The Mirror of Literature, Amusement, and Instruction

Produced by Jonathan Ingram, David King, and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team


VOL. 20. No. 558.] SATURDAY, JULY 21, 1832. [PRICE 2_d_.

* * * * *



In our fourteenth volume we took a farewell glance of the old church of
St. Dunstan, and adverted to the proposed new structure. Little did we
then expect that within three years the removal of the old church would
be effected, and a fabric of greatly surpassing beauty raised in its
place. All this has been accomplished by the unanimity of the
parishioners of St. Dunstan, unaided by any public grant, and assisted
only by their own right spirit, integrity, and well-directed taste. The
erection of this Church, as the annexed Engraving shows, is not to be
considered merely as a parochial, but as a public, benefit, and must be
ranked among the most important of our metropolitan improvements. The
different situation of the new and the old churches will occasion an
addition of 30 feet to the width of the opposite street, and it will be
perceived by the Engraving,[1] that improvements are contemplated in the
houses adjoining the church, so as to give an _unique_ architectural
character to this portion of the line of Fleet-street.

[1] Copied, by permission, from a handsome Lithograph, published
by Mr. Waller, Fleet-street.

The church has been built from the designs and under the superintendance
of John Shaw, Esq., F.R. and A.S. the architect of Christ's Hospital.
The tower is of the Kelton stone, a very superior kind of freestone, of
beautiful colour, from the county of Rutland. Of this material King's
College Chapel, Cambridge, and many other of our finest edifices have
been constructed. The tower has below an entrance doorway, finished with
rich mouldings and tracery; on each side are the arms of his Majesty and
the City of London. Above is a clock with three dials, and a belfry to
admit the fine set of bells[2] from the old church, the sound of which
will doubtless receive effect through the four large upper windows which
are the main features of the tower. Above these windows, the tower,
hitherto square, becomes gradually octagonal, springing from corbeled
heads; till terminated by four octagonal pinnacles, and crowned by an
octagonal moulded battlement. Upon the tower is an enriched stone
lantern, perforated with gothic windows of two heights, each angle
having a buttress and enriched finial; the whole being terminated by an
ornamental, pierced, and very rich crown parapet. The height of the
tower, to the battlements, is 90 feet; and the whole height of the tower
and lantern is 130 feet.

[2] The tower of the old church was furnished with a set of
eight very excellent bells: there was also a bell of a smaller
size suspended in one of the turrets, which was rung every
morning at a quarter before seven o'clock. On the walls of the
belfry were some records of exploits in ringing, which had been
performed there on different occasions.

The body of the church is of fine brick, finished with stone, and of
octagon form, about 50 feet diameter. The interior has eight recesses;
one of these being occupied by the altar with a large pointed window
above, and three others by the organ and galleries for the children of
the parish schools: the remaining four recesses are unoccupied by
galleries; against their walls are placed the sepulchral monuments from
the old church. The octagon form was often adopted in the lady-chapels
at the east end of our most ancient cathedrals, where the recesses were
devoted to tombs and private chapels. The upper or clere story is
supported on arches, with an enriched gothic window in each compartment.
The roof springs from clustered columns, branching into an enriched
groined ceiling, with a very large and embellished pendent key-stone in
the centre, from which will be suspended the chandelier to light the
whole of the interior. The ornaments of this key-stone are of a very
elegant character: its foliated tracery, as well as the richness of the
bosses, corbels, and other embellishments throughout the interior, are
extremely beautiful. The pewing, gallery fronts, and fittings will be of
fine oak; and we learn that the altar and eight clere story windows will
be filled with painted glass. The church is calculated to hold about 900

The tower is connected with the main body by a lobby, and will front the
street, enclosed with a handsome railing. The builders of the church are
Messrs. Browne and Atkinson, of Goswell-street, London; and the pewing
and interior fittings are about to be executed by Messrs. Cubitt.

* * * * *

We could occupy a column or a page with enumerating the monumental
remains of the old church, although we have already mentioned the
principal of them. (_See Mirror_, vol. xiv. p. 145-243.) It is our
intention to return to them, even if it be but to point the attention of
the lover of parochial antiquities to a Series of Views of St. Dunstan
and its Monuments, with an Historical Account of the Church, by the Rev.
J.F. Denham; which by its concise yet satisfactory details, leads us to
wish that every parish in the metropolis were illustrated by so
accomplished an annalist.

* * * * *


When the cypress-tree is weeping
With the bright rose o'er the tomb.
And the sunny orb is sleeping
On the mountain's brow of gloom.
Sweet mother at thy shrine
Our spirits melt in prayer,
Beneath the loveliness divine,
Which art has pictured there.

Or when the crystal star of Even
Is mirror'd in the silent sea,
And we can almost deem that heaven
Derives its calmest smile from thee.
Oh, virgin, if the lute
Invokes thy name in song,
Be thine the only voice that's mute,
Amid the tuneful throng.

When battle waves her falchion gory,
Over the dead on sea or land,
And one proud heart receives the glory,
Won by the blood of many a band,
If the hero's prayer to thee,
From his fading lips be given,
Awake his heart to ecstacy,
With brightest hopes of heaven.

Madonna! on whose bosom slumber'd,
The infant, Christ, with sunny brow,
The viewless hours have pass'd unnumber'd,
Since we adored thy shrine as now;
But not the gorgeous sky,
Nor the blue expansive sea,
To us such beauty could supply,
As that which hallow'd thee!

And when the scenes of life are faded
From our dim eyes like phantom-things,
When gentlest hearts with gloom are shaded,
And cease to thrill at Fancy's strings,
_Thou_, like the rainbow's form,
When summer skies are dark,
Shalt give thy light amid the storm,
And guide the Wanderer's bark!


* * * * *


"For my part I do much admire, with what soul or with what
appetite the first man, with his mouth touched slaughter, and
reached to his lips the flesh of a dead animate."--PLUTARCH.

We ought not perhaps to insist too much on the opinions of the heathen
philosophers, because the extension of knowledge, and a more matured
experience, has shown the fallacy of many of their notions; but if we
were permitted to lay any stress on the authority of these celebrated
men, we might bring forward a mine of classical learning in commendation
of a vegetable diet; we might point to the life of a Pythagoras, or a
Seneca, as well as to the works of a Plato, and show how the wisest
among the ancients lived, as well as thought, with regard to this

But we shall be contented, as far as authority is concerned, to rest our
claims to attention, rather upon that which bears a more modern date,
and to bring forward the evidence of facts instead of the theories of
ingenuity. The subject itself we may venture to hope, though a little
homely, is not without interest, and certainly not unimportant. It is
somewhat scientific from its very nature, and so far from being a matter
confined to the medical faculty, it is one on which every man exerts,
every day of his existence, his own free choice, as far indeed as custom
has allowed him the exercise of that freedom.

But, though we will not go back to the dreams of our forefathers, (who,
if they had more genius, had fewer materials for it to work upon than
their servile children,) yet we must always make the Bible an exception,
and in the present case we find it expedient as well as becoming, to
refer to that oldest and most valuable of records. We have there no
express mention of eating flesh before the Flood; but, on the contrary,
a direct command that man should subsist on the fruits of the earth.
("Behold I have given you every herb bearing seed which is upon the face
of the earth, and every tree in the which is the fruit of a tree
yielding seed; to _you it shall be for meat_"--Gen. i. 29.)

After the Flood, when the Israelites were distressed for want of food in
the Wilderness, we find that it was sent to them from heaven in a
vegetable form, and to denote its divine origin and its superior
excellency, it is called in the Scriptures "the corn of heaven," and
"angels' food," &c. Oftener than once this favoured but ungrateful
people despised and loathed this miraculous provision; they called out
for animal food, and accordingly quails were sent them, but they were
punished with destruction by the flesh which they desired; ("And while
the flesh was yet between their teeth, ere it was chewed, the wrath of
the Lord was kindled against the people, and the Lord smote the people
with a very great plague."--Numb. xi. 33.)

Thus in the first ages of the world, and during the shepherd state of
society, men lived upon berries, and such fruits as the earth
spontaneously produced; we have mentioned generally how the philosophers
of Greece and Rome preferred to live, and there are not wanting
instances of men bred up in the sensuality of modern times who have
followed their example. The philosopher, Franklin, who reached a great
age, for a considerable portion of his life kept entirely to a vegetable
diet; and Abernethy, a name yet more familiar in our ears, has left us
this maxim, that "a vegetable diet and abstinence from fermented liquors
tends more than anything else to tranquillize the system."--(vide the
_Abernethian Code_.) Another popular and scientific writer of the
present day makes a similar confession, which coming from such an
unexpected quarter carries weight: "Although professedly friends to
gastronomy, moderated by a decided aversion to anything like sensuality,
we are of opinion that man is less fit to feed upon carnal than
vegetable substance." (Accum's _Culinary Chemistry_.)

The author of _The Art of Improving Health_, has also a passage in
point: "An animal diet, especially in temperate climates, is more
wasting than a vegetable; because it excites by its stimulating
qualities a fever after every meal, by which the springs of life are
urged into constant and weakening exertions: on the contrary, a
vegetable diet tends to preserve a delicacy of feeling, a liveliness of
imagination, and an acuteness of judgment, seldom enjoyed by those who
live principally on meat." Thus we might go on multiplying authorities
on this subject, but we shall content ourselves with referring briefly
to one or two authors of a more literary stamp, and have done with
quotation. The eloquent Shelley, in his notes to _Queen Mab_, pretty
roundly assures us, that "according to comparative anatomy, man
resembles frugivorous animals in everything, carnivorous in nothing;"
and the famous author of the _Anatomy of Melancholy_, has quaintly but
nervously observed, "As a lamp is choked with over much oil, or a fire
with too much wood, so is the natural heat strangled in the body by the
superfluous use of flesh; thus men wilfully pervert the good temperature
of their bodies, stifle their wits, strangle nature, and degenerate into
beasts." The somewhat visionary but fascinating Rousseau, has also in
his _Treatise of Education_, to which we refer our readers, most
powerfully condemned the use of flesh, and he humorously attributes the
proverbial boorishness of Englishmen to their fondness for roast beef!

And now let us look a little to facts: in all ages of the world those
have ever been the most savage nations which observed an animal diet.
Thus the Tartars, the Ethiopians, the Scythians, and the Arabians, who
live wholly on animal food, possess that ferocity of mind and fierceness
of character, common to carnivorous animals, while the vegetable diet of
the Brahmins and Hindoos gives to their character a gentleness and
mildness directly the reverse; potatoes, chestnuts, &c. satisfy the
wants of the Alpine peasant, and there are numerous, harmless tribes,
who feed solely on vegetables and water. Even Homer in his time has made
the Cyclops, who were flesh eaters, horrid monsters of men, and the
Lotophagi, he has described as a people so amiable, that when strangers
had once become acquainted with them, and tasted the fruits on which
they lived, they even forgot their native country to take up their abode
with their hosts. But in those civilized countries where animal food is
commonly eaten, it must follow that the lower orders, who compose the
great majority of the population, cannot partake of it in any great
quantities; now it does not appear that the rich enjoy better health
from this luxurious mode of living, or that the poor are less healthy
from the want of it; on the contrary, the wealthier classes are subject
to many chronic and other disorders arising from their aliment, and they
have a very large body of physicians, who subsist by a constant
attendance on them, while on the other hand, those in the lower walks of
life are seldom out of health, owing to their more simple and less
injurious mode of living; they suffer only from accident and natural
disease, and, generally speaking, when they are attacked, it proves
their first and last illness. Moreover, as the poor are more at ease
while they live, so too experience shows that they live longer; cases of
longevity are very rare with those in affluent circumstances, while most
of the famous instances on record of persons arriving at extraordinary
old age, have been peasants, fishermen, &c.

An hospital was established some short time since in the neighbourhood
of London for the purpose of experiment, and it was ascertained by
actual computation, and by comparison with the bills of mortality, that
an average number of persons will reach a greater age by observing
strictly a vegetable diet.

Compared with the English, the French have a greater proportion of
arable land than pasture, and consequently they rear fewer cattle, yet
they have a thriving population, and that would hardly be if they were
stinted in quality or quantity of food. The Irish peasantry live
principally on potatoes, yet they have seldom been found fault with as
labourers, and seem to be a well-built and able-bodied race of men. But
we have not only sufficient proof of the beneficial effect of vegetable
aliment--there are many instances on record, if we had time or space for
them--to show how detrimental the contrary regimen has sometimes been.
One example is worth mentioning: a man was prevailed on by a reward to
live upon partridges without any vegetables, but he was obliged to
desist at the end of eight days, from the appearance of strong symptoms
of putrefaction.

That we live upon meat, and yet increase in growth and strength is
little to the point, but whether we might not be still better without
it; dogs thrive upon flesh, but biscuits are better for them: that we
are fond of it is still less pertinent, for who does not know that
custom alters nature itself, that it becomes, in fact, a second nature,
and that such things as we are accustomed to, though actually evil in
their own nature, yet become gradually less offensive, and at last
pleasant. We have very remarkable proofs of this in all parts of the
world. In China they eat cats and dogs, while the poorer classes think
rats, mice, and other vermin, no bad food. The Romans thought peacocks a
dainty, which we quite nauseate. The Greenlander and the Esquimaux
relish train-oil, whilst these and all savages, on first tasting our
wines are disgusted and spit them out. Horse-flesh is commonly sold in
the markets of the north. Then again, there are some wandering Moors,
who subsist entirely on gum senegal, and there have been many cases of
shipwreck where the mariners have even subsisted for weeks on old shoes,
tobacco, or whatever they could get; in short, what cannot custom
effect? The Turk, by constant habit, is enabled to take opium in
quantities that would soon destroy us; and every one must have known
private cases where individuals in this country could take laudanum in
surprising doses; we have all more or less experienced the power of
habit in our acquired tastes, and whether we derive pleasure from the
fumes of tobacco, or approve the flavour of olives, we may remember that
at first we disliked, or were indifferent about either. History itself
informs us, that Mithridates was able to drink poison; and there was a
female slave, sent to Alexander by King Porus, who was even brought up
with it from her infancy. But to bring this influence of custom upon the
taste, still more in point, we find recorded in a work upon zoology, the
following remarkable case:--The provender for a lamb, which a ship's
company had on board, was all consumed; in the absence of other food
they offered it flesh, which it was at last compelled to devour, and
gradually acquired such a relish for this new aliment, that it could
never after be prevailed on to eat any thing else.

It is very certain that the most natural tastes are the most simple: our
first aliment is milk, and it is only by degrees we bring ourselves to
relish strong food; one speaking proof that such stimulating diet is not
natural to the human palate, is the indifference children have for such
food, and they evidently prefer pastry, fruit, &c., until the digestive
organs become more depraved. Neither has man the peculiarities of a
carnivorous animal; he has no hawk-bill, no sharp talons to tear his
prey, and he wants that strength of stomach and power of digestion which
is requisite to assimilate such heavy fare; his tongue is not rough,
but, as compared with that of ravenous animals, of a very smooth
texture; neither are his teeth pointed and rough like a saw, which above
all is a distinguishing mark. It is well known that in our West Indian
colonies, all the negroes still surviving, who were originally brought
over from Africa, have their teeth filed down to this day, which was at
first expressly done for the purpose of tearing and eating human flesh.
It is probable that the first man who adopted this most horrible custom,
was driven to it by necessity and the want or scarcity of other food,
and we know certainly that cannibals are as much excited by the spirit
of revenge as by an appetite for flesh, in devouring their captured
enemies; we, however, have not even this poor plea; we are even
ungrateful in attending to the satisfaction of our desires, for we kill
without remorse, as well the ox that labours for us, as the sheep that
clothes us, and disregarding all the natural wealth of the fields, and
the delicacies of the garden, we capriciously destroy creatures who are
no doubt sent into the world to enjoy life as well as ourselves. But you
who contend that you are born with an inclination to such food, why
object to kill what you would eat? do it, however, with your own hands,
and without the aid of a knife; tear your victim to pieces with your
fingers, as lions do with their claws, and after worrying a hare or a
lamb, fall on and eat alive as they do; drink up the flowing blood, and
devour the flesh while it is yet warm! Is not the very idea horrible? we
know we could not do it; as it is, the sight of uncooked flesh with all
its raw horror excites loathing and disgust, and it is only by culinary
preparation, it can be softened and rendered somewhat more susceptible
of mastication and digestion; it must be completely transformed by
roasting, boiling, &c., and afterwards so disguised by salts, spices,
and various sauces, that the natural taste is gone, the palate is
deceived into the admission of such uncouth fare, and finds a flavour in
the taste of these cadaverous morsels.

May we be allowed to take for granted, that health may be preserved
through the same means by which it is recovered? If so, animal food is
clearly an impediment to a healthy state of body, for health is restored
by a simple and fleshless diet, and therefore may be preserved by the
same regimen. That animal food is highly stimulant there can be no
doubt; but like all other stimulants, it produces weakness eventually,
for when excitement has been brought to its acme, debility must of
necessity succeed.

The grand objection to an animal diet, is its detrimental effect upon
the mind: it is well known that flesh-eating makes the body strong and
lusty, (and it is for that reason recommended to pugilists who are in a
course of training,) but the mind becomes weak and inactive; for it must
needs happen, where a muddy and clogged body is shackled down by heavy
and unnatural nourishment, that all the vigour and brilliancy of the
understanding must be confused and made dull, and that, wanting
clearness for nobler things, it must ramble after little and unworthy
objects. The passions cannot fail to be excited, and thus the whole of
the irrational nature becoming fattened as it were, the soul is drawn
downward and abandons its proper love of true being. The truth of this
we must all more or less have experienced: we are never so lively when
we have dined, and the studious man knows well that the morning is the
more proper time for his employment.

Why then should we not liberate ourselves from such inconvenience, by
abandoning as far as we can a fleshy diet? and let us remember, that
even on the score of comfort, the pain of indigence is much milder than
that which is produced by repletion. We should thus free ourselves at
once from a heavy and somnolent condition of body, from many and
vehement diseases, from the want of medical assistance, from "the
crassitude of the corporeal bond," and above all, from that savage and
unnatural strength which incites to base actions, so as to escape an
Iliad of evils!


* * * * *



Where is the minstrel's Fatherland?
'Tis where the spirit warmest glows,
Where laurels bloom for noblest brows,
Where warlike hearts the truest vows
Swear, lit by friendship's holy brand;
There was once my Fatherland.

What calls the minstrel, Fatherland?
That land, which weeps beneath the yoke
Its slaughter'd sons, and foeman's stroke:
Land of the stern, unbending oak.
Land of the free, the German land,
That once I call'd my Fatherland.

Why weeps the minstrel's Fatherland?
It weeps before a tyrant's dread,
The valour of its monarch's fled;
At Deutchland's voice a people dead,
Despised, unheeded its command.
This, this weeps, my Fatherland.

Whom calls the minstrel's Fatherland?
It calls on spirits pale with wonder,
In desperation's words of thunder,
To rise and burst its chain asunder.
On retribution's vengeful hand,
On this calls my Fatherland.

What would the minstrel's Fatherland?
To blot out slav'ry's foul disgrace,
The bloodhound from its realms to chase,
And free to bear a freeborn race:
Or bid them free beneath its sand,
This, this would my Fatherland.

And hopes the minstrel's Fatherland?
Yes, that for God and Deutchland's sake,
Its own true people will awake,
And outrag'd heaven, vengeance take;
That he,[3] whose prowess has been scann'd,
Will save the minstrel's Fatherland.


[3] Blucher.

* * * * *


* * * * *


(_From Chit-chat, in the Magazine of Natural History, by Dovaston and
Von Osdat._)

_Dov._ Ray tells a humourous story, that, after the patiently exploring
commissioners, at the end of their long examinations, deliberately
confessed their utter ignorance to account for the Goodwin Sands, an old
man gravely asserted Tenterden steeple to be the cause.

_Von Os._ Tenterden steeple!

_Dov._ Ay; Tenterden steeple: for that those sands first appeared the
year it was erected.

_Von Os._ And the slightest interview with the mass of mankind, any
hour, will prove the race of Tenterden philosophers to be far from

_Dov._ Particularly with regard to facts relative to natural history:
and this is the more lamentable, and perhaps the more surprising, when
we consider its unlimited adaptability to all capacities, ages, sexes,
and ranks; and, moreover, the absolute necessity of many parts of it to
their intellectual existence.

_Von Os._ There is in our village, a slater, very fond of keeping bees.
These useful insects, he says, at breeding-time sweat prodigiously; and
each lays four eggs at the bottom of each cell: soon after which, he has
observed the combs to become full of maggots, which must be carefully
destroyed by smoke! When any one of his numerous family is buried, as
the corpse passes out of the house, he carefully loosens every hive, and
lifts it up; otherwise, he says, the bees would all die!

_Dov._ The superstitions about bees are numberless.

_Von Os._ And yet this poor fellow believes himself inspired with "grace
abounding;" and readily undertakes to "_spound_," as he calls it, any
verse read to him, however remotely insulated from the context.

_Dov._ But what would you think of a gentleman I have the pleasure of
visiting in the higher ranks, and whose conversation is really a
happiness to me, who talks of little young bees?--and really believes
that they grow! He smiled at me compassionately when I told him that
insects never grew when in the perfect state; but, like Minerva from the
brain of Jove, issue full-armed with sharpest weapons, and corslets of
burnished green, purple, and gold, in panoply complete: yet is this
gentleman a man of genius, wit, and very extensive knowledge.

_Von Os._ Not in bees.

_Dov._ He was not aware of the numerous species of British bees; and
that several, of a small intrepid sort, will enter the hives, and prey
on the treasures of their more industrious congeners.

_Von Os._ Reasoning from analogy does not do in natural history.

_Dov._ No; for who, without observation, or the information of others,
ever by analogical reasoning could reconcile the enormous difference of
size and colour, in the sexes of some of the humble bees?--or ever
discover that in some species there are even females of two sizes?

_Von Os._ But these never grow.

_Dov._ Certainly not. Bees, however, hatched in very old cells, will be
somewhat smaller: as each maggot leaves a skin behind which, though
thinner than the finest silk, layer after layer, contracts the cells,
and somewhat compresses the future bee.

_Von Os._ No ignorance is so contemptible as that of what is hourly
before our eyes. I do not so much wonder at the fellow who inquired if
America was a very large town, as at him who, finding the froth of the
Cicada spumaria L. on almost every blade in his garden, wondered where
were all the cuckoos that produced it.

_Dov._ They call it cuckoo-spit, from its plentiful appearance about the
arrival of that bird.

_Von Os._ That is reasoning from analogy.

_Dov._ And yet I see not why the bird should be given to spitting;
unless, indeed, he came from America.

_Von Os._ The vulgar, too, not only delight in wonders inexplicable, but
have a rabid propensity to pry into futurity.

_Dov._ I believe that propensity is far from being confined to the

_Von Os._ True; but not in so ridiculous a way: as they prophesy the
future price of wheat from the number of lenticular knobs (containing
the sporules) in the bottom of a cup of the fungus Nidularia.

_Dov._ The weather may be foretold with considerable certainty, for a
short time, from many hygrometric plants, and the atmospheric influence
on animals.

_Von Os._ And from _Cloudology_, by the changing of primary clouds into
compound; and these resolving themselves into nimbi, for rain; or
gathering into cumuli, for fair weather. This is like to become a very
useful and pleasing science.

_Dov._ It is wonders of this kind, and forewarnings of this nature, that
natural history offers to the contemplative mind: in the place of
superstitious follies, and unavailing predictions, such as the
foretelling of luck from the number or chattering of magpies; and the
wonder how red clover changes itself into grass, as many a farmer at
this moment believes.

_Von Os._ Linnaeus himself was a bit of a prophet; as, indeed, thus well
he might; for experience and observation amount almost to the power of
vatacination. In his _Academic Aménities_ he says, "Deus, O.M. et Natura
nihil frustra creaverit. Posteros tamen tot inventuros fore utilitates
ex muscis arguor, quot ex reliquis vegetabilibus."

_Dov._ English it, Von Osdat; thou'rt a scholar.

_Von Os._ "God and Nature have made nothing in vain. Posterity may
discover as much in mosses, as of utility in other herbs."

_Dov._ And, truly, so they may: one lichen is already used as a blessed
medicine in asthma; and another to thicken milk, as a nutritive posset.
And who, enjoying the rich productions of our present state of
horticulture, can recur without wonder to the tables of our ancestors?
They knew absolutely nothing of vegetables in a culinary sense; and as
for their application in medicine, they had no power unless gathered
under planetary influence, "sliver'd in the moon's eclipse."

_Von Os._ When Mercury was culminating, or Mars and Venus had got into
the ninth house.

_Dov._ 'Tis curious to reflect, that at the vast baronial feasts, in the
days of the Plantagenets and Tudors, where we read of such onslaught of
beeves, muttons, hogs, fowl and fish, the courtly knights and beauteous
dames had no other vegetable save bread--not even a potato!

_Von Os._

"They carved at the meal with their gloves of steel,
And drank the red wine through the helmet barr'd."

_Dov._ And when the cloth was drawn--

_Von Os._ Cloth!--

_Dov._ They had scarce an apple to give zest to their wine.

_Von Os._ We read of roasted crabs; and mayhap they had baked acorns and

_Dov._ Ha! ha! ha!--Caliban's dainties. Now we have wholesome vegetables
almost for nothing, and pine-apples for a trifle. Thanks to Mr.
Knight--push the bottle--here's to his health in a bumper.

_Von Os._ Who, walking on Chester walls in those days, and seeing the
Brassica oleracea, where it grows in abundance, would have supposed that
from it would spring cabbages as big as drums, and cauliflowers as
florid as a bishop's wig?

_Dov._ Or cautiously _chaumbering_ an acrid sloe, imagine it to be the
parent of a green gage?

_Von Os._ This is the Education of Vegetables.

_Dov._ The March of Increment!

* * * * *


This tree is now in bloom. It is a native of North America, where it is
vulgarly called the poplar. The first which produced blossoms in this
country, is said to have been at the Earl of Peterborough's, at Parson's
Green, near Fulham. In 1688 this tree was cultivated by Bishop Compton
at Fulham, who introduced a great number of new plants from North
America. At Waltham Abbey, is a tulip tree, supposed to be the largest
in England. The leaves of the tulip tree are very curious, and appear as
if cut off with scissors. The flowers, though not glaring, are
singularly beautiful, resembling a small tulip, variegated with green,
yellow and orange, standing solitary at the ends of the branches. I saw
one of these curious trees in full bloom a few days since between
Edmonton and Enfield.


* * * * *


The sap is changed into a viscid fluid, which circulates under the bark:
this is called _cambium_. When it is too abundant it is effused, part of
its water evaporates, and it becomes gum. If the vital circle is not
interrupted, the fluid traverses the branches, and the peduncle arrives
in the ovary, and constitutes the pericarp. In this passage it is partly
modified: it appropriates to itself the oxygen of its water of
composition; hence the malic, citric, and tartaric acids. As the fruit
becomes developed, the pellicle thins, becomes transparent, and allows
both light and heat to exercise a more marked influence. It is during
this period that maturation commences. The acids react on the cambium,
which flows into the fruit, and, aided by the increased temperature,
convert it into saccharine matter; at the same time they disappear,
being saturated with gelatine, when maturation is complete.--_London
Medical and Surgical Journal_.

We may here observe that in a recent paper, by Mr. J. Williams, in the
Transactions of the Horticultural Society, the cause of apples becoming
_russet_ is attributed to the alternating temperature, light, shade,
dryness, and moisture, which occur many times in the course of a day,
when July or August is showery. Continued rain, preceded and followed by
a cloudy sky, does not seem to produce the same effect, but the sudden,
intense light which commonly succeeds a shower at the time the fruit is
wet, injures the skin, and occasions small cracks, like the network upon
a melon.

* * * * *


Whatever theory of instinct may be finally fixed upon as the most
correct and philosophical, (to account for the migratory movements of
birds,) it is obvious that we cut rather than untie the gordian knot
when we talk of the foresight of the brute creation. We might as well
talk of the foresight of a barometer. There can be little doubt that
birds, prior to their migratory movements, are influenced by
atmospherical changes, or other physical causes, which, however beyond
the sphere of our perceptions, are sufficient for their guidance. That
they are not possessed of the power of divination may be exemplified by
the following instance. The winter of 1822 was so remarkably mild
throughout Europe, that primroses came generally into flower by the end
of December,--rye was in ear by the middle of March, and vines, in
sheltered situations, blossomed about the end of that month,--so that an
assured and unchecked spring was established at least four or five weeks
earlier than usual;--yet neither the cuckoo nor the swallow arrived a
single day before their accustomed periods. They are indeed, beautifully
and wisely directed,--"Yea, the stork in the heavens knoweth her
appointed times; and the turtle, and the crane, and the swallow, observe
the time of their coming."--(From a delightful paper upon American
Ornithology, in the _Quarterly Review_, just published.)

* * * * *


* * * * *


[Illustration: Statue of Mr. Pitt.]

This splendid tribute to the memory of the darling minister, has been
placed at the south side of Hanover Square. It is of bronze, and stands
on a granite pedestal, of size disproportionate to the height and bulk
of the figure. The artist is Mr. Chantrey: the work being at the cost of
the nobility of the land, and a few ardent admirers of "the system"
introduced by Mr. Pitt into the government of this country. We have long
had festal celebrations and joyous commemorations of the natal day and
deeds of the minister--"the darling of fame"--but the above is the most
lasting memorial. Its bronze will in all probability outlast the mettle
of party. The resemblance is considered striking, and the effect of the
statue is bold and dignified. Biographers tell us that "in person, Pitt
was tall, slender, well-proportioned, and active. He had blue eyes,
rather a fair complexion, prominent features, and a high, capacious
forehead. His aspect was severe and forbidding; his voice clear and
powerful; his action dignified, but neither graceful nor engaging; his
tone and manners, although urbane and complacent in society, were lofty,
and even arrogant, in the senate. On entering the house, it was his
custom to stalk sternly to his place, without honouring even his most
favoured adherents with a word, a nod, or even a glance of recognition."

* * * * *


Has reopened with two new views--Paris from Montmartre, (by no means a
new, but, perhaps, the best, point of view of the city,)--and the famed
Campo Santo of Pisa. The execution of both scenes is calculated to
maintain the _unique_ reputation of the establishment. They have the
fine effects, the finishing touches, of master-hands.

* * * * *


* * * * *


(With those of some of the Regicides have been prepared for the 31st
volume of the _Family Library_. We suspect the editor to be M.
D'Israeli, who has been poring over the records and fingering the dust
of the Royal "martyr" for many years past. Our honourable friend,
Clavering, of the _Metropolitan_, in his recollections of the British
Museum, long since, says, "there sat D'Israeli, daily extracting from
the voluminous M.S. letters of James I. and Charles I." Whoever the
compiler of this volume may be, it must be allowed that, in the form of
notes and biographies, he has brought into less than 350 pages a greater
collection of interesting incidents connected with his main subject than
many writers would have cared to assemble; and he has accordingly
produced a work, in every respect, fitted for popular reading. We quote
passages from the Execution to the Interment of Charles, but we have not
room for the Editor's very pertinent "Remarks on the Trial.")

On the morning of his death, Charles, according to the relation of his
faithful attendant, Sir Thos. Herbert, awoke about two hours before
daybreak, after a sound sleep of four hours. He called to Herbert, who
lay on a pallet, by his bedside, and bade him rise; "for," said the
King, "I will get up, I have a great work to do this day." He then gave
orders what clothes he would wear, and said to his attendant, "Let me
have a shirt on more than ordinary, by reason the season is so sharp[4]
as probably may make me shake, which some observers will imagine
proceeds from fear. I would have no such imputation. I fear not
death--death is not terrible to me. I bless God, I am prepared." Soon
after the King was dressed, Bishop Juxon came to him, according to his
appointment the night before. He remained an hour in private with him,
when Herbert was called in, and the Bishop prayed with the King, using
the prayers of the church, and then read the 27th chapter of St.
Matthew, which so beautifully describes the passion of our Saviour. The
King thanked the Bishop for his choice of the lesson; but he was
surprised and gratified to learn that it was the lesson for the day
according to the calendar.

[4] The day was so piercing that the king, at the persuasion of
Bishop Juxon, wore a cloak till the moment of his death.

About ten o'clock Colonel Hacker knocked at the King's chamber door,
and, being admitted by Herbert, came in trembling, and announced to the
King that it was time to go to Whitehall, where he might have further
time to rest; and soon afterwards the King, taking the Bishop by the
hand proposed to go. Charles then walked out through the garden of the
palace into the Park, where several companies of foot waited as his
guard; and, attended by the Bishop on one side, and Colonel Tomlinson on
the other, both bare-headed, he walked fast down the Park, sometimes
cheerfully calling on the guard to "march apace." As he went along, he
said, "he now went to strive for an heavenly crown, with less solicitude
than he had often encouraged his soldiers to fight for an earthly

At the end of the Park, the King[5] went up the stairs leading to the
long gallery, and so into the Cabinet Chamber of the Palace of
Whitehall. Being delayed here in consequence of the scaffold not being
ready, he offered up several prayers, and entered into religious
discourse with the Bishop. About twelve he ate some bread, and drank a
glass of claret, declining to dine after he had received the sacrament.

[5] The late Sir Henry Englefield related a traditional
anecdote, that Charles, in passing through the Park, pointed out
a tree near the entrance from Spring Gardens (where the cows at
present stand,) saying, "That tree was planted by brother

When Charles arrived at Whitehall, the Colonels Hacker, Huncks, and
Phayer produced to Tomlinson the warrant for his execution; and in the
Horn Chamber the King was delivered by Tomlinson into the custody of
those officers; Charles requested Tomlinson, however, to remain with him
to the last, and acknowledged his kind and respectful conduct by
presenting to him a gold toothpicker and case which he carried in his
pocket. Tomlinson also introduced to him Mr. Seymour, who brought a
letter from the Prince to his father, with whom the King conversed, and
charged him with various messages for the Prince.

In the mean time a different scene was passing in Ireton's chamber, a
small room in another part of the palace. Ireton and Harrison were here
in bed; and Cromwell, Axtell, Huncks, Hacker, and Phayer were present.
Cromwell commanded Huncks to draw up an order to the executioner
pursuant to the warrant for the King's execution. Huncks refused;
whereupon Cromwell was highly incensed, and called him a peevish,
froward fellow; and Axtell exclaimed, "Colonel Huncks, I am ashamed of
you:--the ship is now coming into the harbour, and will you strike sail
before we come to anchor?" Cromwell then went to a table, and, as it
would appear, wrote the order to the executioner, and then gave the pen
to Hacker, who, as one of the officers charged with the execution of the
warrant, signed it.[6] Cromwell, and the rest of the officers, then went
out of the chamber, and, in a few minutes, Hacker came and knocked at
the door of the chamber where the King was, with Tomlinson, the Bishop,
Herbert, and some of his guards. Herbert and the Bishop were deeply
affected at this signal for their final separation from their sovereign
and master. The King stretched out his hand to them, which they kissed,
falling on their knees and weeping, the King helping the aged bishop to
rise. He then bade Hacker to open the door and he would follow; and he
was conducted by Hacker, Tomlinson, and other officers and soldiers,
through the banquetting house by a passage broken through the wall,
where the centre window now is. The street now called Parliament Street
was at that time crossed by two ranges of buildings belonging to the
palace of Whitehall, with wide arched gateways crossing the street, and
forming the public thoroughfare. One gateway was opposite to Privy
Gardens; and there was a way over it from these gardens belonging to the
palace, to pass into St. James's Park. The other building traversing the
street was the sumptuous gallery of Whitehall, built by Henry VIII., the
scene of so many adventures and events of various descriptions in the
reigns of Elizabeth, James, and the two Charles's. Connected with this
gallery was "a beautiful gatehouse," over a noble archway. Lord
Leicester says, in his Journal (p. 60.),--"The scaffold was erected
between Whitehall gate and the gallery leading to St. James's." Lilly
asserts, that it was just at the spot where the blood of a citizen had
been shed at the commencement of the rebellion, when a mob were
vociferating "_No Bishop_" under the windows of the palace, and some
cavaliers sallied out to disperse them, and one was killed. A strong
guard of several regiments of horse and foot being posted about the
scaffold, so that the people could not approach near enough to hear any
discourse from the King, he addressed his last sentences chiefly to the
Bishop, Colonel Tomlinson, and the other officers who stood near him.

[6] See the evidence on the trials of Hacker, Axtell, and Hulet,
State Trials, vol. v.

"_The Bishop._ Though your Majesty's affections may be very well known
as to religion; yet it may be expected that you should say something
thereof for the world's satisfaction."

"_The King._ I thank you heartily, my Lord, for that I had almost
forgotten it. In troth, Sirs, my conscience in religion, I think, is
very well known to all the world; and therefore I declare before you all
that I die a Christian, according to the profession of the Church of
England, as I found it left me by my father; and this honest man, I
think, will witness it."

Then to Colonel Hacker he said, "Take care that they do not put me to
pain: and, Sir, this and it please you--"

But a gentleman coming near the axe, the King said, "Take heed of the
axe, pray take heed of the axe."

Then speaking unto the executioner, he said, "I shall say but very short
prayers, and when I thrust out my hands--"

Then turning to the Bishop, he said, "I have a good cause, and a
gracious God on my side."

"_The Bishop._ There is but one stage more, this stage is turbulent and
troublesome, it is a short one; but you may consider it will soon carry
you a very great way, it will carry you from earth to heaven; and there
you will find a great deal of cordial joy and comfort."

"_The King._ I go from a corruptible to an incorruptible crown, where no
disturbance can be, no disturbance in the world."

"_The Bishop._ You are exchanged from a temporary to an eternal crown; a
good exchange."

Then the King said to the executioner, "Is my hair well?" and took off
his cloak and his George, giving his George to the Bishop, saying,
"Remember." Then he put off his doublet, and being in his waistcoat, he
put on his cloak again; then looking upon the block, he said to the
executioner, "You must set it fast."

"_Executioner._ It is fast, Sir."

"_The King._ When I put out my hands this way (stretching them out),
then--" After that, having said two or three words to himself, as he
stood with his hands and eyes lift up, immediately stooping down, he
laid his neck upon the block.[7] And then the executioner again putting
his hair under his cap, the King, thinking he was going to strike, said,
"Stay for the sign."

[7] It being doubted whether the king would submit to the
executioner, staples were driven into the block, and hooks
prepared, in order, if necessary, to confine his head forcibly
to the block. On the trial of Hugh Peters in 1660, it was sworn
that this was done by his orders given on the scaffold to one
Tench, a joiner; in Houndsditch. See State Trials, vol. v.

"_Executioner._ Yes, I will, and please your Majesty."--After a little
pause, the King stretching forth his hands, the executioner at one blow
severed his head from his body, and held it up and showed it to the
people, saying, "Behold the head of a traitor!" At the instant when the
blow was given, a dismal universal groan was uttered by the people (as
if by one consent) such as was never before heard; and as soon as the
execution was over, one troop of horse marched rapidly from Charing
Cross to King Street, and another from King Street to Charing Cross, to
disperse and scatter the multitude.

Though Joyce and Hugh Peters have been suspected of inflicting the
murderous blow on Charles, and though another claimant for this infamous
distinction is put forward in the Gentleman's Magazine for 1767, there
seems little doubt that Richard Brandon, the common hangman, assisted by
his man, Ralph Jones, a ragman in Rosemary Lane, in fact perpetrated the
deed. Among the tracts relative to the Civil War presented to the
British Museum by George III., in 1762, are three on this subject, which
are fully noticed in a note to Mr. Ellis's Letters on English History,
vol. iii. (second series.) It appears, by the register of Whitechapel
Church, that Richard Brandon was buried there on the 24th of June, 1649;
and a marginal note (not in the hand of the Registrar, but bearing the
mark of antiquity), states, "This R. Brandon is supposed to have cut off
the head of Charles I."--One of the tracts, entitled "The Confession of
Richard Brandon, the Hangman, upon his Death-bed, concerning the
Beheading of his late Majesty," printed in 1649, states, "During the
time of his sickness, his conscience was much troubled, and exceedingly
perplexed in mind; and on Sunday last, a young man of his acquaintance
going to visit him, fell into discourse, asked him how he did, and
whether he was not troubled in conscience for cutting off the King's
head. He replied yes, by reason that (upon the time of his tryall) he
had taken a vow and protestation, wishing God to punish him, body and
soul, if ever he appeared on the scaffold to do the act, or lift up his
hand against him. He likewise confessed that he had 30_l_. for his
pains, all paid him in half-crowns within an hour after the blow was
given; and he had an orange stuck full with cloves, and a handkircher
out of the King's pocket, so soon as he was carried off the scaffold;
for which orange he was proffered twenty shillings by a gentleman in
Whitechapel, but refused the same, and afterwards sold it for ten
shillings in Rosemary Lane. About eight o'clock at night he returned
home to his wife, living in Rosemary Lane, and gave her the money,
saying, it was the dearest money, he earned in his life, for it would
cost him his life. About three days before he died, he lay speechless,
uttering many a sigh and heavy groan, and so in a desperate state
departed from his bed of sorrow. For the burial whereof great _store of
wines were sent in by the sheriff of the city of London_, and a great
multitude of people stood wayting to see his corpse carried to the
churchyard, some crying out, 'Hang him, rogue!'--'Bury him in the
dunghill.'--Others pressing upon him, saying they would quarter him for
executing the King, insomuch that the churchwardens and masters of the
parish were fain to come for the suppressing of them: and with great
difficulty he was at last carried to Whitechapel churchyard, having (as
it is said) a branch of rosemary at each end of the coffin, on the top
thereof, with a rope crosse from one end to the other, a merry conceited
cook, living at the sign of the Crown, having a black fan (worth the
value of 30_s_.), took a resolution to rent the same in pieces: and to
every feather tied a piece of packthread, dyed in black ink, and gave
them to divers persons, who, in derision, for a while wore them in their
hats."--See Ellis, _ubi supra_. The second tract states, that the first
victim Brandon beheaded was the Earl of Stratford.

"When the body was put into a coffin at Whitehall," says Rushworth,
"there were many sighs and weeping eyes at the scene; and divers strove
to dip their handkerchiefs in the King's blood." A general gloom and
consternation pervaded London on the day of this atrocious perpetration;
many of the chief inhabitants either shut themselves up in their houses,
or absented themselves from the city. On that day none of the courts of
justice sat; and on the next, Whitelocke, one of the commissioners of
the Great Seal, says, "The commissioners met, but did not think fit to
do any business, or seal any writs, because of the King's death."
Whitelocke says, "I went not to the House, but stayed all day at home in
my study, and at my prayers, that this day's work might not so displease
God as to bring prejudice to this poor afflicted nation."[8] Evelyn, in
his Diary, writes, "I kept the day of this martyrdom as a fast, and
would not be present at that execrable wickedness, receiving the sad
account of it from my brother George and Mr. Owen, who came to visit me
this afternoon, and recounted all the circumstances." Archbishop Usher
came out to witness the scene from his house at Whitehall; but he
fainted when the King was led out on the scaffold.

[8] There is, I am informed, a tradition in Westminster School,
that South, the celebrated divine, was the boy whose turn it was
to read prayers on the day of Charles's death; and that he read
the prayer for the king as usual. South at that time must have
been about fourteen years of age. Five years afterwards, when
the loyal and learned divine was at Christ Church, Oxford, we
find his name to a copy of Latin verses, addressed to the
Protector on his conclusion of a treaty with the States of
Holland. This, no doubt, was a mere college exercise. See _Musae
Oxoniensies_, 1654.

The Journals of the Commons show, either that nothing was done, or that
it was thought fit to enter nothing on these eventful days. On the day
of the execution there is only the following remarkable entry:--

"Ordered, _That the common post be stayed until to-morrow morning 10

On the 31st, Commissary-general Ireton reports a paper of divers
particulars touching the King's body, his George, his diamond, and two
seals. The question being put, that the diamond be sent to Charles
Stuart, son of the late King, commonly called Prince of Wales, _it
passed with the negative_. The same question was then put, separately,
as to the garter, the George, and the seals: as to each, it passed in
the negative.

When the news of the decapitation of the King reached Scotland, that
loyal people were moved with horror and indignation.

Most of the gentry put on mourning; the chair of state in the parliament
house, the uppermost seats in the kirks, and almost all the pulpits,
were clothed in black.

The body of the King being embalmed, under the orders of Herbert and
bishop Juxon, was removed to St. James's. The usurpers of the government
refused permission to bury it in Henry the VII.'s Chapel, from a dread
of the indignation of the crowds who would assemble on so solemn and
interesting an occasion; but, at last, after some deliberation, the
council allowed it to be privately interred in St. George's Chapel at
Windsor, provided the expenses of the funeral should not exceed five
hundred pounds. The last duties of love and respect were (according to
Charles's express desire) paid to their sovereign's corpse by the Duke
of Richmond, the Marquess of Hertford, Lord Southampton, Lord Lindsey,
the Bishop of London, Herbert, and Mildmay, who, on producing a vote of
the Commons, were admitted by Whichcote, the Governor of Windsor Castle,
to the chapel. When the body was carried out of St. George's Hall, the
sky was serene and clear; but presently a storm of snow fell so fast,
that before it reached the chapel the pall and the mourners were
entirely whitened. When the bishop proposed to read the burial service
according to the rites of the Church of England, this fanatical governor
roughly refused, saying, "that that Common Prayer Book was put down, and
he would not suffer it to be used in that garrison where he commanded."
Clarendon thus describes, with graphic simplicity, the sad scene to its

"But when they entered into it (the chapel), which they had been so well
acquainted with, they found it so altered and transformed, all
inscriptions and those landmarks pulled down, by which all men knew
every particular place in that church, and such a dismal mutation over
the whole that they knew not where they where; nor was there one old
officer that had belonged to it, or knew where our Princes had used to
be interred. At last there was a fellow of the town who undertook to
tell them the place where, he said, 'there was a vault in which King
Harry the Eighth and Queen Jane Seymour were interred.' As near that
place as could conveniently be they caused the grave to be made.
There the King's body was laid, without any words, or other ceremonies,
than the tears and sighs of the few beholders. Upon the coffin was a
plate of silver fixed, with these words only, '_King Charles_, 1648.'
When the coffin was put in, the black velvet pall that had covered it
was thrown over it, and then the earth thrown in; which the governor
staid to see perfectly done, and then took the keys of the church.

"Owing to the privacy of this interment, doubts were at the time current
as to its having actually taken place. It was asserted that the King's
body was buried in the sand at Whitehall; and Aubrey states a report,
that the coffin carried to Windsor was filled with rubbish and
brick-bats. These doubts were entirely removed by the opening of the
coffin (which was found where Clarendon described it,) in the presence
of George the Fourth, then Prince Regent, in April, 1813--of which Sir
Henry Halford has published an interesting narrative. On removing the
black pall which Herbert described, a plain leaden coffin was found,
with the inscription 'King Charles, 1648.' Within this was a wooden
coffin, much decayed, and the body carefully wrapped in cerecloth, into
the folds of which an unctuous matter mixed with resin had been melted,
to exclude the external air. The skin was dark and discoloured--the
pointed beard perfect--the shape of the face was a long oval--many of
the teeth remained--the hair was thick at the back of the head, and in
appearance nearly black--that of the beard was of a redder brown. The
head was severed from the body. The fourth cervical vertebra was found
to be cut through transversely, leaving the surfaces of the divided
portions perfectly smooth and even;--'an appearance,' says Sir H.
Halford, 'which could have been produced only by a heavy blow inflicted
with a very sharp instrument, and which furnished the last proof wanting
to identify King Charles I.'"

(The volume is embellished with a Portrait of the King, and Outline
Prints of the Trial and Execution.)

* * * * *


* * * * *


The Biblical Series of the Family Cabinet Atlas has just been completed
with the Sixth Part, containing the Title-page, Contents, Preface, Plans
of Jerusalem, the Temple, and Maps of Palestine, according to Josephus
and the Apocrypha. These occupy seven plates, all exquisitely engraved
on steel. There is, moreover, a letter-press Index of reference to the
places in the Maps, printed on fine plate paper, and occupying 120
pages. Or, this portion rather deserves the distinctive title adopted by
the editors, viz. "A New General Index, exhibiting, at one view, all
that is geographically and historically interesting in the Holy
Scriptures." It presents such a digest as we rarely witness, and to give
the reader some idea of its laborious preparation, we select a specimen,
the matter being arranged in a tabular or columnar form, thus:

_Scriptural Name_--JEZREAL, Valley, or Plain.

_Classic Name_--Esdraelon.



_Scriptural Reference_--Judges, vi. 33.

_No. of Map_.--ix.

_Modern Name_--Merdj--Ibn Aamer.

_Distance and bearing from Jerusalem_--40 N.b.E.

_Lat. North_--32.27.

_Long. East_--35.25.




_Remarks_--Here the spirit of the Lord descended upon Gideon, and here
the Lord gave him the sign he required by causing the fleece to be wet
or dry at his bidding.

The projector and artist is Mr. Thomas Starling, and its execution,
whether graphic or literary, is calculated to give the public a very
high opinion of his taste, talent, and application.

* * * * *


Mr. Dowling, of Woodstock Boarding-School, has put Goldsmith's _Grammar
of Geography_ into question and answer for junior pupils, or, rather, he
has seized on the simplest part of the information contained in the
above work, and added a chapter on latitude and longitude. We hope the
attention of teachers will be directed to his Compendium, as it appears
to leave nothing to be desired in facilitating the progress of the

* * * * *


Mr. Ince, whose _Outline of English History_ we noticed a few weeks
since, has been stimulated to the production of an _Outline of General
Knowledge_. His present Compendium is satisfactory as a little book of
Facts, and may serve as well for a _whet_ to the memory of adults as for
the tuition of children.

* * * * *


The Third Edition of a Catechism of Phrenology, published at Glasgow,
induces us to pick out a few of the author's _facts_, and we accordingly
select the developements of the Feelings and Faculties. Thus, of
Amativeness, the organs are very large in the casts of Mitchell, Dean,
and Raphael. In Dr. Hette, very small.

Philoprogenitiveness, or love of children--the Hindoos, Negroes, and

Combativeness--The Charibs, King Robert Bruce, General Wurmser, David
Haggart, and generally in those who have murdered from the impulse of
the moment.

Destructiveness--In the heads of Dean, Thurtell, King Robert Bruce,
Bellingham, in cool and deliberate murderers, and in persons who delight
in cruelty, where the organ is large; and, in general, in the Hindoos,

Combinativeness--In Raphael, Michael Angelo, Brunel, Haydon, and
Herschel, where it is very fully developed; the New Hollanders, have it
small. Being indispensable to the talent for works of art of every
description, it is found large in all those painters, sculptors,
mechanicians, and architects, who have distinguished themselves in their
particular departments.

Love of Approbation--In King Robert Bruce, Dr. Hette, Clara Fisher, and
the American Indians, where it is large. Such likewise is uniformly the
case in bashful individuals; this disposition arises in a great measure
from a fear of incurring disapprobation.

Cautiousness--In the Hindoos, large; in Bellingham, moderate. Robert
Bruce and Hannibal were remarkable for valour, while they at the same
time, possessed cautiousness in a high degree.

Benevolence--In Henri Quatre, where it is large. In Bellingham,
Griffiths, and the Charibs, very small. In King Robert Bruce, moderate.

Veneration--An individual may have this organ very large, without
possessing a high degree of religious feeling. Voltaire, in whom the
organ was extraordinarily large, affords a striking example of this. He
embraced every opportunity of turning religion into ridicule; but still,
in him, we find the strong manifestation of the faculty, in the high and
almost servile degree of deference which he paid to superiors in rank
and authority. In Raphael, Bruce, and the Negroes, this organ is large.
In Dr. Hette, small.

Firmness--In King Robert Bruce and the American Indians, large.

Hope--In Raphael, large; in Dr. Hette, small.

Ideality--In Milton, Shakspeare, Raphael, Wordsworth, Haydon, and Byron,
large. In Mr. Hume and Bellingham, small.

Wit--According to Dr. Spurzheim, the formation of this faculty is to
give rise to the feeling of the ludicrous, creating, when strong, an
almost irresistible disposition to view every object in that light,
while Dr. Gall defines it to be the predominant intellectual feature in
Rabelais, Cervantes, Boileau, Swift, Sterne, and Voltaire. In Sterne,
Voltaire, and Henri Quatre, this organ is large. In Sir J.E. Smith, Mr.
Hume, and the Hindoos, small.

Imitation--In Raphael, Clara Fisher, and uniformly in those artists and
players who have distinguished themselves for their imitative powers,

Individuality--In the French, generally large; moderate in the English,
and in the Scotch, small.

Form--To judge of form in general. The function of this faculty is
essential to those engaged in the imitative arts: it enables the painter
to distinguish the different casts of features and countenances in
general; and upon the same principle, is of the most essential service
to the mineralogist. The organ is found large in King George III., and
in the Chinese sculls.

Weight or resistance, essential to a genius for mechanics, enabling the
individual to judge of momentum and resistance in that branch of
science. The organ is large in Brunel and Sir Isaac Newton.

Colouring--remarkably developed in the portraits of Reubens, Rembrandt,
Titian, Salvator Rosa, and Claude Lorraine, where its large size is
indicated by the arched appearance of the eyebrow in its situation; and
in the masks of the late Sir Henry Raeburn, Wilkie, and Haydon, by the
projection forwards of the eyebrow at that part.

Locality--or the power of remembering localities, in Kepler, Galileo,
Newton, Tycho, Descartes, Sir Walter Scott, and Captain Cook, is large.

Number, or a talent for calculation--in the portraits of Euler, Kepler,
Laplace, Gassendi, &c., and in George Bidder, Humboldt, and Colburn,

Tune--In Gluck, where it has a pyramidal form. In Mozart, Viotti,
Turnsteg, Dussek, and Crescenti, where it is distinguished by a fullness
and roundness of the lateral parts of the forehead.

Language--in Sir J.E. Smith, Humboldt, and Voltaire, large.

Comparison--in Pitt, Roscoe, Raphael, Burke, John Bunyan, and Mr. Hume.

Casualty, or the connexion between cause and effect--remarkable in the
portraits and busts of Bacon, Kant, Locke, Voltaire, Dr. Thomas Brown;
and in the masks of Haydon, Brunel, Burke, Franklin, and Wilkie, where
it is largely developed. In Pitt, and Sir J.E. Smith, it is moderate,
and in the Charibs and New Hollanders, very deficient.

* * * * *



Old Acquaintance, shall the nights
You and I once talked together,
Be forgot like common things,--
Like some dreary night that brings
Naught save foul weather?

We were young, when you and I
Talked of golden things together,--
Of love and rhyme, of books and men:
Ah! our hearts were buoyant _then_
As the wild-goose feather!

Twenty years have fled, we know,
Bringing care and changing weather;
But hath th' heart no _backward_ flights,
That we again may see those nights,
And laugh together?

Jove's eagle, soaring to the sun,
Renews the past year's mouldering feather:
Ah, why not you and I, then, soar
From age to youth,--and dream once more
Long nights together.


A stranger came to a rich man's door.
And smiled on his mighty feast;
And away his brightest child he bore,
And laid her toward the East.

He came next spring, with a smile as gay,
(At the time the East wind blows,)
And another bright creature he led away,
With a cheek like a burning rose.

And he came once more, when the spring was blue,
And whispered the last to rest,
And bore her away,--yet nobody knew
The name of the fearful guest!

Next year, there was none but the rich man left,--
Left alone in his pride and pain,
Who called on the stranger, like one bereft,
And sought through the land,--in vain!

He came not: he never was heard nor seen
Again; (so the story saith;)
But, wherever his terrible smile had been,
Men shuddered, and talked of--Death!


Say they that all beauty lies
In the paler maiden's hue?
Say they that all softness flies,
Save from the eyes of April blue?
Arise then, like a night in June,
Beautiful Quadroon!

Come,--all dark and bright, as skies
With the tender starlight hung!
Loose the love from out thine eyes!
Loose the angel from thy tongue!
Let them hear heaven's own sweet tune,
Beautiful Quadroon!

Tell them--Beauty (born above)
From no shade nor hue doth fly:
All she asks is mind, is love:
And both upon _thine_ aspect lie,--
Like the light upon the moon,
Beautiful Quadroon.


This common field, this little brook--
What is there hidden in these two,
That I so often on them look,
Oftener than on the heavens blue?
No beauty lies upon the field;
Small music doth the river yield;
And yet I look and look again,
With something of a pleasant pain.

'Tis thirty--_can't_ be thirty years,
Since last I stood upon this plank.
Which o'er the brook its figure rears,
And watch'd the pebbles as they sank?
How white the stream! I still remember
Its margin glassed by hoar December,
And how the sun fell on the snow:
Ah! can it be so long ago?

It cometh back;--so blithe, so bright,
It hurries to my eager ken.
As though but one short winter's night
Had darkened o'er the world since then.
It is the same clear dazzling scene;--
Perhaps the grass is scarce as green;
Perhaps the river's troubled voice
Doth not so plainly say--"Rejoice."

Yet Nature surely never ranges,
Ne'er quits her gay and flowery crown;--
But, ever joyful, merely changes
The primrose for the thistle-down.
'Tis _we_ alone who, waxing old,
Look on her with an aspect cold,
Dissolve her in our burning tears,
Or clothe her with the mists of years!

Then, why should not the grass be green?
And why should not the river's song
Be merry,--as they both have been
When I was here an urchin strong?

Ah, true--too true! I see the sun
Through thirty winter years hath run.
For grave eyes, mirrored in the brook,
Usurp the urchin's laughing look!

So be it! I have lost,--and won!
For, once, the past was poor to me,--
The future dim: and though the sun
Shed life and strength, and I was free,
I _felt_ not--_knew_ no grateful pleasure:
All seemed but as the common measure:
But NOW--the experienced spirit old
Turns all the leaden past to gold.

* * * * *


(The Duchess of Abrantes, in her recently published Memoirs, gives a
striking picture of the difference in the fashions and habits of living
which has resulted from the old French Revolution.)

Transported from Corsica to Paris at the close of the reign of Louis
XV., my mother had imbibed a second nature in the midst of the luxuries
and excellencies of that period. We flatter ourselves that we have
gained much by our changes in that particular; but we are quite wrong.
Forty thousand livres a-year fifty years ago, would have commanded more
luxury than two hundred thousand now. The elegancies that at that period
surrounded a woman of fashion cannot be numbered; a profusion of
luxuries were in common use, of which even the name is now forgotten.
The furniture of her sleeping apartment--the bath in daily use--the
ample folds of silk and velvet which covered the windows--the perfumes
which filled the room--the rich laces and dresses which adorned the
wardrobe, were widely different from the ephemeral and insufficient
articles by which they have been replaced. My opinion is daily receiving
confirmation, for every thing belonging to the last age is daily coming
again into fashion, and I hope soon to see totally expelled all those
fashions of Greece and Rome, which did admirably well under the climate
of Rome or Messina, but are ill adapted for our _vent du bize_ and
cloudy atmosphere. A piece of muslin suspended on a gilt rod, is really
of no other use but to let a spectator see that he is behind the
curtain. It is the same with the imitation tapestry--the walls six
inches thick, which neither keep out the heat in summer, nor the cold in
winter. All the other parts of modern dress and furniture are comprised
in my anathema, and will always continue to be so.

It is said that every thing is simplified and brought down to the reach
of the most moderate fortunes. That is true in one sense; that is to
say, our confectioner has muslin curtains and gilt rods at his windows,
and his wife has a silk cloak as well as ourselves, because it is become
so thin that it is indeed accessible to every one, but it keeps no one
warm. It is the same with all the other stuffs. We must not deceive
ourselves; we have gained nothing by all these changes. Do not say, "So
much the better, this is equality." By no means; equality is not to be
found here, any more than it is in England, or America, or anywhere,
since it cannot exist. The consequence of attempting it is, that you
will have bad silks, bad satins, bad velvets, and that is all.

The throne of fashion has encountered during the Revolution another
throne, and it has been shattered in consequence. The French people,
amidst their dreams of equality, have lost their own hands. The large
and soft arm-chairs, the full and ample draperies, the cushions of eider
down, all the other delicacies which we alone understood of all the
European family, led only to the imprisonment of their possessors; and
if you had the misfortune to inhabit a spacious hotel, within a court,
to avoid the odious noise and smells of the street, you had your throat
cut. That mode of treating elegant manners put them out of fashion; they
were speedily abandoned, and the barbarity of their successors still so
lingers amongst us, that every day you see put into the lumber-room an
elegant Grecian chair which has broken your arm, and canopies which
smell of the stable, because they are stuffed with hay.

At that time, (1801,) the habits of good company were not yet extinct in
Paris; of the _old_ company of France, and not of what is _now_ termed
good company, and which prevailed 30 years ago only among postilions and
stable-boys. At that period, men of good birth _did not smoke in the
apartments of their wives_, because they felt it to be a dirty and
disgusting practice; they _generally washed their hands_; when they went
out to dine, or to pass the evening in a house of their acquaintance,
they _bowed to the lady at its head in entering and retiring_, and did
not appear so abstracted in their thoughts as to behave as they would
have done in an hotel. They were then careful _not to turn their back on
those with whom they conversed_, so as to show only an ear or the point
of a nose to those whom they addressed. They spoke of something else,
besides those eternal politics on which no two can ever agree, and which
give occasion only to the interchange of bitter expressions. There has
sprung from these endless disputes, disunion in families, the
dissolution of the oldest friendships, and the growth of hatred which
will continue till the grave. Experience proves that in these contests
no one is ever convinced, and that each goes away more than ever
persuaded of the truth of his own opinions.

The customs of the world now give me nothing but pain. From the bosom of
the retirement where I have been secluded for these 15 years, I can
judge, without prepossession, of the extraordinary revolution in manners
which has lately taken place. Old impressions are replaced, it is said,
by new ones; that is all. Are, then, the new ones superior? I cannot
believe it. Morality itself is rapidly undergoing dissolution--every
character is contaminated, and no one knows from whence the poison is
inhaled. Young men now lounge away their evenings in the box of a
theatre, or the Boulevards, or carry on elegant conversation with a fair
seller of gloves and perfumery, make compliments on her lily and
vermilion cheeks, and present her with a _cheap_ ring, accompanied with
a gross and indelicate compliment. Society is so disunited, that it is
daily becoming more vulgar, in the literal sense of the word. Whence any
improvement is to arise, God only knows.

* * * * *


* * * * *


Curran told me, with infinite humour of an adventure between him and a
mastiff when he was a boy. He had heard somebody say that any person
throwing the skirts of his coat over his head, stooping low, holding out
his arms and creeping along backward, might frighten the fiercest dog
and put him to flight. He accordingly made the attempt on a miller's
animal in the neighbourhood, who _would never let_ the boys _rob the
orchard_; but found to his sorrow that he had a dog to deal with who did
not care which end of a boy went foremost, so as he could get a good
bite out of it. "I pursued the instructions," said Curran; "and, as I
had no eyes save those in front, fancied the mastiff was in full
retreat: but I was confoundedly mistaken; for at the very moment I
thought myself victorious, the enemy attacked my rear, and having got a
reasonably good mouthful out of it, was fully prepared to take another
before I was rescued. Egad, I thought for a time the beast had devoured
my entire _centre of gravity_, and that I never should go on a steady
perpendicular again." "Upon my word, Curran," said I, "the mastiff may
have left you your _centre_, but he could not have left much _gravity_
behind him, among the bystanders."--_Sir Jonah Barrington._

_Bishop Ken._--This English prelate died as he was on a journey to Bath,
in March, 1710, in the seventy-fourth year of his age. He had been in
the habit of travelling many years with his shroud in his portmanteau,
which he always put on when attacked by illness; of this he gave notice
the day before his death, in order to prevent his body from being
stripped. P.T.W.

_Warning to Cowards._--There was a soldier that vaunted before Julius
Caesar, of the hurts he had received in his face. Caesar knowing him to
be but a coward, told him, "You had best heed next time you run away,
how you look back."--_Lord Bacon._

_Love and Murder._--"Hipparchus, going to marry, consulted Philander
upon the occasion; Philander represented his mistress in such strong
colours, that the next morning he received a challenge, and before
twelve he was run through the body."--_Spectator._

_Portugal._--Its ancient name was Lusitaenia. Its present name is
derived from that of an ancient town called "Calle," on or near the site
of the present Oporto, which was called "Portus Cale," or the Port of
Cale; and in process of time the name of this port was extended to the
whole country, whence "_Portucal_," or _Portugal_. Portus Cale
was afterwards called "O Porto" (the harbour,) which name the town of
Oporto ultimately received. P.T.W.

_Perfection of Steam Navigation._--During the last four months, the
_Firebrand_, steam-vessel from Falmouth, has traversed two voyages to
Corfu, and one to Lisbon, a distance of 11,500 miles, which gives for
the number of days, 66; she steamed, an average of 174 miles per day.

_Sore Eyes and Wine._--It was a right answer of the physician to his
patient that had sore eyes. "If you have more pleasure in the taste of
wine than in the use of your sight, wine is good for you; but if the
pleasure of seeing be greater to you than that of drinking, wine is

_Chinese and Russian Cookery._--In China, if the cook employed in
preparing the Imperial repasts, introduces any prohibited ingredients,
even by inadvertence, he is punished with a hundred blows; if any of the
dishes of food be not clean, he is liable to eighty blows; and if the
cook omits to ascertain the quality of the dishes by tasting, he incurs
fifty blows.

There cannot be a grand dinner in Russia without sterlet. In summer,
when brought alive from Archangel, &c., these cost from five hundred to
one thousand rubles each; a fish soup, made with champagne and other
expensive wines, has been known to cost three thousand rubles; no water
is allowed to enter into the composition of these expensive soups; and
the whole company get very merry and talkative after partaking of them.

_Honest Tar._--John Barth, the Dunkirk fisherman, rose by his courage
and naval skill, to the rank of commodore of a squadron in the navy of
France. When he was ennobled by Louis XIV. the king said to him, "John
Barth, I have made you a commodore." John replied, "you have done

* * * * *

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