The Mirror of Literature, Amusement, and Instruction. Volume 14, No. 388, September 5, 1829

"There were other old remains of different kinds peculiar to these people met with about the lake."

"One night we encamped on the foundation of an old Red Indian wigwam, on the extremity of a point of land which juts out into the lake, and exposed to the view of the whole country around. A large fire at night is the life and soul of such a party as ours, and when it blazed up at times, I could not help observing that two of my Indians evinced uneasiness and want of confidence in things around, as if they thought themselves usurpers on the Red Indian territory. From time immemorial none of the Indians of the other tribes had ever encamped near this lake fearlessly, and, as we had now done, in the very centre of such a country; the lake and territory adjacent having been always considered to belong exclusively to the Red Indians, and to have been occupied by them. It had been our invariable practice hitherto, to encamp near the hills, and be on their summits by the dawn of day, to try to discover the morning smoke ascending from the Red Indians' camps; and to prevent the discovery of ourselves, we extinguished our own fire always some length of time before daylight."

"Our only and frail hope now left of seeing the Red Indians, lay on the banks of the River Exploits, on our return to the sea-coast."

"The Red Indians' Lake discharges itself about three or four miles from its north-east end, and its waters form the River Exploits. From the lake to the sea-coast is considered about seventy miles; and down this noble river the steady perseverance and intrepidity of my Indians carried me on rafts in four days, to accomplish which otherwise, would have required, probably, two weeks. We landed at various places on both banks of the river on our way down, but found no traces of the Red Indians so recent as those seen at the portage at Badger Bay-Great Lake, towards the beginning of our excursion. During our descent, we had to construct new rafts at the different waterfalls. Sometimes we were carried down the rapids at the rate of ten miles an hour, or more, with considerable risk of destruction to the whole party, for we were always together on one raft."

"What arrests the attention most, while gliding down the stream, is the extent of the Indian fences to entrap the deer. They extend from the lake downwards, continuous, on the banks of the river, at least thirty miles. There are openings left here and there in them, for the animals to go through and swim across the river, and at these places the Indians are stationed, and kill them in the water with spears, out of their canoes, as at the lake. Here, then, connecting these fences with those on the north-west side of the lake, is at least forty miles of country, easterly and westerly, prepared to intercept all the deer that pass that way in their periodical migrations. It was melancholy to contemplate the gigantic, yet feeble, efforts of a whole primitive nation, in their anxiety to provide subsistence, forsaken and going to decay."

"There must have been hundreds of the Red Indians, and that not many years ago, to have kept up these fences and pounds. As their numbers were lessened so was their ability to keep them up for the purposes intended; and now the deer pass the whole line unmolested."

"We infer, that the few of these people who yet survive have taken refuge in some sequestered spot, still in the northern part of the island, and where they can procure deer to subsist on."

"On the 29th of November we had again returned to the mouth of the River Exploits, in thirty days after our departure from thence, after having made a complete circuit of about 200 miles in the Red Indian territory."

"In conclusion, I congratulate the institution on the acquisition of several ingenious articles, the manufacture of the Boeothicks, or Red Indians, some of which we had the good fortune to discover on our recent excursion;—models of their canoes, bows and arrows, spears of different kinds, &c.; and also a complete dress worn by that people. Their mode of kindling fire is not only original, but, as far as we at present know, is peculiar to the tribe. These articles, together with a short vocabulary of their language, consisting of 200 or 300 words, which I have been enabled to collect, prove the Boeothicks to be a distinct tribe from any hitherto discovered in North America. One remarkable characteristic of their language, and in which it resembles those of Europe more than any other Indian languages do, with which we have had an opportunity of comparing it,—is its abounding in diphthongs."

Mr. Cormack thinks that after the unfortunate circumstances attending past encounters between the Europeans and the Red Indians, it is best now to employ Indians belonging to the other tribes to be the medium of the intercourse in view; and he has chosen three intelligent men from Newfoundland to follow up the search.

NOTES OF A READER

DERWENTWATER

The following touching episodal extract is from Dr. Southey's Colloquies on the Progress and Prospects of Society:—The best general view of Derwentwater is from the terrace, between Applethwaite and Milbeck, a little beyond the former hamlet. The old roofs and chimneys of that hamlet come finely in the foreground, and the trees upon the Ornathwaite estate give there a richness to the middle ground, which is wanting in other parts of the vale. From that spot I once saw three artists sketching it at the same time—William Westall (who has engraved it among his admirable views of Keswick,) Glover, and Edward Nash, my dear, kind-hearted friend and fellow-traveller, whose death has darkened some of the blithest recollections of my latter life. I know not from which of the surrounding heights it is seen to most advantage; any one will amply repay the labour of the ascent; and often as I have ascended them all, it has never been without a fresh delight. The best near view is from a field adjoining Friar's Craig. There it is that, if I had Aladdin's lamp, or Fortunatus's purse (with leave of Greenwich Hospital be it spoken,) I would build myself a house.

Thither I had strolled, on one of those first genial days of spring which seem to affect the animal not less than the vegetable creation. At such times even I, sedentary as I am, feel a craving for the open air and sunshine, and creep out as instinctively as snails after a shower. Such seasons, which have an exhilarating effect upon youth, produce a soothing one when we are advanced in life. The root of an ash tree, on the bank which bends round the little bay, had been half bared by the waters during one of the winter floods, and afforded a commodious resting-place, whereon I took my seat, at once basking in the sun and bathing, as it were, in the vernal breeze. But delightful as all about me was to eye, and ear, and feeling, it brought with it a natural reflection, that the scene which I now beheld was the same which it had been and would continue to be, while so many of those with whom I had formerly enjoyed it, were past away. Our day-dreams become retrospective as we advance in years; and the heart feeds as naturally upon remembrance in age as upon hope in youth.

"Where are they gone, the old familiar faces?"

I thought of her, whom I had so often seen plying her little skiff upon that glassy water, the lady of the lake. It was like a poet's dream, or a vision of romance, to behold her—and like a vision or a dream she had departed!

"O gentle Emma, o'er a lovelier formThan thine, earth never closed; nor e'er did heavenReceive a purer spirit from the world!"

I thought of D., the most familiar of my friends during those years when we lived near enough to each other for familiar intercourse—my friend, and the friend of all who were dearest to me; a man, of whom all who knew him will concur with me in saying, that they never knew, nor could conceive of one more strictly dutiful, more actively benevolent, more truly kind, more thoroughly good; the pleasantest companion, the sincerest counsellor, the most considerate friend, the kindest host, the welcomest guest. After our separation, he had visited me here three summers; with him it was that I had first explored this land of lakes in all directions; and again and again should we have retraced our steps in the wildest recesses of these vales and mountains, and lived over the past again, if he had not, too early for all who loved him,

"Began the travel of eternity."

I called to mind my hopeful H–, too, so often the sweet companion of my morning walks to this very spot; in whom I had fondly thought my better part should have survived me, and

"With whom it seemed my very lifeWent half away!But we shall meet—but we shall meetWhere parting tears shall never flow;And when I think thereon, almostI long to go!"

"Thy dead shall live, O Lord; together with my dead body shall they arise. Awake and sing, ye that dwell in dust! for Thy dew is as the dew of herbs; and the earth shall cast out her dead!"

Surely, to the sincere believer death would be an object of desire instead of dread, were it not for those ties—those heartstrings—by which we are attached to life. Nor, indeed, do I believe that it is natural to fear death, however generally it may be thought so. From my own feelings I have little right to judge; for, although habitually mindful that the hour cometh, and even now may be, it has never appeared actually near enough to make me duly apprehend its effect upon myself. But from what I have observed, and what I have heard those persons say whose professions lead them to the dying, I am induced to infer that the fear of death is not common, and that where it exists it proceeds rather from a diseased and enfeebled mind, than from any principle in our nature. Certain it is, that among the poor the approach of dissolution is usually regarded with a quiet and natural composure, which it is consolatory to contemplate, and which is as far removed from the dead palsy of unbelief as it is from the delirious raptures of fanaticism. Theirs is a true, unhesitating faith; and they are willing to lay down the burden of a weary life, in the sure and certain hope of a blessed immortality. Who, indeed, is there, that would not gladly make the exchange, if he lived only for himself, and were to leave none who stood in need of him—no eyes to weep at his departure, no hearts to ache for his loss? The day of death, says the preacher, is better than the day of one's birth; a sentence to which whoever has lived long, and may humbly hope that he has not lived ill, must heartily assent.

MASANIELLO

The last No. (8,) of the Foreign Quarley Review, just published, contains an attractive article on the Revolutions of Naples, in 1647 and 1648, in which Masaniello played so conspicuous a part. The paper is in the easy historical style of Sir Walter Scott; but as little could be selected for our pages, except the Adventures of the Rebel Fisherman, and as we have given the leading events of his life in an early volume of the Mirror, we content ourselves with the following passage. After a tolerably fair estimate of the character of Masaniello, in which Sir Walter considers his extraordinary rise as a work of fortune and contingency rather than of his own device in the conception, or his own exertions in the execution—the writer says—

"It would be doing Masaniello injustice, however, if we did not add, that having no distinct prospect of rendering essential service to his country, he was at the same time totally free from any sinister views of personal aggrandizement. He appears to have been sincere in his wishes, that when he had set Naples free,—by which he understood the abolition of imposts,—the government of it should be committed to a popular management. The Memoirs of 1828 record a singular circumstance with regard to this point, on the authority of De Santis. While, on Friday, July 12th, the sixth day of the insurrection, he was sitting in his judgment-seat, a female masked, or man in woman's habit, approached and whispered, 'Masaniello, we have reached the goal, a crown is prepared, and it is for thy brows.'—'For mine?' he replied, 'I desire none but the green wreath with which we honour Our Lady's festival in September. When I have delivered my country I shall resume my nets.'—'You find them no more. Rebellion should not be undertaken, or it should be carried on to the end.'—'I will resume my nets,' said Masaniello steadily. 'You will not find them,' said the intrusive monitor. 'What, then, shall I find?'—'Death!' answered the masked figure, and withdrew into the crowd. An evidence of the purity of his intentions, though combined with gross ignorance, was afforded by the rigour with which he insisted on the destruction of the treasure and rich movables found in the houses which were destroyed during the first days of the tumult. Latterly, indeed, he yielded to the suggestions of Genuino and d'Arpaya, that these things should be preserved for the good of the state, and for the purpose of presenting them as a donative to Philip IV. in place of the abolished gabelles. But whatever was the case with regard to less scrupulous insurgents, he participated in no plunder, until vanity produced madness, or madness vanity. On the whole we may conclude, that he was a man whose principal characteristic was the boldness with which he pursued an object ardently desired, but who was alike incapable, from want of knowledge and talents, to avail himself of the success which so wonderfully crowned his enterprise. How far his cruelty was the effect of natural disposition, or a consequence of his malady, is a question that must be left to Him to whom alone it can be known."

LONDON

Literally translated from a Chinese Poem, by a Chinese who visited England in 1813The towering edifices rise story above story,In all the stateliness of splendid mansions:Railings of iron thickly stud the sides of every entrance;And streams from the river circulate through the walls;The sides of each apartment are variegated with devices;Through the windows of glass appear the scarlet hangings.And in the street itself is presented a beautiful scene;The congregated buildings have all the aspect of a picture.In London, about the period of the ninth moon,The inhabitants delight in travelling to a distance;They change their abodes and betake themselves to the country,Visiting their friends in their rural retreats.The prolonged sound of carriages and steeds is heard through the day;Then in autumn the prices of provisions fall,And the greater number of dwellings being untenanted,Such as require it are repaired and adorned.The spacious streets are exceedingly smooth and level,Each being crossed by others at intervals;On either side perambulate men and females,In the centre, career along the carriages and horses;The mingled sound of voices is heard in the shops at evening.During midwinter the accumulated snows adhere to the pathway,Lamps are displayed at night along the street sides,Their radiance twinkling like the stars of the sky.

Mozart was rather vain of the proportion of his hands and feet—but not of having written the Requiem or the Don Juan.

BURMESE DIGNITY

Mr. Crawfurd, in his account of the Embassy to Ava, relates the following specimen of the dignity of a Burmese minister. While sitting under an awning on the poop of the steam vessel, a heavy squall, with rain, came on.—"I suggested to his excellency the convenience of going below, which he long resisted, under the apprehension of committing his dignity by placing himself in a situation where persons might tread over his head, for this singular antipathy is common both to the Burmese and Siamese. The prejudice is more especially directed against the fair sex; a pretty conclusive proof of the estimation in which they are held. His excellency seriously demanded to know whether any woman had ever trod upon the poop; and being assured in the negative, he consented at length to enter the cabin."

STEAM

A quotation from Agathias clearly establishes a knowledge of the applicability of steam to mechanical purposes so early as the reign of the emperor Justinian, when the philosopher Anthemius most unphilosophically employed its powerful agency at Constantinople to shake the house of a litigious neighbour. It is also recorded, that Pope Sylvester II. constructed an organ, that was worked by steam. As compared with recent ingenuity, however, these applications may fairly bring to mind the Frenchman's boast of his countryman's invention of the frill and the ruffle; while his English opponent claimed for his native land the honour of suggesting the addition of the shirt.

MEDICAL MUSIC

Sharp, the surgeon, Sir Charles Blicke's master, was a great amateur of music, but he never used it as a means of curing patients, only in attracting them. It was said that he "fiddled himself into practice, and fiddled Mr. Pott out of it;" certain it is Mr. Pott, not being a flat, did not choose to act in concert with Sharp, and made a quick movement to the westward.

Boerhaave tells us, that one of the greatest orators of antiquity, Tiberius Gracchus, when animated, used to cry out like an old woman; to avoid which, he had a servant, who, at these periods, sounded a pipe, by way of hint, as well as to pitch the tone, so sensible was he of the importance of a well-regulated voice.

SPIRIT OF THE PUBLIC JOURNALS

LINES ON THE DEPARTURE OF EMIGRANTS FOR NEW SOUTH WALES

BY T. CAMPBELLOn England's shore I saw a pensive hand,With sails unfurl'd for earth's remotest strand,Like children parting from a mother, shedTears for the home that could not yield them bread;Grief mark'd each face receding from the view,'Twas grief to nature honourably true.And long, poor wand'rers o'er th' ecliptic deep,The song that names but home shall bid you weep;Oft shall ye fold your flocks by stars aboveIn that far world, and miss the stars ye love;Oft, when its tuneless birds scream round forlorn,Regret the lark that gladdens England's morn.And, giving England's names to distant scenes,Lament that earth's extension intervenes.But cloud not yet too long, industrious train,Your solid good with sorrow nursed in vain:For has the heart no interest yet as blandAs that which binds us to our native land?The deep-drawn wish, when children crown our hearth,To hear the cherub-chorus of their mirth.Undamp'd by dread that want may e'er unhouse,Or servile misery knit those smiling brows:The pride to rear an independent shed,And give the lips we love unborrow'd bread;To see a world, from shadowy forests won,In youthful beauty wedded to the sun;To skirt our home with harvests widely sown,And call the blooming landscape all our own,Our children's heritage, in prospect long.These are the hopes, high-minded hopes and strong.That beckon England's wanderers o'er the brine,To realms where foreign constellations shine;Where streams from undiscovered fountains roll,And winds shall fan them from th' Antarctic pole.And what though doom'd to shores so far apartFrom England's home, that ev'n the home-sick heartQuails, thinking, ere that gulf can be recross'd,How large a space of fleeting life is lost:Yet there, by time, their bosoms shall be changed,And strangers once shall cease to sigh estranged,But jocund in the year's long sunshine roam,That yields their sickle twice its harvest home.There, marking o'er his farm's expanding ringNew fleeces whiten and new fruits upspring.The grey-haired swain, his grandchild sporting round,Shall walk at eve his little empire's bound,Emblazed with ruby vintage, ripening corn,And verdant rampart of Acacian thorn,While, mingling with the scent his pipe exhales,The orange-grove's and fig-tree's breath prevails;Survey with pride beyond a monarch's spoil,His honest arm's own subjugated soil;And summing all the blessings God has given,Put up his patriarchal prayer to Heaven,That when his bones shall here repose in peace,The scions of his love may still increase,And o'er a land where life has ample room,In health and plenty innocently bloom.Delightful land, in wildness ev'n benign,The glorious past is ours, the future thine!As in a cradled Hercules, we traceThe lines of empire in thine infant face.What nations in thy wide horizon's spanShall teem on tracts untrodden yet by man!What spacious cities with their spires shall gleam.Where now the panther laps a lonely stream.And all but brute or reptile life is dumb!Land of the free! thy kingdom is to come,Of states, with laws from Gothic bondage burst,And creeds by charter'd priesthood's unaccurst;Of navies, hoisting their emblazon'd flags,Where shipless seas now wash unbeacon'd crags;Of hosts review'd in dazzling files and squares,Their pennon'd trumpets breathing native airs,For minstrels thou shalt have of native fire.And maids to sing the songs themselves inspire;Our very speech, methinks, in after time.Shall catch th' Ionian blandness of thy clime;And whilst the light and luxury of thy skies}Give brighter smiles to beauteous woman's eyes,The Arts, whose soul is love, shall all spontaneous rise.Untrack'd in deserts lies the marble mine,Undug the ore that midst thy roofs shall shine;Unborn the hands—but born they are to be—Fair Australasia, that shall give to thee}Proud temple domes, with galleries winding high,So vast in space, so just in symmetry,They widen to the contemplating eye,With colonnaded aisles in lone array,And windows that enrich the flood of dayO'er tesselated pavements, pictures fair,And niched statues breathing golden air,Nor there, whilst all that's seen bids Fancy swell,Shall Music's voice refuse to seal the spell;But choral hymns shall wake enchantment round,And organs blow their tempests of sweet sound.Meanwhile, ere Arts triumphant reach their goal,How blest the years of pastoral life shall rollEv'n should some wayward hour the settler's mindBrood sad on scenes for ever left behind,Yet not a pang that England's name imparts,Shall touch a fibre of his children's hearts;Bound to that native world by nature's bond,Full little shall their wishes rove beyondIts mountains blue, and melon-skirted streams.Since childhood loved and dreamt of in their dreams.How many a name, to us uncouthly wild,Shall thrill that region's patriotic child,And bring as sweet thoughts o'er his bosom's chords,As aught that's named in song to us affords!Dear shall that river's margin be to him,Where sportive first he bathed his boyish limb.Or petted birds, still brighter than their bowers,Or twin'd his tame young kangaroo with flowers.But mere magnetic yet to memoryShall be the sacred spot, still blooming nigh,The bower of love, where first his bosom burn'd,And smiling passion saw its smile return'd.Go forth and prosper then, emprizing band;May He, who in the hollow of his handThe ocean holds, and rules the whirlwind's sweep,Assuage its wrath, and guide you on the deep!New Monthly Magazine.

SMALL TALK AND SMALL ACCOMPLISHMENTS, OR HOW TO MAKE YOURSELF AGREEABLE

Conversation, like a shuttlecock, should not be suffered to remain with one person, but ought to pass in turn to all. But as few people think for themselves, so few people talk for themselves, and a colloquial monopoly is as common and as disagreeable as any other. Yet when we observe how much these rattles are caressed, 'tis wonderful there are so few. Talent is by no means indispensable, and is the more valuable in proportion as it is flimsy or superficial. The great art lies in the choice of a subject. Let it be some liaison in the beau monde—the appearance of a new singer or actress—the detail of a recent duel, with particulars and embellishments, and your fortune is made at once. Do not affect any thing like a literary character, for scholars are reckoned bores. The only matters of this sort with which you can safely meddle are the fashionable novels—satirical poems—the magazines, and newspapers (eschewing the political articles as vulgar). It is absolutely necessary to be familiar with the names of all the editors in town, and these can easily be picked up from any of the tatterdemalions who prowl about police offices for the purpose of reporting the trials at a penny per line, which is, in most cases, exactly a penny per line too much. You must drop the complimentary Mr., and say, "A. of the Chronicle and I—the last time I saw B. of the Globe—C. of the Spectator told me t'other day," and so on. Of course it is not of the slightest consequence whether you ever saw one of the parties. You must also affect to be intimate with the theatrical lions, and be aware of the true state of all managerial squabbles for the season. Swear you have dined a dozen times with Sontag. En passant, the idea of a singer's patronizing a nation wholesale, as she has done in the case of the Silesians, is rather too good. Be indignant with Price for forfeiting Ellen Tree three several times in the sum of thirty pounds, and suppress the fact of his having remitted the penalty in the two first instances. Assume a mysterious air of "I could if I would," when Miss Love's elopement is mentioned, and state with heroic confidence that the Vesuvius scene in "Masaniello" at Astley's beat Drury by thirteen bricks and two ounces of Greek fire. You must pretend to know the salaries of all the employés in every establishment, and be able to describe the plot of every new piece the moment it is underlined. You can obtain sufficient information to enable you to pass muster on this subject any evening at the Garrick's Head. It would be of great service if you could contrive to be seen in conversation with a respectable actor now and then. You must have seen every sight and exhibited at every exhibition in town, and be able to discuss their several merits or demerits with a "learned spirit." A knowledge of the principal nobility—by person at least—is a sine qua non, for how else should you be able to recount the names of those you saw in the Park on Sunday last? Keep a list of the ages and portions of as many young ladies as possible, and be cautious how you dispose of your information on this score. These, I think, are the principal topics; and the best advice I can give is, "Never be quiet: speak on ad infinitum."