never! never!" And
that word "never" told our destiny. Never could either feel again that
sweet deceit of happiness, which, if it be a lie, is worth all truth.
Never more could each heart be the world of the other.
Our feelings are as little in our power as the bodily structure they
animate. My love had been sudden, uncontrollable, and born not of my own
will--and such was my hate. As little could I master the sick shudder
his image now called up, as I could the passionate beating of the heart
it had once excited. I stood alone in my solitary hall--I gazed on the
eternal fire burning over the tomb of my father, and I wished it were
burning over mine. For the first time I felt the limitations of
humanity. The desire of my race was in me accomplished--I was immortal!
and what was this immortality? A dark and measureless future. Alas! we
had mistaken life for felicity! What was my knowledge? it only served to
show its own vanity; what was my power, when its exercise only served to
work out the decrees of an inexorable necessity? I had parted myself
from my kind, but I had not acquired the nature of a spirit. I had lost
of humanity but its illusions, and they alone are what render it
supportable. The mystic scrolls over which I had once pored with such
intenseness, were now flung aside; what could they teach me? Time was to
me but one great vacancy; how could I fill it up, who had neither labour
nor excitement? I set me down mournfully, and thought of the past. Why,
when love is perished, should its memory remain? I had said to myself,
so long as I have life, one deep feeling must absorb my existence.
A change--and that too of my own earnest seeking--had passed over my
being; and the past, which had been so precious, was now as a frightful
phantasm. The love which alters, in its inconstancy may set up a
new idol, and worship again with a pleasant blindness; but the love
which leaves the heart with a full knowledge of its own vanity and
nothingness,--which saith, The object of my passion still remains, but
it is worthless in my sight--never more can I renew my early feeling--I
marvel how I ever could have loved--I loathe, I disdain the weakness of
my former self;--ah, the end of such love is indeed despair!
"Do you mark yonder black marble slab, which is spread as over a tomb?
It covers the most silvery fountain that ever mirrored the golden light
of noon, or caught the fall of the evening dew, in an element bright
as themselves. The radiant likeness of a spirit rests on those waters.
I bade him give duration to the shadow he flung upon the wave, that
I might gaze on it during his absence. The first act of my immortality
was to shut it from my sight. There must that black marble rest for
ever."
[By the way, the ancients are excellent judges of beauty. Socrates calls
beauty (we dare not use the contemptible _it_,) a short-lived
tyranny: Xenophon says "Fire burns only when we are near it; but a
beautiful face burns and inflames, though at a distance: Plato calls
beauty a privilege of nature: Theophrastus (arch fellow,) a silent
cheat: Theocritus, (cunning elf,) a delightful prejudice; Carneades, a
solitary kingdom, (which he doubtless would keep to himself): Domitian
says that nothing is more grateful, (not even killing flies); Aristotle
affirms that beauty is better than all the letters of recommendation in
the world: Homer, that it is a glorious gift of nature; and Ovid calls
beauty a favour bestowed by the gods, which this same Ovid shows the
gods to have been jealous of among mortals." Certainly the moderns do
not wage war for a beautiful woman, as did the ancients: we fear they
would rather fight for an old castle.
To conclude, if, as Steele tells us, "to make happy is the true empire
of beauty;" why, buy the Book of Beauty, to be sure.]
* * * * *
THE COMIC OFFERING
[MISS SHERIDAN presents us with her third volume of ladye mirth,
as heretofore, over-flowing with fun and patter, and sprinkled with
some sixty or seventy Cuts--many of them, to use a critical term,
of "spirited design." Probably, the most humorous tale among the
fifty is--]
THE FLYBEKINS, OR THE FIRE-ESCAPE.
The Flybekins were distant connexions of the great Lord B., living
"genteelly" in the west of England: and Mr. and Mrs. Flybekin were the
only adult members of the family at the period of the incident which
gave rise to this anecdote. It happened once that these "country
cousins" were possessed with an uncontrollable desire to enter within
the hitherto unapproached circle of London fashion and gaiety in which
their noble relatives moved with such distinction. Every thing was
propitious in furtherance of the meditated scheme: the spring was
approaching, London filling, the country emptying, and the children
could all go to school. A few weeks "in Town, just to see what was going
on," would be fully worth the journey, especially as it would afford an
opportunity for them to commence an acquaintance with their magnificent
relation. And as the boys were growing up, it might be serviceable to
their interests to tighten the bonds of connexion a little, which had,
from lapse of time, and want of intercourse, become somewhat loosened.
There is an old saying--"where there is a will, there is always a
way."--In a short time Mr. and Mrs. Flybekin, being bent on the measure,
argued themselves into a belief of the projected visit being nothing
short of an imperative moral duty.
When matters had gone thus far, a hint was dropped in the drawing-room,
which immediately reached the "domestic department," and very soon
spread through the village,--as the smallest stone falling into water
creates successive circles around the spot where it fell, each
increasing in circumference. Accordingly, the Flybekins were the centre
of attraction on the following Sunday, after morning service. Hearty
congratulations, and ardent wishes for a pleasant trip, with various
commissions, pressed upon them. The newest fashions were promised to be
brought down, and the village milliner looked forward to a glorious
triumph over all her rivals in the trade about the country. The happy
pair were on the pinnacle of provincial glory; _he_ was expected to
return with the true state of foreign affairs, and the nation, from the
intercourse he would enjoy with the peer; _she_ was expected to
import news of operas, plays, music, novels, writers, balls, routs,
drawing-rooms and dresses, from her intercourse with the peeress.
In all the pleasure to which they looked _forward_ there was but
one _draw-back_, viz. a most extraordinary dread of _London fires_
at night: and this originated in the frequent occurrence in their county
paper of paragraphs headed "_Another alarming conflagration: many
lives lost!_"--put in either to aid the Insurance office, or fill the
paper. As our rustic pair had never visited the metropolis, they did not
know but Leadenhall Street and Hyde Park, Lambeth and Portland Place,
might all be close neighbours; therefore, however distant the different
fires might be, they fancied they all occurred nearly in the same place;
and from the time Mr. and Mrs. Flybekins resolved to visit Town,
scarcely a night passed in which they did not start in terror from their
dreams, screaming "Fire, Fire!"
All was hurry and preparation at "the Lodge," until the anticipated
arrival of the "Barnstaple Sociable," one morning at the door, summoned
the ambitious pair, and on the _fourth day_ of their departure
from Devonshire, they were duly set down at the White Horse Cellar, for
road-making had not then received the magic touch of Macadam. The next
day was occupied in searching for, and entering, suitable lodgings; and
the following day, having hired a carriage, which their unpractised eyes
considered most elegant in style and equipment, they sallied forth,
armed with a card-case, and a long list of commissions, the practised
horses going at the full rate of six miles an hour.
A friendly and familiar visit over, to some Devonshire friends in
Devonshire Place, they essayed next to discharge the now almost dreaded
call of state; for that which, contemplated at a distance, imparted joy
and hope, when at hand possessed something of awe mingled with these
feelings. Arrived in Grosvenor-square, after sidling along the gutter
close by the foot pavement, the distance of two or three houses, and
with a little preliminary tug of the reins, the coachman drew up
opposite the door of No. ----. Two powdered lackeys in rich livery were
peering through the long narrow windows on each side of the door, and
anticipated the intention of the diminutive, bandy footman, of knocking,
(that is, if he could have reached the knocker.) To the question of
"Lord and Lady B. at home?" a negative answer was delivered; they were
gone to the country, but were expected back to dinner. A card was then
handed in, inscribed in the neatest, spider-pattern handwriting of Mrs.
Flybekin: and they drove off to pursue the agreeable pastime of shopping
and going through part of the list of commissions, vivenda and agenda,
with which they were provided.
As the Flybekins drove along the streets, the words "PATENT
FIRE-ESCAPES," in large letters, upon the front of a tall house,
attracted their attention, and roused all their latent fears of London
fires, with accounts of which the newspapers so frequently teemed.
A fire-escape would impart security to sleep, and might be taken
down into the country. Accordingly the check string was pulled, the
manufactory entered, the machines inspected, an economical one selected
by each: and in an hour after their arrival at home to dinner, the
fire-escapes were duly mounted in one of the front bed-room windows.
Their evening meal being finished at the barbarous hour of nine,
the Flybekins began to yawn over the events of the past day, and the
prospective engagements of the morrow. The excitements of the morning in
the crowded London streets, had completely tired the rustic couple, who
being susceptible of no farther excitement, sought repose at this early
hour, and were both soon wrapt in deep sleep. Leaving them to enjoy
their repose, we return to Grosvenor-square. The noble pair returned
to a family dinner, and on entering the house, read, with strained
eyeballs, the card deposited that morning by the Flybekins, and with
some such an expression of countenance as one may be supposed to assume
in discovering something in a drawer more than was anticipated. "Umph!"
said the peer, "the Flybekins in town! what could have brought them up
so far from the country?" "Something that will not detain them long, I
hope;" dryly answered Lady B. "Yet, we _must_ take some notice of
these country cousins," said the peer: "Let us invite them to a family
dinner." "Well, if we _must_,"--said the Countess shrugging her
shoulders--and with that the subject dropped for the time.