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THE MIRROR OF LITERATURE, AMUSEMENT, AND INSTRUCTION.

VOL. 17, NO. 479.] SATURDAY, MARCH 5, 1831. [PRICE 2d.



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[Illustration: ANCIENT PALACE OF HOLYROOD, AT EDINBURGH.]




ANCIENT PALACE OF HOLYROOD, AT EDINBURGH.


Here is another of the resting-places of fallen royalty; and a happy
haven has it proved to many a crowned head; a retreat where the plain
reproof of flattery--

  How can you say to me,--I am a king?

would sound with melancholy sadness and truth.

The reader of "the age and body of the time" need not be told that the
tenancy of Holyrood by the Ex-King of France has suggested its present
introduction, although the Engraving represents the Palace about the
year 1640. The structure, in connexion with the Chapel,[1] is thus
described in Chambers's _Picture of Scotland_, vol. ii. p. 61.

The Chapel and Palace of Holyrood are situated at the extremity of the
suburb called the Cannongate. The ordinary phrase "the Abbey," still
popularly applied to both buildings, indicates that the former is the
more ancient of the two. Like so many other religious establishments,
it owns David I. for its founder. Erected in the twelfth century, and
magnificently endowed by that monarch, it continued for about four
centuries to flourish as an abbey, and to be, at least during the
latter part of that time, the residence of the sovereign. In the year
1528, James V. added a palace to the conventual buildings. During the
subsequent reign of Mary, this was the principal seat of the court; and
so it continued in a great measure to be, till the departure of King
James VI. for England. Previously to this period, the Abbey and Palace
had suffered from fire, and they have since undergone such revolutions,
that, as in the celebrated case of Sir John Cutler's stockings, which,
in the course of darning, changed nearly their whole substance, it is
now scarcely possible to distinguish what is really ancient from the
modern additions.

As they at present stand, the Palace is a handsome edifice, built in
the form of a quadrangle, with a front flanked by double towers, while
the Abbey is reduced from its originally extensive dimensions to the
mere ruin of the chapel, one corner of which adjoins to a posterior
angle of the Palace. Of the palatial structure, the north-west towers
alone are old. The walls were certainly erected in the time of James V.
They contain the apartments in which Queen Mary resided, and where her
minion, Rizzio, fell a sacrifice to the revenge of her brutal husband.
A certain portion of the furniture is of the time, and a still smaller
portion is said to be the handiwork of that princess. The remaining
parts of the structure were erected in the time of Charles II. and have
at no time been occupied by any royal personages, other than the Duke of
York, Prince Charles Stuart, the Duke of Cumberland, the King of France,
(in 1795-9,) and King George IV. in 1822. In the northern side of the
quadrangle is a gallery one hundred and fifty feet in length, filled
with the portraits of nearly as many imaginary Scottish kings. The south
side contains a suite of state apartments, fitted up for the use of the
last-mentioned monarch. These various departments of the Palace, as well
as the Chapel, are shown to strangers, for a gratuity, by the servants
of the Duke of Hamilton, who is hereditary keeper of the Palace. It may
be mentioned, before dismissing this subject, that the precincts of
these interesting edifices were formerly a sanctuary of criminals, and
can yet afford refuge to insolvent debtors.

From the time of the departure of George the Fourth from Edinburgh, in
1822, Holyrood Palace remained without any distinguished inhabitant
until last year, when Charles the Tenth, and his suite, took up their
abode within its walls. In the same year too, died George IV.

    [1] A view of the Chapel, from the Diorama, in the Regent's Park,
        with ample descriptive details, will be found in vol. v. of
        _The Mirror._


       *       *       *       *       *


THE LAST SOUNDS OF BATTLE.

(For the _Mirror_.)


  Hark! on yonder blood-trod hill,
  The sound of battle lingers still,--
  But faint it comes, for every blow
  Is feebled with the touch of woe:
  Their limbs are weary, and forget
  They stand upon the battle plain,--
  But still their spirit flashes yet,
  And dimly lights their souls again!
  Like revellers, flush'd with dead'ning wine,
  Measuring the dance with sluggish tread,
  Their spirits for an instant shine,
  Ashamed to show their pow'r hath fled.
  Bat hark! e'en that faint sound hath died,
  And sad and solemn up the vale
  The silence steals, and far and wide
  It tells of death the dreadful tale.


J.M.W.

       *       *       *       *       *




RETROSPECTIVE GLEANINGS.

       *       *       *       *       *


ANCIENT TOPOGRAPHY OF HOLBORN.

(For the _Mirror_.)


The name of Holborn is derived from an ancient village, built upon the
bank of the rivulet, or _bourne_, of the same name.--Stowe says,
"_Oldborne_, or _Hilborne_, was the water, breaking out about
the place where now the Barres doe stand; and it ranne downe the whole
street to _Oldborne Bridge_, and into the river of the _Wels_,
or _Turne-mill Brooke_. This _Boorne_ was long since stopped
up at the head, and other places, where the same hath broken out; but
yet till this day, the said street is there called high, _Oldborne_
hill, and both sides thereof, (together with all the grounds adjoining,
that lye betwixt it and the River of Thames,) remaine full of springs,
so that water is there found at hand, and hard to be stopped in every
house."

"Oldborne Conduit, which stood by Oldborne Crosse, was first builded
1498. Thomasin, widow to John Percival, maior, gave to the second making
thereof twenty markes; Richard Shore, ten pounds; Thomas Knesworth, and
others also, did give towards it.--But of late, a new conduit was there
builded, in place of the old, namely, in the yeere 1577; by William
Lambe, sometime a gentleman of the chappell to King Henry the Eighth,
and afterwards a citizen and clothworker of London, which amounted to
the sum of 1,500_l_.

"Scroops' Inne,[2] sometime Sergeant's Inne, was situate against the
church of St. Andrew, in Oldborne, in the city of London, with two
gardens.

"On the High-streete of Oldborne (says Stowe) have ye many fair houses
builded, and lodgings for gentlemen, innes for travellers, and such
like, up almost (for it lacketh but little) to St. Giles's in the
Fields."

Gerard, the famous herbalist, lived in Holborn, and had there a large
botanic garden. Holborn was then in the outskirts of the town on that
side. Richard the Third asked the Bishop of Ely to send for some of the
good strawberries which he heard the bishop had in his garden in
Holborn.

"In 1417, Lower Holborn (says Brayley) one of the great inlets to the
city, was first paved, it being then described as a highway, so deep and
miry, that many perils and hazards were thereby occasioned; and the
King, at his own expense, is recorded to have employed two vessels,
each of twenty tons burthen, for bringing stones for that purpose.

"In 1534 an act was passed for paving with stone the street between
Holborn Bridge and Holborn Bars, at the west end thereof, and also the
streets of Southwark; and every person was made liable to maintain the
pavement before his door, under the forfeiture of sixpence to the king
for every square yard."

On the south side of Holborn Hill was St. Andrew's Church, of
considerable antiquity; but rebuilt in a plain, neat manner. Here was
buried Thomas Wriothesley, lord chancellor in the latter part of the
life of Henry the Eighth: a fiery zealot, who (says Pennant) not content
with seeing the amiable Anne Askew put to the torture, for no other
crime than difference of faith, flung off his gown, degraded the
chancellor into the bureau, and with his own hands gave force to the
rack.

"Furnival's Inn was one of the hosteries belonging to Lincoln's Inn, in
old times the town abode of the Lords of Furnivals.

"Thaive's Inn was another, old as the time of Edward the Third. It took
its name from John Tavye.

"Staples Inn; so called from its having been a staple in which the
wool-merchants were used to assemble.

"Barnard's Inn, originally Mackworth's Inn, having been given by the
executors of John Mackworth, dean of Lincoln, to the dean and chapter of
Lincoln, on condition that they should find a pious priest to perform
divine service in the cathedral of Lincoln--in which John Mackworth lies
interred.

"Hatton Garden was the town house and gardens of the Lord Hatton, founded
by Sir Christopher Hatton, lord-keeper in the reign of Queen Elizabeth.
The place he built his house on was the orchard and garden belonging to
Ely House.

"Brook House was the residence of Sir Fulke Greville, Lord Brooke.

"Southampton Buildings, built on the site of Southampton House, the
mansion of the Wriothesleys, earls of Southampton. When Lord Russel
passed by this house, on his way to execution, he felt a momentary
bitterness of death, in recollecting the happy moments of the place. He
looked (says Pennant) towards Southampton House, the tear started into
his eye, but he instantly wiped it away.

"Gray's Inn is a place of great antiquity: it was originally the
residence of the Lord Grays, from the year 1315, when John, the son of
Reginold de Grey, resided here, till the latter end of the reign of Henry
the Seventh, when it was sold, by Edmund Lord Grey, of Wilton, to Hugh
Dennys, Esq., by the name of Portpole; and in eight years afterwards it
was disposed of to the prior and convent of Shene, who again, disposed
of it to the students of the law; not but that they were seated here
much earlier, it appearing that they had leased a residence here from
the Lord Grays, as early as the reign of Edward the Third. Chancery Lane
gapes on the opposite side, to receive the numberless _malheureuses_
who plunge unwarily on the rocks and shelves with which it abounds."

P.T.W.

    [2] From Lord Scroops, of Bolton.


       *       *       *       *       *


ANCIENT SLAVERY IN ENGLAND.

(For the _Mirror_.)

  "O Freedom! first delight of human kind."

DRYDEN.


Sharon Turner, in his interesting "History of the Anglo-Saxons," says,
"It was then (during the reign of Pope Gregory I.) the practice of
Europe to make use of slaves, and to buy and sell them; and this traffic
was carried on, even in the western capital of the Christian Church.
Passing through the market at Rome, the white skins, the flowing locks,
and beautiful countenances of some youths who were standing there for
sale, interested Gregory's sensibility. To his inquiries from what
country they had been brought, the answer was, from Britain, whose
inhabitants were all of that fair complexion. Were they Pagans or
Christians? was his next question: a proof not only of his ignorance of
the state of England, but also, that up to that time it had occupied no
part of his attention; but thus brought as it were to a personal
knowledge of it by these few representatives of its inhabitants, he
exclaimed, on hearing that they were still idolaters, with a deep sigh,
'What a pity that such a beauteous frontispiece should possess a mind so
void of internal grace.' The name of their nation being mentioned to be
Angles, his ear caught the verbal coincidence--the benevolent wish for
their improvement darted into his mind, and he expressed his own
feelings, and excited those of his auditors, by remarking--'It suits
them well: they have angel faces, and ought to be the co-heirs of the
angels in heaven.'

"The different classes of society among the Anglo-Saxons were such as
belonged to birth, office, or property, and such as were occupied by
a freeman, a freedman, or one of the servile description. It is to be
lamented in the review of these different classes, that a large proportion
of the Anglo-Saxon population was in a state of abject slavery: they
were bought and sold with land, and were conveyed in the grants of it
promiscuously with the cattle and other property upon it; and in the
Anglo-Saxon wills, these wretched beings were given away precisely as
we now dispose of our plate, our furniture, or our money. At length the
custom of manumission, and the diffusion of Christianity, ameliorated
the condition of the Anglo-Saxon slaves. Sometimes individuals, from
benevolence, gave their slaves their freedom--sometimes piety procured
a manumission. But the most interesting kind of emancipation appears in
those writings which announce to us, that the slaves had purchased their
own liberty, or that of their family. The Anglo-Saxon laws recognised
the liberation of slaves, and placed them under legal protection. The
liberal feelings of our ancestors to their enslaved domestics are not
only evidenced in the frequent manumissions, but also in the generous
gifts which they appear to have made them. The grants of lands from
masters to their servants were very common; gilds, or social
confederations, were established. The tradesmen of the Anglo-Saxons
were, for the most part, men in a servile state; but, by degrees, the
manumission of slaves increased the number of the independent part of
the lower orders."

When the statute 1st. Edward VI. c. 3. was made, which ordained, that
all idle vagabonds should be made _slaves_, and fed upon bread,
water or small drink, and refuse of meat; should wear a ring round their
necks, arms, or legs; and should be compelled, by beating, chaining, or
otherwise, to perform the work assigned them, were it ever so vile;--the
spirit of the nation could not brook this condition, even in the most
abandoned rogues; and therefore this statute was repealed in two years
afterwards, 3rd and 4th of Edward VI. c. 16.

P.T.W.

       *       *       *       *       *


FINSBURY.

(For the _Mirror_.)


Fitzstephen, in his Description of London, 1282, gives the following
account of skating in Moor, or Finsbury Fields, which may afford
amusement to the inquisitive reader:--

"When that vast lake which waters the walls of the city towards the north
is hard frozen, the youths, in great numbers, go to divert themselves on
the ice--some, taking a small run for an increment of velocity, place
their feet at a proper distance, and are carried sideways a great
way; others will make a large cake of ice, and seating one of their
companions upon it, they take hold of one's hands, and draw him along,
when it happens that moving swiftly on so slippery a plane, they all
fall headlong; others there are who are still more expert in these
amusements on the ice--they place certain bones (the leg-bones of
animals) under the soles of their feet, by tying them round their
ankles, and then taking a pole, shod with iron, with their hands they
push themselves forward by striking it against the ice, and are carried
on with a velocity equal to the flight of a bird, or a bolt discharged
from a cross-bow."

This tract affords the earliest description of London; and Dr. Pegge, in
his preface to said Description, says, "I conceive we may challenge any
nation in Europe to produce an account of its capital, or any other of
its great cities, at so remote a period as the 12th century."

J.R.

       *       *       *       *       *




THE SELECTOR; AND LITERARY NOTICES OF NEW WORKS.

       *       *       *       *       *


MOUNT ST. MICHAEL.


No. 65 of _Constable's Miscellany_, just published, consists of
_A Journal of a Residence in Normandy_, by J.A. St. John, Esq. This
volume falls in opportunely enough for the further description of Mount
St. Michael, engraved in No. 477 of _The Mirror_.


Breakfasting in haste, I procured a horse and a guide, and set out for
the mount, no less celebrated for its historical importance, than for
the peculiarity of its position. As soon as I had emerged from the
streets of Avranches, I saw before me a vast bay, now entirely deserted
by the tide, and consisting partly of sand, partly of slime, intersected
by the waters of several rivers, and covered, during spring tides, at
high water.--Two promontories, the one bluff and rocky, the other sandy
and low, project, one on either hand, into the sea; and in the open
space between these two points are two small islands, from around which
the sea ebbs at low water: one of them is a desert rock, called the
Tombelaine, and the other the Mont St. Michel.[3] The space thus covered
and deserted alternately by the sea is about eight square leagues, and
is here called the Grève.

The Mont St. Michel, which is about the same height as the Great Pyramid
of Egypt, and now stood, as that does, upon a vast plain of sand, which
is here, however, skirted in its whole length by the sea, has a very
striking and extraordinary aspect. It appeared, as the water was so
close behind it, to rise out of the sea, upon the intense and dazzling
blue of which its grey rocks and towers were relieved in a sharp and
startling manner; and, as I descended lower and lower on the hill-side,
and drew near the beach, its pinnacles seemed to increase in height, and
the picturesque effect was improved.

At length I emerged from the shady road upon the naked beach, and saw
the ferry-boat and the Charon that were to convey me and my charger over
the first river. My Avranches guide here quitted me; but I had been told
that the ferryman himself usually supplied his place in piloting
strangers across the quicksands, which, owing to the shifting of the
course of the rivers, are in constant change, and of the most dangerous
character. Horses and their riders, venturing to select their own path
over the sands, have been swallowed up together, and vessels, stranded
here in a tempest, have in a short time sunk and disappeared entirely.
The depth of what may perhaps be termed the unsolid soil, is hitherto
unknown, though various attempts have been made to ascertain it. In one
instance, a small mast, forty feet high, was fixed up in the sands, with
a piece of granite of considerable weight upon the top of it; but mast,
granite, and all, rapidly disappeared, leaving no trace behind. It is
across several leagues of a beach of this nature that one has to
approach the Mont St. Michel.

The scene which now presented itself was singular and beautiful. On the
right the land, running out boldly into the sea, offered, with its rich
verdure, a striking contrast to the pale yellow sands beneath. In front,
the sea, blue, calm, waveless, and studded in the distance with a few
white sails, glittering in the sun, ran in a straight line along the
yellow plain, which was, moreover, intersected in various directions by
numerous small rivers, whose shining waters looked like molten silver.
To add to the effect of the landscape, silence the most absolute brooded
over it, except when the scream of a seamew, wheeling about drowsily in
the sunny air, broke upon the ear. The mount itself, with its ancient
monastic towers, rearing their grey pinnacles towards heaven, in the
midst of stillness and solitude, appeared to be formed by nature to be
the abode of peace, and a soft and religious melancholy.

For some time I rode on musing, gazing delightedly at the scene, and
recalling to mind the historical events which had taken place on those
shores, and rendered them famous. The cannon of England had thundered on
every side, and her banners had waved triumphantly from the towers
before me. My reflections, however, were soon called off from these
towering topics, being interrupted by the loud laugh of a party of
soldiers and wagoners, who were regaling themselves with fresh air at
the gate of the fortress.

Dismounting here, I entered the small town which clusters round the foot
of the mount within the wall; and whatever romance might have taken
lodging in my imagination, was quickly put to flight by the stink, and
filth, and misery, which forced themselves upon my attention. I never
beheld a more odious den. Leaving my horse and guide at a cabaret, I
ascended the only street in the place, which winding about the foot of
the mountain, leads directly to the castle. Toiling up this abominable
street, and several long and very steep flights of steps, I at length
reached the door, where, having rung, and waited for some time, I was
admitted by a saucy gendarme, who demanded my business and my passport
in the most insolent tone imaginable. I delivered up my passport; and
while the rascal went to show it to the man in office--governor,
sub-governor, or some creature of that sort--had to stand in the dismal
passage, among a score or two of soldiers. In general, however, French
soldiers are remarkably polite, and these, with the exception of the
above individual, were so also. Even he, when he returned, had changed
his tone; for, having learned from his superior that I was an
Englishman, he came, with cap in hand, to conduct me round the building.

The first apartment, after the chapel, which is small, and by no means
striking, into which I was led, was the ancient refectory, where there
were some hundreds of criminals, condemned for several years to close
imprisonment, or the galleys, weaving calico. I never in my life saw so
many demoniacal faces together.

The apartment in which these miscreants were assembled, was a hall about
one hundred feet long, by thirty-five or forty in breadth, and was adorned
with two rows of massy, antique pillars, resembling those which we find
in Gothic churches. From hence we proceeded to the subterranean chapel,
where are seen those prodigious columns upon which the weight of the
whole building reposes. The scanty light, which glimmers among these
enormous shafts, is just sufficient to discover their magnitude to the
eye, and to enable one to find his way among them. Having crossed this
chapel, we entered the quadrangular court, around which the cloisters,
supported by small, graceful pillars, of the most delicate workmanship,
extend. Here the monks used to walk in bad weather, contriving the next
day's dinner, or imagining excuses for detaining some of the many pretty
female pilgrims who resorted, under various pretences, to this celebrated
monastery. At present, it affords shelter to the veterans and gendarmes
who keep guard over the prisoners below.

From various portions of the monastery, we obtain admirable views of sea
and shore; but the most superb coup-d'oeil is from a tall slender tower,
which shoots up above almost every other portion of the building. Hence
are seen the hills and coasts of Brittany, the sea, the sandy plain
stretching inland, with the rivers meandering through it, and the long
sweep of shore which encompasses the Grève, with Avranches, and its
groves and gardens, in the back ground. Close at hand, and almost
beneath one's feet, as it were, is the barren rock called the
Tombelaine, which, though somewhat larger than the Mont St. Michel, is
not inhabited. Even this rock, however, was formerly fortified by the
English; and several remains of the old towers are still found among the
thorns and briers with which it is at present overrun. Several fanciful
derivations of the word Tombelaine are given by antiquaries, some
imagining it to have been formed of the words _Tumba Beleni_, or
_Tumba Helenae_; and in support of the latter etymology, the
following legend is told:--Helen, daughter of Hoël, King of Brittany,
was taken away, by fraud or violence, from her father's court, by a
certain Spaniard, who, having conducted her to this island, and
compelled her to submit to his desires, seems to have deserted her
there. The princess, overwhelmed with misfortune, pined away and died,
and was buried by her nurse, who had accompanied her from Brittany.

At the Mont St. Michel was preserved, until lately, the enormous wooden
cage in which state prisoners were sometimes confined under the old
regime.

The most unfortunate of the poor wretches who inhabited this cage was
Dubourg, a Dutch editor of a newspaper. This man having, in the exercise
of his duty, written something which offended the majesty of Louis XIV.,
or some one of his mistresses, was marked out by the magnanimous monarch
for vengeance; and the means which, according to tradition, he employed
to effect his purpose, was every way worthy of the royal miscreant. A
villain was sent from Avranches to Holland, a neutral state, with
instructions to worm himself into the friendship and confidence of
Dubourg, and, in an unguarded moment, to lead him into the French
territories, where a party of soldiers was kept perpetually in readiness
to kidnap him and carry him off. For two years this modern Judas is said
to have carried on the intrigue, at the end of which period he prevailed
upon Dubourg to accompany him on a visit into France, when the soldiers
seized upon their victim, and hurried him off to the Mont St. Michel.

Confinement and solitude do not always kill. The Dutchman, accustomed,
perhaps, to a life of indolence, existed twenty years in his cage, never
enjoying the satisfaction of beholding "the human face divine," or of
hearing the human voice, except when the individual entered who was
charged with the duty of bringing him his provisions and cleaning his
cell. Some faint rays of light, just such as enable cats and owls to
mouse, found their way into the dungeon; and, by their aid, Dubourg,
whom accident or the humanity of his keeper had put in possession of an
old nail, and who inherited the passion of his countrymen for flowers,
contrived to sculpture roses and other flowers upon the beams of his
cage. Continual inaction, however, though it could not destroy life,
brought on the gout, which rendered the poor wretch incapable of moving
himself about from one side of the cage to the other; and he observed to
his keeper, that the greatest misery he endured was inflicted by the
rats, which came in droves, and gnawed away at his gouty legs, without
his being able to move out of their reach or frighten them away.

Having examined the principal objects of curiosity at the mount, and
learning that the tide was rising rapidly on the Grève, I descended from
the fortress, and mounting my horse, set out on my return to Avranches.

My guide informed me that I had staid somewhat too long, and in fact,
the sea, flowing and foaming furiously over the vast plain of sand,
quickly surrounded the mount, and was at our heels in a twinkling.
However, the guide sprang off with that long trot peculiar to fishermen,
and was followed with great good will by the beast which had been so
obstinate in the morning. We were joined in our retreat by a party of
sportsmen, who appeared to have been shooting gulls upon the sands; but
they could not keep up with the young fisherman, who stepped out like a
Newmarket racer, and in a short time landed me safe at the Point of
Pontorson, near the village of Courtils, where he resided.

By the way, we have just received Mr. St. John's _Anatomy of
Society_, which we hope to notice in our next or subsequent number.

    [3] Why is the _a_ omitted?


       *       *       *       *       *


THE MONUMENT.

Once the object of general praise, from its loftiness and beauty, and
till now the subject of censure, even among Protestants, from that
inscription of which the Papists always complained, was the offspring of
this period, and realized one of those decorations which Wren had
lavished upon his air-drawn Babylon. This lofty column was ordered by
the Commons, in commemoration of the extinction of the great fire and
the rebuilding of the city: it stands on the site of the old church of
St. Margaret, and within a hundred feet of the spot where the
conflagration began. It is of the Doric order, and rises from the
pavement to the height of two hundred and two feet, containing within
its shaft a spiral stair of black marble of three hundred and forty-five
steps. The plinth is twenty-one feet square, and ornamented with
sculpture by Cibber, representing the flames subsiding on the appearance
of King Charles;--beneath his horse's feet a figure, meant to personify
religious malice, crawls out vomiting fire, and above is that
unjustifiable legend which called forth the indignant lines of Pope--

  "Where London's column pointing to the skies,
  Like a tall bully, lifts his head and lies."[4]


The shaft, deeply fluted, measures fifteen feet diameter at the base,
and diminishing according to the proportion of its order, terminates
in a capital, crowned with a balcony, from the centre of which rises a
circular pedestal, bearing a flaming urn of gilt bronze. The various
notions of the architect concerning a suitable termination, are worth
relating:--"I cannot," said he, "but commend a large statue as carrying
much dignity with it, and that which would be more valuable in the eyes
of foreigners and strangers. It hath been proposed to cast such a one in
brass of twelve feet high for a thousand pounds. I hope we may find
those who will cast a figure for that money of fifteen feet high, which
will suit the greatness of the pillar, and is, as I take it, the largest
at this day extant. And this would undoubtedly be the noblest finishing
that can be found answerable to so goodly a work in all men's
judgments." The King preferred a large ball of metal gilt. A phoenix was
introduced in the wooden model of the pillar, but afterwards rejected by
the architect himself, "because it would be costly, not easily
understood at that height, and worse understood at a distance; and
lastly, dangerous by reason of the sail the spread wings would carry in
the wind." A statue of Charles, fifteen feet high, on a pedestal of two
hundred, would have looked small and mean; the King resisted the
compliment. This work, begun in 1671, was not completed till 1677; stone
was scarce, and the restoration of London and its Cathedral swallowed up
the produce of the quarries. "It was at first used," says Elmes, "by the
members of the Royal Society, for astronomical experiments, but was
abandoned on account of its vibrations being too great for the nicety
required in their observations. This occasioned a report that it was
unsafe; but its scientific construction may bid defiance to the attacks
of all but earthquakes for centuries."

_Life of Wren.--Family Library._

    [4] The original inscription, ascribing to the Roman Catholics the
        fire which consumed the city, obliterated during the reign of
        James II. and restored with much pomp on the coming of King
        William, is now ordered, I hear, to be erased by the Common
        Council. Fiction is truth and truth is fiction as party prevails.


       *       *       *       *       *


G. MORLAND.


H. Morland, wine merchant, brother of the painter, says, "that his
brother died while his servant was holding a glass of gin (his favourite
liquor) over his shoulder. And he was so prodigal at times that he had
not enough to buy ultra-marine with, although a few hours before he had
invited a great number of his associates to a general debauch."

GEO. ST. CLAIR.

       *       *       *       *       *


[Illustration: COWLEY'S HOUSE, AT CHERTSEY.]




COWLEY'S HOUSE, AT CHERTSEY.


Cowley retired to these premises at Chertsey, in Surrey, a few years
before his death, which took place here in 1667, in his 49th year. The
premises are called the Porch House, and were for many years occupied by
the late Richard Clark, Esq., Chamberlain of London, who died a short
time since. Mr. Clark, in honour of the Poet, took much pains to preserve
the premises in their original state, kept an original portrait of Cowley,
and had affixed a tablet in front, containing Cowley's Latin Epitaph on
himself. In the year 1793, it was supposed that the ruinous state of the
house rendered it impossible to support the building, but it was found
practicable to preserve the greater part of it, to which some rooms have
been added. Mr. Clark also placed a tablet in front of the building where
the porch stood, with the following inscription:--"The _Porch_ of
this House, which projected ten feet into the highway, was, in the year
1792, removed for the safety and accommodation of the public.

  "Here the last accents flowed from Cowley's tongue."


We received the substance of this information from the venerable Mr.
Clark himself, in the year 1822, about which time there appeared, in
the _Monthly Magazine_, a view of the original premises, from a
drawing by the late Mr. Samuel Ireland. The above view was taken by
a Correspondent, in the summer of 1828, and represents the original
portion of the mansion. Cowley's study is here pointed out, being a
closet in the back part of the house, towards the garden.

How delightfully must COWLEY have passed his latter days in the rural
seclusion of Chertsey! How he must have loved that earthly paradise--his
garden--who could write thus for his epitaph:

  From life's superfluous cares enlarg'd,
  His debt of human toil discharg'd,
  Here COWLEY lies, beneath this shed,
  To ev'ry worldly interest _dead_;
  With decent poverty content;
  His hours of ease not idly spent;
  To fortune's goods a foe profess'd,
  And, hating wealth, by all caress'd
  'Tis sure he's _dead_; for, lo! how small
  A spot of earth is now his all!
  O! wish that earth may lightly lay,
  And ev'ry care be far away!
  Bring flow'rs, the short-liv'd roses bring,
  To _life deceased_ fit offering!
  And sweets around the poet strow,
  Whilst yet with life his ashes glow.


Again:

  Sweet shades, adieu! here let my dust remain,
  Covered with flowers, and free from noise and pain;
  Let evergreens the turfy tomb adorn,
  And roseate dews (the glory of the morn)
  My carpet deck; then let my soul possess
  The happier scenes of an eternal bliss.


Then, too, the delightful chapter _Of Gardens_ which he addressed
to the virtuous John Evelyn.

We quote these few illustrations of Cowley's character from Mr. Felton's
very interesting volume "on the Portraits of English Authors on
Gardening."--By the way, at page 100, in a Note, Mr. Felton makes a
flattering reference to one of our earliest works, which we are happy to
learn has not escaped his observation.

       *       *       *       *       *




SPIRIT OF THE PUBLIC JOURNALS.

       *       *       *       *       *


ORIGIN OF PAUL "PRY."

(By the Author.)


The idea of the character of Paul Pry was suggested by the following
anecdote, related to me several years ago, by a beloved friend:--An idle
old lady, living in a narrow street, had passed so much of her time in
watching the affairs of her neighbours, that she, at length, acquired
the power of distinguishing the sound of every knocker within hearing.
It happened that she fell ill, and was, for several days, confined to
her bed. Unable to observe in person what was going on without, she
stationed her maid at the window, as a substitute for the performance
of that duty. But Betty soon grew weary of the occupation: she became
careless in her reports--impatient and tetchy when reprimanded for her
negligence.

"Betty, what _are_ you thinking about? don't you hear a double
knock at No. 9? Who is it?"

"The first-floor lodger, Ma'am."

"Betty! Betty!--I declare I must give you warning. Why don't you tell me
what that knock is at No. 54!"

"Why, Lord! Ma'am, it is only the baker, with pies."

"_Pies_, Betty! what _can_ they want with pies at 54?--they
had pies yesterday!"

Of this very point I have availed myself. Let me add that Paul Pry
was never intended as the _representative of any one individual_, but
a class. Like the melancholy of Jaques, he is "compounded of many
_Simples_;" and I _could_ mention five or six who were unconscious
contributors to the character.--That it should have been so often,
though erroneously, supposed to have been drawn after some particular
person, is, perhaps, complimentary to the general truth of the
delineation.

With respect to the play, generally, I may say that it is original: it
is original in structure, plot, character, and dialogue--such as they
are. The only imitation I am aware of is to be found in part of the
business in which Mrs. Subtle is engaged: whilst writing those scenes
I had strongly in my recollection _Le Vieux Celibataire_. But even
the little I have adopted is considerably altered and modified by the
necessity of adapting it to the exigencies of a different plot.--_New
Monthly Magazine_.

       *       *       *       *       *


MAUREEN.


  The cottage is here as of old I remember,
    The pathway is worn as it always hath been;
  On the turf-piled hearth there still lives a bright ember;--
    But where is Maureen?

  The same pleasant prospect still lieth before me,
    The river--the mountain--the valley of green,
  And Heaven itself (a bright blessing!) is o'er me;--
    But where is Maureen?

  Lost! Lost!--Like a dream that hath come and departed,
    (Ah, why are the loved and the lost ever seen!)
  She has fallen--hath flown, with a lover false-hearted;--
    So, mourn for Maureen.

  And she who so loved her is slain--(the poor mother!)
    Struck dead in a day by a shadow unseen,
  And the home we once loved is the home of another,
    And lost is Maureen.

  Sweet Shannon, a moment by thee let me ponder,
    A moment look back at the things that have been,
  Then, away to the world where the ruin'd ones wander,
    To seek for Maureen.

  Pale peasant--perhaps, 'neath the frown of high Heaven,
    She roams the dark deserts of sorrow unseen,
  Unpitied--unknown; but I--_I_ shall know even
    The _ghost_ of Maureen.


_New Monthly Magazine._

       *       *       *       *       *


THE BURIAL IN THE DESERT.

BY MRS HEMANS.


  How weeps yon gallant Band
  O'er him their valour could not save!
  For the bayonet is red with gore,
  And he, the beautiful and brave,
  Now sleeps in Egypt's sand.--WILSON.


  In the shadow of the Pyramid
    Our brother's grave we made,
  When the battle-day was done,
  And the Desert's parting sun
    A field of death survey'd.

  The blood-red sky above us
    Was darkening into night,
  And the Arab watching silently
    Our sad and hurried rite.

  The voice of Egypt's river
    Came hollow and profound,
  And one lone palm-tree, where we stood,
    Rock'd with a shivery sound:

  While the shadow of the Pyramid
    Hung o'er the grave we made,
  When the battle-day was done,
  And the Desert's parting sun
    A field of death survey'd.

  The fathers of our brother
    Were borne to knightly tombs,
  With torch-light and with anthem-note,
    And many waving plumes:

  But he, the last and noblest
    Of that high Norman race,
  With a few brief words of soldier-love
    Was gather'd to his place;

  In the shadow of the Pyramid,
    Where his youthful form we laid,
  When the battle-day was done,
  And the Desert's parting sun
    A field of death survey'd.

  But let him, let him slumber
    By the old Egyptian wave!
  It is well with those who bear their fame
    Unsullied to the grave!

  When brightest names are breathed on,
    When loftiest fall so fast,
  We would not call our brother back
    On dark days to be cast,

  From the shadow of the Pyramid,
    Where his noble heart we laid,
  When the battle-day was done,
  And the Desert's parting sun
    A field of death survey'd.


_Blackwood's Magazine._

       *       *       *       *       *


THE SNOW-WHITE VIRGIN.

(Continued from page 125.)


Her life seemed to be the same in sleep. Often at midnight, by the light
of the moon shining in upon her little bed beside theirs, her parents
leant over her face, diviner in dreams, and wept as she wept, her lips
all the while murmuring, in broken sentences of prayer, the name of Him
who died for us all. But plenteous as were his penitential
tears--penitential, in the holy humbleness of her stainless spirit, over
thoughts that had never left a dimming breath on its purity, yet that
seemed, in those strange visitings, to be haunting her as the shadows of
sins--soon were they all dried up in the lustre of her returning smiles!
Waking, her voice in the kirk was the sweetest among many sweet, as all
the young singers, and she the youngest far, sat together by themselves,
and within the congregational music of the psalm, uplifted a silvery
strain that sounded like the very spirit of the whole, even like angelic
harmony blent with a mortal song. But sleeping, still more sweetly sang
the "Holy Child;" and then, too, in some diviner inspiration than ever
was granted to it while awake, her soul composed its own hymns, and set
the simple scriptural words to its own mysterious music--the tunes she
loved best gliding into one another, without once ever marring the
melody, with pathetic touches interposed never heard before, and never
more, to be renewed! For each dream had its own breathing, and
many-visioned did then seem to be the sinless creature's sleep!

The love that was borne for her, all over the hill-region and beyond its
circling clouds, was almost such as mortal creatures might be thought to
feel for some existence that had visibly come from heaven! Yet all who
looked on her saw that she, like themselves, was mortal; and many an eye
was wet, the heart wist not why, to hear such wisdom falling from her
lips; for dimly did it prognosticate, that as short as bright would be
her walk from the cradle to the grave. And thus for the "Holy Child" was
their love elevated by awe, and saddened by pity--and as by herself she
passed pensively by their dwellings, the same eyes that smiled on her
presence, on her disappearance wept!

Not in vain for others--and for herself, oh! what great gain!--for these
few years on earth, did that pure spirit ponder on the word of God!
Other children became pious from their delight in her piety---for she
was simple as the simplest among them all, and walked with them hand in
hand, nor spurned companionship with any one that was good. But all grew
good by being with her---and parents had but to whisper her name--and in
a moment the passionate sob was hushed---the lowering brow lighted--and
the household in peace. Older hearts owned the power of the piety, so
far surpassing their thoughts; and time-hardened sinners, it is said,
when looking and listening to the "Holy Child," knew the errors of their
ways, and returned to the right path, as at a voice from heaven.

Bright was her seventh summer--the brightest, so the aged said, that had
ever, in man's memory, shone over Scotland. One long, still, sunny, blue
day followed another; and in the rainless weather, though the dews kept
green the hills, the song of the streams was low. But paler and paler,
in sunlight and moonlight, became the sweet face that had been always
pale; and the voice that had been always something mournful, breathed
lower and sadder still from the too perfect whiteness of her breast. No
need--no fear---to tell her thai she was about to die! Sweet whispers
had sung it to her in her sleep, and waking she knew it in the look of
the piteous skies. But she spoke not to her parents of death more than
she had often done--and never of her own. Only she seemed to love them
with a more exceeding love--and was readier, even sometimes when no one
was speaking, with a few drops of tears. Sometimes she disappeared--nor,
when sought for, was found in the woods about the hut. And one day that
mystery was cleared; for a shepherd saw her sitting by herself on a
grassy mound in a nook of the small, solitary kirkyard, miles off among
the hills, so lost in reading the Bible, that shadow or sound of his
feet awoke her not; and, ignorant of his presence, she knelt down and
prayed--for awhile weeping bitterly--but soon comforted by a heavenly
calm--that her sins might be forgiven her!

One Sabbath evening, soon after, as she was sitting beside her parents,
at the door of their hut, looking first for a long while on their faces,
and then for a long while on the sky, though it was not yet the stated
hour of worship, she suddenly knelt down, and leaning on their knees,
with hands clasped more fervently than her wont, she broke forth into
tremulous singing of that hymn, which from her lips they now never heard
without unendurable tears.

  "The hour of my departure's come,
  I hear the voice that calls me home;
  At last, O Lord! let trouble cease,
  And let thy servant die in peace."


They carried her fainting to her little bed, and uttered not a word to
one another till she revived. The shock was sudden, but not unexpected,
and they knew now that the hand of death was upon her, although her eyes
soon became brighter and brighter, they thought, than they had ever been
before. But forehead, cheeks, lips, neck, and breast, were, all as
white, and, to the quivering hands that touched them, almost as cold, as
snow. Ineffable was the bliss in those radiant eyes; but the breath of
words was frozen, and that hymn was almost her last farewell. Some few
words she spake, and named the hour and day she wished to be buried.
Her lips could then just faintly return the kiss, and no more--a film
came over the now dim blue of her eyes--the father listened for her
breath--and then the mother took his place, and leaned her ear to the
unbreathing mouth, long deluding herself with its lifelike smile; but
a sudden darkness in the room, and a sudden stillness--most dreadful
both--convinced their unbelieving hearts at last--that it was death!

All the parish, it may be said, attended her funeral--for none staid
away from the kirk that Sabbath--though many a voice was unable to join
in the psalm. The little grave was soon filled up, and you hardly knew
that the turf had been disturbed beneath which she lay. The afternoon
service consisted but of a prayer--for he who ministered, had loved her
with love unspeakable--and, though an old grey-haired man, all the time
he prayed he wept. In the sobbing kirk her parents were sitting, but no
one looked at them--and when the congregation rose to go, there they
remained sitting--and an hour afterwards, came out again into the open
air--and parting with their pastor at the gate, walked away to their
hut, overshadowed with the blessing of a thousand prayers!

And did her parents, soon after she was buried, die of broken hearts,
or pine away disconsolately to their graves?--Think not that they, who
were Christians indeed, could be guilty of such ingratitude. "The Lord
giveth, and the Lord taketh away--blessed be the name of the Lord!" were
the first words they had spoken by that bedside; during many, many long
years of weal or woe, duly every morning and night, these same blessed
words did they utter when on their knees together in prayer--and many
a thousand times besides, when they were apart, she in her silent hut,
and he on the hill--neither of them unhappy in their solitude, though
never again, perhaps, was his countenance so cheerful as of yore--and
though often suddenly amidst mirth or sunshine, her eyes were seen
to overflow! Happy had they been--as we mortal beings ever can be
happy--during many pleasant years of wedded life before she had been
born. And happy were they--on to the verge of old age--after she had
here ceased to be! Their Bible had indeed been an idle book--the Bible
that belonged to "the Holy Child,"--and idle all their kirk-goings with
"the Holy Child," through the Sabbath-calm--had those intermediate seven
years not left a power of bliss behind them triumphant over death and
the grave!

_Blackwood's Magazine._

       *       *       *       *       *




NOTES OF A READER.

       *       *       *       *       *


FAMILIAR LAW.


We cordially add our note of commendation to those already bestowed
on a little Manual, entitled "Plain Advice to Landlords and Tenants,
Lodging-house Keepers, and Lodgers; with a comprehensive Summary of the
Law of Distress," &c. It is likewise pleasant to see "third edition" in
its title-page. Accompanying we have "A Familiar Summary of the Laws
respecting Masters and Servants," &c.

On looking into these little books we find much of the _plain
sense_ of law. There is no mystification by technicalities, but all
the information is practical, all ready to hand, we mean mouth; so that,
as Mrs. Fixture says in the farce of _A Roland for an Oliver_--"If
there be such a thing as la' in the land," you may "ha' it." Joking
apart, they are sensible books, and of good authority.

Suppose we throw ourselves back in our chair, and for a minute or two
think of the good which the spread of common sense by such means as the
above must produce among men: how much bile and bickering they may keep
down, which in nine law-suits out of ten arise from want of "a proper
understanding." The reader may say that in recommending those
fire-and-water folks, landlords and tenants, and masters and servants,
and those half-agreeable persons, lodging-house keepers and lodgers--to
purchase such books, we advise every man to act with an attorney at his
elbow. We can but reply with Swift:--

  "The only fault is with mankind."


       *       *       *       *       *


CRUELTY TO ANIMALS.

A very laudable work appears quarterly, entitled "The Voice of Humanity:
for the communication and discussion of all subjects relative to the
conduct of man towards the inferior animal creation." The number (3)
before us, contains a paper on the Abolition of Slaughter-houses, and
the substitution of Abattoirs, a point to which we adverted and
illustrated in vol. xi. of the _Mirror_. The Amended Act to prevent
the cruel and improper treatment of cattle, follows; and among the other
articles is a Table of the Prosecutions of the Society against Cruelty
to Animals, from November 1830, to January 1831, drawn up by our
occasional correspondent, the benevolent Mr. Lewis Gompertz.

       *       *       *       *       *


THE MUSE IN LIVERY.

We have been somewhat amused with the piquancy and humour of the
following introduction of a Notice of a volume of Poems, "by John Jones,
an old servant," which has just appeared under the editorship of Mr.
Southey and the _Quarterly Review_:--

Shakspeare has said, "What's in a name?--a rose, by any other name,
would smell as sweet!" But here we have a convincing proof of the
necessity of attending strictly to names, as the commonest regard to the
fitting attributes of a "John Jones," would have kept the victim of such
an appellation quite clear of poetry. It is next to impossible that a
John Jones should be a poet;--and some kind friend should have broken
the truth to the butler, before he endeavoured to share unpolished glory
with uneducated bards.

An inspired serving-man, in a livery of industry, turned up with
morality, is a species of bard which we never expected to find in the
service of the Muses, or bringing a written character from his last
place, and vaunting of his readiness and ability to write epics and
wait at table. The work we should have looked to meet with, emanating
from the butler's pantry, was a miscellaneous volume full of religious
scraps, essays on dress, receipts for boot-tops, wise cooking
cogitations, remedies for bugs, cures for ropy beer, hints for blacking,
ingredients for punch, thoughts on tapping ale, early rising and killing
fleas. The mischief of the wide dissemination of education is now
becoming apparent, for, poor as authors confessedly are, they have
generally been gentlemen, even in rags--learned men of some degree,
though with exposed elbows--folk only a little lower than the angels!
But never until the schoolmaster was so abundantly abroad, distributing
his spelling-soup to the poor, did we ever hear of a butler writing
poetry, and committing it to the press. The order of things is becoming
reversed. The garret is beginning to lose its literary celebrity, and
the kitchen is taking the matter up. A floor near the sky in Grub-street
is no pen-spot now; but down fifty fathoms deep in Portland Place, or
Portman Square, or some far-retired old country house, you shall find
the author: his red cuffs turned up over his light blue jacket sleeves,
the pen in his hand, and his inspired eye looking out upon the area.
There doth he correct the brain-work which is to carry his name up above
the earth, and keep it there, bright as cleaned plate. In the
housekeeper's room, inspiration gives a double knock at his heart. An
author in a pantry certainly writes under great disadvantages, for it
cannot be said that he is there writing for his _bread_. In such a
place, the loaf is in his eye--the larder is so near, he may almost dip
his pen into it by mistake--and positive beef gleams through the veil of
the safe, softened to his eye, yet still solider than beef of the
imagination. In truth, a man has much to overcome in preparing food for
the mind, in the very thick of food for the body;--for a good authority
(no less a man than Mr. Bayes) has strenuously advised that the belly
should be empty when the brain is to be unloaded. How can a gentleman's
gentleman, with a _corpus_ that banishes his backbone nearly four
feet from the table at which he sits, betake himself to his cogitations
over a tankard of October, and expect to beat your true thin
garret-haunting devil, with an inside like a pea-shooter, who can
scarcely be said to be one remove from the ethereal, and who writes from
that best of inspirations--an empty pantry? We shall presently see
whether an author from below is better than one from above--whether it
will be more eligible that the Muses should have several more stories
to descend, when their nine ladyships are invoked so to do--and that the
pen should be taken out of the scraggy hand of a gentleman in rags, and
be placed in the plump gripe of a gentleman in tags.

Before we proceed to give an account of the book before us, we must yet
take leave to indulge in a few reflections on the effect of this mental
explosion in the noddles of John and James and Richard, upon reviewers,
publishers, and the world in general. This change of lodging in the
author will turn many things topsy-turvy, and conjure the spirit out of
much long-established facetiousness. Pictures of poets in garrets will
soon not be understood; bathos will be at a premium! the bard will be
known, not by the brownness of his beaver, but by the gold band that
encircles it. The historian shall go about in black plush breeches; and
the great inspired writers of the age "have a livery more guarded than
their fellows." Authors shall soon be, indeed, even more easily known by
their dress. How often, too, shall we see Mr. Murray or Mr. Colburn
descending "with the nine" to the hireling scribe, who is correcting the
press and locking up the tea-spoons, against his coming; or they may
have occasionally to wait below, while their authors are _waiting_
above. Longman, Rees, Orme, Brown and Green (almost a batch of he-muses
in themselves), will get a new cookery-book, _well done_, from a
genuine cook,[5] who divides his time between the spit and the pen; and
the firm need not, therefore, set Mrs. Rundell's temper upon the
_simmer_, as they are said to have done in days past. Reviewers
too!---will they ever dine together anon?--surely not. Authors are known
to be in the malicious habit of speaking ill of their friends and judges
behind their backs; and at dinner-time they will soon have every
opportunity of so doing. How unpleasant to call for beer from the poet
you have just set in a foam; or to ask for the carving-knife from the
man you have so lately _cut up_! _We_ reviewers shall then never
be able to shoot our severity, without the usual coalman's memento of
"take care below!" One advantage, however, from the new system must be
conceded, and that is, that when an author waits in a great man's hall,
or stands at his door, he will be pretty sure of being paid for it; which,
in the case of your dangling garreteers, has never hitherto happened.
Crabbe's story of "The Patron" will become obsolete. High Life will,
indeed, be below stairs!

There is a lively spirit of banter in these observations, which is
extremely amusing. They are from the _Athenaeum_ of last week,
which, by the way, has more of the intellectual gladiatorship in its
columns than any of its critical contemporaries.

    [5] There is a cookery-book, by "a Lady," and a cookery-book by a
        Physician; but Mrs. Rundell and Dr. Kitchiner will soon be warned
        off the gridiron by the erudite genuine practical cook, who has
        a right to the _kitchen stuff_ of literature. Mrs. R. must show
        herself to be what she professes, and take "her chops out of the
        frying-pan;" and the "good doctor" must "put his tongue into plenty
        of cold water" to cool its boiling, broiling ardour.


       *       *       *       *       *


STEAM.

A Mr. Josph Hardaker has sung the praises of this gigantic power in
thirty-five stanzas, entitled "the Aeropteron; or, Steam Carriage." If
his lines run not as glibly as a Liverpool prize engine, they will
afford twenty minutes pleasant reading, and are an illustration of the
high and low pressure precocity of the march of mechanism.

       *       *       *       *       *


TIME'S TELESCOPE FOR 1831

Has appeared in somewhat better style than its predecessors. The paper
is of better quality, the print is in better taste, and there are a few
delicate copper-plate engravings. The old plan or chronological
arrangement is, however, nearly worn threadbare, and to supply this
defect there are in the present volume many specimens of contemporary
literature. Few of them, however, are first-rate. The most original
portion consists of the Astronomical Occurrences, which extend to 150
pages.

       *       *       *       *       *


POPULAR CHEMISTRY.

Such is the title of the fifth part or portion of _Knowledge for the
People: or, the Plain Why and Because:_ containing Attraction or
Affinity--Crystallization--Heat--Electricity--Light and
Flame--Combustion--Charcoal--Gunpowder and Volcanic Fire. We quote a few
articles from most of the heads:--

Why is the science of chemistry so named?

Because of its origin from the Arabic, in which language it signifies
"the knowledge of the composition of bodies."

The following definitions of chemistry have been given by some of our
best writers:--

"Chemistry is the study of the effects of heat and mixture, with the
view of discovering their general and subordinate laws, and of improving
the useful arts."--Dr. Black.

"Chemistry is that science which examines the constituent parts of
bodies, with reference to their nature, proportions, and method of
combination."--Bergman.

"Chemistry is that science which treats of those events or changes, in
natural bodies, which are not accompanied by sensible motions."--Dr.
Thompson.

"Chemistry is a science by which we become acquainted with the intimate
and reciprocal action of all the bodies in nature upon each
other."--Fourcroy.

The four preceding definitions are quoted by Mr. Parkes, in his
_Chemical Catechism_.

Dr. Johnson (from Arbuthnot) defines "chymistry" as "philosophy by
fire."

Mr. Brande says, "It is the object of chemistry to investigate all
changes in the constitution of matter, whether effected by heat,
mixture, or other means."--_Manual_, 3rd edit. 1830.

Dr. Ure says, "Chemistry may be defined the science which investigates
the composition of material substances, and the permanent changes of
constitution which their mutual actions produce."--_Dictionary_,
edit. 1830.

Sir Humphry Davy, in his posthumous work,[6] says, "There is nothing
more difficult than a good definition of chemistry; for it is scarcely
possible to express, in a few words, the abstracted view of an infinite
variety of facts. Dr. Black has defined chemistry to be that science
which treats of the changes produced in bodies by motions of their
ultimate particles or atoms; but this definition is hypothetical; for
the ultimate particles or atoms are mere creations of the imagination. I
will give you a definition which will have the merit of novelty, and
which is probably general in its application. _Chemistry relates to
those operations by which the intimate nature, of bodies is changed, or
by which they acquire new properties._ This definition will not only
apply to the effects of mixture, but to the phenomena of electricity,
and, in short, to all the changes which do not merely depend upon the
motion or division of masses of matter."

Cuvier, in one of a series of lectures, delivered at Paris, in the
spring of last year, says, "the name chemistry, itself, comes from the
word _chim_, which was the ancient name of Egypt;" and he states
that minerals were known to the Egyptians "not only by their external
characters, but also by what we at the present day call their _chemical
characters_." He also adds, that what was afterwards called the Egyptian
science, the Hermetic art, the art of transmuting metals, was a mere
reverie of the middle ages, utterly unknown to antiquity. "The pretended
books of Hermes are evidently supposititious, and were written by the
Greeks of the lower Empire."


Crystallization.

Why are the crystals collected in camphor bottles in druggists' windows
always most copious upon the surface exposed to the light?

Because the presence of light considerably influences the process of
crystallization. Again, if we place a solution of nitre in a room which
has the light admitted only through a small hole in the window-shutter,
crystals will form most abundantly upon the side of the basin exposed to
the aperture through which the light enters, and often the whole mass of
crystals will turn towards it.--Brande.

Why is sugar-candy crystallized on strings, and verdigris on sticks?

Because crystallization is accelerated by introducing into the solution
a nucleus, or solid body, (like the string or stick) upon which the
process begins.

The ornamental alum baskets, whose manufacture was once so favourite a
pursuit of lady-chemistry, were made upon this principle; the forms of
the baskets being determined by wire framework, to which the crystals
readily adhere.

Why is sugar-candy sometimes in large and regular crystals?

Because the concentrated syrup has been kept for several days and nights
_undisturbed_, in a very high temperature; for, if perfect rest and
a temperature of from 120° to 190° be not afforded, regular crystals of
candy will not be obtained.

The manufacture of barley-sugar is a familiar example of
crystallization. The syrup is evaporated over a slow heat, till it has
acquired the proper consistence, when it is poured on metal to cool, and
when nearly so, cut into lengths with shears, then twisted, and again
left to harden.

Heat.

Why does hay, if stacked when damp, take fire?

Because the moisture elevates the temperature sufficiently to produce
putrefaction, and the ensuing chemical action causes sufficient heat to
continue the process; the quantity of matter being also great, the heat
is proportional.

Why is the air warm in misty or rainy weather?

Because of the liberation of the latent heat from the precipitated
vapour.

Why is heated air thinner or lighter than cold air?

Because it is a property of heat to expand all bodies; or rather we
should say, that we call air hot or cold, according as it naturally is
more or less expanded.

Why is a tremulous motion observable over chimney-pots, and slated roofs
which have been heated by the sun?

Because the warm air rises, and its refracting power being less than
that of the colder air, the currents are rendered visible by the
distortion of objects viewed through them.

Within doors, a similar example occurs above the foot-lights of the
stage of a theatre; the flame of a candle, or the smoke of a lamp.

Why are the gas chandeliers in our theatres placed under a large funnel?

Because the funnel, by passing through the roof into the outer air,
operates as a very powerful ventilator, the heat and smoke passing off
with a large proportion of the air of the house.

The ventilation of rooms and buildings can only be perfectly effected,
by suffering the heated and foul air to pass off through apertures in
the ceiling, while fresh air, of any desired temperature, is admitted
from below.--Brande.

Why do heated sea-sand and soda form glass?

Because, by heating the mixture, the cohesion of the particles of each
substance to those of its own kind is so diminished, that the mutual
attractions of the two substances come into play, melt together, and
unite chemically into the beautiful compound called glass.

Why is sand used in glass?

Because it serves for stone; it being said, that all white transparent
stones which will not burn to lime are fit to make glass.


Electricity.

Why is an arrangement of several Leyden jars called an electrical
battery?

Because by a communication existing between all their interior coatings,
their exterior being also united, they may be charged and discharged as
one jar.

The discharge of the battery is attended by a considerable report, and if
it be passed through small animals, it instantly kills them; if through
fine metallic wires, they are ignited, melted, and burned; and gunpowder,
cotton sprinkled with powdered resin, and a variety of other combustibles,
may be inflamed by the same means.

Why is the fireside an unsafe place in a thunder-storm?

Because the carbonaceous matter, or soot, with which the chimney is
lined, acts as a conductor for the lightning.

Why is the middle of an apartment the safest place during a
thunder-storm?

Because, should a flash of lightning strike a building, or enter at any
of the windows, it will take its direction along the walls, without
injuring the centre of the room.


Combustion.

Why does amàdou, or German tinder, readily inflame from flint and steel,
or from the sudden condensation of air?

Because it consists of a vegetable substance found on old trees, boiled
in water to extract its soluble parts, then dried and beat with a
mallet, to loosen its texture; and lastly, impregnated with a solution
of nitre.---Ure.

Why is a piece of paper lighted, by holding it in the air which rushes
out of a common lamp-glass?

Because of the high temperature of the current of air above the flame,
the condensation of which is by the chimney of the glass.


We do not quote these specimens in the precise order in which they occur
in the work, or to show the consecutive or connected interest of the
several articles. In many cases we select them for their brevity and
point of illustration.

    [6] Consolations in Travel; or, the Last Days of a Philosopher. 1830.


       *       *       *       *       *




THE GATHERER.


  A snapper up of unconsidered trifles.
  SHAKSPEARE.

       *       *       *       *       *


SHIP-BUILDING.

To give an idea of the enormous quantity of timber necessary to
construct a ship of war, we may observe that 2,000 tons, or 3,000 loads,
are computed to be required for a seventy-four. Now, reckoning fifty
oaks to the acre, of 100 years' standing, and the quantity in each tree
to be a load and a half, it would require forty acres of oak forest to
build one seventy-four; and the quantity increases in a great ratio, for
the largest class of line of battle ships. The average duration of these
vast machines, when employed, is computed to be fourteen years. It is
supposed, that all the full grown oaks now in Scotland would not build
two ships of the line.

_Quarterly Journal of Agriculture_.

       *       *       *       *       *


THE SHOWER BATH.


  Quoth Dermot, (a lodger of Mrs. O'Flynn's),
    "How queerly my shower bath feels!
  It shocks like a posse of needles and pins,
    Or a shoal of electrical eels."

  Quoth Murphy, "then mend it, and I'll tell you how,
    Its all your own fault, my good fellow;
  I used to be bothered as you are, but now
    I'm wiser--I take my umbrella."


X.Y.Z.

       *       *       *       *       *


THE TOWER OF LONDON.

Some of the following inscriptions are to be found in the "Beauchamp
Tower."

In the third recess on the left hand is "T.C. I leve in hope, and I gave
q credit to mi frinde, in time did stande me most in hande, so wolde I
never doe againe, excepte I hade him suer in bande, and to al men wishe
I so, unles ye sussteine the leike lose as I do.

  "Unhappie is that mane whose actes doth procuer,
  The miseri of this house imprison to induer.

  "1576, Thomas Clark."


Just opposite the same is

  "Hit is the poynt of a wyse man to try and then truste,
  For Hapy is he who fyndeth one that is juste.

  "T. Clarke."

In the same part of the room between the two last recesses is this, in
old English:

  "Ano. Dni   ...   Mens. As.
     1568      J.H.S.       23

  "No hope is hard or vayne
  That happ doth ous attayne."


And on the wall on the top of the Beauchamp Tower, are the following
lines on a Goldfinch:--

  "Where Raleigh pined within a prison's gloom,
  I chearful sung, nor murmur'd at my doom,
  Where heroes bold and patriots firm could dwell,
  A Goldfinch in Content his note might swell;
  But death more gentle than the law's decree,
  Hath paid my ransom from captivity.

  "Buried June 23rd, 1794, by a fellow-prisoner
  in the Tower of London."

       *       *       *       *       *


LORD THURLOW.

One day, when Lord Thurlow was very busy at his house in Great
Ormondstreet, a poor curate applied to him for a living then vacant,
"Don't trouble me," said the chancellor, turning from him with a
frowning brow; "don't you see I am busy, and can't listen to you?" The
poor curate lifted up his eyes, and with dejection said, "he had no Lord
to recommend him but the Lord of Hosts!" "The Lord of Hosts," replied
the chancellor, "The Lord of Hosts! I believe I have had recommendations
from most lords, but do not recollect one from him before, and so do you
hear, young man, you shall have the living;" and accordingly presented
him with the same.

       *       *       *       *       *


THE EAST INDIA COMPANY.

The East India Company was established 1600, their stock then consisting
of £72,000, when they fitted out four ships, and meeting with success,
they have continued ever since; in 1683, India Stock sold from 360 to
500 per cent. A new company was established in 1698; re-established, and
the two united, 1700, agreed to give government £400,000. per annum, for
four years, on condition they might continue unmolested, 1769. In 1773,
in great confusion, and applied to parliament for assistance; judges
sent from England by government, faithfully to administer the laws there
to the company's servants, 1774, April 2nd.

T. GILL.

       *       *       *       *       *


A country paper says, "The Corporation are about to build two free
schools, one of which is finished."

       *       *       *       *       *


ANNUAL OF SCIENCE.


Early in March will be published, price 5s.

ARCANA of SCIENCE, and ANNUAL REGISTER of the USEFUL ARTS for 1831.

Comprising POPULAR INVENTIONS, IMPROVEMENTS, and DISCOVERIES Abridged
from the Transactions of Public Societies and Scientific Journals of the
past year. With several Engravings.

"One of the best and cheapest books of the day."--_Mag. Nat. Hist._

"An annual register of new inventions and improvements, in a popular
form like this, cannot fail to be useful."--_Lit. Gaz._

Printing for JOHN LIMBIRD, 143, Strand;--of whom may be had the Volumes
for the three preceding years.

       *       *       *       *       *

Printed and Published by J. LIMBIRD, 143, Strand, (near Somerset
House,) London; sold by ERNEST FLEISCHER, 626, New Market, Leipsic; G.G.
BENNIS, 55, Rue Neuve, St. Augustin, Paris; and by all Newsmen and
Booksellers.