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THE MIRROR OF LITERATURE, AMUSEMENT, AND INSTRUCTION.

VOL. XII, NO. 341.] SATURDAY, NOVEMBER 15, 1828. [PRICE 2d.



[Illustration: GRAND DRUIDICAL TEMPLE AT ABURY.]




TEMPLE AT ABURY.

  Sermons in stones
  And good in every thing.--SHAKSPEARE.


What means the mysterious circle of stocks and stones on the other
side? Such will be the question of many a lover of fun, novel,
fiction, and romance; and though we cannot settle their origin with
the quickness or the humour of Munden's _Cockletop_, we will try to
let our inquirer into the secret with the smallest show of mysticism
possible.

Our engraving represents the Temple of Abury, the most extensive of
all the ruins in Wiltshire, attributed to the Druids. Such was its
original state, before the Vandalism of modern times destroyed and
levelled much of its monumental grandeur. It consisted of a grand
circle, containing two minor circles. The outer circle contained
upwards of 28 acres, and was surrounded by a ditch. There was a circle
within each of the two circles, contained within the circumvallation;
and according to Dr. Stukely, the antiquarian, the original was thus
composed:--

  Outward circle, within the vallum  100 stones
  Northern Temple, outward circle     30   --
  Ditto, inward circle                12   --
  Cove, or cell                        3   --
  Southern Temple, outward circle     30   --
  Ditto, inward circle                12   --
  Central Obelisk                      1   --
  Ring Stone                           1   --

The Temple occupied a spot to which there is a gradual and
imperceptible ascent on all sides, and was approached by two avenues
of two hundred stones each. Its general form was that of a snake, in
by gone ages, the symbol of eternity and omniscience. "To make the
form still more elegant and picture-like, the head of the snake is
carried up the southern promontory of _Hack_pen Hill--and the very
name of the hill is derived from this circumstance."[1]

    [1] Dr. Stukely, who says, that _acan_ in the Chaldee signifies
        a serpent, and _hac_ is no other than a snake. In Yorkshire
        they still call snakes _hags_; and in the British language
        _pen_ denotes a head.

The whole figure thus represented the circle, snake, and wings. By
this the founders meant to picture out the nature of the Divinity;
the circle meant the supreme fountain of all being, the Father; the
serpent, that divine emanation from him, which was called the Son; the
wings imported that other divine emanation from them, which was called
the Spirit, the _Anima Mundi_. That the Temple was of a _religious_,
and not of a warlike nature, is proved by its ditch being withinside
the agger of earth, contrary to the mode adopted in works of defence.

Of the devastation and decay of Abury, the following data will afford
some idea:

  The grand total of stones, included in the temples and avenues, was
  650; in the original temples, 188.

  In Aubrey's time, A.D. 1663          73 stones
  In Dr. Stukeley's time, A.D. 1722    29   --
  In 1815                              17   --

Of very late years, says Sir Richard Colt Hoare, I do not imagine the
dilapidations of the temple have been very great.

It should, however, be mentioned, that the tracing of the _snake form_
is due to Dr. Stukeley; for his predecessor Aubrey mentions the avenue
as "a solemn walk leading to a monument upon the top of the hill,
without any allusion to the supposed design or its connexion with the
Grand Temple at Abury."

It is a matter of greater speculation than we can here enter into,
as to the _date and founders of Abury_; and their history is as
dislocated as are the masses of its ruins. Antiquarians agree on the
purpose for which it was founded, viz. for the performance of the
religious ceremonies of the Druids. Sir R. Colt Hoare illustrates this
point by supposing the flat ledge projecting from the vallum, to have
been intended for the accommodation of sitting, to the spectators who
resorted hither to the public festivals; and adds he, what a grand and
imposing spectacle must so extensive and elevated an amphitheatre
have presented, the vallum and its declivities lined with spectators,
whilst the hallowed area was preserved for the officiating Druids, and
perhaps the higher order of the people!

Gentle Reader! be ye lordling or lowlier born, once more _turn back to
the engraving_. We have a subject of yesterday rife and ready for you,
on the next page; but _turn to the engraving_. Look again at those
circles, and the fantastic forms that compose them, and think of the
infatuated thousands that were wont to assemble round them, and of the
idolized sons of power that once stood within their hallowed area.
Think of those days of sacrifice and superstition--those orgies of
ignorance and barbarism--and contrast them with the happy, happy
age of religious liberty in which it is your boast and blessing to
live--and then you may read "sermons in stones," to the masterminds of
your own time. To us, the stones of Abury are part of the poetry of
savage life, and of more interest than all the plaster toys of these
days. But they may not be so with you and "FINIS." We were once
compensated for missing Fonthill and its finery, by witnessing
day-break from Salisbury Plain, and associating its glories with the
time-worn relics of STONEHENGE!

The _engraving_ and data are from Mr. Higgins's Celtic Druids, for
the loan of which and a portion of this article, we thank our friend
"JAMES SILVESTER," whose valuable note on "_Circular Temples_" must
stand over for our next.

       *       *       *       *       *

We had penciled for our Supplement the following beautiful lines from
Mr. Watts's "Literary Souvenir," but they will be more in place here.
_Silbury_ is an immense mound adjoining the road to Devizes, and
opposite Abury; Sir R.C. Hoare thinks it part of Abury; but H. and
many others think it the sepulchre of a King or Arch-Druid.

SILBURY HILL.

  Grave of Cunedha, were it vain to call
    For one wild lay of all that buried lie
  Beneath thy giant mound? From Tara's hall
    Faint warblings yet are heard, faint echoes die
  Among the Hebrides: the ghost that sung
    In Ossian's ear, yet wails in feeble cry
  On Morvern: but the harmonies that rung
    Around the grove and cromlech, never more
  Shall visit earth: for ages have unstrung
    The Druid's harp, and shrouded all his lore,
  Where under the world's ruin sleep in gloom
    The secrets of the flood,--the letter'd store,
  Which Seth's memorial pillars from the doom
    Preserved not, when the sleep was Nature's tomb.

  H.

       *       *       *       *       *




FINE ARTS

(_For the Mirror_.)

       *       *       *       *       *

  "The way to be an excellent painter is to be an
  excellent man--and these united, make a character
  that would shine even in a better world
  than this."--JONATHAN RICHARDSON.


The sister arts of _Painting and Engraving_ have been making great
progress in England for some time past, and we are disposed to think
this a subject of congratulation and importance to all classes of the
community.

The literature of the Fine Arts is likewise becoming more and more
popular every day. They form a prominent feature in every new literary
project, and not unfrequently literature, to use a hackneyed phrase,
is made their vehicle--like the namby-pamby of an English opera
for the strains of Rossini or Weber. The public are contented with
excellence in one department and mediocrity in the other; they cannot
be constantly admiring--that is out of the question--and it is
probably on this account that much of what appears _below par_ is
tolerated and even encouraged.

We will not go the length of assenting to the proposal of converting
Sir Joshua Reynolds's Lectures into Sermons, by the mere alteration of
the terms of art into scriptural phraseology; but we venture to assert
that much national good is likely to result from these advances of
art, and its constant introduction into all our amusements. That it
promotes the growth of virtue is too old an axiom to be refuted:

  ----Ingenuas didicisse fideliter artes
  Emollit mores, nec sinit esse feros.

"The Italians commonly call a taste for the fine arts, or skill in
them, by the name of Virtue. They term the productions of artists
objects of virtue; and a person who has a taste for such things is
denominated _a virtuoso_, that is, a virtuous man." Such is the
language of the _Edinburgh Review_, in commencing an article on a
recently-published translation of Lanzi's _History of Painting in
Italy_, in six octavo volumes--and what a delightful relief is this
from the party declamations which usually occupy so large a portion of
that "critical journal." But this is not singular, for it is now no
uncommon thing to see a large letter column of a newspaper, and a
similar proportion of a printed sheet published at twopence, alike
occupied by "the Fine Arts."

Patronage, royal and noble, has already achieved much for painting,
and even the _reported_ project for a National Gallery does much to
foster the art. It keeps the study afloat and uppermost in the public
mind; and the immense increase of exhibitions, not only in London, but
in provincial towns, serves to prove that patronage now consists in
something more substantial than tutelar notice, and unpaid promises.
Artists need no longer journey to the metropolis to find sale for
their works, for their genius is nourished on its native soil by the
liberality and good taste which abound in the neighbourhood of every
important town in the empire. It may be as well to keep up the hue and
cry about the folly of portrait-painting, if it be only to keep down
the vanity of wealth; but the munificent rewards which painters
receive for this branch of their art will enable them to devote a
greater portion of their leisure to higher studies. _Their taste_
will not thus be impugned; for Cooke, the actor, is known to have
entertained the meanest opinion of his own performance of Richard
the Third, as an historical portrait, notwithstanding it was the
corner-stone of his fame. We do not invite the comparison; but Mr.
Hayden began with history--his want of patronage is well known; he
then tried portraits--but his want of success was reserved for the
style of his Mock Election pictures, and, in all probability, they
will turn out the philosopher's stone for his future life.

But it is to the splendid union of Painting, Engraving, and Literature
that much of these beneficial effects may be traced. In every branch
of the fine arts and literature, what a powerful influence will this
triple advancement produce. Only compare the topographical works of
Mr. Britton with those of his predecessors--his highly-finished
line engravings, excellent antiquarian pieces on wood, and erudite
descriptions, with the wretched prints and the quaintnesses of old
topographers--or even with the lumber of some of our county
histories. With this improvement, and that of map-work, painting has
comparatively but little to do; and yet how evident is the progress of
the literature of these works.[2]

It would be easy to adduce hundreds of instances of the recent union
of painting and engraving. About five years ago, a plan was started
for illustrating the Bible from pictures of the old masters. Upwards
of two hundred of them were transferred to wood-blocks; but the scheme
did not repay the ingenious originator--partly from their small size,
uncertainty of _effect_ to be produced on _wood_, and partly from the
very cheap rate at which the engravings were sold--the whole series
being purchaseable for three or four shillings.[3] But a similar
design is now in progress on metal, being the idea of _La Musée_ in
little. It consists of beautiful outline copies of the great
masters, published at so cheap a rate as to be within the reach of
a school-boy. Within the present year, also, two series of Views in
Great Britain, one of Views in London, and another of Paris, have been
publishing at the rate of threepence for each view; and when we see
among their artists the names of Westall, Pugin, and Pye, we have a
sufficient voucher for their excellence.

A passing notice of a few of the more splendid works of art, (for the
above are among the cheap and popular projects of the day,) and we
must conclude.

    [2] The only place in which they do not progress mutually is the
        theatre. Look at the scenery of our patent theatres, and compare
        it with the vulgar daubs even of John Kemble's time. Some of the
        scenes by Stanfield, Roberts, Grieve, and Pugh, are "perfect
        pictures." Yet the language of the stage is at a stand, and
        insipid comedy, dull tragedy, and stupid farce are more abundant
        than before the "march of mind".

    [3] While on the subject of _wood-engraving_, perhaps we may he
        allowed to mention our own humble plan of illustrating a sheet
        of letter-press for twopence. Of course, perfection in the
        engraving department would have ruined all parties concerned;
        for each of our subjects (as the miniature painters tell you of
        their works) might be _worked up_ to "any price". It is now six
        years since the MIRROR was commenced, and as we are not speaking
        of ourselves, individually, we hope we may refer to the
        progressive improvement of the _graphic_ department without any
        charge of vanity.

It would be tedious to enumerate even a small portion of the fine
pictures which have been engraved during the last two years; the
mention of two or three will answer our purpose. Every printseller's
window will attest the fact. Only let the reader step into Mr.
Colnaghi's parlours, in Cockspur-street, and we might say the spacious
print gallery in Pall Mall. There let him turn over a few of the host
of fine portraits which have been transferred from the canvass to the
copper--the excellent series of royal portraits--and of men whose
names will shine in the history of their country, when their portraits
shall be gathered into the portfolios of a few collectors. Among
portraits, we ought, however, to recollect Mr. Lodge's invaluable
collection of historical characters, the originals of which were
exhibited a few months since, previous to their republication in a
more economical form. The Temple of Jupiter, published a few months
since, is perhaps one of the proudest triumphs of the year. Martin's
Deluge, too, has lately appeared, and we look forward to the
publication of his last splendid picture, the Fall of Nineveh, with
high hopes.

In the SUPPLEMENTARY NUMBER[4] _(published with the present)_ we have
noticed in detail a few of the many superb engravings which embellish
the Christmas presents for the ensuing year, as well as their literary
talent, by a string of extracts like

  "Orient pearls at random strung."

The success of these elegant works has benefited our artists to the
sum of twelve thousand pounds, in their preparation for 1829. A
fortnight since we mentioned the cost of the plates of the Literary
Souvenir to be 100_l._ and upwards for each subject. Another work,
still more splendid, (being nearly double the price,) is under the
direction of Mr. Charles Heath, whose masterly hand is visible in some
of the finest engraving ever submitted to the world--equalled only by
a rival in its first year--one of the best proofs of the patronage
these works enjoy. It would be invidious to particularize--but we must
mention the transference of two of Martin's designs--Marcus Curtius
(in the Forget Me Not) and Christ Tempted on the Mount--as two of the
most surprising efforts of genius we have ever witnessed. Our readers
need not be told that all the engravings are _on steel_; and were it
not for the adoption of this lasting metal, the

    [4] The engraving is from Prout's exquisite picture of the
        magnificent city of _Vicenza_--for which we recollect our
        obligation to the "_Forget Me Not_."

cost of half the engravings would exceed that of the whole work: all
we hope is, that the public patronage may be as lasting as the metal;
then it will be no idle vaunt to call this the march, or even race, of
genius. In conclusion, we recommend all our lady friends (who have
not done so) to place on their drawing-room table a _Print Album_, or
_Scrap Book_, to be supported "by voluntary contributions." They may
then form a pretty correct estimate of the taste of their visiters;
and if taste in the fine arts be a test of virtue and integrity, they
may even settle the claims of any two rival aspirants by this fair and
unerring method, which should admit of no appeal.

       *       *       *       *       *


ANECDOTES OF CHRISTINA, THE YOUNG QUEEN OF SWEDEN.

(_For The Mirror_.)


Christina was the only child of the great Gustavus Adolphus, who
succeeded to the throne of her father in 1632, when she was but five
years of age. The young queen, at an early age, discovered but little
taste for the society and occupations of her sex. When young, she was
capable of reading the Greek historians. At the age of eighteen she
assumed the reins of government. Several princes of Europe aspired
to her hand; but she rejected them all. To prevent a renewal of
applications on this subject, she solemnly appointed Gustavus her
successor, but without the smallest participation in the rights of
the crown during her own life. During her minority, Sweden enjoyed
internal repose, but was involved in a long war with the German
empire. She was crowned with great splendour in the year 1650. From
this time she entertained a philosophical contempt for pomp and
parade, and a kind of disgust for the affairs of state. She invited to
her court men of the first reputation in various studies. She was a
great collector of books, manuscripts, medals, paintings, &c. In 1654,
when she was only in her 28th year, Christina abdicated the crown,
in order that she might live a life of freedom. With her crown, she
renounced the Lutheran and embraced the Catholic religion. In quitting
the scene of her regal power, she proceeded to Rome, where she
intended to fix her abode. Some disgust which she received at Rome,
induced her, in the space of two years, to determine to visit France.
Here she was treated with respect by Louis XIV., but the ladies were
shocked with her masculine appearance and demeanour, and the unguarded
freedom of her conversation. Apartments were assigned her at
Fontainbleau, where she committed an action, which has indelibly
stained her memory, and for which, in other countries, (says her
biographer,) she would have paid the forfeit of her own life. This was
the murder of an Italian, Monaldeschi, her master of the horse, who
had betrayed some secret intrusted to him. He was summoned into a
gallery in the palace; letters were then shown to him, at the sight of
which he turned pale, and entreated for mercy; but he was instantly
stabbed by two of her own domestics in an apartment adjoining that in
which she herself was. The French court was justly offended at this
atrocious deed; yet it met with vindicators, among whom was Leibnitz,
whose name was disgraced by the cause which he attempted to justify.
Christina was sensible that she was now regarded with horror in
France, and would gladly have visited England, but she received no
encouragement for that purpose from Cromwell. She returned to Rome,
and resumed her amusements in the arts and sciences. In 1660, on the
death of Charles Gustavus, she took a journey to Sweden to recover her
crown; but her ancient subjects rejected her claims, and submitted to
a second renunciation of the throne; after which she returned to Rome.
Some differences with the pope made her resolve, in 1662, once more
to return to Sweden; but the conditions annexed by the senate to her
residence there were now so mortifying, that she proceeded no farther
than Hamburgh. She went back to Rome, and cultivated a correspondence
with the learned men there, and in other parts of Europe, and died in
1689, leaving behind her many letters, a "Collection of Miscellaneous
Thoughts or Maxims," and "Reflections on the Life and Actions of
Alexander the Great."

P.T.W.

       *       *       *       *       *


METHOD OF ASCERTAINING THE STATE OF THE LUNGS.

(_For The Mirror_.)


Persons desirous of ascertaining the true state of their lungs, are
directed to draw in as much breath as they conveniently can; they are
then to count as far as they are able, in a slow and audible voice,
without drawing in more breath. The number of seconds they can
continue counting must be carefully observed; in a consumption, the
time does not exceed ten, and is frequently less than six seconds; in
pleurisy and pneumonia, it ranges from nine to four seconds. When the
lungs are in a sound condition, the time will range as high as from
twenty to thirty-five seconds.

G.W.N.

       *       *       *       *       *




THE COSMOPOLITE.

       *       *       *       *       *

ARTISTICAL ERRORS.

A SECOND CHAPTER OF BULLS.

(_For The Mirror_.)


I saw a picture not long since, in Edinburgh, copied from an engraving
in Boydell's Shakspeare; subject,--"Lear (and suite) in the storm,"
but coloured according to the imagination and taste of the artist; its
name ought assuredly to have been _Redcap and the blue-devils_, for
the venerable and lamented monarch had fine streaming locks of the
real _carrot hue_, whilst his very hideous companions showed _blue_
faces, and blue armour; and with their strangely contorted bodies
seemed meet representatives of some of the infernal court.--In a
highly adorned prayer book, published in the reign of William
III., the engravings of which are from _silver-plates_, one print
illustrates our Lord's simile of the mote and beam, by a couple of men
aiming at each other's visual organs, ineffectually enough, one having
a great _log of wood_ growing from his eye, and the other being blind
in one eye from a _cataract_; at least, though I think I do not err
in saying, a _moat_ and castle, in it--I have seen an old edition of
Jeremy Taylor's "Life and Death of Christ," illustrated with many
remarkably good engravings. Of one of these the subject is, the
Impotent Man at the Pool of Bethesda; the fore ground is occupied by
our Saviour, the cripple, and other invalids; and in the distance
appears a small _pond_ palisaded by slender pilasters; over it hovers
an angel, who, with _a long pole_, is, to the marvel of the beholders,
dexterously "troubling the waters." In the same volume, some of the
figures are clad in the garb of the time when drawn, and St. Jude is
reading the _New Testament_ in a _pair of spectacles_!--In Holyrood
House, and in one of the rooms added in the days of Charles II., is a
panel-painting of "the Infant Hercules strangling the serpents;" and
leaping up in front of the cradle, appears one of those pretty and
rare spaniels called _King Charles's breed_. In the same palace, and
in one of the chambers, once occupied by the unfortunate Mary, is
a very old painting, intended, as the guide assures visitors, to
represent St. Peter's vision of the great sheet; it may be, but if so,
_one_ archangel in _military sandals_, holding in his hands a _small
towel_, represents (by a _figure_ in _painting_ I presume,) St. Peter,
the sheet, and its innumerable living contents. He must have taken a
hint, from the artist who painted for the passage through the Red Sea
nothing but ocean, assuring his employer, that the Israelites could
not be seen, because they were all gone over, and the Egyptians were
every one drowned!--"I once saw," writes a friend, "a full length
portrait of _Wordsworth_, in a modern painting of 'Christ riding into
Jerusalem;' it was amongst a group of Jews, and next to a likeness
of _Voltaire_. I believe the painter intended to contrast the
countenances of the Christian and infidel poets, and thus pay a
handsome compliment to the former; but the taste that placed the
ancients and moderns together, remind me of a fine old painting of the
Flemish school; a 'David with Goliah's head,' in the fore-ground of
which were a number of fat _Dutchmen_, dressed in _blue coats and
leather breeches_, with _pipes_ in their mouths."--"Raphael," says a
little French work on painting, in my possession, speaking of _unity_
of time, "_A peché contre cette regle, dans son tableau d'Heliodore,
ou il fait intervenir le Pape Jules 2 dans le Temple de Jerusalem
porte sur les epaules, des Gonfalonniers_." The same work notices a
breach of the _unity of design_ in Paul Veronese, "_qui dans la partie
droite d'un de ses tableaux, a represente Jesus Christ benissant
l'eau, dont il va être baptise par St. Jean Baptiste; et dans la
partie gauche notre Seigneur tente par le diable_."--Upon the
celebrated "Transfiguration" of Raphael, I heard an artist remark,
"undoubtedly it is the first picture in the world, yet the painter has
erred in these respects:--the upper portion of the picture is occupied
by the subject, but the lower and fore-ground by the _Healing of
the Demoniac_. Now that event did not happen until after the
transfiguration, and we infringe upon our Saviour's _ubiquity_ by
supposing it to occur (contrary to the sacred story) at the same time.
_He_ may, indeed, as _God_ be _omnipresent_, but as _man_, the
New Testament no where asserts that the Incarnate Presence was in
different places at the same moment." Instances of erroneous judgment
are frequent in those who illustrate holy writ. Some have attempted to
embody _Him_, "whom no man hath seen at any time." Some have filled
their skies with beings as little aerial as possible, or apotheoses of
the Virgin and sundry saints. Angels, as some represent them, even in
whole lengths, are by _anatomists_ regarded as _monsters_; but what
then are the chubby winged heads _without bodies_, with which some
artists etherealize their works. Some err by mingling on the same
canvass the sacred and profane; scripture characters and the
non-descripts of heathen mythology. Nor is poetry free from the latter
error, as is exemplified in the major and minor epics, &c., of many
Christian poets. The drawings of the monks, splendid in colouring and
beautiful in finish, are mostly ludicrous in design, from glaring
anachronisms, erroneous perspective, &c. I saw a print in Montfauçon,
where fish were gamboling like porpusses on the surface of the sea,
and one or two were visible _through the paddles_ of a boat. In the
same volume was a print of the apotheosis of St. Louis, from
an illumination. The holy prince was represented dying in the
fore-ground, but over head were a couple of angels flying away with
his soul, (under the figure of a wretched infant, skinny and naked,
save the glory that covered his head,) in a kind of sheet, or rather
sack.

But to detail all the absurdities and indecencies of these revered
artists, whether limners, or carvers in wood, were endless. Their
anachronisms, however, have been of considerable service to the
antiquary. Sculpture has its monstrosities, architecture its
incongruities, though not so palpable as those of painting, because
the art is less generally understood by the common observer, or rather
pictorial errors are in general easily detected by the eye alone,
and sometimes by the most commonly informed mind; but architectural
defects are only recognisable by those who have studied the principles
of this fine art. Poetry, I am sorry to say, is not exempt from bulls
and blunders, of various kinds and degrees of enormity; many of which
have been, from time to time, exposed in a very amusing manner. I
shall therefore, in conclusion, crave the liberty of producing one
which has lately come under my own cognizance. A modern poet, whose
compositions are fraught with beauty and genius, sings:--

  "Then swooped the winds, that hurl the _giant oak_
  From _Snowdon's altitude_."

And another, in stanzas of extreme strength and eloquent description,
describes a storm at night "among the mountains of Snowdon," with
these expressions:--

  ----"The bird of night
  Screams from her straw-built nest, as from the womb
  Of infant death, and wheels her drowsy flight
  Amid _the pine-clad rocks_, with wonder and afright."

  ----"The night-breeze dies
  Faint, on _the mountain-ash leaves that surround
  Snowdon's dark peaks_."

Now, a painful pilgrimage of eleven hours, up Snowdon and back again,
enables me to declare that had oaks, pines, and service-trees adorned
that appalling and volcanic chaos, five or six years since, some storm
sufficient to have shattered the universe, must have swept them all
away, ere I looked upon that dreary assemblage of rocks which seems
like the _ruins of a world_. I ascended from the Capel Cerig side of
the mountain, and therefore venture not to say what may be the aspect
of the Llanberries; but the only verdure I beheld, was that of short,
brown heathy grass, a few stunted furze-bushes, and patches of that
vividly green moss, which is spongy and full of water. The only living
inhabitants of these wilds were a few ruffian-like miners, two or
three black slugs, and a scanty flock of straggling half-starved
mountain sheep, with their brown, ropy coats. The guide told me, that
even _eagles_, had for three centuries abandoned the desolate crags
of Snowdon; and as for its being a haunt for _owls_, neither bird nor
mouse could reside there to supply such with subsistence. Snowdon
appeared to me too swampy to be drained for cultivation in many parts,
and in most others its marble, granite and shingles, forbade the idea
of spontaneous vegetation. I am sorry for the poets, having a sincere
regard for the fraternity, but Snowdon is not adorned with pines,
firs, larches, and service-trees, like parts of the Alps; it is _not_
wooded like the romantic Pyrenees, nor luxuriantly fertile in fruits,
flowers, and grain, like the terrible, but sylvan Etna.

M.L.B.

       *       *       *       *       *




OLD POETS

       *       *       *       *       *


DRUMMOND OF HAWTHORNDEN.


["A Lover of Old English Poetry," has, in the last _London Magazine_,
a short paper on DRUMMOND of HAWTHORNDEN, a name dear to every
poetical mind, and every lover of early song. His intention, he says,
is "rather to excite than satiate" the taste of his readers for the
poetry of Drummond,--an object in which we cordially agree, and would
contribute our offering, had not the task, in the present instance,
been already so ably performed. We cannot, therefore, do better than
introduce to our readers a few of his judicious selections. They are
exquisite specimens of the evergreen freshness of old poetry, and by
their contrast with contemporary effusions will contribute to the
mosaic of our sheet. By the way, we hear of a sprinkling of the
antique world of letters in some of the "Annuals"--an introduction
which reflects high credit on the taste of the editors, and serves
to prove that sicklied sentimentalities, like all other sweets, when
enjoyed to excess, will cloy the fancy, but not so as entirely to
unfit the mind for a higher species of intellectual enjoyment. We
would have _old and new alternate_ in the literary wreath, lest, by
losing the comparison, the "bright lights" of other times should be
treated with irreverence and neglect.]


FROM THE "HYMN ON THE FAIREST FAIR."


  I feel my bosom glow with wonted fires:
  Raised from the vulgar press, my mind aspires,
  _Wing'd with high thoughts_, unto His praise to climb
  From deep Eternity who call'd forth time:--
  That ESSENCE, which, not mov'd, makes each thing move,--
  Uncreate beauty--all-creating love...
  Ineffable, all-powerful GOD, all free,--
  Thou only liv'st, and all things live by thee...
  Perfection's sum--prime cause of every cause,
  Midst and beginning, where all good doth pause...
  Incomprehensible, by reachless height;
  And unperceived, by _excessive light_.
  O King! whose greatness none can comprehend,
  Whose boundless goodness does to all extend,--
  Light of all beauty, ocean without ground,
  _That standing, flowest--giving, dost abound_...
  Great Architect--Lord of this universe,--
  That sight is blinded would thy greatness pierce.

Then follows this noble simile, nobly sustained, and with a flow and
harmony of verse not common in the poets of his period:--

  Ah! as a pilgrim who the Alps doth pass,
  Or Atlas' temples crown'd with winter glass,--
  The airy Caucasus, the Apennine,
  Pyrenees' cliffs, where sun doth never shine;--
  When he some craggy hills hath overwent,
  Begins to think on rest, his journey spent,
  Till mounting some tall mountain he do find
  More heights before him than he left behind,--
  With halting pace so while I would me raise
  To the unbounded limits of Thy praise,
  Some part of way I thought to have o'errun;
  But now I see how scarce I have begun--
  With wonders new my spirits range possest,
  And, wandering wayless, in a maze them rest.

  Oh! that the cause which doth consume our joy
  Would the remembrance of it too destroy!


LIFE.

    Woods cut again do grow:
  Bud doth the rose and daisy, winter done,
  But we, once dead, do no more see the sun!
    What fair is wrought
  Falls in the prime, and passeth like a thought.


SONNET.--SPRING.

  Sweet Spring, thou com'st with all thy goodly train,--
  Thy head with flame, thy mantle bright with flowers:
  _The zephyrs curl the green locks of the plain_,--
  The clouds for joy in pearls weep down their showers;--
  Sweet Spring, thou com'st--but ah! my pleasant hours,
  And happy days, with thee come not again!
  The sad memorials only of my pain
  Do with thee come, which turn my sweets to sours.
  Thou art the same which still thou wert before,
  _Delicious, lusty, amiable, fair_,
  But she whose breath embalmed thy wholesome air
  Is gone--nor gold, nor gems can her restore,
  Neglected virtue--seasons, go and come,
  When thine, forgot, lie closed in a tomb.


SONNET.

  Sweet bird, that sing'st away the early hours,
  Of winters past, or coming, void of care,
  Well pleased with delights which present are,--
  Fair seasons, budding sprays, sweet-smelling flowers,
  To rocks, to springs, to rills, from leavy bowers
  Thou thy Creator's goodness dost declare,
  And what dear gifts on thee he did not spare,--
  A stain to human sense in sin that lowers.
  What soul can be so sick, which by thy songs
  (Attir'd in sweetness) sweetly is not driven
  Quite to forget earth's turmoils, spites, and wrongs,
  And lift a reverend eye and thought to heaven?
  Sweet artless songster, thou my mind dost raise
  To airs of spheres--yes, and to angels lays!


SLEEP.

  Now while the Night her sable veil hath spread,
    And silently her resty coach doth roll,
  Rousing with her, from Thetis' azure bed,
    Those starry nymphs which dance about the pole;
  While Cynthia, in purest cypress clad.
    The Latmian shepherd in a trance descries,
    And, looking pale from height of all the skies,
  She dyes her beauties in a blushing red;
    While Sleep, in triumph, closed hath all eyes,
  And birds and beasts a silence sweet do keep,
  And Proteus' monstrous people in the deep,--
    The winds and waves, hush'd up, to rest entice,--
  I wake, I turn, I weep, oppress'd with pain,
  Perplex'd in the meanders of my brain.

  Sleep, Silence' child, sweet father of soft rest,
    Prince, whose approach peace to all mortals brings,
    Indifferent host to shepherds and to kings,
  Sole comforter of minds which are oppress'd--
    Lo! by thy charming rod, all breathing things
  Lie slumb'ring, with forgetfulness possess'd,
    And yet o'er me to spread thy drowsy wings
  Thou spar'st, alas! who cannot be thy guest.
    Since I am thine, O come,--but with that face
  To inward light, which thou art wont to shew--
  With feigned solace ease a true-felt woe;
    Or if, deaf god, thou do deny that grace,
  Come as thou wilt, and what thou wilt bequeath
  I long to kiss the image of my death!

       *       *       *       *       *

  Hark, happy lovers, hark!
  This first and last of joys,
  This sweetener of annoys,
  This nectar of the gods,
  You call a kiss, is with itself at odds:
  And half so sweet is not,
  In equal measure got
  At light of sun as it is in the dark:
  Hark, happy lovers, hark!

       *       *       *       *       *




NOTES OF A READER

       *       *       *       *       *


INDIAN FEAST OF SOULS.


Every three or four years, by a general agreement, the Indians
disinter the bodies of such as have died within that time; finding the
soft parts mouldered away, they carefully clean the bones, and each
family wrap up the remains of their departed friends in new fur.
They are then laid together in one mound or barrow, and the ceremony
concludes with a feast, with dances, songs, speeches, games, and mock
combats.

       *       *       *       *       *


PALEY.


We think it next to impossible for a candid unbeliever to read the
Evidences of Paley, in their proper order, unshaken. His Natural
Theology will open the heart, that it may understand, or at least
receive the Scriptures, if any thing can. It is philosophy in its
highest and noblest sense; scientific, without the jargon of science;
profound, but so clear that its depth is disguised. There is nothing
of the "budge Doctor" here; speculations which will convince, if aught
will, that "in the beginning _God_ created the heaven and the earth,"
are made familiar as household words. They are brought home to the
experience of every man, the most ordinary observer on the facts of
nature with which he is daily conversant. A thicker clothing, for
instance, is provided in winter for that tribe of animals which are
covered with _fur_. Now, in these days, such an assertion would be
backed by an appeal to some learned Rabbi of a Zoological Society,
who had written a deep pamphlet, upon what he would probably call the
_Theory of Hair_. But to whom does Paley refer us? To any dealer in
rabbit skins. The curious contrivance in the bones of birds, to unite
strength with lightness, is noticed. The bore is larger, in proportion
to the weight of the bone, than in other animals; it is empty; the
substance of the bone itself is of a closer texture. For these facts,
any "operative" would quote Sir Everard Home, or Professor Cuvier,
by way of giving a sort of philosophical éclat to the affair, and
throwing a little learned dust in the eyes of the public. Paley,
however, advises you to make your own observations when you happen to
be engaged in the scientific operation of picking the leg or wing of a
chicken. The very singular correspondence between the two sides of any
animal, the right hand answering to the left, and so on, is touched
upon, as a proof of a contriving Creator, and a very striking one it
is. Well! we have a long and abstruse problem in chances worked out to
show that it was so many millions, and so many odd thousands to one,
that accident could not have produced the phenomenon; not a bit of it.
Paley, who was probably scratching his head at the moment, offers
no other confirmation of his assertion, than that it is the most
difficult thing in the world to get a _wig made even_, seldom as it is
that the _face_ is made awry. The circulation of the blood, and the
provision for its getting from the heart to the extremities, and back
again, affords a singular demonstration of the Maker of the body being
an admirable Master both of mechanics and hydrostatics. But what is
the language in which Paley talks of this process?--technical?--that
mystical nomenclature of Diaforius, which frightens country patients
out of their wits, thinking, as they very naturally do, that a disease
must be very horrid which involves such very horrid names? Hear our
anatomist from Giggleswick.

"The aorta of a whale is larger in the bore than the main-pipe of the
water-works at London Bridge; and the roaring in the passage through
that pipe is inferior, in impetus and velocity, to the blood gushing
from the whale's heart."

He cares not whence he fetches his illustrations, provided they are to
the purpose. The laminae of the feathers of birds are kept together by
teeth that hook into one another, "as a _latch_ enters into the catch,
and fastens a door." The eyes of the mole are protected by being very
small, and buried deep in a cushion of skin, so that the apertures
leading to them are like _pin-holes in a piece of velvet_, scarcely
pervious to loose particles of earth. The snail without wings, feet,
or thread, adheres to a stalk by a provision of _sticking-plaster_.
The lobster, as he grows, is furnished with a way of uncasing himself
of his buckler, and drawing his legs out of _his boots_ when they
become too small for him.

In this unambitious manner does Paley prosecute his high theme,
drawing, as it were, philosophy from the clouds. But it is not
merely the fund of entertaining knowledge which the Natural Theology
contains, or the admirable address displayed in the adaption of it,
which fits it for working conviction; the "sunshine of the breast,"
the cheerful spirit with which its benevolent author goes on his way
([Greek: kudei gaion],) this it is that carries the coldest reader
captive, and constrains him to confess within himself, and even in
spite of himself, "it is good for me to be here."

...We mourn over the leaves of our peaches and plum-trees, as they
wither under a blight. What does Paley see in this? A legion of
animated beings (for such is a _blight_) claiming their portion of
the bounty of Nature, and made happy by our comparatively trifling
privation, We are tortured by bodily _pain_,--Paley himself was so,
even at the moment that he was thus nobly vindicating God's wisdom
and ways. What of that? Pain is not the object of contrivance--no
anatomist ever dreamt of explaining any organ of the body on the
principle of the thumb screw; it is itself productive of good; it
is seldom both violent, and long continued; and then its pauses and
intermissions become positive pleasures. "It has the power of shedding
a satisfaction over intervals of ease, which I believe," says this
true philosopher, "few enjoyments exceed." The returns of an hospital
in his neighbourhood lie before him. Does he conjure up the images of
Milton's lazar-house, and sicken at the spectacle of human suffering?
No--he finds the admitted 6,420--the dead, 234--the _cured_, 5,476;
his eye settles upon the last, and he is content.

There is nothing in the world which has not more handles than one; and
it is of the greatest consequence to get a habit of taking hold by the
best. The bells speak as we make them; "how many a tale their music
tells!" Hogarth's industrious apprentice might hear in them that he
should be "Lord Mayor of London"--the idle apprentice that he should
be hanged at Tyburn. The landscape looks as we see it; if we go to
meet a friend, every distant object assumes his shape--

  "In great and small, and round and square,
  'Tis Johnny, Johnny, every where."

Crabbe's lover passed over the very same heath to his mistress and
from her; yet as he went, all was beauty--as he returned all was
blank. The world does not more surely provide different kinds of food
for different animals, than it furnishes doubts to the sceptic and
hopes to the believer, as he takes it. The one, in an honest and good
heart, pours out the box of ointment on a Saviour's head--the other,
in the pride of his philosophy, only searches into it for a dead
fly.--_Q. Rev._

       *       *       *       *       *


"ALL FOR THE BEST."


When Bernard Gilpin was summoned up to London to give an account of
himself and his creed before Bonner, he chanced to break his leg on
the way; and, on some persons retorting upon him a favourite saying
of his own, "that nothing happens to us but what is intended for our
good," and asking him whether it was for his good that he had broken
his leg, he answered, "that he made no question but it was." And so it
turned out, for before he was able to travel again, Queen Mary died,
and he was set at liberty.

       *       *       *       *       *

Men keep their word simply because it is _right_ to do so. They feel
it is right, and ask no further questions. Conscience carries along
with it its own authority--its own credentials. The depraved appetites
may rebel against it, but they are aware that it is rebellion.--_Q.
Rev._

       *       *       *       *       *


ARAB HOSPITALITY.


M. Pacho, the African traveller, lately arrived at Marmorica, when the
rains had commenced, and the ground was preparing for the seed, and
was admitted to all the rites of Arab hospitality. Invited to a great
feast, he was regaled with the usual dainty of a sheep roasted whole,
and eaten with the fingers; while girls, dressed as Caryatides,
presented a large vase of milk, which was passed round to the company.
All that was expected in return was to cover bits of paper with
writing, and thus convert them into amulets; for, in his capacity
of sorcerer, the Christian is supposed to possess supernatural
powers.--_Edinburgh Rev._

       *       *       *       *       *


IMPROMPTU ON WASTE.

_By the late Edward Knight, Esq. of Drury-Lane Theatre._


  Oh! waste thou not the smallest thing
    Created by Divinity;
  For grains of sand the mountains make,
    And atomics infinity.
  Waste thou not, then, the smallest time--
    'Tis imbecile infirmity;
  For well thou know'st, if aught thou know'st,
    That seconds form eternity.

_Forget Me Not_--1829.

       *       *       *       *       *


AN ELECTION.


G.A. Steevens says an election is "madman's holiday;" but in the
last _Quarterly Review_ we find the following ludicrous supplemental
illustration.

Let a stranger be introduced, for the first time, to an election,
let him be shown a multitude of men reeling about the streets of a
borough-town, fighting within an inch of their lives, smashing windows
at the Black Bear, or where

  "High in the street, o'erlooking all the place,
  The Rampant Lion shows his kingly face;"

and yelling like those animals in Exeter 'Change at supper time; and
then let him be told that these worthies are choosing the senate of
England--persons to make the laws that are to bind them and their
children, property, limb, and life, and he would certainly think the
process unpropitious. Yet, in spite of it all, a number of individuals
are thus collected, who transact the business of the nation, and
represent its various interests tolerably well. The machinery is
hideous but it produces not a bad article.

       *       *       *       *       *


SPANISH COMFORTS.


In Spain, there are few or no schools in the villages and small towns,
that would have the effect of releasing the minds of the natives from
monkish tyranny, which at present influences their principles, and
biasses their choice, with regard to political, and indeed almost all
other pursuits. Nor is any attention paid to trade. The peasantry
simply exist, like cattle, without any other signs of exertion, than
such as the necessity of food requires. They have no idea of rising in
the world; and where there is no interest there is no activity.

It appears, that in the North of Spain, so little encouragement
is given to the arts, that even physicians are not able to obtain
support; that prints are unsaleable, and no new publications appear
but newspapers; that the tradesmen neglect their persons, very seldom
shaving, and having frequently a cigar in their mouths; that the
breath of the ladies smells of garlick; that the gentlemen smoke
cigars in bed; that there is hardly a single manufactory in the
kingdom belonging to a native in a flourishing state; that, from
recent political events, the flocks have been neglected, and the
wool deteriorated; that cleanliness is neglected, and rats and mice
unmolested; that the porters of the most respectable houses are
cobblers, who work at their trades at their doors; that women are
employed in loading and unloading ships; and that they, as well as the
servants in houses, carry every thing on their heads, even lighted
candles, without the least fear of their being extinguished; that oxen
are tied to carts by their horns; that in the inns, generally, no one
can read or write but the landlords; that the constitutional soldiers,
for their fare, generally took a leathern bag, (_barracho_,) and got
it filled with red wine as sour as vinegar; not appearing to wish for
meat, bread and cheese, with boiled soup, onions, and garlick, forming
the substance of their frugal repasts; that no memorial is erected on
the spot where the battle of Vittoria was fought in 1813; and that, in
fact, there is no national feeling in the country.

       *       *       *       *       *


THE EQUIVOCAL GENTLEMAN


Must always keep his dignity, for his dignity will not keep him. We
have no objection to meet him at a dress party, or at the quarter
sessions, nor to read his articles in the Edinburgh, the Quarterly, or
the British Critic; but we request not his contributions for Maga,
nor will Mr. North send him a general invitation to the
Noctes.--_Blackwood's Mag._

       *       *       *       *       *


INTENSE COLD.


The lowest temperature witnessed by Capt. Franklin in North America
was on the 7th of February, of the second winter passed on the shores
of Bear Lake. At eight in the morning, the mercury in the thermometer
descended to 58° below zero; it had stood at -57.5°, and -57.3° in the
course of that and the preceding day; between the 5th and the 8th, its
general state was from -48° to -52°, though it occasionally rose to
-43°. At the temperature of -52.2°, Mr. Kendall froze some mercury
in the mould of a pistol-bullet, and fired it against a door at the
distance of six paces. A small portion of the mercury penetrated to
the depth of one-eighth of an inch, but the remainder only just lodged
in the wood. The extreme height of the mercury in the tube was from
71° at noon to 73° at three o'clock.--_Quarterly Rev._

       *       *       *       *       *


PARR'S PUNNING.


Of all the species of wit, punning was one which Dr. Parr disliked,
and in which he seldom indulged; and yet some instances of it have
been related. Reaching a book from a high shelf in his library, two
other books came tumbling down; of which one, a critical work of
Lambert Bos, fell upon the other, which was a volume of Hume. "See!"
said he, "what has happened--_procumbit humi bos_." On another
occasion, sitting in his room, suffering under the effects of a slight
cold, when too strong a current was let in upon him, he cried out,
"Stop, stop, that is too much. I am at present only _par levibus
ventis_." At another time, a gentleman having asked him to subscribe
to Dr. Busby's translation of Lucretius, he declined to do so,
saying it would cost too much money; it would indeed be "Lucretius
_carus_."--_Field's Memoirs_.

       *       *       *       *       *


HOUBRAKEN'S HEADS.


Houbraken, as the late Lord Orford justly observes, "was ignorant of
our history, uninquisitive into the authenticity of the drawings which
were transmitted to him, and engraved whatever was sent;" adducing two
instances, namely, Carr, Earl of Somerset, and Secretary Thurloe, as
not only spurious, but not having the least resemblance to the persons
they pretend to represent. An anonymous but evidently well informed
writer (in the Gentleman's Magazine) further states, that "Thurloe's,
and about _thirty_ of the others, are copied from heads painted for no
one knows whom."--_Lodge's Illustrated Biography_.

       *       *       *       *       *


VIRGIL'S GEORGICS.


Every reader of taste knows that "glance from earth to heaven" which
pervades the Georgics throughout, and that poetical almanack which
the poet has made use of for pointing out the various seasons for
the different operations of husbandry. Will it be believed that his
Spanish translator has actually taken the trouble to convert these
indications into days of the month, and inserted the result of his
labours in the text?

       *       *       *       *       *


WOMAN'S EYE.


  The light that beams from woman's eye.
    And sparkles through her tear,
  Responds to that impassion'd sigh
    Which love delights to hear.
  'Tis the sweet language of the soul,
    On which a voice is hung,
  More eloquent than ever stole
    From saint's or poet's tongue.

_Forget Me Not_--1829.

       *       *       *       *       *


"NIMIUM NE CREDE COLORI."


Jack Taylor once said to a water-drinking person, with a purple face,
"better things might _prima facie_ be expected."

       *       *       *       *       *




SPIRIT OF THE PUBLIC JOURNALS.

       *       *       *       *       *


MR. ABERNETHY.


Of Mr. Abernethy's independence and strict veneration of what
is right, we have many examples. Among others, the following is
characteristic:--A certain noble personage, now enjoying a situation
of great responsibility in the Sister Kingdom, had been waiting for
a long time in the surgeon's anteroom, when, seeing those who had
arrived before him, successively called in, he became somewhat
impatient, and sent his card in. No notice was taken of the hint; he
sent another card--another--another--and another; still no answer.
At length he gained admission in his turn; and, full of nobility
and choler, he asked, rather aristocratically, why he had been kept
waiting so long?--"Wh--ew!" responded the professor; "because you
didn't come sooner, to be sure. And now, if your lordship will sit
down, I will hear what you have to say."

One thing Mr. Abernethy cannot abide, that is, any interruption to his
discourse. This it is, in fact, which so often irritates him, so often
causes him to snarl.--"People come here," he has often said to us,
"to consult me, and they will torture me with their long and foolish
fiddle-de-dee stories; so we quarrel, and then they blackguard me all
about this large town; but I can't help that."

That Abernethy is odd all the world knows, but his oddity is far more
amusing than repulsive, far more playful than bearish. Yates's picture
of him last year was not bad; neither was it good--it wanted the
raciness of the original. Let the reader imagine a smug, elderly,
sleek, and venerable-looking man, approaching seventy years of age,
rather (as novel-writers say) below than above the middle height,
somewhat inclined to corpulency, and upright in his carriage withal;
with his hair most primly powdered, and nicely curled round his brow
and temples: let them imagine such a person habited in sober black,
with his feet thrust carelessly into a pair of unlaced half-boots,
and his hands into the pockets of his "peculiars," and they have the
"glorious John" of the profession before their eyes. The following
colloquy, which occurred not many days since, between him and a friend
of ours, is so characteristic of the professor, that we cannot resist
its insertion:--

Having entered the room, our friend "opened the proceedings." "I wish
you to ascertain what is the matter with my eye, sir. It is very
painful, and I am afraid there is some great mischief going
on."--"Which I can't see," said Abernethy, placing the patient before
the window, and looking closely at the eye.--"But--" interposed
our friend.--"Which I can't see," again said, or rather sung the
professor. "Perhaps not, sir, but--"--"Now don't bother!" ejaculated
the other; "but sit down, and I'll tell you all about it." Our friend
sat down accordingly, while Abernethy, standing with his back against
the table, thus began: "I take it for granted that, in consulting me,
you wish to know what I should do for myself, were I in a predicament
similar to yourself. Now, I have no reason to suppose that you are
in any particular predicament; and the terrible mischief which you
apprehend, depends, I take it, altogether upon the stomach. Mind,--at
present I have no reason to believe that there is any thing else
the matter with you." (Here my friend was about to disclose sundry
dreadful maladies with which he believed himself afflicted, but he was
interrupted with "Diddle-dum, diddle-dum, diddle-dum dee!" uttered in
the same smooth tone as the previous part of the address--and he was
silent.)--"Now, your stomach being out of order, it is my duty to
explain to you how to put it to rights again; and, in my whimsical
way, I shall give you an illustration of my position; for I like to
tell people something that they will remember. The kitchen, that is,
your stomach, being out of order, the garret (pointing to the head)
cannot be right, and egad! every room in the house becomes affected.
Repair the injury in the kitchen,--remedy the evil there,--(_now don't
bother_,) and all will be right. This you must do by diet. If you put
improper food into your stomach, by Gad you play the very devil with
it, and with the whole machine besides. Vegetable matter ferments, and
becomes gaseous; while animal substances are changed into a putrid,
abominable, and acrid stimulus. (_Don't bother again!_) You are going
to ask, 'What has all this to do with my eye?' I will tell you.
Anatomy teaches us, that the skin is a continuation of the membrane
which lines the stomach; and your own observation will inform you,
that the delicate linings of the mouth, throat, nose, and eyes, are
nothing more. Now some people acquire preposterous noses, others
blotches on the face and different parts of the body, others
inflammation of the eyes--all arising from irritation of the stomach.
People laugh at me for talking so much about the stomach. I sometimes
tell this story to forty different people of a morning, and some won't
listen to me; so we quarrel, and they go and abuse me all over the
town. I can't help it--they came to me for my advice, and I give it
them, if they will take it. I can't do any more. Well, sir, as to the
question of diet. I must refer you to my book. (Here the professor
smiled, and continued smiling as he proceeded.) There are only about a
dozen pages--and you will find, beginning at page 73, all that it
is necessary for you to know. I am christened 'Doctor My-Book,' and
satirized under that name all over England; but who would sit and
listen to a long lecture of twelve pages, or remember one-half of it
when it was done? So I have reduced my directions into writing, and
there they are for any body to follow, if they please.

"Having settled the question of diet, we now come to medicine. It is,
or ought to be, the province of a medical man to soothe and assist
Nature, not to force her. Now, the only medicine I should advise you
to take, is a dose of a slight aperient medicine every morning the
first thing. I won't stipulate for the dose, as that must be regulated
by circumstances, but you must take some; for without it, by Gad; your
stomach will never be right. People go to Harrowgate, and Buxton, and
Bath, and the devil knows where, to drink the waters, and they return
full of admiration at their surpassing efficacy. Now these waters
contain next to nothing of purgative medicine; but they are taken
readily, regularly, and in such quantities, as to produce the desired
effect. You must persevere in this plan, sir, until you experience
relief, which you certainly will do. I am often asked--'Well, but
Mr. Abernethy, why don't you practise what you preach?' I answer, by
reminding the inquirer of the parson and the signpost: both point
the way, but neither follow its course."--And thus ended a
colloquy, wherein is mingled much good sense, useful advice, and
whimsicality.--_New Monthly Magazine_.

       *       *       *       *       *


GIPSIES.


  Whether from India's burning plains,
  Or wild Bohemia's domains
    Your steps were first directed:--
  Or whether ye be Egypt's sons,
  Whose stream, like Nile's for ever runs
    With sources undetected,--

  Arab's of Europe! Gipsy race!
  Your Eastern manners, garb, and face
    Appear a strange chimera;
  None, none but you can now be styled
  Romantic, picturesque, and wild,
    In this prosaic era.

  Ye sole freebooters of the wood
  Since Adam Bell and Robin Hood--
    Kept every where asunder
  From other tribes--King, Church, and State
  Spurning, and only dedicate
    To freedom, sloth, and plunder.
  Your forest-camp--the forms one sees
  Banditti like amid the trees,
    The ragged donkies grazing,
  The Sibyl's eye prophetic, bright
  With flashes of the fitful light,
    Beneath the caldron blazing,--

  O'er my young mind strange terrors threw:
  Thy history gave me Moore Carew!
    A more exalted notion
  Of Gipsy life, nor can I yet
  Gaze on your tents, and quite forget
    My former deep emotion.

  For "auld lang syne" I'll not maltreat
  Yon pseudo-Tinker, though the Cheat,
    Ay sly as thievish Reynard,
  Instead of mending kettles, prowls
  To make foul havock of my fowls,
    And decimate my hen-yard.

  Come thou, too, black-eyed lass, and try
  That potent skill in palmistry.
    Which sixpences can wheedle;
  Mine is a friendly cottage--here
  No snarling mastiff need you fear,
    No Constable or Beadle.

  'Tis yours, I know, to draw at will
  Upon Futurity a bill,
    And Plutus to importune:--
  Discount the bill--take half yourself
  Give me the balance of the pelf.
    And both may laugh at fortune.

_Ibid_.

       *       *       *       *       *


GEORGE HARVEST.


The Rev. George Harvest, of Trinity College, Cambridge, having been
private tutor to the Duke of Richmond, was invited to dine with the
old duchess, and to accompany her party to the play. He used to travel
with a night-cap in his pocket, and having occasion for a handkerchief
at the theatre, made use of his cap for that purpose. In one of his
reveries, however, it fell from the side-box, where he was sitting,
into the pit, where a wag, who picked it up, hoisted it upon the end
of a stick, that it might be claimed by its rightful proprietor. Judge
of the consternation of a large party of ladies of rank and fashion,
when George Harvest rose in the midst of them, and claimed the
night-cap (which was somewhat greasy from use) by the initials G.H.,
which were legibly marked on it. The cap was restored to him amidst
shouts of laughter, that ran through the pit to the great discomfiture
of the duchess and the rest of the party.--Ibid.

       *       *       *       *       *




SCIENTIFIC RECREATIONS.

       *       *       *       *       *


ELECTRICAL PHENOMENA.

(_From the Treatise on Electricity--in the Library of Useful
Knowledge_.)


The colours produced by the electric explosion of metals have been
applied to impress letters or ornamental devices on silk and on paper.
For this purpose Mr. Singer directs that the outline of the required
figure should be first traced on thick drawing paper, and afterwards
cut out in the manner of stencil plates. The drawing paper is then
placed on the silk or paper intended to be marked; a leaf of gold is
laid upon it, and a card over that; the whole is then placed in a
press or under a weight, and a charge from a battery sent through the
gold leaf. The stain is confined by the interposition of the drawing
paper to the limit of the design, and in this way a profile, a flower,
or any other outline figure may be very neatly impressed.

Most combustible bodies are capable of being inflamed by electricity,
but more especially if it be made to strike against them in the form
of a spark or shock obtained by an interrupted circuit, as by the
interposition of a stratum of air. In this way may alcohol, ether,
camphor, powdered resin, phosphorus, or gunpowder be set fire to. The
inflammation of oil of turpentine will be promoted by strewing upon it
fine particles of brass filings. If the spirit of wine be not highly
rectified, it will generally be necessary previously to warm it, and
the same precaution must be taken with other fluids, as oil and
pitch; but it is not required with ether, which usually inflames
very readily. But on the other hand, it is to be remarked that the
temperature of the body which communicates the spark appears to have
no sensible influence on the heat produced by it. Thus the sparks
taken from a piece of ice are as capable of inflaming bodies as those
from a piece of red-hot iron. Nor is the heating power of electricity
in the smallest degree diminished by its being conducted through any
number of freezing mixtures which are rapidly absorbing heat from
surrounding bodies.

       *       *       *       *       *


HEATING ROOMS.


A new invention for heating rooms has met with much encouragement in
Paris. A piece of quick-lime dipped into water, and shut hermetically
into a box constructed for the purpose, is said to give almost
a purgatory-heat, and prevent the necessity of fire during
winter.--_Lit. Gaz_.

       *       *       *       *       *




THE SELECTOR;

AND LITERARY NOTICES OF _NEW WORKS_

       *       *       *       *       *


GOLDEN RULES.

TO RENDER MEN HONEST, RESPECTABLE, AND HAPPY.

_By Sir Richard Phillips_.


All members of the human family should remember, that the human race
is, as to time and nature, but as one totality; for, since every man
and woman had two parents, each parent two parents, and so on in
geometrical progression, hence every individual, high or low, must
necessarily be descended from every individual of the whole population
as it existed but a few hundred years before, whether they were high
or low, virtuous or abandoned; while every procreative individual of
the existing race must be the actual progenitor of the entire race
which may exist at the same distance of future time. What motives for
charity, for forbearing from injuries, for benevolence, for universal
love.

       *       *       *       *       *

The bed of sickness, with its increased sensibility of nerves, is
a delicate test of man's conscience, and of self-approbation or
reprobation. Requiring sympathy himself, he now sympathizes with
others; and, unable to direct his thoughts to external things, they
are forced upon himself. Great is then his solace, and efficacious his
medicines, if he has no other reflections than such as are supplied by
his justice, liberality, and benevolence; but accumulated will be his
sufferings, and dangerous the result, if crimes and misdeeds force
themselves at such a time on his mind; while in any delirium of fever
he will rave on those subjects, and, without vision, will often
perceive, by the mere excitement of his brain, the spectres of the
injured making grimaces before him.

       *       *       *       *       *

If you are rich, and want to enjoy the exalted luxury of relieving
distress, go to the Bankrupt Court, to the Court for Insolvent
Debtors, to the gaols, the work-houses, and the hospitals. If you are
rich and childless, and want heirs, look to the same assemblages of
misfortune; for all are not culpable who appear in the Bankrupt and
Insolvent Lists; nor all criminal who are found in gaols; nor all
improvident who are inmates of work-houses and hospitals. On the
contrary, in these situations, an alloy of vice is mixed with virtue
enough to afford materials for as deep tragedies as ever poet fancied
or stage exhibited; and visiters of relief would act the part of
angels descending from Heaven among men, whose chief affliction is the
neglect of unthinking affluence.

       *       *       *       *       *

Marriage is a circumstance of life, which, in its actual course,
involves the feelings and fortunes of human beings more than any
other event of their lives. It is a connexion generally formed by
inexperience, under the blindness and caprice of passion; and, though
these conditions cannot be avoided, as forming the bases of the
connexion, yet it is so important, that a man is never ruined who
has an interesting, faithful, and virtuous wife; while he is lost
to comfort, fortune, and even to hope, who has united himself to
a vicious and unprincipled one. The fate of woman is still more
intimately blended with that of her husband; for, being in the eyes
of the law and the world but second to him, she is the victim of his
follies and vices at home, and of his ill success and degradation
abroad. Rules are useless, where passions, founded on trifling
associations and accidents, govern; but much mischief often results
from fathers expecting young men to be in the social position of
old ones, and from present fortune being preferred to virtues; for
industry and talent, stimulated by affection, and fostered by family
interests, soon create competency and fortune; while a connexion
founded on mere wealth, which is often speedily wasted by dissipation,
habits of extravagance, and the chances of life, necessarily ends in
disappointment, disgust, and misery.

       *       *       *       *       *

Wretched is the man who has no employment but to watch his own
digestions; and who, on waking in the morning, has no useful
occupation of the day presented to his mind. To such a one respiration
is a toil, and existence a continued disease. Self-oblivion is his
only resource, indulgence in alcohol in various disguises his remedy,
and death or superstition his only comfort and hope. For what was he
born, and why does he live? are questions which he constantly asks
himself; and his greatest enigmas are the smiling faces of habitual
industry, stimulated by the wants of the day, or fears for the future.
If he is excited to exertion, it is commonly to indulge some vicious
propensity, or display his scorn of those pursuits which render others
happier than himself. If he seek to relieve his inanity in books, his
literature ascends no higher than the romances, the newspapers, or the
scandal, of the day; and all the nobler pursuits of mind, as well as
body, are utterly lost in regard to him. His passage through life
is like that of a bird through the air, and his final cause appears
merely to be that of sustaining the worms in his costly tomb.

       *       *       *       *       *

The decline of life, and the retrospections of old age, furnish
unequivocal tests of worthiness and unworthiness. Happy is the man,
who, after a well-spent life, can contemplate the rapid approach of
his last year with the consciousness that, if he were born again, he
could not, under all the circumstances of his worldly position, have
done better, and who has inflicted no injuries for which it is too
late to atone. Wretched, on the contrary, is he, who is obliged to
look back on a youth of idleness and profligacy, on a manhood
of selfishness and sensuality, and on a career of hypocrisy, of
insensibility, of concealed crime, and of injustice above the reach
of law. Visit both during the decay of their systems, observe their
feelings and tempers, view the followers at their funerals, count the
tears on their graves; and, after such a comparison, in good time make
your own choice.

       *       *       *       *       *

Constant change is the feature of society. The world is like a magic
lantern, or the shifting scenes in a pantomime. TEN YEARS convert the
population of schools into men and women, the young into fathers and
matrons, make and mar fortunes, and bury the last generation but one.
TWENTY YEARS convert infants into lovers, and fathers and mothers,
render youth the operative generation, decide men's fortunes and
distinctions, convert active men into crawling drivellers, and bury
all the preceding generation. THIRTY YEARS raise an active generation
from nonentity, change fascinating beauties into merely bearable old
women, convert lovers into grandfathers and grandmothers, and bury the
active generation, or reduce them to decrepitude and imbecility. FORTY
YEARS, alas! change the face of all society; infants are growing old,
the bloom of youth and beauty has passed away, two active generations
have been swept from the stage of life, names so cherished are
forgotten, and unsuspected candidates for fame have started from the
exhaustless womb of nature. FIFTY YEARS! why should any desire to
retain their affections from maturity for fifty years? It is to behold
a world which they do not know, and to which they are unknown; it
is to live to weep for the generations passed away, for lovers, for
parents, for children, for friends, in the grave; it is to see every
thing turned upside down by the fickle hand of fortune, and the
absolute despotism of time; it is, in a word, to behold the vanity of
human life in all its varieties of display!

_Social Philosophy_.

       *       *       *       *       *




THE GATHERER

  A snapper up of unconsidered trifles.
SHAKSPEARE.

       *       *       *       *       *


SHERRY.


Commentators have puzzled themselves to find out Falstaff's sherries
sack: there can be no doubt but that it was _dry sherry_, and the
French word _sec_ dry, corrupted into sack. In a poem printed in 1619,
sack and sherry are noted throughout as synonymous, every stanza of
twelve ending--

  Give me sack, old sack, boys,
    To make the muses merry,
  The life of mirth, and the joy of the earth,
    Is a cup of old sherry.

       *       *       *       *       *


CURIOUS WILL.


  _By a Student of the University of Dublin.
  Cum ita semper me amares_,
  How to reward you all my care is,
  _Consilium tibi do imprimis_
  For I believe that short my time is;
  _Amice Admodum amande_,
  Pray thee leave off thy drinking brandy,
  _Video qua sorte jaceo hic_,
  'Tis all for that, O sick! O sick!
  _Mors mea, vexat matrem piam_,
  No dog was e'er so sick as I am.
  _Secundo mi amice bone_,
  My breeches take, but there's no money,
  _Et vestes etiam tibi dentur_,
  If such old things to wear you'll venture;
  _Pediculos si potes pellas_,
  But they are sometimes prince's fellows;
  _Accipe libros etiam musam_,
  If I had lived I ne'er had used them,
  _Spero quod his contentus eris_,
  For I've a friend almost as dear is,
  _Vale ne plus tibi detur_.
  But send her up, Jack, if you meet her.

C.K.W.

       *       *       *       *       *


OLD ST. PAUL'S.


In the old cathedral of St. Paul, walks were laid out for merchants,
as in the Royal Exchange. Thus, "the south alley for usurye, and
poperye; the north for simony and the horse fair; in the middest for
all kinds of bargains, meetings, brawlings, murthers, conspiracies;
and the font for ordinary paiements of money, are so well knowne to
all menne as the beggar knows his dishe."

       *       *       *       *       *


THE LINCOLNSHIRE EEL,

_A bit of Munchausen._


In the year 1702, there was a universal complaint among the feeders
of cattle in the fens, that they frequently lost a horse, an ox, or
a cow, and could not discover by what means; when watching more
narrowly, they observed a horse, and presently after a cow, go to the
river to drink, and suddenly disappear. On going to the river-side
they saw an eel, the body of which was as large as an elephant. They
could not doubt but this was the thief who had so often robbed them of
their cattle, and they very reasonably concluded if they could catch
the eel, their cattle would henceforth drink in safety. A council
being called among the farmers, they determined upon the following
expedient:--They sent to London and purchased a cable and anchor, by
way of fishing-line and hook, and roasted a young bullock, with which
they baited the hook, and fastened the end of the cable round a barn,
which stood about a hundred feet from the river, and then waited to
see what the morning would produce. At break of day they repaired to
the riverside, when, to their great astonishment, they found that the
eel had been there and swallowed the bait, but in endeavouring to
disengage himself, had pulled the barn after him into the river, and
having broken the cable, made his escape.

       *       *       *       *       *

With the present is published a SUPPLEMENTARY NUMBER, containing
the SPIRIT of "the ANNUALS" for 1829--with Critical Notices of their
Engravings and Literary Contents, copious Selections, and Unique
Extracts, and a FINE ENGRAVING from a splendid subject; in one of the
most popular of these elegant works.

       *       *       *       *       *

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
  Almoran and Hamet                     0   6
  Elizabeth, or the Exiles of Siberia   0   6
  The Castles of Athlin and Dunbayne    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   0
  Roderick Random                       2   6
  The Mysteries of Udolpho              3   6