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THE MIRROR OF LITERATURE, AMUSEMENT, AND INSTRUCTION.

VOL. 13, No. 351.] SATURDAY, JANUARY 10, 1829. [PRICE 2d.


[Illustration: Macclesfield Bridge, Regent's Park.]



MACCLESFIELD BRIDGE.


This picturesque structure crosses the Canal towards the Northern verge
of the Regent's Park; and nearly opposite to it is a road leading to
Primrose Hill, as celebrated in the annals of Cockayne as was the
Palatino among the ancient Romans.

The bridge was built from the designs of Mr. Morgan, and its
construction is considered to be "appropriate and architectural." Its
piers are formed by cast-iron columns, of the Grecian Doric order, from
which spring the arches, covering the towing-path, the canal itself, and
the southern bank. The _abacus_, or top of the columns, the mouldings or
ornaments of the capitals, and the frieze, are in exceeding good taste,
as are the ample shafts. The supporters of the roadway, likewise,
correspond with the order; although, says Mr. Elmes, the architect,
"fastidious critics may object to the dignity of the pure ancient Doric
being violated by degrading it into supporters of modern arches." The
centre arch is appropriated to the canal and the towing-path, and the
two external arches to foot-passengers, and as communications to the
road above them. Mr. Elmes[1] sums up the merits of the bridge as
follows:--"It has a beautiful and light appearance, and is an
improvement in execution upon a design of Perronet's for an
_architectural_ bridge, that is, a bridge of _orders_. The columns are
well proportioned, and suitably robust, carrying solidity, grace, and
beauty in every part; from the massy grandeur of the abacus, to the
graceful revolving of the beautiful echinus, and to the majestic
simplicity of the slightly indented flutings." He then suggests certain
improvements in the design, which would have made the bridge
"unexceptionably the most novel and the most tasteful in the metropolis.
Even as it is, it is scarcely surpassed for lightness, elegance, and
originality by any in Europe. It is of the same family with the
beautiful little bridge in Hyde Park, between the new entrance and the
barracks."

We are happy to quote the above praise on the construction of
_Macclesfield Bridge_, inasmuch as a critical notice of many of the
structures in the Regent's Park would subject them to much severe and
merited censure. The forms of bridges admit, perhaps, of more display of
taste than any other species of ornamental architecture, and of a
greater means of contributing to the picturesque beauty of the
surrounding scenery.


    [1] Letter-press to Jones's "Metropolitan Improvements."

       *       *       *       *       *

TRIBUTES TO THE DEAD, &c.

_(For the Mirror.)_


            "When our friends we lose,
  Our alter'd feelings alter too our views;
  What in their tempers, teazed or distress'd,
  Is with our anger, and the dead at rest;
  And must we grieve, no longer trial made,
  For that impatience which we then display'd?
  Now to their love and worth of every kind,
  A soft compunction turns the afflicted mind;
  Virtues neglected then, adored become,
  And graces slighted, blossom on the tomb."

CRABBE.


"It was the early wish of Pope," says Dr. Knox, "that when he died, not
a stone might tell where he lay. It is a wish that will commonly be
granted with reluctance. The affection of those whom we leave behind us
is at a loss for methods to display its wonted solicitude, and seeks
consolation under sorrow, in doing honour to all that remains. It is
natural that filial piety, parental tenderness, and conjugal love,
should mark, with some fond memorial, the clay-cold spot where the form,
still fostered in the bosom, moulders away. And did affection go no
farther, who could censure? But, in recording the virtues of the
departed, either zeal or vanity leads to an excess perfectly ludicrous.
A marble monument, with an inscription palpably false and ridiculously
pompous, is far more offensive to true taste, than the wooden memorial
of the rustic, sculptured with painted bones, and decked out with
death's head in all the colours of the rainbow. There is an elegance and
a classical simplicity in the turf-clad heap of mould which covers the
poor man's grave, though it has nothing to defend it from the insults of
the proud but a bramble. The primrose that grows upon it is a better
ornament than the gilded lies on the oppressor's tombstone."

The Greeks had a custom of bedecking tombs with herbs and flowers, among
which parsley was chiefly in use, as appears from Plutarch's story of
Timoleon, who, marching up an ascent, from the top of which he might
take a view of the army and strength of the Carthaginians, was met by a
company of mules laden with parsley, which his soldiers conceived to be
a very ill boding and fatal occurrence, that being the very herb
wherewith they adorned the sepulchres of the dead. This custom gave
birth to that despairing proverb, when we pronounce of one dangerously
sick, that he has need of nothing but parsley; which is in effect to
say, he's a dead man, and ready for the grave. All sorts of purple and
white flowers were acceptable to the dead; as the amaranthus, which was
first used by the Thessalians to adorn Achilles's grave. The rose, too,
was very grateful; nor was the use of myrtle less common. In short,
graves were bedecked with garlands of all sorts of flowers, as appears
from Agamemnon's daughter in Sophocles:--


  "No sooner came I to my father's tomb,
  But milk fresh pour'd in copious streams did flow,
  And _flowers_ of ev'ry sort around were strow'd."


Several other tributes were frequently laid upon graves, as ribands;
whence it is said that Epaminondas's soldiers being disanimated at
seeing the riband that hung upon his spear carried by the wind to a
certain Lacedæmonian sepulchre, he bid them take courage, for that it
portended destruction to the Lacedæmons, it being customary to deck the
sepulchres of their dead with ribands. Another thing dedicated to the
dead was their hair. Electra, in Sophocles, says, that Agamemnon had
commanded her and Chrysosthemis to pay this honour:--


  "With drink-off'rings and _locks of hair_ we must,
  According to his will, his _tomb_ adorn."


It was likewise customary to perfume the grave-stones with sweet
ointments, &c.

P.T.W.

       *       *       *       *       *

SONG.

_(For the Mirror.)_


  I've roam'd the thorny path of life,
    And search'd abroad to find.
  Amid the blooming flowers so rife,
    That germ called peace of mind.
  At length a lovely lily caught
    My anxious, longing view,
  With all the sweets of "Heartsease" fraught,
    That fragrant flower was YOU.

  Thy smile to me is Heaven divine,
    Thy voice the soul of Love--
  In pity, then, sweet maid, be mine,
    My "heartsease" flow'ret prove.
  Nor wealth nor power would I attain,
    Though uncontrolled and free--
  All other joys to me are pain,
    When sever'd, love, from THEE.


ELFORD.

       *       *       *       *       *

CHARLES BRANDON, AFTERWARDS DUKE OF SUFFOLK.

_(For the Mirror.)_


An event in the life of this nobleman gave Otway the plot for his
celebrated tragedy of "The Orphan," though he laid the scene of his play
in Bohemia. It is recorded in the "English Adventures," a very scarce
pamphlet, published in 1667, only two or three copies of which are
extant. The father of Charles Brandon retired, on the death of his lady,
to the borders of Hampshire. His family consisted of two sons, and a
young lady, the daughter of a friend, lately deceased, whom he adopted
as his own child.

This lady being singularly beautiful, as well as amiable in her manners,
attracted the affections of both the brothers. The elder, however, was
the favourite, and he privately married her; which the younger not
knowing, and overhearing an appointment of the lovers to meet the next
night in her bed-chamber, he contrived to get his brother otherwise
employed, and made the signal of admission himself, (thinking it a mere
intrigue.) Unfortunately he succeeded.

On discovery, the lady lost her reason, and soon after died. The two
brothers fought, and the elder fell. The father broke his heart a few
months afterwards. The younger brother, Charles Brandon, the
unintentional author of all this family misery, quitted England in
despair, with a fixed determination of never returning.

Being abroad for several years, his nearest relations supposed him dead,
and began to take the necessary steps for obtaining his estates; when,
roused by this intelligence, he returned privately to England, and for a
time took obscure lodgings in the vicinity of his family mansion.

While he was in this retreat, the young king, (Henry VIII.), who had
just buried his father, was one day hunting on the borders of Hampshire,
when he heard the cries of a female in distress in an adjoining wood.
His gallantry immediately summoned him to the place, though he then
happened to be detached from all his courtiers, where he saw two
ruffians attempting to violate the honour of a young lady. The king
instantly drew on them; and a scuffle ensued, which roused the _reverie_
of Charles Brandon, who was taking his morning walk in an adjoining
thicket. He immediately ranged himself on the side of the king, whom he
then did not know; and by his dexterity, soon disarmed one of the
ruffians, while the other fled.

The king, charmed with this act of gallantry, so congenial to his own
mind, inquired the name and family of the stranger; and not only
repossessed him of his patrimonial estates, but took him under his
immediate protection.

It was this same Charles Brandon who afterwards privately married
Henry's sister, Margaret, queen-dowager of France; which marriage the
king not only forgave, but created him Duke of Suffolk, and continued
his favour towards him to the last hour of the duke's life.

He died before Henry; and the latter showed, in his attachment to this
nobleman, that notwithstanding his fits of capriciousness and cruelty,
he was capable of a cordial and steady friendship. He was sitting in
council when the news of Suffolk's death reached him; and he publicly
took that occasion, both to express his own sorrow, and to celebrate the
merits of the deceased. He declared, that during the whole course of
their acquaintance, his brother-in-law had not made a single attempt to
injure an adversary, and had never whispered a word to the disadvantage
of any one; "and are there _any of you_, my lords, who can say as much?"
When the king subjoined these words, (says the historian,) he looked
round in all their faces, and saw that confusion which the consciousness
of secret guilt naturally threw upon them.

Otway took his plot from the fact related in this pamphlet; but to
avoid, perhaps, interfering in a circumstance which might affect many
noble families at that time living, he laid the scene of his tragedy in
Bohemia.

There is a large painting of the above incident now at Woburn, the seat
of his Grace the Duke of Bedford; and the old duchess-dowager, in
showing this picture a few years before her death to a nobleman, related
the particulars of the story.

A CORRESPONDENT.


       *       *       *       *       *

THE TOPOGRAPHER.

       *       *       *       *       *


CARMARTHEN.

_(For the Mirror)_


The best or north-east view of Carmarthen comprises the bridge, part of
the quay, with the granaries and shipping, and in the middle is seen
part of the castle. Few towns can, perhaps, boast of greater antiquity,
or of so many antiquarian remains as Carmarthen, South Wales; although,
I am sorry to say, that their origin and history have not been, I
believe, clearly explained or understood by the literary world. One
would conclude, that as a Welshman is almost proverbially distinguished
for deeming himself illustriously descended, and relating his long
pedigree, he would naturally boast of, and exhibit to the public, some
account of these vestiges of his ancestors; but such is not the case,
and to their shame be it spoken, these ruins are scarcely noticed with
any degree of interest by the inhabitants of Carmarthen. But to my
subject. The name is derived from _caera_, wall, and _marthen_, a
corruption of Merlyn, the name of its founder, who was a great
necromancer and prophet, and held in high respect by the Welsh. There is
a seat hewn out of a rock in a grove near this town, called Merlyn's
Grove, where it is said he studied. He prophesied the fate of Wales, and
said that Carmarthen would some day sink and be covered with water. I
would concur with the author of a "Family Tour through the British
Empire," by attributing his influence, not to any powers in magic, but
to a superior understanding; although some of his predictions have been
verified. The town of Carmarthen is pleasantly situated in a valley
surrounded by hills; it has been fortified with walls and a castle, part
of which remain; so that it appears to have been the residence of many
princes of Wales. It has also been a Roman station, and has the remains
of a Roman prætorium. Amongst its other antiquities are the Grey Friars,
(a monastery,) the Bulwark, (a trench on the side of the town that
fronts the river,) and the Priory. Its modern buildings are, the
monument erected to Sir Thomas Picton, the Guildhall, the two gaols, a
fish and butter market-place, over which is the town fire-bell; the
slaughter-house, similar to the abattoir at Paris, and excellent
shambles, with poultry and potato market-places annexed. The church,
which is an ancient one, has an unattractive exterior; but when you
enter it, I think you will say it can compete with any church for
ancient beauty and ornament. Amongst the tombs in the chancel are those
of Sir Rhys ap Thomas, with the effigies of him and his lady, affording
a specimen of the costume of the reign of Henry VII.; and Sir Richard
Steele, whose remains are discovered by a small, simple tablet. There is
a promenade here, called the Parade, which commands a fine and extensive
view of the surrounding picturesque scenery and of the Towy, where the
coracles may be seen plying about. The town consists of ten principal
streets, noted for being kept clean, and lighted with gas. It is
governed by a mayor, two sheriffs, and twenty councilmen; sends a member
to Parliament, and gives title of marquess to the family of Osborne. It
carries on a great trade in butter and oats; and traffics much with
Bristol by the river Towy, which runs into the sea; whence ships of two
hundred tons burden come up to the town. The bay is very dangerous,
owing to the bar and the quicksands. Its chief manufacture is tin, which
is esteemed the best in the kingdom. It has a small theatre, in
appearance a stable; but it is in contemplation to build a new one, as
also a church; so that you will perceive the march of improvement is
rapidly spreading into Wales, as well as other places.

W.H.

P.S. Since I sent you an account of Picton's Monument at Carmarthen, it
has been altered. The statue, bas-reliefs, and ornaments of the Picton
Monument, have been bronzed by the direction of Mr. Nash, on his late
visit to this town. Elegant as this column was before, the effect of the
bronze, and a few other alterations, have so improved its appearance, as
to make it seem a different structure. Nothing now remains to complete
the outside but the names of the different actions in which Sir T.
Picton was engaged during his honourable career. These are to be placed
in bronzed letters on the base. A Latin inscription, already prepared,
together with the arms and a bust of Picton, will ornament the inside of
the building. It certainly is a monument worthy of the hero to whose
memory it has been erected, and of the country by which it has been
raised.


       *       *       *       *       *

THE SKETCH BOOK.

       *       *       *       *       *


WATERLOO, THE DAY AFTER THE BATTLE.

_By an eye witness._

[For the following very interesting Narrative, our acknowledgments are
due to the _United Service Journal,_--a work which has just started with
the year, and to which, in the "customary" phrase, we wish "many happy
returns."]

The summer of 1815 found me at Brussels. The town was then crowded to
excess--it seemed a city of splendour; the bright and varied uniforms of
so many different nations, mingled with the gay dresses of female beauty
in the Park, and the _Allée Verte_ was thronged with superb horses and
brilliant equipages. The _tables d'hôte_ resounded with a confusion of
tongues which might have rivalled the Tower of Babel, and the shops
actually glittered with showy toys hung out to tempt money from the
pockets of the English, whom the Flemings seemed to consider as walking
bags of gold. Balls and plays, routs and dinners were the only topics of
conversation; and though some occasional rumours were spread that the
French had made an incursion within the lines, and carried off a few
head of cattle, the tales were too vague to excite the least alarm. I
was then lodging with a Madame Tissand, on the Place du Sablon, and I
occasionally chatted with my hostess on the critical posture of affairs.
Every Frenchwoman loves politics, and Madame Tissand, who was deeply
interested in the subject, continually assured me of her complete
devotion to the English.--"Ces maudits François!" cried she one day,
with almost terrific energy, when speaking of Napoleon's army. "If they
should dare come to Brussels, I will tear their eyes out!"--"Oh, aunt!"
sighed her pretty niece; "remember that Louis is a conscript!"--"Silence,
Annette. I hate even my son, since he is fighting against the brave
English!"--This was accompanied with a bow to me; but I own that I
thought Annette's love far more interesting than Madame's Anglicism.

On the 3rd of June, I went to see ten thousand troops reviewed by the
Dukes of Wellington and Brunswick. Imagination cannot picture any thing
finer than the _ensemble_ of this scene. The splendid uniforms of the
English, Scotch, and Hanoverians, contrasted strongly with the gloomy
black of the Brunswick Hussars, whose veneration for the memory of their
old Duke, could be only be equalled by their devotion to his son. The
firm step of the Highlanders seemed irresistible; and as they moved in
solid masses, they appeared prepared to sweep away every thing that
opposed them. In short, I was delighted with the cleanliness, military
order, and excellent appointments of the men generally, and I was
particularly struck with the handsome features of the Duke of Brunswick,
whose fine, manly figure, as he galloped across the field, quite
realized my _beau ideal_ of a warrior. The next time I saw the Duke of
Brunswick was at the dress ball, given at the Assembly-rooms in the Rue
Ducale, on the night of the 15th of June. I stood near him when he
received the information that a powerful French force was advancing in
the direction of Charleroy. "Then it is high time for me to be off,"
said the Duke, and I never saw him alive again. The assembly broke up
abruptly, and in half an hour drums were beating and bugles sounding.
The good burghers of the city, who were almost all enjoying their first
sleep, started from their beds at the alarm, and hastened to the
streets, wrapped in the first things they could find. The most
ridiculous and absurd rumours were rapidly circulated and believed. The
most general impression seemed to be that the town was on fire; the next
that the Duke of Wellington had been assassinated; but when it was
discovered that the French were advancing, the consternation became
general, and every one hurried to the Place Royale, where the
Hanoverians and Brunswickers were already mustering.

About one o'clock in the morning of the 16th, the whole population of
Brussels seemed in motion. The streets were crowded as in full day;
lights flashed to and fro; artillery and baggage-wagons were creaking in
every direction; the drums beat to arms, and the bugles sounded loudly
"the dreadful note of preparation." The noise and bustle surpassed all
description; here were horses plunging and kicking amidst a crowd of
terrified burghers; there lovers parting from their weeping mistresses.
Now the attention was attracted by a park of artillery thundering
through the streets; and now, by a group of officers disputing loudly
the demands of their imperturbable Flemish landlords; for not even the
panic which prevailed could frighten the Flemings out of a single
stiver; screams and yells occasionally rose above the busy hum that
murmured through the crowd, but the general sound resembled the roar of
the distant ocean. Between two and three o'clock the Brunswickers
marched from the town, still clad in the mourning which they wore for
their old duke, and burning to avenge his death. Alas! they had a still
more fatal loss to lament ere they returned. At four, the whole
disposable force under the Duke of Wellington was collected together,
but in such haste, that many of the officers had not time to change
their silk stockings and dancing shoes; and some, quite overcome by
drowsiness, were seen lying asleep about the ramparts, still holding,
however, with a firm hand, the reins of their horses which were grazing
by their sides. About five o'clock, the word "march" was heard in all
directions, and instantly the whole mass appeared to move
simultaneously. I conversed with several of the officers previous to
their departure, and not one appeared to have the slightest idea of an
approaching engagement. The Duke of Wellington and his staff did not
quit Brussels till past eleven o'clock; and it was not till some time
after they were gone, that it was generally known the whole French army,
including a strong corps of cavalry, was within a few miles of Quatre
Bras, where the brave Duke of Brunswick first met the enemy:

  "And foremost fighting--fell."

Dismay seized us all, when we found that a powerful French army was
really within twenty-eight miles of us; and we shuddered at the thought
of the awful contest which was taking place. For my own part, I had
never been so near a field of battle before, and I cannot describe my
sensations. We knew that our army had no alternative but to fly, or
fight with a force four times stronger than its own: and though we
could not doubt British bravery, we trembled at the fearful odds to
which our men must be exposed. Cannon, lances, and swords, were opposed
to the English bayonet alone. Cavalry we had none on the first day, for
the horses had been sent to grass, and the men were scattered too widely
over the country, to be collected at such short notice. Under these
circumstances, victory was impossible; indeed, nothing but the stanch
bravery, and exact discipline of the men, prevented the foremost of our
infantry from being annihilated; and though the English maintained their
ground during the day, at night a retreat became necessary. The agony of
the British, resident at Brussels, during the whole of this eventful
day, sets all language at defiance. No one thought of rest or food; but
every one who could get a telescope, flew to the ramparts to strain his
eyes, in vain attempts to discover what was passing. At length, some
soldiers in French uniforms were seen in the distance; and as the news
flew from mouth to mouth, it was soon magnified into a rumour that the
French were coming. Horror seized the English and their adherents, and
the hitherto concealed partizans of the French began openly to avow
themselves; tri-coloured ribbons grew suddenly into great request, and
cries of "Vive l'Empereur!" resounded through the air. These
exclamations, however, were changed to "Vive le Lord Vellington!" when
it was discovered that the approaching French came as captives, not
conquerors.

Between seven and eight o'clock in the evening, I walked up to the
_Porte de Namur_, where the wounded were just beginning to arrive.
Fortunately some commodious caravans had arrived from England, only a
few days before, and these were now entering the gate. They were filled
principally with Brunswickers and Highlanders; and it was an appalling
spectacle to behold the very soldiers, whose fine martial appearance and
excellent appointments I had so much admired at the review, now lying
helpless and mutilated--their uniforms soiled with blood and dirt--their
mouths blackened with biting their cartridges, and all the splendour of
their equipments entirely destroyed. When the caravans stopped, I
approached them, and addressed a Scotch officer who was only slightly
wounded in the knee.--"Are the French coming, sir?" asked I.--"Egad I
can't tell," returned he. "We know nothing about it. We had enough to do
to take care of ourselves. They are fighting like devils; and I'm off
again as soon as my wound's dressed."--An English lady, elegantly
attired, now rushed forwards--"Is my husband safe?" asked she
eagerly.--"Good God! Madam," replied one of the men, "how can we
possibly tell! I don't know the fate of those who were fighting by my
side; and I could not see a yard round me." She scarcely heeded what he
said; and rushed out of the gate, wildly repeating her question to every
one she met. Some French prisoners now arrived. I noticed one, a fine
fellow, who had had one arm shot off; and though the bloody and mangled
tendons were still undressed, and had actually dried and blackened in
the sun, he marched along with apparent indifference, carrying a loaf of
bread under his remaining arm, and shouting _"Vive l'Empereur!"_ I asked
him if the French were coming.--"Je le crois bien," returned he,
"preparez un souper, mes bourgeois--il soupera à Bruxelles ce
soir."--Pretty information for me, thought I. "Don't believe him, sir,"
said a Scotchman, who lay close beside me, struggling to speak, though
apparently in the last agony. "It's all right--I--assure--you--." The
whole of Friday night was passed in the greatest anxiety; the wounded
arrived every hour, and the accounts they brought of the carnage which
was taking place were absolutely terrific. Saturday morning was still
worse; an immense number of supernumeraries and runaways from the army
came rushing in at the _Porte de Namur,_ and these fugitives increased
the public panic to the utmost. _Sauve qui peut!_ now became the
universal feeling; all ties of friendship or kindred were forgotten, and
an earnest desire to quit Brussels seemed to absorb every faculty. To
effect this object, the greatest sacrifices were made. Every beast of
burthen, and every species of vehicle were put into requisition to
convey persons and property to Antwerp. Even the dogs and fish-carts did
not escape--enormous sums were given for the humblest modes of
conveyance, and when all failed, numbers set off on foot. The road soon
became choked up--cars, wagons, and carriages of every description were
joined together in an immovable mass and property to an immense amount
was abandoned by its owners, who were too much terrified even to think
of the loss they were sustaining. A scene of frightful riot and
devastation ensued. Trunks, boxes, and portmanteaus were broken open and
pillaged without mercy; and every one who pleased, helped himself to
what he liked with impunity. The disorder was increased by a rumour,
that the Duke of Wellington was retreating towards Brussels, in a sort
of running fight, closely pursued by the enemy; the terror of the
fugitives now almost amounted to frenzy, and they flew like maniacs
escaping from a madhouse. It is scarcely possible to imagine a more
distressing scene. A great deal of rain had fallen during the night, and
the unhappy fugitives were obliged literally to wade through mud. I had,
from the first, determined to await my fate in Brussels; but on this
eventful morning, I walked a few miles on the road to Antwerp, to
endeavour to assist my flying countrymen. I was soon disgusted with the
scene, and finding all my efforts to be useful, unavailing, I returned
to the town, which now seemed like a city of the dead; for a gloomy
silence reigned through the streets, like that fearful calm which
precedes a storm; the shops were all closed, and all business was
suspended. During the panic of Friday and Saturday, the sacrifice of
property made by the British residents was enormous. A chest of drawers
sold for five francs, a bed for ten, and a horse for fifty. In one
instance, which fell immediately under my own observation, some
household furniture was sold for one thousand francs, (about 40 l.) for
which the owner had given seven thousand francs, (280 l.) only three
weeks before. This was by no means a solitary instance; indeed in most
cases, the loss was much greater, and in many, houses full of furniture
were entirely deserted, and abandoned to pillage.

Sunday morning was ushered in by one of the most dreadful tempests I
ever remember. The crashing of thunder was followed by the roar of
cannon, which was now distinctly heard from the ramparts, and it is not
possible to describe the fearful effect of this apparent mockery of
heaven. I never before felt so forcibly the feebleness of man. The rain
was tremendous--the sky looked like that in Poussin's picture of the
Deluge, and a heavy black cloud spread, like the wings of a monstrous
vulture, over Brussels. The wounded continued to arrive the whole of
Saturday night and Sunday morning, in a condition which defies
description. They appeared to have been dragged for miles through oceans
of mud; their clothes were torn, their caps and feathers cut to pieces,
and their shoes and boots trodden off. The accounts they brought were
vague and disheartening--in fact, we could only ascertain that the Duke
of Wellington had late on Saturday taken up his position at Waterloo,
and that there he meant to wait the attack of the French. That this
attack had commenced we needed not to be informed, as the roar of the
cannon became every instant more distinct, till we even fancied that it
shook the town. The wounded represented the field of battle as a perfect
quagmire, and their appearance testified the truth of their assertions.
About two o'clock a fresh alarm was excited by the horses, which had
been put in requisition to draw the baggage-wagons, being suddenly
galloped through the town. We fancied this a proof of defeat, but the
fact was simply thus: the peasants, from whom the horses had been taken,
finding the drivers of the wagons absent from their posts, seized the
opportunity to cut the traces, and gallop off with their cattle. As this
explanation, however, was not given till the following day, we thought
that all was over; the few British adherents who had remained were in
despair, and tri-coloured cockades were suspended from every house. Even
I, for the first time, lost all courage, and my only consolation was the
joy of Annette. "England cannot be much injured by the loss of a Single
battle," thought I; "and as for me, it is of little consequence whether
I am a prisoner on parole, or a mere wanderer at pleasure. I may easily
resign myself to my fate; but this poor girl would break her heart if
she lost her lover, for he is every thing to her." In this manner I
reasoned, but in spite of my affected philosophy, I could not divest
myself of all natural feeling; and when about six o'clock we heard that
the French had given way, and that the Prussians had eluded Grouchè, and
were rapidly advancing to the field, I quite forgot poor Annette, and
thanked God with all my heart. At eight o'clock there was no longer any
doubt of our success, for a battalion of troops marched into the town,
and brought intelligence that the Duke of Wellington had gained a
complete victory, and that the French were flying, closely pursued by
the Prussians. Sunday night was employed in enthusiastic rejoicing. The
tri-coloured cockades had all disappeared, and the British colours were
hoisted from every window. The great bell of St. Gudule tolled, to
announce the event to the surrounding neighbourhood; and some of the
English, who had only hidden themselves, ventured to re-appear. The only
alloy to the universal rapture which prevailed, was the number of the
wounded; the houses were insufficient to contain half; and the churches
and public buildings were littered down with straw for their reception.
The body of the Duke of Brunswick, who fell at Quatre Bras, was brought
in on Saturday, and taken to the quarters he had occupied near the
Chateau de Lacken. I was powerfully affected when I saw the corpse of
one, whom I had so lately marked as blooming with youth and health; but
my eyes soon became accustomed to horrors. On Monday morning, June 19th,
I hastened to the field of battle: I was compelled to go through the
forest de Soignês, for the road was so completely choked up as to be
impassable.--The dead required no help; but thousands of wounded, who
could not help themselves, were in want of every thing; their features,
swollen by the sun and rain, looked livid and bloated. One poor fellow
had a ghastly wound across his lower lip, which gaped wide, and showed
his teeth and gums, as though a second and unnatural mouth had opened
below his first. Another, quite blind from a gash across his eyes, sat
upright, gasping for breath, and murmuring, "De l'eau! de l'eau!" The
anxiety for water, was indeed most distressing. The German "Vaser!
vaser!" and the French "De l'eau! de l'eau!" still seem sounding in my
ears. I am convinced that hundreds must have perished from thirst alone,
and they had no hope of assistance, for even humane persons were afraid
of approaching the scene of blood, lest they should be taken in
requisition to bury the dead; almost every person who came near, being
pressed into that most disgusting and painful service. This general
burying was truly horrible: large square holes were dug about six feet
deep, and thirty or forty fine young fellows stripped to their skins
were thrown into each, pell mell, and then covered over in so slovenly a
manner, that sometimes a hand or foot peeped through the earth. One of
these holes was preparing as I passed, and the followers of the army
were stripping the bodies before throwing them into it, whilst some
Russian Jews were assisting in the spoilation of the dead, by chiseling
out their teeth! an operation which they performed with the most brutal
indifference. The clinking hammers of these wretches jarred horribly
upon my ears, and mingled strangely with the occasional report of
pistols, which seemed echoing each other at stated intervals, from
different corners of the field. I could not divine the meaning of these
shots, till I was informed, that they proceeded from the Belgians, who
were killing the wounded horses. Hundreds of these fine creatures were,
indeed, galloping over the plain, kicking and plunging, apparently mad
with pain, whilst the poor wounded wretches who saw them coming, and
could not get out of their way, shrieked in agony, and tried to shrink
back to escape from them, but in vain. Soon after, I saw an immense
horse (one of the Scotch Greys) dash towards a colonel of the Imperial
Guard, who had had his leg shattered; the horse was frightfully wounded,
and part of a broken lance still rankled in one of its wounds. It rushed
snorting and plunging past the Frenchman, and I shall never forget his
piercing cry as it approached. I flew instantly to the spot, but ere I
reached it the man was dead; for, though I do not think the horse had
touched him, the terror he felt had been too much for his exhausted
frame. Sickened with the immense heaps of slain, which spread in all
directions as far as the eye could reach, I was preparing to return,
when as I was striding over the dead and dying, and meditating on the
horrors of war, my attention was attracted by a young Frenchman, who was
lying on his back, apparently at the last gasp. There was something in
his countenance which interested me, and I fancied, though I knew not
when, or where, that I had seen him before. Some open letters were lying
around, and one was yet grasped in his hand as though he had been
reading it to the last moment. My eye fell upon the words "Mon cher
fils," in a female hand, and I felt interested for the fate of so
affectionate a son. When I left home in the morning, I had put a flask
of brandy and some biscuit into my pocket, in the hope that I might be
useful to the wounded, but when I gazed on the countless multitude which
strewed the field, I felt discouraged from attempting to relieve them.
Chance had now directed my attention to one individual, and I was
resolved to try to save his life. His thigh was broken, and he was badly
wounded on the left wrist, but the vital parts were untouched, and his
exhaustion seemed to arise principally from the loss of blood. I poured
a few drops of brandy into his mouth, and crumbling my biscuit contrived
to make him swallow a small particle. The effects of the dose were soon
visible; his eyes half opened, and a faint tinge of colour spread over
his cheek. I administered a little more, and it revived him so much that
he tried to sit upright. I raised him, and contriving to place him in
such a manner, as to support him against the dead body of a horse, I put
the flask and biscuit by his side, and departed in order to procure
assistance to remove him. I recollected that a short time before, I had
seen a smoke issuing from a deep ditch, and that my olfactory nerves had
been saluted by a savoury smell as I passed. Guided by these
indications, I retraced my steps to the spot, and found some Scotch
soldiers sheltered by a hedge, very agreeably employed in cooking a
quantity of beefsteaks over a wood tire, in a French cuirass!! I was
exceedingly diverted at this novel kind of frying-pan, which served also
as a dish; and after begging permission to dip a biscuit in their gravy
for the benefit of my patient, I told my tale, and was gratified by the
eagerness which they manifested to assist me; one ran to catch a horse
with a soft Hussar saddle, (there were hundreds galloping over the
field,) and the rest went with me to the youth, whom we found
surprisingly recovered, though he was still unable to speak. The horse
was brought, and as we raised the young Frenchman to put him upon it,
his vest opened, and his _"livret"_ fell out. This is a little book
which every French soldier is obliged to carry, and which contains an
account of his name, age, pay, accoutrements, and services. I picked it
up, and offered it to my patient--but the young man murmured the name of
"Annette," and fainted. "Annette!" the name thrilled through every
nerve. I hastily opened the _livret,_ and found that it was indeed Louis
Tissand whom I had saved! The rest is soon told. Louis reached Brussels
in safety, and even Madame's selfishness gave way to rapture on
recovering her son. As to Annette--but why perplex myself to describe
her feelings? If my readers have ever loved, they may conceive them.
Louis soon recovered; indeed with such a nurse he could not fail to get
well. When I next visited Brussels, I found Annette surrounded by three
or tour smiling cherubs, to whom I was presented as _le bon Anglais,_
who preserved the life of their papa.


       *       *       *       *       *

NOTES OF A READER

       *       *       *       *       *


GERMAN SCHOOLS.

A law respecting schools has existed, more or less, in the states of the
south of Germany, for above a century, but which has been greatly
improved within the last thirty years. By this law, parents are
compelled to send their children to school, from the age of six to
fourteen years, where they must be taught reading, writing, and
arithmetic, but where they may acquire as much additional instruction in
other branches as their parents choose to pay for. To many of the
schools of Bavaria large gardens are attached, in which, the boys are
taught the principal operations of agriculture and gardening in their
hours of play; and, in all the schools of the three states, the girls,
in addition to the same instruction as the boys, are taught knitting,
sewing, embroidery, &c. It is the duty of the police and priest (which
may be considered equivalent to our parish vestries) of each commune or
parish, to see that the law is duly executed, the children sent
regularly, and instructed duly. If the parents are partially or wholly
unable to pay for their children, the commune makes up the deficiency.
Religion is taught by the priest of the village or hamlet; and where, as
is frequently the case in Wurtemberg, there are two or three religions
in one parish, each child is taught by the priest of its parents; all of
which priests are, from their office, members of the committee or vestry
of the commune. The priest or priests of the parish have the regular
inspection of the school-master, and are required by the government to
see that he does his duty, while each priest, at the same time, sees
that the children of his flock attend regularly. After the child has
been the appointed number of years at school, it receives from the
schoolmaster, and the priest of the religion to which it belongs, a
certificate, without which it cannot procure employment. To employ any,
person under twenty-one, without such a certificate, is illegal, and
punished by a fixed fine, as is almost every other offence in this part
of Germany; and the fines are never remitted, which makes punishment
always certain. The schoolmaster is paid much in the same way as in
Scotland; by a house, a garden, and sometimes a field, and by a small
salary from the parish, and by fixed rates for the children.

A second law, which is coeval with the school law, renders it illegal
for any young man to marry before he is twenty-five, or any young woman
before she is eighteen; and a young man, at whatever age he wishes to
marry, must show, to the police and the priest of the commune where he
resides, that he is able, and has the prospect, to provide for a wife
and family.--_London's Mag. Nat. Hist._


       *       *       *       *       *

EATING AND WRITING.


Ovid, Horace, and Virgil all frequented the tables of the great; Cato
warmed his virtue with wine; Shakspeare kept up his _verve_ with stolen
venison; Steele and Addison wrote their best papers over a bottle; Sir
Walter Scott is famed for good housekeeping; and I know authors who love
to dine like lords. Even booksellers do their spiriting more gently for
good fare, and bid for an author the most spiritedly after dinner.

There is not a more vulgar mistake than that of confounding good eating
with gluttony and excess. It is not because a man gets twenty or
five-and-twenty guineas per sheet for a dashing article, and has taste
to expend his well-earned cash upon a cook who knows how to dress a
dinner, that he is necessarily to gorge himself like a mastiff with
sheep's paunch. On the contrary, if he means to preserve the powers of
his palate intact, he must "live cleanly as a nobleman should do." The
fat-witted people in the City are not nice in their eating, quantity
being more closely considered by them than quality. There is, I admit,
something in the good man's concluding conjecture, that "the sort of
diet men observe influences their style." I should know an "heavy-wet"
man at the third line; and I can tell to a nicety when Theodore Hook
writes upon claret, and when he is inspired by the over-heating and
acrimonious stimulus of Max. Hayley obviously composed upon tea and
bread and butter. Dr. Philpots may be nosed a mile off for priestly port
and the fat bulls of Basan; and Southey's Quarterly articles are written
on an empty stomach, and before his crudities, like the breath of Sir
Roger de Coverley's barber, have been "mollified by a breakfast."--_New
Monthly Mag._


       *       *       *       *       *

SACRED POETRY.


Songs and hymns, in honour of their Gods, are found among all people who
have either religion or verse. There is scarcely any pagan poetry,
ancient or modern, in which allusions to the national mythology are not
so frequent as to constitute the most copious materials, as well as the
most brilliant embellishments. The poets of Persia and Arabia, in like
manner, have adorned their gorgeous strains with the fables and morals
of the Koran. The relics of Jewish song which we possess, with few
exceptions, are consecrated immediately to the glory of God, by whom,
indeed, they were inspired. The first Christians were wont to edify
themselves in psalms and hymns, and spiritual songs; and though we have
no specimens of these left, except the occasional doxologies ascribed to
the redeemed in the Book of Revelation, it cannot be doubted that they
used not only the psalms of the Old Testament, literally, or
accommodated to the circumstances of a new and rising Church, but that
they had original lays of their own, in which they celebrated the
praises of Christ, as the Saviour of the world. In the middle ages, the
Roman Catholic and Greek churches statedly adopted singing as an
essential part of public worship; but this, like the reading of the
Scriptures, was too frequently in an unknown tongue, by an affectation
of wisdom, to excite the veneration of ignorance, when the learned, in
their craftiness, taught that "Ignorance is the mother of devotion;" and
Ignorance was very willing to believe it. At the era of the Reformation,
psalms and hymns, in the vernacular tongue, were revived in Germany,
England, and elsewhere, among the other means of grace, of which
Christendom had been for centuries defrauded.--_Montgomery._


       *       *       *       *       *

SUPERSTITION.


Grievously are they mistaken who think that the revival of literature
was the death of superstition--that ghosts, demons, and exorcists
retreated before the march of intellect, and fled the British shore
along with monks, saints, and masses. Superstition, deadly superstition,
may co-exist with much learning, with high civilization, with any
religion, or with utter irreligion. Canidia wrought her spells in the
Augustan age, and Chaldean fortune-tellers haunted Rome in the sceptical
days of Juvenal. Matthew Hopkins, the witch-finder, and Lilly, the
astrologer, were contemporaries of Selden, Harrington, and Milton.
Perhaps there never was a more superstitious period than that which
produced Erasmus and Bacon. _--Blackwood's Mag._


       *       *       *       *       *

"FELLOW" FEELING.


A "certain exalted personage," as the newspapers would say, commanded
the attendance of a physician, who was only a Licentiate, and, thereby,
struck consternation throughout the whole body of "Fellows." The great
men already in attendance were dreadfully alarmed and confounded by this
terrible subversion of established College etiquette. "Sire!" said one
of them, "we humbly acquaint your Majesty, with all dutiful submission
that as Dr.---- is not a Fellow, it is contrary to rule and custom to
meet him in attendance here."--"A Fellow?" asked his Majesty; "what mean
ye?" The learned physician explained. "Well, make him a Fellow, then,"
was his Majesty's quick reply; and he was accordingly made one!


       *       *       *       *       *

CULTIVATION OF WASTE LANDS.


No man at all acquainted with the principles of fertility and the
present state of British tillage, can for a moment doubt that a very
large quantity of waste land is scattered over the different districts
of this country, which is not only susceptible of improvement, but which
would yield an ample return for any amount of labour which could, for
centuries to come, be spared from the cultivation of our own land. To be
fully convinced of this fact, no man need do more than ride twenty miles
in any direction from the metropolis. Let him select whatever road he
may choose for his excursion, and he will find tracts of land, forming
in the aggregate a very considerable quantity, which at this moment
remain in the hands of nature--which man has never made the slightest
effort to reclaim. Even the hebdomadal excursions of the citizen will
conduct him over or near many such scenes. What Gilpin, living within
the sound of Bow-bells, does not know Epping and Hainault Forests,
Hounslow, Putney, and Black Heaths, Brook Green, Turnham Green,
Wandsworth, Esher, Sydenham, Hays, and various other Commons? Within a
circle of twenty miles around the largest and most opulent city in the
world, we thus discover a large quantity of land, which cultivation
would render highly productive, but which, in its present state of
waste, is of little or no value to the public. And this land, situated
in the very outskirts of the metropolis, continues to be utterly
neglected, if not entirely overlooked, at a moment when the whole
kingdom resounds with the groans of those who argue that the population
of this country has outrun the means of subsisting them. As the
traveller advances in his journey from the metropolis, the waste becomes
more extensive, if not more numerous. The English wastes, which amount
to about five millions of acres, are more valuable than those of
Ireland; and these again are more improvable than, the Scotish
wastes.--_Quarterly Rev._


       *       *       *       *       *

CHINESE NOVELS.


The character of the Chinese novels is the same with that of the better
parts of _Don Quixote, Gil Blas, Tom Jones_, and _Cecilia_. Their
authors address themselves to the reason rather than the imagination of
their readers. The other Asiatic nations, led away by a passion for the
marvellous, have often disfigured the most respectable traditions, and
converted history itself into romance. The Chinese, on the other hand,
may be said to have given their romances the truth of history.--_N.
American Review._

       *       *       *       *       *

The Canadian Indian females are described as passionately fond of their
children, as submissive slaves, and at the same time affectionately
attached to their husbands. This they evince by _self-immolation_, after
the manner of eastern wives. Among the few poisonous plants of Canada,
is a shrub, which yields a wholesome fruit, but contains in its roots a
deadly juice, which the widow, who wishes not to survive her husband,
drinks. An eye-witness describes its effects; the woman having resolved
to die, chanted her death song and funeral service; she then drank off
the poisonous juice, was seized with shivering and convulsions, and
expired in a few minutes on the body of her husband.


       *       *       *       *       *

SPIRIT OF THE PUBLIC JOURNALS.

       *       *       *       *       *


TWENTY-EIGHT AND TWENTY-NINE.


  "Rien n'est changé, mes amis!"[2]
        CHARLES DIX.


   [2] I have taken these words for my motto, because they _enable_ me
   to tell a story. When the present King of France received his first
   address on the return from the emigration, his answer was, "Rien
   n'est changé, mes amis; il n'y a qu'un Français de plus." When the
   Giraffe arrived in the Jardin des Plantes, the Parisians had a
   caricature, in which the ass, and the hog, and the monkey were
   presenting an address to the stranger, while the elephant and the
   lion stalked angrily away. Of course, the portraits were
   recognisable--and the animal was responding graciously, "Rien n'est
   changé, mes amis: il n'y a qu'un bête de plus!"


  I heard a sick man's dying sigh,
    And an infant's idle laughter;
  The old Year went with mourning by,
    The new came dancing after;
  Let Sorrow shed her lonely tear,
    Let Revelry hold her ladle;
  Bring boughs of cypress for the biel.
    Fling roses on the cradle;
  Mates to wait on the funeral state!
    Pages to pour the wine!
  And a requiem for Twenty-eight,--
    And a health to Twenty-nine.

  Alas! for human happiness,
    Alas! for human sorrow;
  Our Yesterday is nothingness,
    What else will be our Morrow?
  Still Beauty must be stealing hearts,
    And Knavery stealing purses;
  Still Cooks must live by making tarts,
    And Wits by making verses;
  While Sages prate and Courts debate,
    The same Stars set and shine;
  And the World, as it roll'd through Twenty-eight,
    Must roll through Twenty-nine.

  Some King will come, in Heaven's good time,
    To the tomb his Father came to;
  Some Thief will wade through blood and crime
    To a crown he has no claim to;
  Some Suffering Land will rend in twain
    The manacles that bound her,
  And gather the links of the broken chain
    To fasten them proudly round her;
  The grand and great will love, and hate,
    And combat, and combine;
  And much where we were in Twenty-eight,
    We shall be in Twenty-nine.

  O'Connell will toil to raise the Rent,
    And Kenyon to sink the Nation;
  And Sheil will abuse the Parliament,
    And Peel the Association;
  And the thought of bayonets and swords
    Will make ex-Chancellors merry--
  And jokes will be cut in the House of Lords,
    And throats in the County Kerry;
  And writers of weight will speculate
    On the Cabinet's design--
  And just what it did in Twenty-eight,
    It will do in Twenty-nine.

  Mathews will be extremely gay,
    And Hook extremely dirty;
  And brick and mortar still will say
    "Try Warren, No. 30;"
  And "General Sauce" will have its puff,
    And so will General Jackson--
  And peasants will drink up heavy stuff,
    Which they pay a heavy tax on;
  And long and late, at many a fête,
    Gooseberry champagne will shine--
  And as old as it was in Twenty-eight,
    It will be in Twenty-nine.

  And the Goddess of Love will keep her smiles;
    And the God of Cups his orgies;
  And there'll be riots in St. Giles,
    And weddings in St. George's;
  And Mendicants will sup like Kings,
    And Lords will swear like Lacqueys--
  And black eyes oft will lead to rings,
    And rings will lead to black eyes;
  And pretty Kate will scold her mate.
    In a dialect all divine--
  Alas! they married in Twenty-eight,--
    They will part in Twenty-nine!

  John Thomas Mugg, on a lonely hill,
    Will do a deed of mystery--
  The Morning Chronicle will fill
    Five columns with the history;
  The Jury will be all surprise,
    The Prisoner quite collected--
  And Justice Park will wipe his eyes,
    And be very much affected;
  And folks will relate poor Corder's fate,
    As they hurry home to dine,
  Comparing the hangings of Twenty-eight
    With the hangings of Twenty-nine.

  A Curate will go from the house of prayer
    To wrong his worthy neighbour,
  By dint of quoting the texts of Blair,
    And singing the songs of Weber;
  Sir Harry will leave the Craven hounds,
    To trace the guilty parties--
  And ask of the Court five thousand pounds,
    To prove how rack'd his heart is:
  An Advocate will execrate
    The spoiler of Hymen's shrine--
  And the speech that did for Twenty-eight
    Will do for Twenty-nine.

  My Uncle will swathe his gouty limbs,
    And tell of his oils and blubbers;
  My Aunt, Miss Dobbs, will play longer hymns,
    And rather longer rubbers;
  My Cousin in Parliament will prove
    How utterly ruin'd trade is--
  My Brother at Eton will fall in love
    With half a hundred ladies;
  My Patron will sate his pride from plate.
    And his thirst from Bordeaux vine--
  His nose was red in Twenty-eight,--
    'Twill be redder in Twenty-nine!

  And oh! I shall find, how, day by day.
    All thoughts and things look older--
  How the laugh of Pleasure grows less gay,
    And the heart of Friendship colder;
  But still I shall be what I have been,
    Sworn foe to Lady Reason,
  And seldom troubled with the spleen,
    And fond of talking treason;
  I shall buckle my skait, and leap my gate,
    And throw, and write, my line--
  And the woman I worshipped in Twenty-eight,
    I shall worship in Twenty-nine!

_New Monthly Magazine._


       *       *       *       *       *

MORAL EFFECT OF ROME UPON THE TRAVELLER.


Those only who have lived in Rome can duly estimate the potent and
lasting impression produced upon the mind of a thinking man, by a
residence in this capital of the ancient world. The daily contemplation
of so many classical and noble objects elevates and purifies the soul,
and has a powerful tendency to allay the inconsiderate fervours and
impetuosities of youth, to mature, and consolidate the character. I am
already so altered, and, I have the vanity to think, so improved a man
since my arrival here, that there are times when I almost doubt my own
identity, and imagine that, by some preternatural agency, I have been
born over again, and have had new blood and new vitality infused into my
frame.

The gratifications of a residence in Rome are inexhaustible. At every
turn I discover some new evidence of the power and magnificence of her
ancient inhabitants, and vivid sensations of delight and awe rapidly
succeed each other. This venerable metropolis is the tomb and monument,
not of princes, but of nations; it illustrates the progressive stages of
human society, and all other cities appear modern and unfinished in
comparison.

Exploring this forenoon the vicinity of Monte Palatino, I discovered in
an obscure corner, near the temple of Romulus, the time-hallowed spring
of Juturna, rising with crystal clearness near the Cloaca maxima, into
which it flows unvalued and forgotten. I refreshed myself in the mid-day
heat by drinking its pure lymph from the hollow of my hand, and gazed
with long and insatiable delight upon the memorable fountain. This
sacred spot is surrounded and obscured by contiguous buildings, and the
walls are luxuriantly fringed and mantled with mosses, lichens, and
broad leaved ivy. The proud aqueducts of the expanding city diminish the
value and importance of this spring, but it was unquestionably the
ruling motive which determined Romulus, or possibly an earlier colony of
Greeks, to take root here, as within the wide compass of the Roman walls
there is no other source of pure water.--_Blackwood's Magazine._


       *       *       *       *       *

SONG, BY T. CAMPBELL


  When Love came first to Earth, the SPRING
    Spread rose-buds to receive him.
  And back he vow'd his flight he'd wing
    To Heaven, if she should leave him.

  But SPRING departing, saw his faith
    Pledg'd to the next new comer--
  He revell'd in the warmer breath
    And richer bowers of SUMMER.

  Then sportive AUTUMN claim'd by rights
    An Archer for her lover,
  And even in WINTER'S dark, cold nights
    A charm he could discover.

  Her routs and balls, and fireside joy,
    For this time were his reasons--
  In short, Young Love's a gallant boy,
    That likes all times and seasons.

_New Monthly Magazine._


       *       *       *       *       *

SCHOOL AND COLLEGE.


College! how different from school! Never believe a great, broad-faced,
beetle-browed Spoon, when he tells you, with a sigh that would upset a
schooner, that the happiest days of a man's life are those he spends at
school. Does he forget the small bed-room occupied by eighteen boys, the
pump you had to run to on Sunday mornings, when decency and the usher
commanded you to wash? Is he oblivious of the blue chalk and water they
flooded your bowels with at breakfast, and called it milk? Has he lost
the remembrance of the Yorkshire pudding, vulgarly called choke-dog, of
which you were obliged to eat a pound before you were allowed a slice
of beef, and of which, if you swallowed half that quantity, you thought
cooks and oxen mere works of supererogation, and totally useless on the
face of the earth? Has the fool lost all recollection of the prayers in
yon cold, wet, clay-floored cellar, proudly denominated the chapel? has
he forgot the cuffs from the senior boys, the pinches from the second
master? and, _in fine_, has he forgot the press at the end of the
school-room, where a cart-load of birch was deposited at the beginning
of every half year, and not a twig left to tickle a mouse with, long
before the end of it? He talks of freedom from care--what a negative
kind of happiness! Let him cut off his hand, he will never hurt his
nails. Let him enclose an order for all his money even unto us, and no
more will he be troubled with cares about the Stocks--no more will he be
teased with calculations on the price of grain. All that raving about
school-boys is perfect nonsense--it is the most miserable period of a
human being's life. Poor, shivering, trembling, kicked, buffetted,
thumped, and starved little mortals! We never see a large school but we
feel inclined to shoot them all, masters, ushers, and door-keepers
included, merely to put them out of pain.

But at College, how different!--_There_, a man begins to feel that it is
a matter of total indifference to him whether he sit on a hard wooden
bench, or a soft stuffed chair; _there_, the short coat is discarded,
and he stalks about with the air of a three-tailed bashaw, as his own
two, generally, at first, are prolonged a little below the knee;
_there_, his penny tart, which he bought on Saturdays at the door of the
school, is exchanged for a dessert from Golding's; his beer, which he
occasionally imbibed at the little pot-house, two miles beyond the
school bounds, is exchanged for his wine from Butler's.--Books from
Talboy's, the most enterprising of bibliopoles, supply the place of the
tattered Dictionary he brought to the University, which, after being
stolen when new, and passing, by the same process, through twenty hands,
is at last, when fluttering in its last leaves, restolen by the original
proprietor, who fancies he has made a very profitable "nibble." The trot
he used to enjoy by stealth on the butcher's broken-kneed pony, is
succeeded now by a gallop on a steed of Quartermain's; and he is
delighted to find that horse and owner strive which shall be the
softest-mouthed and gentlest charger. The dandy mare, we suppose, has
many long years ago made fat the great-grandfathers of the present race
of dogs; and old Scroggins, we imagine, has been trod to pieces in boots
and shoes, the very memory of which departed long, long before they were
paid for. Of old Scroggins--as Dr. Johnson says--and of his virtues, let
us indulge ourself in the recollection. Though not formed in the finest
mould, or endowed with the extremity of swiftness, his pace was sure and
steady--equal to Hannibal in endurance of fatigue; and, like that
celebrated commander, his aspect was rendered peculiarly fierce and
striking by a blemish in his eye; not ignorant of the way to Woodstock
was the wall-eyed veteran; not unacquainted with the covers at Ditchley;
not unaccustomed to the walls at Hethrop: but Dandy and Scroggins have
padded the hoof from this terrestrial and unstable world--peace to their
manes!--_Blackwood's Magazine._


       *       *       *       *       *

SPIRIT OF DISCOVERY.

       *       *       *       *       *

_Friction of Screws and Screw-presses._

An examination of the friction in screws having their threads of various
forms, has led M. Poncelet to this very important conclusion, namely,
that the friction in screws with square threads is to that of equal
screws with triangular threads, as 2.90 to 4.78, proving a very
important advantage of the former over the latter, relative to the loss
of power incurred in both by friction.--_Brande's Journal._


_Fulminating Powder._

According to M. Landgerbe, a mixture of two parts nitre, two parts
neutral carbonate of potash, one part of sulphur, and six parts of
common salt, all finely pulverized, makes a very powerful fulminating
powder. M. Landgerbe adopts the extraordinary error of supposing that
these preparations act with more force downwards than in any other
direction.--_Bull. Univ._


_Aurora Borealis._

An aurora borealis was seen from North End, Hampstead, near London, from
about seven o'clock until eleven, on the evening of Dec. 1. It generally
appeared as a light resembling twilight, but shifting about both to the
east and the west of north, and occasionally forming streams which
continued for several minutes, and extended from 30 to 40 degrees high.
The light on the horizon was not more than 12 or 15 degrees in
height.--_Brande's Journal._


_Paper Linen._

According to the Paris papers, a new invention, called _papier linge_,
has lately attracted much attention. It consists of a paper made closely
to resemble damask and other linen, not only to the eye, but even to the
touch. The articles are used for every purpose to which linen is
applicable, except those requiring much strength and durability. The
price is low, a napkin costs only five or six centimes (about a
halfpenny), and when dirty, they are taken back at half-price. A good
sized table-cloth sells for a franc, and a roll of paper with one or two
colours for papering rooms or for bed curtains, may be had for the same
price.


_Maturation of Wine._

M. de St. Vincent, of Havre, states, from his own experience of long
continuance, that when bottles containing wine are closed by tying a
piece of parchment or bladder over their mouths, instead of using corks
in the ordinary manner, the wine acquires, in a few weeks only, those
qualities which is only given by age in the ordinary way after many
years.--_Nouveau Jour, de Paris._


_Indications of Wholesomeness in Mushrooms._

Whenever a fungus is pleasant in flavour and odour, it may be considered
wholesome; if, on the contrary, it have an offensive smell, a bitter,
astringent, or styptic taste, or even if it leave an unpleasant flavour
in the mouth, it should not be considered fit for food. The colour,
figure, and texture of these vegetables do not afford any characters on
which we can safely rely; yet it may be remarked, that in colour, the
pure yellow, gold colour, bluish pale, dark or lustre brown, wine red,
or the violet, belong to many that are esculent; whilst the pale or
sulphur yellow, bright or blood red, and the greenish, belong to few but
the poisonous. The safe kinds have most frequently a compact, brittle
texture; the flesh is white; they grow more readily in open places, such
as dry pastures and waste lands, than in places humid or shaded by wood.
In general, those should be suspected which grow in caverns and
subterranean passages, on animal matter undergoing putrefaction, as well
as those whose flesh is soft or watery.--_Brande's Journal._


_Zoological Society._

Dr. Brookes, in his address to the recent anniversary meeting of the
Zoological Society, stated that the _Museum_ already contains 600
species of mammalia, 4,000 birds, 1,000 reptiles and fishes, 1,000
testacea and Crustacea, and 30,000 insects. During the last seven
months, the _Gardens_ and Museum have been visited by upwards of 30,000
persons. The vivarium contains upwards of 430 living quadrupeds and
birds. The expenses of the past year have been 10,000 l., partly
contributed by the admission of the public, and still more largely by
the members of the Society, who already exceed 1,200 in number. These
are gratifying facts to every lover of natural history, as they serve to
indicate the progress of _zoology_ in this country--a study which it has
ever been our aim to identify with the pages of the MIRROR.


       *       *       *       *       *

RETROSPECTIVE GLEANINGS.

       *       *       *       *       *


ENGLISH ROADS.


The roads of England are the marvel of the world. The improvements which
have been effected during a century would be almost miraculous, did we
not consider that they had been produced by the spirit and intelligence
of the people, and were in no degree dependant upon the apathy or
caprice of the ruling power. The first turnpike-road was established by
an act of the 3rd Charles II. The mob pulled down the gates; and the new
principle was supported at the point of the bayonet. But long after that
period travelling was difficult and dangerous. In December, 1703,
Charles III. king of Spain, slept at Petworth on his way from Portsmouth
to Windsor, and Prince George of Denmark went to meet him there by
desire of the queen. In the relation of the journey given by one of the
prince's attendants, he states, "We set out at six in the morning, by
torchlight, to go to Petworth, and did not get out of the coaches (save
only when we were overturned or stuck fast in the mire) till we arrived
at our journey's end. 'Twas a hard service for the prince to sit
fourteen hours in the coach that day without eating any thing, and
passing through the worst ways I ever saw in my life. We were thrown but
once indeed in going, but our coach, which was the leading one, and his
highnesses body coach, would have suffered very much, if the nimble
boors of Sussex had not frequently poised it, or it with their
shoulders, from Godalming almost to Petworth; and the nearer we
approached the duke's house, the more inaccessible it seemed to be. The
last nine miles of the way cost us six hours' time to conquer them; and,
indeed, we had never done it, if our good master had not several times
lent us a pair of horses out of his own coach, whereby we were enabled
to trace out the way for him." Afterwards, writing of his departure on
the following day from Petworth to Guildford, and thence to Windsor, he
says, "I saw him (the prince) no more, till I found him at supper at
Windsor; for there we were overturned, (as we had been once before the
same morning,) and broke our coach; my Lord Delaware had the same fate,
and so had several others."--Vide Annals of Queen Anne, vol. ii.
Appendix, No. 3.

In the time of Charles, (surnamed the Proud,) Duke of Somerset, who died
in 1748, the roads in Sussex were in so bad a state, that, in order to
arrive at Guildford from Petworth, travellers were obliged to make from
the nearest point of the great road leading from Portsmouth to London.
This was a work of so much difficulty, as to occupy the whole day; and
the duke had a house at Guildford which was regularly used as a
resting-place for the night by any of his family travelling to London. A
manuscript letter from a servant of the duke, dated from London, and
addressed to another at Petworth, acquaints the latter that his grace
intended to go from London thither on a certain day, and directs that
"the keepers and persons who knew the holes and the sloughs must come to
meet his grace with lanterns and long poles to help him on his way."

The late Marquess of Buckingham built an inn at Missenden, about forty
miles from London, as the state of the roads compelled him to sleep
there on the way to Stow--a journey which is at present performed
between breakfast and dinner.


       *       *       *       *       *

THE GATHERER.



A snapper up of unconsidered trifles.

SHAKSPEARE.

       *       *       *       *       *


Sir Joseph Banks used to tell a story of his being at Otaheite with
Capt. Cook, when it was accidentally discovered to be the king's
birth-day, on which it was suddenly agreed to have a jollification;
every soul on board got fuddled, except three men who were on duty. The
next day they came on deck, and begged to speak to the captain. "Well,"
said the captain, "what have you got to say?"--"Please your honour, you
were all drunk yesterday, all except we three; will your honour be
pleased to allow us to get drunk to-day?" Sir Joseph, who was standing
by, was so tickled with the oddity of the request, that he begged they
might be indulged, and that he would subscribe two bottles of rum and
two bottles of brandy. The boon was granted, and in less than three
hours, these messmates balanced accounts, being as drunk as their hearts
could wish.--_Mr Wadd._


       *       *       *       *       *

MADEMOISELLE MARS.


Some time after Napoleon's return to Paris, in 1815, as he was passing
the troops in review at the Place Carousel, he happened to see the
celebrated Mademoiselle Mars, stationed among the troops, in order to
view the imposing military spectacle. The emperor, approaching the spot,
and addressing her, said, "What do you do here, Mademoiselle? this is no
place for you."--"Sire," answered the witty and animated daughter of
Thalia, "I come to behold a real hero; I am tired of seeing mock ones
upon the stage."

INA.


       *       *       *       *       *


Some years ago the following inscription, engraved on the fragment of a
stone, was discovered amongst the relics of an antiquarian, and was
considered by him as a great curiosity, and enhanced in value by its
translation having puzzled the best scholars of the age:--


            BENE.
    A.T.H. T.H. I.S.S.T.
      ONERE. POS. ET
  H. CLAUD. COSTER. TRIP
        E. SELLERO
          F. IMP
      IN. GT. ONAS. DO
          TH. HI
            S. C.
          ON. SOR.
        T. I. A. N. E.


Some supposed it to refer to the Emperor Claudian, till a lad one day
spelt it out: "Beneath this stone reposeth Claud Coster, tripe-seller,
of Impington, as doth his consort Jane." R. B.


       *       *       *       *       *

DRINKING.


Captain John Graunt, in his Observations on the Bills of Mortality,
says, that of 229,250 persons, who died in twenty years, only _two_ are
put to the account of _excessive drinking_. But, perhaps, if the matter
were truly stated, a great many of the dropsies, apoplexies, and palsies
ought to have been placed under that head. It is not impossible that
those who had the charge of rendering these accounts, might have
entertained the opinion of old Dick Baldwyn, who stoutly maintained that
no man ever died of drinking. "Some puny things," said he, "have died
learning to drink, but no man ever died of drinking!" Now, this was no
mean authority; for he spoke from great practical experience, and was
moreover many years treasurer of St. Bartholomew's Hospital.--_Mr.
Wadd--in Brande's Journal._


       *       *       *       *       *

The "Sunday Times" of the 28th ult. has the following paragraph
inserted:--


_Typographical Errors._

The New Times speaks (some time ago) of a "Party given by the Duke of
_Pork_!" Another paper, of "Proceedings in the Court of Common
_Fleas_!" and the _Morning Chronicle_ of Tuesday last speaks of "an
atrocious _Bobbery_!" The cream of this criticism on others is, that the
very same paper has the following paragraph:--"_Fleet Prison, Dec.
26th._ Died last night, about 12 o'clock, the Rev. Mr. Chaundy, in the
meridian of life. This makes the ninth death which has happened in the
Fleet since the 29th of April last. The free use of spirituous liquors
is the cause of so much MORALITY in the prison."

BONAS.


       *       *       *       *       *

A "MELTING SUBJECT."


M. Tissot, a celebrated French physician, who was the intimate friend of
Zimmerman, relates the case of a literary gentleman, who would never
venture near a fire, from imagining himself to be made of butter, and
being fearful he should melt.


       *       *       *       *       *

  "There are whom heaven has bless'd with store of wit,
  Yet want as much again to manage it."


      *      *      *      *      *

LIMBIRD'S EDITION OF THE

_Following Novels are already Published:_


                                         _s.    d._

  Mackenzie's Man of Feeling ...          0     6
  Paul and Virginia ...                   0     6
  The Castle of Otranto ...               0     6
  Alaeoran and Hamet ...                  0     6
  Elizabeth, or the Exiles of Siberia ... 0     6
  The Castles of Athlin and Dunbayna ...  0     6
  Rasselas ...                            0     8
  The Old English Baron ...               0     8
  Nature and Art ...                      0     8
  Goldsmith's Vicar of Wakefield ...      0    10
  Sicilian Romance ...                    1     0
  The Man of the World ...                1     0
  A Simple Story ...                      1     4
  Joseph Andrews ...                      1     6
  Humphry Clinker ...                     1     8
  The Romance of the Forest ...           1     8
  The Italian ...                         2     0
  Zeluco, by Dr. Moore ...                2     6
  Edward, by Dr. Moore ...                2     6
  Roderick Random ...                     2     6
  The Mysteries of Udolpho ...            3     6


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