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THE MIRROR OF LITERATURE, AMUSEMENT, AND INSTRUCTION

VOL. XIII, NO. 361.] SUPPLEMENTARY NUMBER. [PRICE 2d.



       *       *       *       *       *




THE NATURALIST


[Illustration: THE TALIPOT TREE.]

[Illustration: THE GLOWWORM.]

[Illustration: THE DEATHWATCH MAGNIFIED.]


       *       *       *       *       *




THE NATURALIST.

_See the Engravings._


A delightful volume, of title almost synonymous with this division of
the MIRROR, has just been published. It is entitled _The Journal of a
Naturalist_,[1] with the very appropriate motto of

  ----Plants, trees, and stones, we note,
  Birds, insects, beasts, and many rural things.


The author in his preface, says, "Many years have now passed away since
we were presented with that very interesting and amusing book, the
'Natural History of Selborne;' nor do I recollect any publication at
all resembling it having since appeared."[2] He then acknowledges the
impression which this book left on his mind; and its having given rise
to the present work, to which, in our humble opinion, it is a worthy
companion.

Our "Naturalist" resides in a village upon a very ancient road,
connecting Bristol and Gloucester, in a limestone district, numbering
among its picturesque beauties, the broad estuary of the Severn, the
mountains of Glamorgan, Monmouth, and Brecon, and their peaceful vales
and cheerful cottages; Thornbury, with its fine cathedral-like church
and castle, the red cliffs of the Severn, and numberless antiquities
of our ancestors--as roads, encampments, aggera, watch-hills, coins,
lances, and other relics of those warlike times. Labour and healthful
enjoyment reign in this district: for it is neither torn up for its
mineral wealth, nor are its natural beauties annihilated, or the habits
of its population corrupted by speculation or avarice. A portrait of
"a worthy peasant," introduced by our author, reminds us of

  ----A bold peasantry, their country's pride,
  When once destroyed, can never be supplied.


A passage quoted by the late Mr. Canning, in one of his finest speeches;
and we often contrast this vigorous outline of the people of "merry
England" with her artificial state of after times. Next are a page or
two of agricultural chemistry (_analysis of soils_) unfettered with
technicals; double the space of what may strictly be called rural
economy, (_grass lands_) succeed; next the culture and history of
the potato, and some new observations on "_the Teazle_."

Several pages on _trees_ possess great interest, as do those on
_flowers_.

We regret we have room but for a few heads--the _maple_--the
_Naturalist's Autumnal Walk_--the _Economy of Animals_, especially
of _Birds_: we must pass them over to elucidate our engraving of


THE GLOWWORM.

That pretty sparkler of our summer evenings, so often made the
ploughboy's prize, the only brilliant that glitters in the rustic's hat,
the glowworm, (_lampyris noctiluca_,) is not found in such numbers
with us, as in many other places, where these signal tapers glimmer upon
every grassy bank; yet, in some seasons, we have a reasonable sprinkling
of them. Every body probably knows, that the male glowworm is a winged,
erratic animal, yet may not have seen him. He has ever been a scarce
creature to me, meeting perhaps with one or two in a year; and, when
found, always a subject of admiration. Most creatures have their eyes
so placed, as to be enabled to see about them; or, as Hook says of the
house-fly, to be "circumspect animals;" but this male glowworm has a
contrivance, by which any upward or side vision is prevented. Viewed
when at rest, no portion of his eyes is visible, but the head is
margined with a horny band, or plate, being a character of one of the
genera of the order _coleoptera_, under which the eyes are situate.
This prevents all upward vision; and blinds, or winkers, are so fixed
at the sides of his eyes, as greatly to impede the view of all lateral
objects. _See Figures_. The chief end of this creature in his
nightly peregrinations is to seek his mate, always beneath him on the
earth; and hence this apparatus appears designed to facilitate his
search, confining his view entirely to what is before or below him. The
first serves to direct his flight, the other presents the object of his
pursuit: and as we commonly, and with advantage, place our hand over the
brow, to obstruct the rays of light falling from above, which enables us
to see clearer an object on the ground, so must the projecting hood of
this creature converge the visual rays to a point beneath.

Glowworms emit light only for a short period in the year; and I have but
partially observed it after the middle of July. I have collected many of
these pretty creatures on a bank before my house, into which they retire
during the winter, to shine out again when revived by the summer's
warmth; but in this latter season I have frequently missed certain of
my little protegés, and have reason to apprehend, that they formed the
banquet of a toad, that frequented the same situation.

Observing above, that the glowworm does not emit light after the 14th of
July, I mean thereby that clear, steady light, which has rendered this
creature so remarkable to all persons; for I have repeatedly noticed,
deep in the herbage, a faint evanescent light proceeding from these
creatures, even as late as August and September. This was particularly
manifested September the 28th, 1826. The evening was warm and dewy, and
we observed on the house-bank multitudes of these small evanescent
sparks in the grass. The light displayed was very different from that
which they exhibit in warm summer months. Instead of the permanent green
glow, that illumines all the blades of the surrounding herbage, it was a
pale transient spot, visible for a moment or two, and then so speedily
hidden, that we were obliged, in order to capture the creature, to
employ the light of a candle. The number of them, and their actions,
creeping away from our sight, contrary to that half lifeless dulness
observed in summer, suggested the idea, that the whole body had availed
themselves of this warm, moist evening, to migrate to their winter
station. A single spark or so was to be seen some evenings after this,
but no such large moving parties were discovered again. If we conclude,
that the summer light of the glowworm is displayed as a signal taper,
the appearance of this autumnal light can have no such object in view,
nor can we rationally assign any use of it to the creature itself,
unless, indeed, it serves as a point of union in these supposed
migrations, like the leading call in the flight of night-moving birds.
The activity and numbers of these insects, in the above-mentioned
evening, enabled me to observe the frequent presence and disappearance
of the light of an individual, which did not seem to be the result of
will, but produced by situation. During the time the insect crawled
along the ground, or upon the fine grass, the glow was hidden; but on
its mounting any little blade, or sprig of moss, it turned round and
presented the luminous caudal spot, which, on its falling or regaining
its level, was hidden again.

A summary of the peculiarities of the year 1825, very appropriately
concludes the volume, from which we may be tempted to make future
extracts.


THE TALIPOT TREE,

The first of our Engravings is a species of palm, a native of Ceylon,
and is one of the most magnificent wonders of the vegetable kingdom. The
leaf is circular, terminating in the most beautiful rays, and folding up
into plaits like a fan, which, in figure, it nearly resembles.

This leaf is used in the maritime provinces of Ceylon as a mark of
distinction, each person being allowed to have a certain number of these
leaves, folded up as fans, carried with him by his servants; and also in
the Kandian country, in the shape of a round, flat umbrella on a long
stick. The talipot leaves are likewise used by the common people to
shelter themselves from the rain, _one leaf affording sufficient
shelter for seven or eight persons_. It is also used in making tents.

In 1818, Sir Alexander Johnston gave to Sir Joseph Banks a very fine
specimen of a tent made of their leaves, large enough to hold a party of
ten persons at table.

All the books of importance in Pali and Cingalese, relative to the
religion of Buddhoo, in Ceylon, are written on lamina of these leaves,
with either a brass or an iron style. There are some of these books in
Sir A. Johnston's collections, which are supposed to be from 500 to 600
years old, and which are still very perfect. In the museum of the
Asiatic Society, there is a complete copy of the Pali book, called the
_Pansyapanas Iatakah_, written on 1,172 laminae of the finest
description of this sort of palm leaf. Large as the dimensions of the
talipot leaf may appear, it is exceeded in size by the _troolie_ of
Surinam, which extends on the ground, and has frequently been known to
attain the width of three feet, and the length of thirty.

Our Engraving is copied from the _Gardener's Magazine_, where it is
reduced from the Transactions of the Asiatic Society.



THE DEATHWATCH MAGNIFIED.

Although the present may be a late hour to dissipate the faith placed in
signs and tokens, we are persuaded that a more intimate knowledge of
this insect will not prove uninteresting to our readers.[3]

The name _death watch_ was evidently derived from the importance
attached to the beatings of the insect, which, by superstitious people,
were formerly supposed to prognosticate death to some one of the family
in whose house it was heard. The natural size of the insect is about a
quarter of an inch in length, of a dark brown colour, spotted, with
transparent wings under the _vagina_, or sheath, a huge cap or
helmet on the head, and two _antennae_, or feelers, from beneath
the eyes.

It is chiefly in the advanced period of spring that these insects
commence their noise; and which is the call or signal by which they are
mutually attracted to each other, and may be considered as analogous to
the call of birds. This noise does not arise from their voice, but from
the insect beating on hard substances, with the shield or fore part of
its head. The general number of successive distinct strokes is from 7 to
9 or 11. These are given in pretty quick succession, and are repeated at
uncertain intervals; and in old houses, where the insects are numerous,
they may be heard, if the weather be warm, almost every hour in the day.
The noise exactly resembles that made by beating moderately hard with
the finger on a table. Mr. Stackhouse carefully observed its manner of
beating. He says, the insect raises itself upon its hinder legs, and
with the body somewhat inclined, beats its head with great force and
agility against the place on which it stands.

This insect, which is the _real death-watch_ of the vulgar, must
not be confounded with another minuter insect, which makes a ticking
noise like a watch; but instead of beating at intervals, it continues
its noise for a considerable time without intermission. This latter
belongs to a very different tribe. It is usually found in old wood,
decayed furniture, neglected books, &c.; and both the male and the
female have the power of making this ticking noise, in order to attract
each other. The Rev. Mr. Derham seems to have been the first naturalist
who examined and described this species; and he says that during the
month of July, in one particular summer, they scarcely ever ceased to
beat either in day or night. The eggs are generally hatched about the
beginning of March: many of them live through the winter; but during
that time, to avoid the frost, they bury themselves deep in dust.

Mr. T. Carpenter (of whose paper in _Gill's Repository_ we have
already availed ourselves) tells us that these insects are excellent
anatomists: in order to render them useful in making some delicate
dissections for his microscope, Mr. Carpenter placed a few of the
insects within a pill-box, with the heads of three dead flies. He found
some time afterwards, that they had cleared the interior of some of the
eyes completely from all the blood-vessels, leaving the lenses in the
cornea beautifully transparent.

       *        *        *        *        *


BIRDS' NESTS.


The structure of the nests of birds affords, perhaps, one of the most
agreeable lessons in Natural History.

Among the most curious nests of our _English_ birds may be named
that of the _Wren_, the _long-tailed Titmouse_, the _Thrush_,
the _Goldfinch_, the _Chaffinch_, the _Magpie_, and the _House
Sparrow_; to these may also be added the _Swallow's_, the _Martin's_,
the _Wood Pigeon's_, and the _Wood-Pecker's_. Of the nests of _Rooks_,
it may be sufficient to observe, that they are often found to the number
of six, or even more in a cluster. _Crows'_ nests are always
solitary; they are similar in structure to those of the rook.

Among the nests of Foreign birds, that of the _Taylor Bird_
deserves especial mention; the bird itself is a diminutive one, being
little more than three inches long; it is an inhabitant of India. The
nest is sometimes constructed of two leaves, one of them dead; the
latter is fixed to the living one as it hangs upon the tree, by sewing
both together in the manner of a pouch or purse; it is open at the top,
and the cavity is filled with fine down; and, being suspended from the
branch, the birds are secure from the depredations of snakes and
monkeys, to which they might otherwise fall a prey.

In Dr. Latham's collection is a specimen of the taylor bird's nest,
composed of a single large leaf, of a fibrous rough, texture, about six
inches long independent of the stalk, five inches and a half in breadth,
and ending in a point. The sides of this leaf are drawn together so as
to meet within three-quarters of an inch; within is the nest, about four
inches deep and two broad, opening at the top; the bottom of the leaf
is drawn upwards, to assist in the support of it. The interior nest is
composed of white down, with here and there a feather and a small
portion of white down intermixed.

Another nest of this bird has also been described as composed of several
leaves, like those of some kind of hazel sewed together; the inner nest
formed of dry bents, fibres, and hairs, suspended from a tree. It is,
therefore, probable that this bird, as well as some others, varies the
structure of its nest as occasion and the materials may require. These
singular works are performed by the bird's using his bill instead of a
needle, and vegetable fibres for thread.

The _Rufous Bee-eater_, or _Merops Rufus_, constructs also a
very singular nest. This bird is a native of Buenos Ayres; the nest is
built generally on the naked great branch of a tree, sometimes on the
windows of houses, a fence, or a projecting beam of a high house or
other building; it is composed of earth, in the form of a baker's oven,
and is often built in the short space of two days, both birds being
engaged in its construction; it is six inches in diameter, and one
thick; a division is within, beginning at the entrance, and carried
circularly, so that the eggs are deposited in the inner chamber, on a
bed of grass. The swallow and other birds often attempt to obtain
possession of this nest, but are generally repulsed by the owners.

Many of the _Orioles'_ nests are also deserving notice. The
_black and yellow Oriole_, inhabiting South America, has a pendent
nest, shaped like an alembic; it is affixed to the extreme branches of
trees; sometimes, it is said, so many as four hundred nests are found
hanging on the same tree.

The _Philippine_ and _Pensile Grosbeak_ make also very curious nests.

In concluding this account of the nests of birds, I may notice here the
nest of the _Hirundo esculenta_, or _Esculent Swallow_, an inhabitant
of China and the Islands of the Indian Ocean. The nest consists of a
gelatinous substance, in shape resembling an apple cut down the middle.
The nests are found in great numbers together, and are by the luxurious
Asiatics made into broths, and otherwise cooked, and are esteemed one of
the greatest dainties of the table; they are also occasionally used for
glue.--_Jennings's Ornithologia_.


    [1] We are pleased therefore to commence our Supplementary Sheet
        with such a volume as the present, which we have reserved for
        this purpose. The feelings which it must engender in the reader
        will be doubly grateful in these troublous times of strong
        political excitement: they enjoin "peace on earth, and goodwill
        towards men." the Divine antidote to the storms of conflicting
        interests and passions, and the balm which heals the thorny
        wounds of the world, that cross every path and tear the finest
        sympathies of our nature. It adds, moreover, a pleasant variety
        to the contents of our sheet, and alternates with the
        vicissitudes of enterprise, in the progress of infant liberty
        in the New World, as in the Memoirs of the patriot _Miller_;--the
        daring and recklessness of crime, as in the vivid sketch of
        _First and Last_;--the picturesque country and ceremonies of
        Arabia and its religious people, as drawn by _Burckhardt_;--and
        the architectural embellishment of the Metropolis, as shown in
        _Britton's Picture of London_.

    [2] In the MIRROR, dated March 1, 1828, we noticed "Gilbert White's
        Natural History of Selborne, is one of the most delightful
        household books in our language, and we are surprised at the
        rarity of such works." The publication of the _Journal of a
        Naturalist_, early in March, 1829, is "a coincidence."

    [3] Philosophers and wits have written on this subject. Sir Thomas
        Brown, who wrote a book of _Vulgar Errors_, remarks with great
        seriousness that the man "who could eradicate this error from the
        minds of the people, might prevent the fearful passions of the
        heart, and many cold sweats taking place in grandmothers and
        nurses"--Swift lets fly the shafts of satire in these lines.--

                                        A woodworm
          That lies in old wood, like a hare in her form;
          With teeth, or with claws, it will bite, or will scratch;
          And chambermaids christen this worm a death-watch;
          Because, like a watch, it always cries click;
          Then woe be to those in the house who are sick;
          For sure as a gun they will give up the ghost
          If the maggat cries click when it scratches the post.

        Gay, too, in a _pastoral dirge_, says,

                                      The wether's bell,
          Before the drooping flock, toll'd forth her knell;
          The solemn deathwatch click'd the hour she died.




       *       *       *       *       *




FINE ARTS

       *       *       *       *       *


METROPOLITAN IMPROVEMENTS.

_Abridged from the "Introduction" to Britton's Picture of London, 26th
edition, just published._


_The year_ 1825 will ever be memorable in the annals of the
metropolis; for more novel improvements, changes, and events occurred in
that one year than during any other corresponding period. _Schemes_
for the formation of new _Companies_--the vast speculations arising
out of them, tending to the aggrandizement of a few persons, and to the
ruin of others, with the utilities of some, and the futilities and
impositions of many,--may also be said to belong to this year.

Let us, however, take a brief review of the real improvements and useful
novelties that have been progressing, or have commenced in London since
that singular and eventful era. Commencing at the court, or west end, we
will take an imaginary tour to the east, adverting to such new buildings
as are calculated to arrest the attention of the stranger in our
progress. Without remarking on the general improvements of the age, we
shall find enough to engross our attention in the particular objects
before us. The most noted, or conspicuous of these are:--1. The New
Palace, with the adjoining Park and Gardens. 2. A Terrace, Street, and
Public Buildings on the site of Carlton House. 3. Belgrave Square, and
the adjoining Squares and Streets. 4. The Entrance Lodges and Bridge
in Hyde Park, with the improvements in the Roads and Walks of the same.
5. The Regent's Park, with its Terraces, Villas, Public Buildings,
Zoological Gardens, and Colosseum. 6. The London University. 7. The
British Museum. 8. The Post Office. 9. London Bridge, and its Vicinity.
10. St. Katherine's Docks. 11. The New Buildings and Alterations
connected with the Houses of Parliament, the Ministerial Offices, and
others, at Charing Cross. All these rank among the novelties and
embellished features of London; and whilst the design and execution of
so many public works manifest the increasing taste, or luxury of the
age, they employ and give encouragement to numerous artists, artisans,
and tradesmen.

Of _the Royal Palace_, suffice it to remark, in this place, that it
is a large pile of building,--has been carried on with great rapidity of
execution,--its whole exterior is stone, many parts of which are adorned
with sculptured statues, basso-relievo, and other ornaments,--that a
highly-decorated triumphal arch, composed of fine white, marble, is
to be raised, at a short distance from the centre of the principal
front--and that the interior is to be splendidly adorned with marble,
scagliola, and other rich materials; whilst the galleries, armoury,
chapel, state-rooms, &c. are to display the most gorgeous ornaments of
the cabinet-maker, upholsterer, decorative painter, and other artisans.

_The Park_, in front of this palace, which had continued for nearly
a century in one state of formal, tasteless insipidity, has been laid
out as a large pleasure-garden, interspersed with lawn, clusters of
shrubs and flowers, winding walks, varied surface, and a lake, whose
margin is made to wind with every inequality of surface, spreading
occasionally into a broad expanse, and then contracting to a narrow arm.
In the midst of the larger spaces are islands, covered with aquatic
trees and shrubs.

_The Gardens_, or _Pleasure Grounds_, belonging to the Palace,
partake of the same character; but are adorned with shrubs, plants, and
flowers of a more choice description. A large piece of water is likewise
formed in the midst of these Gardens.

_Belgrave Square, and Vicinity_. Immediately to the west of the
boundary-wall of the royal gardens is a tract of ground, which, in 1824,
was open fields, intersected by mud-banks, and partly occupied by a few
sheds, and inhabited by the lowest characters of society. In 1829, the
same land, consisting of about 140 acres, is nearly covered with houses
of the largest size, surrounding spacious squares, or skirting wide and
handsome streets. Of all the extraordinary works carried into effect by
London gentlemen and tradesmen, we may fairly adduce this as a
pre-eminent example. In the space of about four years, the houses
surrounding one large square, called Belgrave, have been erected, some
of them finished and occupied, and several others, of nearly equal
dimensions and value, completed.

The most prominent feature of this district is _Belgrave Square_,
which includes within the front walls of the houses an area of about ten
acres, the centre of which, enclosed by lofty and handsome railing, is
laid out as a pleasure garden. The whole of the houses are large, lofty,
and spacious, with stuccoed fronts, porches, balustraded balconies;
and those in the centre of each side are decorated with columns, or
three-quarter columns, vases on the parapet, &c.

Of _Eaton Square_, one portion only is built at present: as laid
out, planted, and railed in, it is intended to occupy an area of about
fourteen acres, and will be bounded by four rows of houses on the north
side, and the like number on the south side, having the king's private
road extending east and west through the centre. It measures 600 yards
long by 120 yards wide, between the houses. At the eastern extremity is
a new church, built from the designs of Henry Hakewill, Esq.

To the north of this district, at Hyde Park Corner, is a large new
edifice appropriated to _St. George's Hospital_. It is a commodious
and handsome building, from the designs of R. Smirke, Esq. Near it, and
forming an entrance lodge to the Palace Gardens, is a bold, large, and
highly-decorated archway, built from the designs of Decimus Burton, Esq.
Opposite is a screen of columns, with three entrance archways, a lodge,
&c. constituting an architectural entrance to Hyde Park. Three other
lodges, with gates, by Mr. Burton, form so many other entrances to the
Park from the east and north--_Apsley House_, the town mansion of
the Duke of Wellington, at the south-east angle of Hyde Park, is
rebuilding from the designs of Messrs. B. and C. Wyatt, and will form a
handsome object at this entrance to the metropolis.

The Earl of Grosvenor has set a most laudable example to our opulent
nobility, in the new wing to his mansion in Grosvenor Street, as a
gallery for his valuable pictures. It is a handsome and imposing design,
and does honour to the architect, Mr Cundy.

The new _Club Houses_ in St. James's Street, especially that near
the southern end, present imposing fronts; and it may be added, that
most of the other Club Houses have contributed very much to adorn their
respective situations, and to impart a strictly architectural character
to our street buildings.

The site of Carlton House, and its gardens, is occupied by a wide
street, by a lofty terrace overlooking the Park, by club houses, &c. Two
of the latter terminate Waterloo Place, and are appropriated to "_the
United Service_," and "_the Athenaeum_;" the first built from
the designs of Mr. Nash, and the latter from those of Mr. D. Burton.

From Charing Cross to Exeter 'Change an amazing improvement has
commenced. All the houses on the north side of the Strand are taking
down, and others raising, farther back, by which the street will be much
widened, and the new buildings will assume better faces, if not better
accommodation, for the tradesmen who occupy them. That museum of sheds,
stalls, and filth, _Covent Garden_, is also to be cleared and
cleansed, and respectable ranges of shops and warerooms are to be
erected.

It is now confidently said, that "_the King's College of London_"
is to be attached to the eastern side of Somerset House; and that Mr.
Smirke is commissioned to make a design for the building.

In the _Regent's Park_ a new Terrace and other buildings, are in
progress; the great Colosseum is nearly finished, and the _Zoological
Gardens_ have excited unusual popularity. No less than 130,000
visiters have been admitted to view the gardens and the vivarium within
the year 1828.

On the east side of the Park is a mass of buildings appropriated to
_St. Katherine's Hospital_, consisting of a chapel in the centre,
with a group of dwellings on each side, and a detached mansion for the
master. South of this is a series of buildings, called _Cumberland
Terrace_, raised from the designs of Mr. Nash, which is abundantly
adorned with columns, arches, statues, and basso-relievo.

The _Colosseum_, in the same Park, is a building of great
dimensions, and novel appropriation, and therefore calculated to excite
very popular attention. Near this is the _Diorama_, an edifice of
singular construction, destined for the public display of two pictures.
A new line of communication from this Park to Pall Mall has been
completed within the last few years, by a wide and handsome road called
_Regent Street_.

_London University_--The situation of the first University founded
in this immense city is most peculiarly favourable, being equally
removed from the busy and confined part of the metropolis, and from the
fashionable and idle; whilst it is not inconveniently remote from either
extremity. The building was commenced on the 30th of April, 1827, when
the Duke of Sussex laid the first stone, in the presence of a large
concourse of noblemen and gentlemen. The design is by William Wilkins,
Esq., R.A., who has evinced in the principal elevation and general
character of the edifice considerable taste and science. When completed,
it is intended to consist of a central part, and two wings projecting at
right angles from the extremities of the former. The first portion only
of this is at present finished. It extends from north to south 430 feet,
with a depth, from east to west, including the two semicircular
theatres, of about 200 feet. The elevation is at once classical and
chaste, having a bold and rich portico in the centre, elevated on a
plinth, to the height of the first story (19 feet,) and is approached
by numerous steps, which are arranged to produce a fine effect. Twelve
Corinthian columns support a flattened pediment, in the tympanum of
which is to be a composition in basso-relievo, analogous to science and
literature. Behind this pediment is a cupola, finished by a lantern
light, in imitation of a peripteral temple, crowning and ornamenting a
grand octagonal vestibule, or saloon. North of this is the museum of
natural history, 118 feet by 50, and 23 feet in height, opening to
the museum of anatomy, which latter communicates with two rooms for
professors, and to one of the large theatres, or lecture-rooms. East of
the vestibule is a large hall, and to the south is the great library,
corresponding in size, &c. with the museum of natural history; the
small library; rooms for the librarian, for apparatus, and also another
large theatre. The ground-floor consists of rooms for lectures, the
Professor's offices, laboratory, museum, a spacious cloister 213 feet
by 24; rooms for the anatomical school, &c. In the basement are other
apartments for the anatomical schools, for the chemical laboratory,
the students' common room, kitchen, stewards' room, refreshment rooms,
housekeeper's room, vaults, &c.

At the _British Museum_ a new room, to contain the late king's
library, has been built and fitted up from the designs of Mr. R. Smirke.
It is the largest apartment in this country, its measurement being 300
feet in length, by 30 feet in width, and 30 feet high,

The _St. Katherine's Docks_, recently formed near the Tower, will
increase this species of accommodation, and be a great improvement to a
district where reform and alteration are much required. By a statement
published by the Committee in October, 1828, it appears that "the first
stone was laid 3rd of May, 1827," and that a grand ceremony was exhibited
on the 25th of October, 1828, of opening the Docks. On that occasion,
nine vessels, of from 516 to 343 tons burden, entered the docks to load
and discharge their freights. Above 1,200 houses, warehouses, &c. were
purchased and taken down, to make room for the new works. Accommodation
is provided for the stowage of 210,000 tons of merchandize; and, from
the improved construction of the warehouses, these goods will be always
housed under cover. The fixed capital for completing this great
commercial undertaking is 1,352,752_l_.

_A Collier Dock_, on a large scale, has been projected to be
excavated and formed in the Isle of Dogs, near Blackwall for which
Mr. George Rennie has made plans and estimates.

The _New London Bridge_, now nearly completed, is a work of great
magnitude, science, and novelty. Its erection, in our times, and
following the recent finishing of the bridges of Waterloo and Southwark,
is a memorable event in the annals of London.

The projected _Tunnel under the Thames_ is not only a novel object
in this part of London, but, should it ever be accomplished, it will be
a wonderful triumph of human talents over seeming impossibilities.

Although so many useful and even important improvements have been
recently effected in the metropolis, there are yet many things left
undone that ought to be done, and others proceeding in a manner that
will neither be creditable nor beneficial. The widening and opening of
_New Streets_ from Pall Mall to the British Museum; from that
national repository to Waterloo Bridge, skirting the two theatres;--from
the Strand to Lincoln's Inn Fields, and thence to Holborn; and again
to Covent Garden;--from Charing Cross to Somerset House;--from Oxford
Road to Bloomsbury Square and Holborn;--from Blackfriars' Bridge to
Clerkenwell, removing and clearing away that nuisance in a public
thoroughfare, Fleet Market;--from Moorfields to the Bank, and thence
obliquely to Southwark Bridge;--widening and opening the area around
St. Paul's Cathedral,--are all calculated to be very beneficial to
the public. Other essential alterations are still required; and the
legislature, as well as all public-spirited individuals, should
co-operate to promote them. The formation of open, respectable quays,
terraces, and streets, on the banks of our fine river, is an event
greatly to be desired.

The vastly-increasing population of London, has occasioned a great
augmentation of _Churches_ and _Chapels_, both for congregations
of the establishment, and for dissenters. In consequence of urgent, and
argumentative appeals by some truly pious and benevolent Christians, the
legislature has granted a large sum for the purpose of aiding parochial
committees, to build new churches or enlarge their old ones.

The _New Post Office_, in St. Martin's-le-Grand, is fast
approaching conclusion, and will constitute one of the most imposing
public buildings of the city. Preparatory to the re-erection of the
whole of the _Blue Coat School_, or _Christ's Hospital_, in
Newgate Street, a spacious and handsome Hall has been erected, from the
designs of Mr. Shaw.

A _new Chapel_, of novel design, being of an amphitheatrical form,
has been recently completed, from the designs of _W. Brooks_,
architect. It is seated near the Catholic Chapel, in Finsbury Circus.

       *       *       *       *       *




THE SKETCH-BOOK.

       *       *       *       *       *

THE FIRST AND LAST CRIME.

[_Blackwood's Magazine_ for the current month contains a sketchy
article under this title, which displays much of the breadth and vigour
of one of Maga's contributors. Our extract is in the form of the
confession of a reckless, daring spirit, who being imprisoned for
murder, commits suicide. The early developement of his bad passions is
admirably drawn, and altogether this is one of the most powerfully
written papers that we have lately met with.]


I was the youngest child of three; but before I had attained my tenth
year, I was an only one. I had always been the favourite of both my
parents, and now I was their idol. They hung upon my existence, as a
shipwrecked mariner clings to the last floating fragment of the gallant
bark that bore him; they lived, but while they held by me, in the rough
tossings of the ocean of life. I was not slow to discover my value in
their estimation, or to exercise, in its fullest extent, the capricious
tyranny of conscious power. Almost the earliest impression which my
ripening mind received, was a regal immunity from error--I could _do
no wrong_.

My education was not neglected. Alas! the only use I have ever made of
what I acquired, has been to gild my vices when acted, or refine upon
the manner of acting them while in contemplation. I look back, at this
moment, to the period of my life I am describing, as prosperous men
recall the day-spring of their fortunes. _They_, from the proud
eminence on which they stand, trace, step by step, in retrospective
view, the paths by which they ascended; and _I_, looking through
the dark vista of my by-gone years, behold the fatal series of crimes
and follies that stained their progress, stretching to my boyhood. The
gay and frolic _irregularities_, as they were gently termed, of
that untamed age, were the turbid source of the waters of misery in
which I am now engulphed, I was a lawless planet, running at will; and
the orbit I described laid waste more than one fair region of peace and
happiness.

My father had a brother, his elder by many years; a man of stern and
rigid character, as I then considered him; but, as I would now call him,
of upright, firm, and honourable principle. He loved my father, but did
not love his weakness; and the display of it, in his indulgence towards
me, was the cause of many a serious, if not sometimes angry, debate
between them. Well do I remember (for it rankled like poison in my
swelling heart) a declaration he once made in my presence. It was a
fine autumnal evening, and he was seated with my father and mother in
a balcony, which opened from the library-window upon a spacious lawn.
I entered the room, and advanced towards them, unconscious, of course,
that their conversation had been about me; but my uncle looking at me
with a severe expression of countenance, and at the same time addressing
his brother, exclaimed, "Well, James, neither you nor I may live to see
it; but if the grace of God, or his own better reflection, as he grows
older, do not work a change in this young squire, a duel, Jack Ketch,
or a razor, will work his exit some day or other."

My father smiled--I saw my mother wipe away a tear--at that moment
I could have struck my uncle dead. I muttered a few words--I knew not
what, and left the room. Boy as I was, (for I had barely completed
my seventeenth year,) I felt all the vindictive passions of manhood
kindling within me. It seemed as if a sentence had been passed upon
me, the more terrible, because a secret voice whispered to me, it was
prophetic! _That impression never forsook me!_

I questioned my father haughtily, a few days afterwards, as to the
reasons of his brother for thus speaking of me; and I even dared to
insinuate, that, had he felt what a father should, he would have
resented the indignity. He answered me (I write it with shame and
contrition) most mildly, most affectionately. The gentle being--I see
him now, as he tenderly took my hand--apologized to me--to me! who ought
to have stood trembling in _his_ presence! I followed up my blow.
With cold, but subtle malignity. I played off my revenge towards my
uncle, through the idolatry of my father's love towards myself. I
barbarously gave him a choice of misery; for I disdainfully replied,
that he must henceforth determine, whether he would lose a brother or
a son, as _I_ had determined to remain no longer under his roof,
unless I had the assurance that I should never again see my uncle there.
He looked at me. My God! what a look it was! so full of meek sorrow
and appalling obedience! Without uttering a word, he sat down to his
writing-table. The tears fell upon his paper; but they did not blot out
a few bitter words addressed to his brother, which severed for ever in
this world two noble hearts; cast, indeed, in different moulds, but
which kindred blood had cemented, in the close bonds of fraternal love,
for more than forty years.

This was my _first_ revenge. But was I satisfied? No!

It was only a few months afterwards, that chance threw in my way a
daughter of my uncle's. I met her at the house of a common friend, who
knew and deplored the unhappy schism which prevailed between the two
brothers. He was equally attached to both, and I believe pleased himself
with the idea, that an occasional intercourse between the younger
branches of the families, might, some day or other, bring about a
reconciliation between the heads. My cousin Harriet was a year older
than myself. She was in her nineteenth, I in my eighteenth year. I loved
her. Yes; the _first_ feeling that glowed within my bosom was that
of love. She was beautiful--fascinating--accomplished--amiable--and
I loved her. It was not long before I was satisfied. I had kindled a
reciprocal passion in her breast. The mute eloquence of her look and
manner was only the harbinger of that same thrilling eloquence, which
fell from her tongue when I won the declaration of her affection.

Her father knew we met at this friend's house; but whether he was told,
or whether he penetrated, the secret of our attachment, I never learned.
I only know, that, at the very moment when separation was madness, his
mandate went forth, prohibiting all farther intercourse between us, and
that it was obeyed. Not by me; for I was incapable of submission: but by
my gentle Harriet, who thought _herself_ incapable of disobeying.
We met no more where we had been wont to meet; and my young heart's
spring of happiness seemed for ever withered.

But here again, I began to reflect, my path was crossed--my hopes were
blighted--by my uncle. I heard, too, that his tongue had been free with
my name; that the blistering censure of his austere virtue had fallen
upon my actions. I writhed under the contumely. My wounded spirit was
insatiate for vengeance. I meditated, deeply, how I could inflict it, so
as to strike the blow where he was most vulnerable. I did not brood long
over my dark purpose. The love I still bore his daughter, was _now_
mingled with the hatred I bore towards himself; and I exulted in the
thought, that I should perhaps be able to gratify, at one and the same
moment, two of the fiercest passions of my nature--lust and revenge!

I SUCCEEDED!

In these two words let me shroud a tale of horror. Harriet was my
victim! Ask not how. _I_ triumphed! _She_ fell! An angel might
have fallen as she did, and lost no purity. But her stainless heart was
too proud in virtue to palter and equivocate with circumstances. She
never rose from what she deemed her bridal bed. And ere twenty summers
had fanned her cheek, the grave-worm banqueted upon its loveliness.

This was my _first_ crime. The recollection of it is engraven upon
my memory by an awful catastrophe. The night wind that sung _her_
funeral dirge, howled with dismal fury through the burning ruins of my
paternal mansion. Yes! that very night, as if it were in mercy to them,
my father and my mother both perished in the flames which reduced
the house itself to cinders. They were seen at the windows of their
bedchamber, shrieking for aid; but before any could be procured, the
flooring gave way, and they sunk at once into the yawning furnace that
roared beneath. Their remains, when afterwards dug out, were a few
shovelsfull of blackened ashes; except my father's right hand, which was
found clasped in that of my mother, and both unconsumed. I followed
these sad relics to the sepulchre. But with the tears I shed, there was
blended a feeble consolation at the thought they had died before they
knew the fate of Harriet; and a frightful joy, that another pang was
added to the wretchedness of my uncle.

I can well remember what a feeling of loneliness and desolation now took
possession of me. Time, however, rolled on; and I grew callous, if not
reconciled. I could not disguise from myself that the more select
circles of society were closed against me; or, if I found my way into
them, some blushing whisper was quickly circulated, which created a
solitude around me.

It was during this period, and while I was squandering thousands to
achieve the conquest of shadows, that I succeeded in fixing an intimacy
with a family equal to my own in station, and superior to it in fortune.
The eldest daughter was an heiress of large expectations, and my
proposals of marriage were favourably received. I might almost say that
Matilda was mine; when one day I received a letter from her father,
peremptorily forbidding my visits. I was thunderstruck. I hastened to
the house, and demanded an explanation. It was given in few words. _I
was referred to my uncle for any information I required_.

This blow struck me down. I had run through my patrimonial estate; but
hoped, by my marriage with Matilda, to repair my shattered fortune.
Three weeks after it was known that the match was broken off, I was
a prisoner for debt in the King's Bench! I breathed no curses upon
the cause of this sudden reverse of fortune, but--I swore revenge, in
silence; and I kept my oath. I languished away six months, a captive
debtor; and then, taking the benefit of the act, I walked forth a
beggar, to prey upon the world at large! I had studied, during that
time, in an admirable school, where I found professors in every art by
which fools are gulled, and knaves foiled with their own weapons. I was
an apt scholar, and returned to the bosom of society, an adept in the
science of _polished depredation_. Translate this into the language
of the Old Bailey, and I became a swindler by profession. Like the
eagle, however, I was a bird of prey that soared into the highest
regions, and rarely stooped to strike the meaner tribes of my species. I
had not lost, with the trappings of my birth, the manners and address of
the sphere in which I had moved; and these were now my stock in trade
for carrying on my new vocation.

Among the children of misfortune with whom I associated in prison, was
Charles Fitzroy; a bankrupt in every thing but exhaustless invention,
and unconquerable perseverance. Give him the free use of his limbs, and
with matchless dexterity he would make the contributions of the morning
furnish out the riotous expenses of the evening. It was his boast, that
he would breakfast with an empty pocket, and dine with a purse that
should defray the carouse of a dozen friends. And I have known him
fulfil his boast, with a heart as light, too, as became a man who thus
made the credulous fools of the world his bankers.

I was needy, desperate, and an outcast; and I linked my destiny with
Fitzroy's. He had my confidence; such confidence as confederates in
knavery can bestow. When he obtained his liberty, which he did shortly
after my own was accomplished, he introduced me to his companions; men
who, like himself, lived by plundering the unwary, and who looked up to
him as their _Magnus Apollo_. I was soon initiated in all their
mysteries; and played my part to admiration at the gaming-table, on the
race course, and in the ring.

Fitzroy was master of the secret that festered near my heart; the
increased and increasing hatred towards my uncle. I regarded him as
my evil genius; for not only had he thwarted me in two of the dearest
objects of my life; but his prediction of my boyhood had clung to me
like a poisoned garment. I could not shake it off; and now, more than
ever, it seemed accomplishing itself with rapid strides. It made me mad
when I reflected upon the polluted channels through which _my_
precarious means flowed, and thought of the luxurious enjoyments which
_his_ opulence commanded. It was true, I had dashed his cup with
bitterness; but it was no less true, that it still flowed with sweets,
while mine was brimming with gall. Fitzroy would often talk to me upon
this subject, and devise schemes for a successful inroad upon his purse.
At length a plan was matured between us, in which I could not appear,
but which Fitzroy, and a picked few of our associates, undertook to
execute.

My uncle had always been passionately fond of the course, and prided
himself upon his stud of racers. He betted largely, and was generally
fortunate, probably because he selected his men with a wary eye.
The race course, then, was the arena chosen for the enterprise; but
admirable as were the projected plans, and skilfully as they were
executed, such was his luck, or so profound were his calculations, that
they failed _five_ successive seasons. Fitzroy, however, was one of
those men who, when satisfied that what they engage in ought to succeed,
according to the means employed, only derive fresh vigour from every
fresh defeat. He played his game a _sixth_ time, and won. The same
day that saw my uncle rise with thousands, saw him seek his pillow at
night, a frantic beggar! He was too proud a man, too honourable, I will
add, not to throw down his last guinea, in satisfaction of such demands.
He never suspected villany in the business. He paid his losses,
therefore; and in less than a week afterwards, an inquest sat upon his
body, which was found at the bottom of his own fish pond.

I had my share of this infernal plunder; but so ravenous had been
my appetite for revenge, that not one pang of remorse disturbed the
riotous enjoyments in which it was lavished. On the contrary, the very
consciousness that it _was_ my uncle's money I squandered, gave a
zest to every excess, and seemed to appease the gnawing passions which
had so long tormented me. In two or three years, however, boundless
extravagance, and the gaming-table, stripped me of my last shilling.
It was in one of the frenzied moments of this profligate reverse of
fortune, that I committed the crime for which, if to-morrow dawned
upon me, I should be publicly arraigned.

Fitzroy had been fortunate the whole night. I had thrown with constant
bad luck. He had pocketed some hundreds; I had lost more than I could
pay. I asked him for a temporary loan of fifty pounds, to make good what
I owed, and stake the small remaining sum for the chance of retrieving
all. He refused me. It was the first time he had ever done so. But he
not _only_ refused me, he taunted me with sarcastic reproofs for my
folly, and muttered something about the uselessness of assisting a man
who, if he had thousands, would scatter them like dust. He should have
chosen a fitter moment to exhort me, than when I was galled by my
losses, and by his denial of my request. I was heated with wine too; and
half mad with despair, half mad with drink, I sprang upon him, tore him
to the earth, and before the by-standers could interfere to separate us,
I had buried a knife, which I snatched from a table near me, up to the
handle in his heart! He screamed--convulsively grappled me by the
throat---and expired! His death-gripe was so fierce and powerful, that I
believe had we been alone, his murderer would have been found strangled
by his side. It was with difficulty that the horror-struck witnesses of
this bloody scene could force open his clenched hands time enough to let
me breathe.

I have done! I remember, as if it were but yesterday, the silent
response which my heart made, when my uncle pronounced that withering
sentence on me. "No!" was my indignant exclamation; "I may deserve a
hundred public deaths; but if I know myself, I would never undergo
one!--NOR WILL I." When that which I have written shall be read--other
hopes and fears--other punishments, perchance, than man can awaken or
inflict--will await me. My _first_ crime--my _first_ revenge,
and my _last_, I have recorded; my _last_ crime others must
tell, when they speak of the murderer and SUICIDE,

  JAMES MORLEY.

There is little doubt that scarcely a moment intervened between his
writing his name, and placing the pistol to his heart; for when he was
discovered, the pen was lying on the paper, as if it had been laid down
only for an instant.

       *       *       *       *       *




RETROSPECTIVE GLEANINGS.

       *       *       *       *       *


REGAL TABLET.

(_Concluded from page 166._)


CHARLES II.

restored 29th May, 1669, ended 6th Feb. 1685.

_Popes_.

Alexander VII.,            1655.
Clement IX.,               1667.
Clement X.,                1670.
Innocent XI.,              1676.

_Emperor of Germany_.

Leopold I.,                1658.

_France_.

Louis XIV.,                1643.

_Spain_.

Philip IV.,                1620.
Charles II.,               1665.

_Portugal_.

Alonzo VI.,                1656.
Pedro II.,                 1683.

_Denmark_

Frederic III.,             1648.
Christian V.,              1670.

_Sweden_.

Charles XI.,               1660.

       *       *       *       *       *

JAMES II.

began his reign 6th Feb. 1685, abdicated 13th Feb. 1689.

Contemporaries all as in the last reign.

       *       *       *       *       *

WILLIAM AND MARY

began their reign 13th Feb. 1689, ended 8th March, 1702.

_Popes_.

Innocent XI.,              1676.
Alexander VIII.,           1689.
Innocent XII.,             1691.
Clement XI.,               1700.

_Emperor of Germany_.

Leopold I.,                1658.

_France_.

Louis XIV.,                1643.

_Spain_.

Charles II.,               1665.
Philip V.,                 1700.

_Portugal_.

Pedro II.,                 1683.

_Denmark_.

Christian V.,              1670.
Frederic IV.,              1699.

_Sweden_.

Charles XI.,               1660.
Charles XII.,              1697.

_Prussia_.

Frederic I.,               1701.

       *       *       *       *       *

ANNE

began her reign 8th March, 1702, ended 1st Aug. 1714.

_Popes_.

Clement XI.,               1700.

_Emperors of Germany_.

Leopold I.,                1658.
Joseph I.,                 1705.
Charles VI.,               1711.

_France_.

Louis XIV.,                1643.

_Spain_.

Philip V.,                 1700.

_Portugal_.

Pedro II.,                 1683.
John V.,                   1706.

_Denmark_.

Frederic IV.,              1699.

_Sweden_.

Charles XII.               1697.

_Prussia_.

Frederic I.,               1701.
Frederic William I.,       1713.

       *       *       *       *       *

The Illustrious House of Brunswick.

GEORGE I.

began his reign 1st Aug. 1714, ended 11th June, 1727.

_Popes_.

Clement XI.,               1700.
Innocent XIII.,            1721.
Benedict XIII.,            1723.

_Emperor of Germany_.

Charles VI.,               1711.

_Russia_.

Peter I.,                  1724.
Catherine I.,              1725.
Peter II.,                 1727.

_France_.

Louis XIV.,                1643.
Louis XV.,                 1715.

_Spain_.

Philip V.,                 1700.

_Portugal_.

John V.,                   1706.

_Denmark_.

Frederic IV.,              1699.

_Sweden_.

Charles XII.               1697.
Ulrica,                    1718.
Frederic,                  1720.

_Prussia_.

Frederic William I.,       1713.

     *       *       *       *       *

GEORGE II.

began his reign 11th June, 1727, ended 25th Oct. 1760.

_Popes_.

Benedict XIII.,            1723.
Clement XII.,              1730.
Benedict XIV.,             1740.
Clement XIII.,             1758.

_Emperors of Germany_.

Charles VI.,               1711.
Charles VII.,              1740.
Francis I.,                1745.

_Russia_.

Peter II.,                 1727.
Anne.,                     1730.
John V.,                   1740.
Elizabeth,                 1741.

_France_.

Louis XV.,                 1715.

_Spain_.

Philip V.,                 1700.
Ferdinand,                 1746.
Charles III.,              1759.

_Portugal_.

John V.,                   1706.
Joseph,                    1750.

_Denmark_.

Frederic IV.,              1699.
Christian VI.              1730.
Frederic V.,               1746.

_Sweden_.

Frederic,                  1720.
Adolphus,                  1751.

_Prussia_.

Frederic William, I,       1713.
Frederic II.,              1740.

     *       *       *       *       *

GEORGE III.

began his reign 25th Oct. 1760, ended 29th Jan. 1820.

_Popes_.

Clement XIII.,             1758.
Clement XIV.,              1769.
Pius VI.,                  1775.
Pius VII.,                 1800.

_Emperors of Germany_.

Francis I.,                1745.
Joseph II.,                1765.
Francis II.,               1792.[4]

_Austria_.

Francis I.,                1806.

_Turkey_.

Mustapha III.,             1757.
Achmed,                    1774.
Selim III.,                1789.
Mahamud VI.,               1808.

_Portugal_.

Joseph,                    1750.
Mary and Peter III.,       1777.
Mary (alone),              1786.
John,                      1816.

_Russia_.

Elizabeth,                 1741.
Peter III.,                1762.
Catharine II.,             1762.
Paul I.,                   1796.
Alexander,                 1801.

_Prussia_.

Frederic the Great,         1740.
Frederic William II.,       1786.

_France_.

Louis XV.,                  1715.
Louis XVI.,                 1774.
Louis XVII.                 1793.
Bonaparte,                  1799.
Louis XVIII.,               1814.

_Spain_.

Charles III.,               1759.
Charles IV.,                1788.
Ferdinand VII.,             1808.

_Denmark_.

Frederic V.,                1746.
Christian VII.,             1766.
Matilda,                    1772.
Frederic VI.                1808.

_Sweden_.

Adolphus Frederic,          1751.
Gustavus III.,              1771.
Gustavus IV.,               1792.
Charles XIII.,              1809.
Charles XIV., (Bernadotte), 1818.

_Holland_.

William V. (Stadtholder),   1757.
William, Prince of Orange,  1815.

_Prussia_.

Frederic William III.,      1797.

_Poland_.

Stanislaus II.              1764.

_Naples and Sicily_.

Frederic IV.                1759.
Joseph Napoleon,            1806.
Joachim Napoleon,           1809.
King of Naples restored,    1815.

_Etruria_.

Francis,                    1730.
Leopold,                    1765.
Ferdinand III.,             1790.
Louis I.,                   1801.
Louis II.                   1802.

_Sardinia_.

Charles Emanuel III.        1730.
Victor Amadeus,             1773.
Emanuel V.,                 1802.

       *       *       *       *       *

GEORGE IV.

ascended 29th Jan. 1820, whom GOD preserve.

Contemporaries at the commencement of his reign the same as at the death
of his late majesty.

JACOBUS.

    [4] Francis II. of Germany abdicated 1806, and took the title of
        Emperor of Austria.


       *       *       *       *       *




THE SELECTOR,

AND

LITERARY NOTICES OF

_NEW WORKS_.

       *       *       *       *       *

MOUNT ARAFAT, AND THE PILGRIMAGE
TO MEKKA.


Every traditionary and topographical particular of this hallowed spot,
and the picturesque ceremonies by which it is consecrated, must be
acceptable to the Christian reader; and this conviction has induced us
to abridge the following from that portion of _Burckhardt's Travels_
which describes the _Hadj_, or _pilgrimage_ to Mekka.

At sunrise on the 9th of Zul Hadj, every pilgrim issued from his tent,
to walk over the plains, and take a view of the busy crowds assembled
there. Long streets of tents, fitted up as bazars, furnished all kinds
of provisions. The Syrian and Egyptian cavalry were exercised by their
chiefs early in the morning, while thousands of camels were seen feeding
upon the dry shrubs of the plain all round the camp. I walked to Mount
Arafat, to enjoy from its summit a more distinct view of the whole.
This granite hill, which is also called _Djebel er' Rahme_, or the
Mountain of Mercy, rises on the north-east side of the plain, close to
the mountains which encompass it, but separated from them by a rocky
valley; it is about a mile, or a mile and a half in circuit; its sides
are sloping, and its summit is nearly two hundred feet above the level
of the plain. On the eastern side broad stone steps lead up to the top,
and a broad unpaved path, on the western, over rude masses of granite,
with which its declivity is covered. After mounting about forty steps,
we find a spot a little on the left, called Modaa Seydna Adam, or the
place of prayer of our Lord Adam, where, it is related, that the father
of mankind used to stand while praying; for here it was, according to
Mohammedan tradition, that the angel Gabriel first instructed Adam how
to adore his Creator. A marble slab, bearing an inscription in modern
characters, is fixed in the side of the mountain. On reaching about the
sixtieth step, we come to a small paved platform to our right, on a
level spot of the hill, where the preacher stands who admonishes the
pilgrims on the afternoon of this day, as I shall hereafter mention.
Thus high, the steps are so broad and easy that a horse or camel may
ascend; but higher up they become more steep and uneven. On the summit,
the place is shown where Mohammed used to take his station during the
Hadj; a small chapel formerly stood over it; but this was destroyed by
the Wahabys: here the pilgrims usually pray two rikats, in salutation
of Arafat. The steps and the summit are covered with handkerchiefs to
receive their pious gifts, and each family of the Mekkawys or Bedouins
of the tribe of Koreysh, in whose territory Arafat lies, has its
particular spot assigned to it for this purpose. The summit commands a
very extensive and singular prospect. I brought my compass to take a
circle of bearings; but the crowd was so great that I could not use it.
Towards the western extremity of the plain are seen Bir Bazan and the
Aalameyn; somewhat nearer, southwards, the mosque called Djama Nimre,
or Djama Seydna Ibrahim; and on the south-east, a small house where the
Sherif used to lodge during the pilgrimage. From thence an elevated
rocky ground in the plain extends towards Arafat. On the eastern side
of the mountain, and close to its foot, are the ruins of a small mosque,
built on rocky ground, called Djama el Szakhrat, where Mohammed was
accustomed to pray, and where the pilgrims make four prostrations in
memory of the prophet. Several large reservoirs lined with stone are
dispersed over the plain; two or three are close to the foot of Arafat,
and there are some near the house of the Sherifs: they are filled from
the same fine aqueduct which supplies Mekka, and the head of which is
about one hour and a half distant, in the eastern mountains. The canal
is left open here for the convenience of pilgrims, and is conducted
round the three sides of the mountains, passing by Modaa Seydna Adam.[5]

From the summit of Arafat, I counted about three thousand tents
dispersed over the plain, of which two-thirds belonged to the two Hadj
caravans, and to the suite and soldiers of Mohammed Aly; the rest to the
Arabs of the Sherif, the Bedouin hadjys, and the people of Mekka and
Djidda. These assembled multitudes were for the greater number, like
myself, without tents. The two caravans were encamped without much
order, each party of pilgrims or soldiers having pitched its tents in
large circles or _dowars_, in the midst of which many of their
camels were reposing. The plain contained, dispersed in different parts,
from twenty to twenty-five thousand camels, twelve thousand of which
belonged to the Syrian Hadj, and from five to six thousand to the
Egyptian; besides about three thousand, purchased by Mohammed Aly from
the Bedouins in the Syrian Deserts, and brought to Mekka with the Hadj,
to convey the pilgrims to this place, previously to being used for the
transport of army-provisions to Tayf.

The Syrian Hadj was encamped on the south and south-west side of the
mountain; the Egyptian on the south-east. Around the house of the
Sherif, Yahya himself was encamped with his Bedouin troops, and in its
neighbourhood were all the Hedjaz people. Here it was that the two Yemen
caravans used formerly to take their station. Mohammed Aly, and Soleyman
Pasha of Damascus, as well as several of their officers, had very
handsome tents; but the most magnificent of all was that of the wife of
Mohammed Aly, the mother of Tousoun Pasha and Ibrahim Pasha, who had
lately arrived from Cairo for the Hadj, with a truly royal equipage,
five hundred camels being necessary to transport her baggage from Djidda
to Mekka. Her tent was in fact an encampment consisting of a dozen tents
of different sizes, inhabited by her women; the whole enclosed by a wall
of linen cloth, eight hundred paces in circuit, the single entrance to
which was guarded by eunuchs in splendid dresses. Around this enclosure
were pitched the tents of the men who formed her numerous suite. The
beautiful embroidery on the exterior of this linen palace, with the
various colours displayed in every part of it, constituted an object
which reminded me of some descriptions in the Arabian Tales of the
Thousand and One Nights. Among the rich equipages of the other hadjys,
or of the Mekka people, none were so conspicuous as that belonging
to the family of Djeylany, the merchant, whose tents, pitched in a
semicircle, rivalled in beauty those of the two pashas, and far exceeded
those of Sherif Yahya. In other parts of the East, a merchant would
as soon think of buying a rope for his own neck, as of displaying his
wealth in the presence of a pasha; but Djeylany has not yet laid aside
the customs which the Mekkawys learned under their old government,
particularly that of Sherif Ghaleb, who seldom exercised extortion upon
single individuals; and they now rely on the promises of Mohammed Aly,
that he will respect their property.

During the whole morning, there were repeated discharges of the
artillery which both pashas had brought with them. A few pilgrims
had taken up their quarters on Djebel Arafat itself, where some small
cavern, or impending block of granite, afforded them shelter from the
sun. It is a belief generally entertained in the East, and strengthened
by many boasting hadjys on their return home, that all the pilgrims, on
this day, encamp upon Mount Arafat; and that the mountain possesses the
miraculous property of expansion, so as to admit an indefinite number of
the faithful upon its summit. The law ordains that the _wakfe_, or
position of the Hadj, should be on Djebel Arafat; but it wisely provides
against any impossibility, by declaring that the plain in the immediate
neighbourhood of the mountain may be regarded as comprised under the
term "mountain," or Djebel Arafat.

I estimated the number of persons assembled here at about seventy
thousand. The camp was from three to four miles long, and between one
and two in breadth. There is, perhaps, no spot on earth where, in so
small a place, such a diversity of languages are heard; I reckoned about
forty, and I have no doubt that there were many more. It appeared to me
as if I were here placed in a holy temple of travellers only; and never
did I at any time feel a more ardent wish to be able to penetrate once
into the inmost recesses of the countries of many of those persons
whom I now saw before me, fondly imagining that I might have no more
difficulty in reaching their homes, than what they had experienced in
their journey to this spot.

       *       *       *       *       *

The time of Aszer (or about three o'clock, P.M.) approached, when that
ceremony of the Hadj takes place, for which the whole assembly had come
hither. The pilgrims now pressed forward towards the mountain of Arafat,
and covered its sides from top to bottom. At the precise time of Aszer,
the preacher took his stand upon the platform on the mountain, and began
to address the multitude. This sermon, which lasts till sun-set,
constitutes the holy ceremony of the Hadj called Khotbet el Wakfe; and
no pilgrim, although he may have visited all the holy places of Mekka,
is entitled to the name of hadjy, unless he has been present on this
occasion. As Aszer approached, therefore, all the tents were struck,
every thing was packed up, the caravans began to load, and the pilgrims
belonging to them mounted their camels, and crowded round the mountain,
to be within sight of the preacher, which is sufficient, as the greater
part of the multitude is necessarily too distant to hear him. The two
pashas, with their whole cavalry drawn up in two squadrons behind them,
took their post in the rear of the deep lines of camels of the hadjys,
to which those of the people of the Hedjaz were also joined; and here
they waited in solemn and respectful silence the conclusion of the
sermon. Further removed from the preacher, was the Sherif Yahya, with
his small body of soldiers, distinguished by several green standards
carried before him. The two Mahmals, or holy camels, which carry on
their back the high structure that serves as the banner of their
respective caravans, made way with difficulty through the ranks of
camels that encircled the southern and eastern sides of the hill,
opposite to the preacher, and took their station, surrounded by their
guards, directly under the platform in front of him.[6]

The preacher, or Khatyb, who is usually the Kadhy of Mekka, was mounted
upon a finely caparisoned camel, which had been led up the steps; it
being traditionally said that Mohammed was always seated when he here
addressed his followers, a practice in which he was imitated by all
the Khalifes who came to the Hadj, and who from hence addressed their
subjects in person. The Turkish gentleman of Constantinople, however,
unused to camel-riding, could not keep his seat so well as the hardy
Bedouin prophet; and the camel becoming unruly, he was soon obliged to
alight from it. He read his sermon from a book in Arabic, which he held
in his hands. At intervals of every four or five minutes he paused, and
stretched forth his arms to implore blessings from above; while the
assembled multitudes around and before him waved the skirts of their
ihrams over their heads, and rent the air with shouts of "Lebeyk,
Allahuma Lebeyk," (i.e. Here we are, at thy commands, O God!) During
the wavings of the ihrams, the side of the mountain, thickly crowded
as it was by the people in their white garments, had the appearance
of a cataract of water; while the green umbrellas, with which several
thousand hadjys, sitting on their camels below, were provided, bore some
resemblance to a verdant plain.--During his sermon, which lasted almost
three hours, the Kadhy was seen constantly to wipe his eyes with a
handkerchief; for the law enjoins the Khatyb or preacher to be moved
with feeling and compunction; and adds that, whenever tears appear on
his face, it is a sign that the Almighty enlightens him, and is ready
to listen to his prayers.

At length the sun began to descend behind the western mountains; upon
which the Kadhy, having shut his book, received a last greeting of
"Lebeyk;" and the crowds rushed down the mountain, in order to quit
Arafat. It is thought meritorious to accelerate the pace on this
occasion; and many persons make it a complete race, called by the Arabs,
_Ad' dafa min Arafat_. In former times, when the strength of the
Syrian and Egyptian caravans happened to be nearly balanced, bloody
affrays took place here almost every year between them, each party
endeavouring to outrun and to carry its _mahmal_ in advance of the
other. The same happened when the _mahmals_ approached the platform
at the commencement of the sermon; and two hundred lives have on some
occasions been lost in supporting what was thought the honour of the
respective caravans. At present the power of Mohammed Aly preponderates,
and the Syrian hadjys display great humility. The united caravans and
the whole mass of pilgrims now moved forward over the plain; every
tent had been previously packed up, to be ready for the occasion. The
pilgrims pressed through the Aalameyn, which they must repass on their
return; and night came on before they reached the defile called El
Mazoumeyn. Innumerable torches were now lighted, twenty-four being
carried before each pasha; and the sparks of fire from them flew far
over the plain. There were continual discharges of artillery; the
soldiers fired their muskets; the martial bands of both the pashas
played; sky-rockets were thrown as well by the pashas' officers, as
by many private pilgrims; while the Hadj passed at a quick pace in
the greatest disorder, amidst a deafening clamour, through the pass of
Mazoumeyn, leading towards Mezdelfe, where all alighted, after a two
hours' march. No order was observed here in encamping; and every one lay
down on the spot that first presented itself, no tents being pitched
except those of the pashas and their suites; before which was an
illumination of lamps in the form of high arches, which continued to
blaze the whole night, while the firing of the artillery was kept up
without intermission.

    [5] At the close of the sixteenth century, according to Kotobeddyn,
        the whole plain of Arafat was cultivated.

    [6] The Mahmal (an exact representation of which is given by D'Ohsson)
        is a high, hollow, wooden frame, in the form of a cone, with a
        pyramidal top, covered with a fine silk brocade adorned with
        ostrich feathers, and having a small book of prayers and charms
        placed in the midst of it, wrapped up in a piece of silk. (My
        description is taken from the Egyptian Mahmal.) When on the road,
        it serves as a holy banner to the caravan; and on the return of
        the Egyptian caravan, the book of prayers is exposed in the mosque
        El Hassaneyn, at Cairo, where men and women of the lower classes
        go to kiss it and obtain a blessing by rubbing their foreheads
        upon it. No copy of the Koran, nor any thing but the book of
        prayers, is placed in the Cairo Mahmal. I believe the custom to
        have arisen in the battle-banner of the Bedouins, called Merkeb
        and Otfe, which I have mentioned in my remarks on the Bedouins,
        and which resemble the Mahmal, inasmuch as they are high wooden
        frames placed upon camels.


       *       *       *       *       *


SOUTH AMERICAN MANNERS

_From the Memoirs of General Miller, Second Edition._


In the Pampas, where a scarcity of food is unknown to the poorest, that
calculating avarice which, in its fears for to-morrow, would look with
apathy on the wants of the stranger, can have but a limited sway. Kind
offices are, therefore more freely and disinterestedly conferred than
in less abundant regions. In addition to this, the dearth of society
in a thinly-sprinkled population renders the presence of a traveller
on their isolated _haciendas_ a source of gratification. If his
appearance afford no ground for mistrust, and if his manners are not
disagreeable, his being a stranger is a sufficient passport to a kind
and hearty welcome. Whether he be rich or poor is not a subject of
inquiry, and makes no difference in the reception.

The South Americans are gay, and fond of dancing, music, and singing.
There are few, whether wealthy or otherwise, who are not proficients in
one or other of these accomplishments. In the warmer latitudes, people
carry on not only their usual occupations, but their amusements, chiefly
in the open air; and as singing constitutes one of the principal sources
of the latter, the continued exercise of the voice harmonizes and
strengthens it. Perhaps no opera, in Europe, could afford, to a natural
and unsophisticated ear, so rich a treat as that which may be enjoyed in
Cuzco, Arequipa, and other cities, where the ancient Peruvian airs are
sung in the rich and melodious tones of the natives.

The South Americans possess great intellectual quickness, and a
retentive memory. The following may be cited as an extraordinary
instance of the latter faculty. An old man, a native of La Pax, in Upper
Peru, and of unmixed Indian blood, who kept an inn at Curicavi, between
Valparaiso and Santiago, could repeat nearly the whole of Robertson's
"History of Charles the Fifth," and was better acquainted with the
History of England than most Englishmen. He spoke of Queen Boadicea, and
was as familiar with the history of the civil wars between the houses
of York and Lancaster as if they had occurred in his country, and in
his own times. He had been brought up by the Jesuits. He had made two
voyages to Canton, and was known by the name of "the emperor of China,"
in consequence frequently of amusing his guests with long stories about
the _celestial empire_.

The Peruvians have great natural talents for painting and sculpture.
They generally produce striking likenesses, but being uninstructed in
the principles of these arts, their pictures have no other merit. There
is, however, a female figure, done in 1711, by a native of Quito, which
is considered as one of the finest paintings in a very good collection
belonging to Mynheer Vandermarlin, of Brussels.

       *       *       *       *       *


ORATORIOS.


The first oratorio performed in London, was at the Lincoln's Inn Fields
Theatre, in 1732. On June 10, in the same year, the serenata of _Acis
and Galatea_ was performed at the Italian Opera House, in English, by
Italian performers, with scenery representing a rural prospect, with
rocks, groves, fountains, and grottoes; amongst which were disposed a
chorus of nymphs and shepherds, with dresses and "every other decoration
suited to the subject."--_Companion to the Theatres_.

       *       *       *       *       *

Printed and Published by J. LIMBIRD, 143, Strand, (near Somerset
House,) London; sold by ERNEST FLEISCHER, 626, New Market, Leipsic;
and by all Newsmen and Booksellers.