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The Mirror of Literature, Amusement, and Instruction. Volume 12, No. 345, December 6, 1828
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The Mirror of Literature, Amusement, and Instruction. Volume 12, No. 345, December 6, 1828

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The Mirror of Literature, Amusement, and Instruction. Volume 12, No. 345, December 6, 1828

SPIRIT OF THE Public Journals

QUADRANGLE OF KING'S COLLEGE, CAMBRIDGE

In the last New Monthly Magazine is an excellent account of this splendid structure, in A Day at Cambridge,—in which occurs the following exquisite little descriptive gem:—

With the exception of a gravel walk, running near to the buildings on every side, the whole ground-plot of this quadrangle is covered by an unbroken turf, kept, by means of constant and almost hourly attention, in that exquisite order which is only to be observed in spots devoted to similar purposes, here and at Oxford. The effect of an unbroken plot of turf of this kind and quality, and in a situation like this, is perfectly unique, and perhaps indescribable. It is supposed to be, and in fact is, for all purposes of preservation and beauty, sacred from the foot of man or beast; and the feeling arising from this circumstance, added to the exquisite natural adaptation of the object itself to the purposes of rest and relief from the almost dazzling architectural splendour of the surrounding objects, is such as cannot be communicated by any other means whatever, and we might in vain attempt to describe. It is of such a kind, however, that those who are capable of experiencing it, would as soon think of treading upon the object that conveys it to them, as those who honour Nature would think of rooting up a nest of violets. Speaking for ourselves alone, there is but one thing that can disturb and deteriorate the absolute tranquillity of mind, and peace of heart, which fall upon us, like dew from heaven, on entering a place like that we have attempted to describe above; it is, to see a capped and gowned Fellow, profaning with his footsteps the floor of that, in some sort, sacred temple, merely because he can, by so doing, reach his habitation by a few footsteps less than if he kept to the path allotted for him. We look upon the act as a species of impiety; to say nothing of its proving, to a demonstration, that the person who commits it is either utterly insensible to the mysterious harmony that subsists between a certain class of natural objects and the heart of man; or utterly disregards that harmony, and sets it at naught. He is, in fact, one of whom it may in one sense be said, that

"He hath no music in his soul."

And we are almost tempted to complete the quotation, by adding—

"Let no such man be trusted!"

A RUSTIC PAIR

By Miss Mitford

Few damsels of twelve years old, generally a very pretty age, were less pretty that Hannah Bint. Short and stunted in her figure, thin in face, sharp in feature, with a muddled complexion, wild sun-burnt hair, and eyes, whose very brightness had in them something startling, over-informed, super-subtle, too clever for her age. At twelve years old she had quite the air of a little old fairy. Now, at seventeen, matters are mended. Her complexion has cleared; her countenance, her figure, has shot up into height and brightness, and a sort of rustic grace; her bright, acute eye is softened and sweetened by the womanly wish to please; her hair is trimmed, and curled, and brushed with exquisite neatness; and her whole dress arranged with that nice attention to the becoming, the suitable both in form and texture, which would be called the highest degree of coquetry, if it did not deserve the better name of propriety. Never was such a transmogrification beheld. The lass is really pretty, and Ned Miles has discovered that she is so. There he stands, the rogue, close at her aide, (for he hath joined her whilst we have been telling her little story, and the milking is over!)—there he stands—holding her milk-pail in one hand, and stroking Watch with the other; whilst she is returning the compliment, by patting Neptune's magnificent head. There they stand, as much like lovers as may be; he smiling, and she blushing—he never looking so handsome, nor she so pretty, in all their lives. There they stand, in blessed forgetfulness of all except each other—as happy a couple as ever trod the earth. There they stand, and one would not disturb them for all the milk and butter in Christendom. I should not wonder if they were fixing the wedding-day.

RECOLLECTIONS OF A R*T

(Concluded from page 365.)

Finding a detachment just setting out to join the Grand Allied Army, I thought, as a true Briton, I could do no less than accompany it, and prevailed upon all our party to do the same.

The detachment with which I marched, consisted of 80,000. As we had little baggage, having crossed the Rhine, we proceeded rapidly through a dull, uninteresting country.

The town of Coblentz is situated at the junction of the Rhine and the Moselle. Here the majestic Rhine gently flows along in all its grandeur, separating the town from the noble fortress of Ehrenbreitstein.6 I crossed over the bridge of boats, and made a most minute inspection of this very romantic castle, which gave me great pleasure indeed. In a few days I availed myself of a passage-boat which was going to Mayence, and was quite enraptured with the view on all sides. Rhenish wines, and perhaps also the water, I found did not well agree with my stomach; and no inconsiderable annoyance, I soon experienced. They seemed, however, to have exactly the same effect upon every Englishman I saw, so I was not singular. A little brandy soon, however, put me all to rights; and by the time I reached Strasbourg, I was perfectly well again, and able to do ample justice to her Splendid Pies! I attended high mass in the great Cathedral of Strasbourg, and was surprised and pleased at the sight of 10,000 soldiers, in review order, drawn up within its walls. It was tiresome enough work mounting to the top of the spire, (which I ascertained, by the steps I took, to be exactly 490 feet high, Strasbourg measure; and this is exactly eight feet higher than St. Peter's at Rome), but I made it out, notwithstanding the sulky looks of the jackanapes who lives at the top. Nothing can surpass the beauty of the view from this cathedral. At your feet you have the ancient town, with all its regular fortifications and outworks—the majestic Rhine, with its bridge of boats, and ruined Gothic bridge, sublime in its decay—and as far as the eye can reach you have an exceedingly rich country, everywhere speckled with towns, and fertilized by luxuriant streams.

I made a point of visiting my venerable friend, the old Comte de Strasbourg, who, unchanged in the rolling on of centuries, lies in his glass coffin, to all appearance in the same freshness of health and vigour in which, when myself a very young man, I saw him many hundred years ago;7 his countess, his son, and his daughter, keep him company, each in their separate place of repose. Alas, alas! the sight made me weep.

A few days afterwards, I was rather unexpectedly stopped in my tour. For a night I had taken up my residence in the carriage of a young Englishman, who that day arrived from Rome, the hostler having assured me that he would remain for some time. I did so, as I found it much quieter and cooler than the hotel "La ville de Lyon," which was overcrowded. In the morning, I thought my friends were merely going a short drive, so I kept my seat. We, however, travelled on till night, when I heard we were bound for London; but as my companions were very agreeable, I thought I might as well accompany them the whole way. They seemed to be annoyed at every posthouse with their passports, &c.; I was never even asked about the matter. The custom-house gentry, in their searches, to be sure, occasionally gave me a little trouble, but I was soon up to their tricks. We had an avant-courier constantly galloping before us, and we travelled with such expedition that we reached London in five days; for my fellow-travellers were idle young men of fortune, who are of course always in the greatest hurry for the end of a journey, because they don't know what to make of themselves when it is over.

I had not then an opportunity of seeing Paris, as we only changed horses in it. I have since, however, spent many months there, and have always been very much pleased with every thing I saw, particularly the Catacombs, which were my favourite lounge. When last in Paris, I made a narrow escape with my life, as I tumbled headlong into a cask of brandy. I, however, managed to scramble out, with the assistance of a bit of cord, which happened to be hanging over its side, and which my friend pushed in to me. I was little the worse of my ducking; for, as soon as I got out, I was set a-laughing by his telling me how to spell brandy, in both French and English, in three letters, viz. "B.R. and Y." and "O.D.V."

In London I made a point, as a stranger, of going everywhere, and was certainly much delighted with every thing. I must confess, however, that I thought all the acting at the Opera and Theatres, and all the eloquence of the Houses of Parliament, as nothing in comparison of what I saw and tasted at the East India and London Docks. When I was in the House of Lords, a companion whispered to me, that he had heard an act read, offering a reward of 10,000l. for a male tortoise-shell cat. This I believe, indeed, is a very safe offer, for such a thing was never heard of. And it is certainly as much worth their while as making an act that I should never have more than six dishes of meat at my dinner, or that I should not be buried in linen above twenty shillings Scots value per ell, although I wished it particularly, and could well afford to pay for it. There was, however, one restrictive act, which had sense in it; and the husbands of the present day would, I dare say, give their ears that it were still in force, whatever the dressmakers might think of it. But many of their acts of Parliament are silly enough—as they must be; for they don't like to be thought idle, and imagine that it is necessary to be always enacting something.

It is curious, indeed, how fashion should be every thing in the great city. A lady could not possibly venture to see her dearest friend on earth, or even her own sister, if she happened to live in rather an unfashionable part of the town. By so doing, she would expose herself to her own footmen, who very properly would lose all respect for her, and I suppose instantly leave her service, as, poor fellows, they have a rank in life to keep up!! John Bull certainly gives himself many airs, to say the least of it. After receiving the greatest kindness and hospitality from you in Scotland, and perhaps staying for months in your house, he will cut you dead in London. I remember once meeting with such a return, but took it, of course, very coolly. Next day, when I was arm in arm with – –, I happened again to meet my quondam friend, who immediately rushed up to me—I, however, turned on my tail, and did not know him.—Fashion is an odd thing after all. It is not rank which will do. I have seen many a spendthrift young commoner cut his uncle the duke; and being a duchess by no means will ensure admittance at Almack's.—I thank my stars, I am not fashionable, and am always happy to see my friends!

I was persuaded, soon after reaching London, to go down to Essex for a few days, to pay a visit to an old friend. When I arrived at his house, which I think they called Waltham Abbey, I was sorry to receive the melancholy accounts that he had been devoured, and that, if I did not instantly take myself off, I should be dealt with in the same manner. The truth was, that a famine had arisen; and it is well known, on those occasions, as necessity has no law, that the stronger kills the weaker. Day after day the combat is renewed, till at last all except one are destroyed, and he is then obliged to decamp, or eat himself up, as he likes best. It is in this way that castles, houses, &c. which have been long infested by us, are so suddenly entirely freed from our presence.

I amused myself in making an excursion to Epping Forest, till I thought the civil war at my late friend's habitation might have proceeded far enough for my presence to be useful. In the forest, one day, I had the luck to kill one of those troublesome reptiles—a Tom Cat. I believe, however, it was a house one. After a hard day's hunting his highness made too free at a Valerian party. I watched my opportunity, and soon put an effectual end to his caterwauling. When I returned to the abbey, I found I was in the best possible time—the garrison being reduced to about a dozen, and they so weakened and tired out with the constant worrying work they had had, that I was myself a complete match for any two of them. In a few days the number was only four, and in other two days I was sole lord and master.

[He then returns to town.]

At a friend's house, in Berkeley Square, where I met a distinguished party, a scene took place, just such as Pope describes—

Our courtier walks from dish to dish;Tastes, for his friend, of fowl and fish:"That jelly's rich, that malmsey's healing,Pray dip your whiskers and your tail in."Was ever such a happy swain?He stuffs, and swills, and stuffs again."I'm quite ashamed—'Tis mighty rudeTo eat so much; but all's so good!I have a thousand thanks to give,My lord alone knows how to live."—No sooner said, but from the hallRush chaplain, butler, dogs, and all:"A r—t, a r—t! clap to the door!"—

I, however, made good my exit, and was nothing the worse of a practical warning to be more cautious in future.

It would be endless for me to describe all my after voyages and travels. Suffice it to say, I have been both east and west, north and south; and there is scarcely a part of the habitable globe which I have not visited. After all, I have come to this conclusion, that there is no country like Britain. Oh! how I could wish my human existence had been in such happy times and under such glorious sovereigns as a George the Third, and George the Fourth!!!

For some years I have remained in this country, enjoying (like a patriarch of old) a quiet, regular life with my family, which now amounts to above 2,000. I, however, keep very much to my own room, as I hate bustle, and like to enjoy my own reflections.

The age to which our species can exist is not ascertained, as never one of us was known to die in his bed, at least a natural death. A kind of instinct I have always had, has as yet saved me from arsenic, stewed corks, traps, stamps, &c.; and my great strength, and a good deal of science, which is of more consequence, have, as yet, preserved me in many a deadly combat, both with my own species, and with the dog, the ferret, the weasel, the hawk, and that green-eyed monster—the cat. But I am now getting somewhat stiffer, and am not so sharp as I was. I am not—

"–qualis eram, quum primam aciem Præneste sub ipsaStravi, scutorumque incendi victor acervos;Et regem hâc Herilum dextrâ sub Tartara misi!!"

And in some evil hour my time must come.

–I am well aware, indeed, of the fleeting existence even of this world itself, for I studied astronomy with the celebrated M. Olbers of Bremen, and assisted him in making many useful observations and discoveries, particularly regarding comets, in the course of which we came to this melancholy conclusion, that the comet which was afterwards visible in 1786 and 1795, will, in 83,000 years, approach the earth as nearly as the moon; and that in 4,000,000 years it will come to within a distance of 7,700 geographical miles;—the consequence of which will be (if its attraction be equal to that of the earth) the elevation of the waters of the ocean 13,000 feet; that is to say, above the tops of all the European mountains, except Mount Blanc. The inhabitants of the Andes and of the Himalaya mountains alone will escape this second deluge; but they will not benefit by their good fortune more than 216,000,000 years, for it is probable, that at the expiration of that time, our globe standing right in the way of the comet, will receive a shock severe enough to ensure its utter destruction!!!

Note.—After reading over the above MS., I am inclined to come to this conclusion—that our historian, while in a human form, must have been a Scottish nobleman—that he probably was born about the year 1501—and that he lived to about the age of 89.—Ed.

THE FANCY BALL

"A visor for a visor! what care IWhat curious eye doth quote deformities!"SHAKSPEARE."You used to talk," said Miss Mac Call,"Of flowers, and flames, and Cupid;But now you never talk at all.You're getting vastly stupid.You'd better burn your Blackstone, Sir,You never will get through it;There's a Fancy Ball at Winchester—Do let us take you to it."I made that night a solemn vow,To startle all beholders:I wore white muslin on my brow,Green velvet on my shoulders—My trousers were supremely wide,I learn'd to swear "by Allah"—I stuck a poniard by my side,And called myself "Abdallah."Oh! a Fancy Ball's a strange affair,Made up of silks and leathers,Light heads, light heels, false hearts, false hair,Pins, paint, and ostrich feathers:The dullest Duke in all the town,To-night may shine a droll one—And rakes, who have not half-a-crown,Look royal with a whole one.Hail, blest Confusion! here are metAll tongues, and times, and faces,The Lancers flirt with Juliet,The Bramin talks of races;And where's your genius, bright Corinne?And where your brogue, Sir Lucius?And Chinca Ti, you have not seenOne chapter of Confucius.Lo! dandies from Kamschatka flirtWith beauties from the Wrekin—And belles from Berne look very pertOn Mandarins from Pekin;The Cardinal is here from Rome,The Commandant from Seville—And Hamlet's father from the tomb,And Faustus from the Devil.What mean those laughing Nuns, I pray,What mean they, Nun or Fairy:I guess they told no beads to-day,And sang no Ave Mary.From Mass and Matins, Priest and Pix,Barred door, and window grated,I wish all pretty CatholicsWere thus emancipated.Four Seasons come to dance quadrilles,With four well-seasoned sailors—And Raleigh talks of rail-road bills,With Timon, prince of railers.I find Sir Charles of Aubyn ParkEquipp'd for a walk to Mecca—And I run away from Joan of Arc,To romp with sad Rebecca.Fair Cleopatra's very plain,Puck halts, and Ariel swaggers—And Cæsar's murder'd o'er again,Though not by Roman daggers.Great Charlemagne is four feet high—Sad Stuff has Bacon spoken—Queen Mary's waist is all awry,And Psyche's nose is broken.Our happiest bride, how very odd!Is the mourning Isabella,And the heaviest foot that ever trodIs the foot of Cinderella.Here sad Calista laughs outright,There Yorick looks most grave, Sir,And a Templar waves the cross to-night,Who never cross'd the wave, Sir.And what a Babel is the talk!"The Giraffe"—"plays the fiddle"—"Macadam's roads"—"I hate this chalk"—"Sweet girl"—"a charming riddle"—"I'm nearly drunk with"—"Epsom salts"—"Yes, separate beds"—"such cronies!"—"Good heaven! who taught that man to valtz?"—"A pair of Shetland ponies.""Lord D–" "an enchanting shape"—"Will move for"—"Maraschino""Pray, Julia, how's your mother's ape?"—"He died at Navarino!""The gout, by Jove, is"—"apple pie"—"Don Miguel"—"Tom the tinker"—"His Lordship's pedigree's as highAs –" "Whipcord, dam by Clinker.""Love's shafts are weak"—"my chestnut kicks"—"Heart broken;"—"broke the traces"—"What say you now of politics?"—"Change sides and to your places"—"A five-barred gate"—"a precious pearl""Grave things may all be punn'd on!"—"The Whigs, thank God, are"—"out of curl!"—"Her age is"—"four by London!"Thus run the giddy hours away,Till morning's light is beaming,And we must go to dream by dayAll we to-night are dreaming;To smile and sigh, to love and change—Oh! in our heart's recesses,We dress in fancies quite as strangeAs these our fancy-dresses.New Monthly Magazine.

The Gatherer

A snapper up of unconsidered triflesSHAKSPEARE.Tho' lang an lonely be the roadBetween me an my dearie;Yet I the gate hae aften troad,When I've been tired and wearie.Be't stormin rain, hail, win or snaw—A lonely road and drearie—There's nought wad e'er keep me awaFrae gaun to see my dearie!!!M.

FRENCH BALL CONVERSATION

During the French revolution, parties danced as gaily as ever; the following is a ball conversation, which took place in the month of Frimare, year 7.:—Well, the Ottoman Porte has declared war against us! Oh yes, there is no doubt of it, (En avant deux) It is an enemy the more—(chassez) and the Russian fleet they say has passed the Dardanelles, (en avant quatre) yet the papers say that the emperor sincerely desires peace.—Yes, but Count Metternich wishes for war, (balancez) so we have also a new coalition against us. England, Portugal, Naples, Turkey, the Emperor, Russia, perhaps the empire of Prussia, (Faites face et chassez tous les huit)—well we have bayonettes, (la poussette) besides it is not so far from Dover to Calais, (traversez)—Do you belong to the conscription?—Yes, and I too; (pirouettez) what makes me uneasy is to know what will become of our partners when we are gone: (La chaine des dames)—what will be left to amuse them (La queu du chat.) It was thus that days of terror were preceded by evenings of amusement and pleasure.

INTUITIVE AFFECTION

"There are three things," said a wit, "which I have always loved without ever understanding them, painting, music, and woman."

RETORT UNCOURTEOUS

A lady, well known in the fashionable vicinity of Portland-place, always accosts a stranger, with "I think I have seen you somewhere," which often leads to a clue for her finding out the history of the party. One evening she played off the same game on a gentleman, who replied, "Most likely, madam, for I sometimes go there."

With the present Number is published the SECOND SUPPLEMENT of the Spirit of the Annuals—containing Poetry and Prose by Allan Cunningham, Professor Wilson, the late P.B. Shelley, Miss Landon, Mrs. Hemans, Mr. Pringle, Theodore Hook, and other distinguished Writers—with a beautiful Engraving.

Purchasers of the MIRROR, who may wish to complete their sets are informed, that every volume is complete in itself, and may be purchased separately. The whole of the numbers are now in print, and can be procured by giving an order to any Bookseller or Newsvender.

Complete sets Vol. I. to XI. in boards, price £2. 19s. 6d. half bound, £3. 17s.

1

The Second of "the Spirit of the Annuals," containing a fine Engraving, after a celebrated picture by Turner, and a string of POETICAL GEMS from the Anniversary, Keepsake, and Friendship's Offering, with unique extracts from such of "the Annuals" as were not noticed in the previous Supplement.

2

Vide Percy's "Reliques," vol. ii. p. 178.

3

Strype's Stowe, vol. ii. p. 47, edit. 1755.

4

Miraculous dancing is not, however, confined to animals; for William of Malmesbury gravely relates an instance of 15 young women and 18 young men who (by the anathema of a priest) continued dancing a whole year, and wore the earth so much, that, by degrees, they sunk midway into the earth!

5

Here is a card "extraordinary" of one of our humble English dancing-masters:—"As Dancing is the poetry of motion, those who wish to sail through the mazes of harmony, or to 'trip it on the light fantastic toe,' will find an able guide in John Wilde, who was formed by nature for a dancing-master.—N.B. Those who have been taught to dance with a couple of left legs, had better apply in time, as he effectually cures all bad habits of the kind."

6

Apropos—our Supplement contains a fine Engraving of this very spot.

7

The venerable count died about the year 1519. The glass coffins are still shown.

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