The Mirror of Literature, Amusement, and Instruction, Vol. 20, No.


VOL. 20, NO. 582.] SATURDAY, DECEMBER 22, 1832. [PRICE 2d.

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[Illustration: THE YORK COLUMN, (from St. James's Park.)]


Five years have now elapsed since the improvements in St. James's Park
were commenced, by order of Government, for the gratification of the
people. We were early in our congratulation, as well as illustration, of
the prospective advantages of these plans for the public enjoyment, as
will be seen on reference to our tenth volume; and, with respect to the
re-disposal of St. James's Park, we believe the feeling of satisfaction
has been nearly universal.

At the period to which we have just alluded, the removal of Carlton
House, (for it scarcely deserved the name of Palace,) had been decided
on. The walls were dismantled of their decorative finery, and their
demolition commenced; the grounds were, to use a somewhat grandiloquent
phrase, dis-afforested; and the upper end of "the sweet, shady side
of Pall Mall" marked out for public instead of Royal occupation. Thus,
within a century has risen and disappeared from this spot the splendid
abode and its appurtenances; for, it was in the year 1732 that Frederic,
Prince of Wales, first purchased the property from the Earl of
Burlington; though it was not until 1788 that the erection of Carlton
House was commenced for the late King, then Prince of Wales; so that the
existence of the Palace must be restricted within forty years--a term
reminding us of the duration of a pavilion, rather than of a kingly

Upon the precise site of the courtyard and part of Carlton House have
been erected two mansions, of splendid character, appropriated to the
United Service and Athenaeum Clubs: the first built from the designs of
Mr. Nash, and the latter from those of Mr. Decimus Burton. They front
Pall Mall West, or may be considered to terminate Waterloo Place.

The site of Carlton House Gardens is now occupied by palatial houses,
which are disposed in two ranges, and front St. James's Park. The
substructure, containing the kitchens and domestic offices, forms a
terrace about 50 feet wide, adorned with pillars of the Paestum Doric
Order, surmounted with a balustrade. The superstructure consists of
three stories, ornamented with Corinthian columns. The houses at each
extremity have elevated attics. Only small portions of these superb
elevations are shown in the Engraving, with the Athenaeum Club House in
the distance.

In the space between the two ranges, it was proposed to erect a
fountain, formed of the eight column's of the portico of Carlton House,
(which was in elaborate imitation of the Temple of Jupiter Stator,
at Rome,[1]) to which eight on the same model were to be added. The
balustraded terrace had been continued fronting the Park with a view to
this embellishment. It however occurred to some guardian of the public
weal, that the above space presented an eligible opportunity for a grand
public entrance from Pall Mall into the Park. The idea was mooted in
Parliament; but some difficulties arose, from the leases already granted
to the builders of the houses on the terrace, who had calculated on the
_exclusive_ appropriation of the latter. The anxiety of the public
for the improvement at length reached the present King; and it was the
first popular act of his patriotic reign to command a grand triumphal[2]
entrance to be formed, with all possible speed; the difficulties
being then easily removed. The necessary portion of the terrace was
accordingly removed, and the magnificent approach formed, as shown in
the Engraving.

While these improvements were in progress, a monumental memorial had
been projected by the British Army to their late commander-in-chief, the
Duke of York; an expression of grateful sympathy which must be recorded
to the honour of truly British hearts. The funds for this tribute were
augmented by each individual of the above branch of the service
contributing one day's pay. The design was furnished by Mr. Benjamin
Wyatt, the architect of the superb mansion built for the Duke of York;
and, after the execution was somewhat advanced, it was resolved to set
up the tribute in the place it now occupies.

The monument consists of a plain Doric column, surmounted with a
colossal statue of the Duke of York. The pedestal and shaft are of fine
granite. The plinth, or base of the pedestal, is 22 feet square, and the
pedestal 18 feet; the circumference of the shaft is 11 feet 6 inches,
decreasing to 10 feet 2 inches at the top; the abacus is 13 feet 6
inches square. The interior of the column may be ascended by a winding
staircase of 169 steps, lit by narrow loop-holes.

From the top stair a doorway opens to the exterior of the abacus, which
will be enclosed with a massive iron railing, so as to form a prospect
gallery. The iron-work is not yet completed; but, as we have enjoyed the
view from two sides of the square, we can vouch for its commanding a
fine _coup d'oeil_ of the whole metropolis, and certainly the
finest view of its most embellished quarter. From this spot alone can
the magnificence of Regent-street be duly appreciated, and above all the
skill of the architect in effecting the junction of the lines by the
classical introduction of the Quadrant.

That part of the structure which is, strictly speaking, upon the abacus
of the column, has a domed roof, upon which will be placed the colossal
statue, executed in bronze, by Mr. Westmacott. The Duke is represented
in a flowing robe, with a sword in his right hand, and in the left, one
of the insignia of the Order of the Garter. The height of the figure
is 13 feet 6 inches. The total height of the column, exclusive of the
statue, is 124 feet. The masonry, (executed by Mr. Nowell, of Pimlico,)
deserves especial notice. Its neatness and finish are truly astonishing,
and the solidity and massiveness of the material appear calculated "for
all time."

We should mention that the embellishment about the upper part of the
pedestal (as seen in the cut,) has not yet been placed on the original;
nor has the statue yet been raised to the summit of the column.

[1] The above columns, with those of the handsome Ionic calonnade
which screened the Palace from Pall Mall, are, we believe, the
only remains of the building.

[2] The entrance deserves this epithet on more than one account.

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"Anciently there was in the king's house," says Stow, "wheresoever he
lodged, at the feast of Christmas, a 'Lord of Misrule, or Master of
Merry Disports;' and the like also was there in the house of every
nobleman of honour or good worship, whether spiritual or temporal.
Among these, the Mayor and Sheriffs of London had their several Lords of
Misrule, ever contending, without quarrel or offence, who should make
the rarest pastime to divert the beholders. These Lords began their
rule, or rather misrule, on All Hallow's-eve, and continued the same
until Candlemas-day, in which space there were fine and subtle
disguisings, masques, and mummeries, with playing at cards for counters,
nails, and points, in every house, more for pastime than for gain.
Against this feast, the parish churches and every man's house were
decked with holm, ivy, bay, and whatsoever the season of the year
afforded that was green; and the conduits and standards in the streets
were likewise garnished."



At Ramsgate they commence their Christmas festivities by the following
ceremony:--A party of the youthful portion of the community having
procured the head of a horse, it is affixed to a pole, about four feet
in length; a string is attached to the lower jaw, a horse-cloth is tied
round the extreme part of the head, beneath which one of the party is
concealed, who, by repeated pulling and loosening the string, causes
the jaw to rise and fall, and thus produces, by bringing the teeth in
contact, a snapping noise, as he moves along; the rest of the party
following in procession, grotesquely habited, and ringing hand-bells!
In this order they proceed from house to house, singing carols and
ringing their bells, and are generally remunerated for the amusement
they occasion by a largess of money, or beer and cake. This ceremony is
called "a hoodening." The figure which we have described is designated
"a hooden," or wooden horse. The ceremony prevails in many parts of
the Isle of Thanet, and may probably be traced as the relic of some
religious ceremony practised in the early ages by our Saxon ancestors.


The following account of a pageant which took place at Christmas, 1440,
is from the records of Norwich:--"John Hadman, a wealthy citizen, made
disport with his neighbours and friends, and was crowned King of
Christmas. He rode in state through the city, dressed forth in silks and
tinsel, and preceded by twelve persons habited as the twelve months of
the year, their costumes varying to represent the different seasons of
the year. Alter King Christmas followed Lent, clothed in white garments
trimmed with herring skins, on horseback, the horse being decorated with
trappings of oyster-shells, being indicative that sadness and a holy
time should follow Christmas revelling. In this way they rode through
the city, accompanied by numbers in various grotesque dresses, making
disport and merriment,--some clothed in armour, carrying staves, and
occasionally engaging in martial combat; others, dressed as devils,
chased the people, and sorely affrighted the women and children; others,
wearing skin-dresses, and counterfeiting bears, wolves, lions, and other
animals, and endeavouring to imitate the animals they represented, in
roaring and raving, alarming the cowardly and appalling the stoutest


At Selenico, in Dalmatia, according to Fortis; they elect a king at
Christmas, whose reign lasts only a fortnight; but notwithstanding the
short duration of his authority, he enjoys several prerogatives of
sovereignty: such, for example, as that of keeping the keys of the town,
of having a distinguished place in the cathedral, and of deciding upon
all the difficulties or disputes which arise among those who compose his
court. The town is obliged to provide him with a house suitable to the
dignity of his elevated situation. When he leaves his house, he is
always compelled to wear a crown of wheat-ears, and he cannot appear
in public without a robe of purple or scarlet cloth, and surrounded
by a great number of officers. The governor, the bishops, and other
dignitaries, are obliged to give him a feast; and all who meet him must
salute him with respect. When the fortnight is at an end, the king quits
his palace, strips off his crown and purple, dismisses his court, and
returns to his hovel. For a length of time this pantomimical king was
chosen from amongst the nobles, but at present it has devolved on the
lowest of the people.

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[Is, in our estimation, a splendid failure. It lacks the variety which
the _Annual_ should possess for a family of readers; and its
sameness is, moreover, of the saddest character in the whole region of
romance. The stories are long, and lazily told; and they overflow with
the most lugubrious monotony. There is scarcely a relief throughout the
volume, from Wordsworth's "majestic sonnet" on Sir Walter Scott, to
Autumn Flowers, by Agnes Strickland; we travel from one end to the
other, and all is lead and leaden--dull, heavy, and sad, as old Burton
could wish; and full of moping melancholy, unenlivened by quaintness, or
humour of any cast. Not that we mean to condemn the pieces individually;
but, collectively, they are too much in the same vein: the Editor has
studied too closely his text-motto:

"Fairy tale to lull the heir,
Goblin grim the maids to scare."

It is all shade, without a gleam of sunshine, if we except two or three
of the most trifling of the papers. The best tale in the volume is the
Marsh Maiden, by Leigh Ritchie; next is the Jacobite Exile and his
Hound: Retrospections of Secundus Parnell, are an infliction upon the
reader; and these, with two _mediocre_ tales, and a sketch or two,
make up the prose contents. The poetry has greater merit, though almost
in one unvaried strain. Mr. Watts has contributed but one lyric, and
Mrs. Watts a stirring ballad of Spanish revenge; Mary Howitt has
contributed a fairy ballad, pretty enough; and the Sin of Earl Walter, a
tale of olden popish times in England, of some 60 or 70 verses. We quote
two specimens from the poetry:]


_By William Wordsworth._

A trouble, not of clouds, or weeping rain,
Nor of the setting sun's pathetic light
Engendered, hangs o'er Eildun's triple height:
Spirits of Power assembled there complain
For kindred Power departing from their sight;
While Tweed, best pleased in chanting a blithe strain,
Saddens his voice again and yet again.
Lift up your hearts, ye Mourners! for the might
Of the whole world's good wishes with him goes;
Blessings and prayers, in nobler retinue
Than sceptred king or laurelled conqueror knows,
Follow this wondrous Potentate. Be true
Ye winds of ocean and the midland sea,
Wafting your charge to soft Parthenope!


_After the German of Goethe._

The warder looked out at the mid-hour of night,
Where the grave-hills all silently lay;
The moon-beams above gave so brilliant a light,
That the churchyard was clear as by day:
First one, then another, to open began;
Here came out a woman--there came out a man,--
Each clad in a shroud long and white.

And then for amusement--perchance it was cold--
In a circle they seemed to advance;
The poor and the rich, and the young and the old,--
But the grave-clothes impeded the dance:
And as no person thought about modesty there,
They flung off their garments, and stripped themselves bare,
And a shroud lay on each heap of mould.

They kicked up their heels, and they rattled their bones,
And the horrible din that they made
Went clickety-clackety--just like the tones
Of a castanet noisily played.
And the warder he laughed as he witnessed the cheer,
And he heard the Betrayer speak soft in his ear,
"Go and steal away one of their shrouds."

Swift as thought it was done--in an instant he fled
Behind the church portal to hide;
And brighter and brighter the moon-beam was shed,
As the dance they still shudderingly plied;--
But at last they began to grow tired of their fun,
And they put on their shrouds, and slipped off, one by one,
Beneath, to the homes of the dead.

But tapping at every grave-hill, there staid
One skeleton, tripping behind;
Though not by his comrades the trick had been played--
Now its odour he snuffed in the wind:
He rushed to the door--but fell back with a shock;
For well for the wight of the bell and the clock,
The sign of the cross it displayed.

But the shroud he must have--not a moment he stays;
Ere a man had begun but to think,
On the Gothic-work his fingers quickly he lays,
And climbs up its chain, link by link.
Now woe to the warder--for sure he must die--
To see, like a long-legged spider, draw nigh
The skeleton's clattering form:

And pale was his visage, and thick came his breath;
The garb, alas! why did he touch?
How sick grew his soul as the garment of death
The skeleton caught in his clutch--
The moon disappeared, and the skies changed to dun,
And louder than thunder the church-bell tolled one--
The spectre fell tumbling to bits!

[and one of the prose tales, abridged:]


There is not in all Germany a more pleasant station for a regiment of
horse than the city of Salzburgh, capital of the province of that name,
in the dominions of the House of Austria. Here, during the summer and
autumn of 1795, lay the third regiment of Hungarian hussars. This corps
had sustained a heavy loss during the campaign of the year previous in
Flanders, and was sent into garrison to be recruited and organized anew.
Count Zichy, who commanded it, was a noble of the highest rank, of
princely fortune, and of lavish expenditure; and being of a cheerful and
social turn of mind, he promoted all the amusements of the place, and
encouraged the gaiety of his officers.

The scenery around is grand and alpine. The narrow defiles and
picturesque valleys are watered by mountain rivers; and, at an easy
distance from the city, is the lone lake of Berchtolsgaden, lying
beneath a lofty, inaccessible alp, of the most stern and majestic
aspect. Need it be told how sweet upon that placid lake sounded the
mellow horns of the Hungarian band; and may it not be left to fancy to
image out, how these parties, these scenes, and these sensations, gave
birth to some abiding, and to very many passing loves.

Among the fair women of Salzburgh, the palm of beauty was yielded
readily by all to Beatrice Adony, the only daughter of a respected
statesman, long favoured at court, and then resident upon a private
estate in the neighbourhood. He had retired from public affairs a few
years before, when under deep affliction from the loss of a beloved
wife; and lived a life of fond parental devotion with this lovely
Beatrice, who was the image of her departed mother. He had directed
all her studies; and with such judgment, that he had imparted to her
character a masculine strength, which elevated her above all the common
dangers of that season of life when woman passes forth into society.

The Count Zichy was a relation of Count Adony, and a constant and
welcome guest at his mansion; and Beatrice, therefore, attended many and
most of the entertainments which the Count and his officers gave to the
society of Salzburgh during their stay. As she smiled no encouragement
upon the attentions which the Count seemed at first disposed to pay her,
and as he was a cheerful, manly-hearted creature, and though made of
penetrable stuff, by no means a person to lose either appetite, society,
or life, for love, he bestowed his gallantries elsewhere. She liked him
for this all the better; and gave him, in return, that free-hearted,
sisterly friendship, which might be innocently suffered to grow out of
their connexion and intimacy.

All the regular, conceited male coquettes were abashed and perplexed by
manners so natural, that they could make nothing of her; while those
more dangerous, but much to be blamed admirers, who stand apart with
sighs and gazes, were baffled and made sad by the silent dignity of eyes
serenely bright, that never looked upon their flattering worship with
one ray of favour. Such was Beatrice Adony; all the fair girls were fond
of her, and proud of her--because she was no one's rival. They looked on
her as a being of a higher order; one whose thoughts were chaste as the
unsunned Alps. She was admired by them, meditated upon--but never

Most true it was, Beatrice was of another and a higher order. She was
"among them, not of them." She took part in those amusements which
belong to the customs of her country; and filled that place, and
performed those customs, which her station in society demanded, with
unaffected ease and grace. But while the trifles and pleasures of the
passing day were to her companions everything, they were to her little
and unsatisfying. For the last few years of her mother's life, whose
habits were meditative and devotional, she had daily listened to the
gracious lessons of divine truth, and the closet of Beatrice Adony was
hallowed by the Eye that seeth in secret, and that often saw her there
upon her knees.

It was on a fine day, in the early spring of 1796, that orders reached
Salzburgh for the march of these Hungarian hussars. They were to
traverse the Tyrol, and to join the army of Italy. They were to march at
sunrise on the following morning; and Count Adony, collecting all the
acquaintances of the corps in the town and neighbourhood, gave the
Hungarian officers a farewell banquet and ball; preparations for which,
in anticipation of their early departure, Beatrice had already directed.

Beatrice was the radiant queen of this fair festival; and it was strange
to think, that from the presence of such a being so many men were going
to part without one lover's pang. Amiable, affable, natural, and full of
grace, she presided over this little court of love--serene, unmoved,
herself. Yet any thoughtful and suspicious observer would have said,
that her heart was not quite at ease; for every now and then, as the
night wore on, her eyes gave less attention to those who spoke with her,
and her thoughts were evidently turning inwards with trouble. The supper
was over--the tastefully decorated table was deserted--and the guests
were again assembled in the ball-room. Fond partners that might never
dance with each other again, stood side by side--hand locked in
hand--and waited for the rising swell of the tender music, to which they
were to dance their last waltz. Beatrice stood up with her cousin Count
Zichy, and deadly pale she looked. The Count and all others thought she
had a headach, and would have had her sit down; but she persisted, with
a faint smile, in doing the last honours.

Just at this very moment a manly young officer, whose dress denoted that
he had been on duty, and was ready again to mount and go forward, came
in to make a report to the colonel.

As the first bars of the music were heard, he stood aside, his cap in
his hand, and looked on. Already, however, a young brother officer had
run from his partner's side, to renew to him, with all extravagance of
gratitude, his thanks for having, by an exchange of duty, enabled him to
enjoy a last, long parting with the girl he loved. The dance went
forward, and Julius Alvinzi leaned cheerfully upon his sabre. Suddenly
Count Zichy and his fair cousin broke out from the large circle, and
setting to him, he was led off to the waltz movement before he had time
to ungird his sword. This, however, even as he danced, he gracefully
effected; and afterwards for one tour of waltzing, Beatrice Adony was
the partner of Julius Alvinzi, quitting for the time her own.

This is a custom, in Germany, so common, and seemed so natural and so
kind a courtesy to Julius, under the particular circumstances of his
late and short appearance at the ball, that neither himself, nor any one
in the room, attached to it any other character than that of a pretty
and gentle compliment. But if the ear of Julius had been quickened by
the faintest spark of sympathy, he might have heard the very heart of
Beatrice beat.

"You are tired," said Julius, as the music suddenly ceased.

"Rather so," she replied.

He led her, faint, pale, and trembling, to a seat. Some colour returned
to her cheek as she sat down; and, with an open and cheerful air, she
put out her hand to him, and said, "Farewell, Captain Alvinzi; all
honour, and all happiness go with you."

As he took her hand, he observed, for the first time, that pale-changing
of the cheek which is so eloquent of love; and, looking into her eyes,
he felt his heart sink with a sweeter emotion than he had ever known

Thus silently they parted; and Julius went out from her presence sad,
but happy. "Il est si doux aimer, et d'etre aime." He felt that he was
beloved. In half an hour, the noble gateway at Salzburgh, cut through
the solid rock, rang to the loud echo of trampling hoofs; and Julius was
riding under it with an advanced guard, and a few troop-sergeants, to
prepare the quarters of the regiment, then mustering for their march.

In all the camps of Europe, a finer youth, or a nobler spirit, could
no where have been found than Julius Alvinzi. Five years of military
service--three of which had been spent in the toils, the watchings,
and the combats of warfare--had accomplished and perfected him in all
points, as the zealous and enterprising leader of a squadron. Glory was
his idol--war his passion. His day-dreams over-leaped the long interval
of years which, of necessity, separated him from high command; and, as
he built up the castle of his future fame, many were the victories which
he won "in the name of God, and the Kaiser!" With this, the gallant
war-cry of Austria, he had already, in some few charges, led on his bold
and bitter Hungarians; and two or three dashing affairs of outposts--a,
daring and important reconnoissance, most skilfully conducted--and the
surprise and capture of a French picquet--had already given him an
established name for intelligence and enterprise. There was a manliness
about him superior to low, sensual enjoyment; and the imagery and
language of vulgar voluptuousness found no cell in a well-stored,
well-principled, and masculine mind, to receive or retain them. He was a
happy, handsome, hardy soldier; knowing his duly, loving it, and always
performing it with honour. Such was the man whom Beatrice Adony, with a
quick perception of true nobility of character, had silently observed
during the stay of the Hungarians at Salzburgh, and her love for him was
a secret--

The only jewel of her speechless thoughts.

It was thus in the full lustihood of life, and in all the bloom of high
hope and promise, that in one of those severe actions, which took place
in the summer of 1796 on the plains of Mantua, Julius Alvinzi led his
brave squadron into battle. The brigade to which he belonged was brought
forward by the veteran Wurmser at a very anxious moment, and, by their
devoted courage, saved a column of Austrian infantry from being
enveloped and cut off by the French. The Hungarians charged with such
vigour and success, that they not only overthrew the body of horse
opposed to them, but they possessed themselves of a battery of
field-pieces which endeavoured to cover their retreat, and which
continued to vomit forth grape with a deadly fury till the horses' heads
of the leading squadron, under Alvinzi, reached the very muzzles of the

The Austrians were, however, compelled finally to retreat, that same
evening, from the ground which they had so resolutely contested:--the
movement was made in fine order, and they carried off all their wounded
in safety. Upon a crowded wagon lay Julius Alvinzi; living, indeed, but
a living wreck, and his recovery despaired of. He had been wounded in
six places, and lay motionless and insensible; his servant walking by
his side in silent trouble. As the remains of his regiment marched
slowly back upon Mantua, and passed the convoy of the wounded close to
the gates, you might have heard the name of Alvinzi singled out by the
men for more deep and particular lamentation. He had been their friend,
their pride, their example; and their eyes were turned upon the wagon on
which he lay with an expression of sadness too stern and severe for

The news of this disastrous battle was communicated to Count Adony at
Salzburgh in a letter from his cousin the Count Zichy. Beatrice and her
father were sitting in his library after night-fall, each occupied with
a book, under the calm, soft light of a lamp which hung a little above
them, when this letter was brought in. He read it eagerly and rapidly to
himself; and then, with a grateful exclamation for the safety of Zichy,
and those officers with whom he was more especially acquainted, he again
read it aloud to Beatrice. It ran as follows:--


"We are all doing our best; but, I am sorry to say, we are losing
everything except our honour. Fortune is with these Frenchmen. Of six
hundred swords, with which I marched from Salzburgh ten weeks ago, only
two hundred and twenty remain to me. We lost, in the battle of yesterday,
nearly three hundred killed and wounded. I never saw our men fight
better: the enemy opposed to us were fairly beaten at the sword's point;
and we took a battery of twelve guns, which tried to cover their
discomfiture; but we conquered only to retire. I have not a word to say
against old Wurmser: he is a clear headed, tough-hearted veteran, but
these French generals are too young for him. I am quite well, but had a
narrow escape; two horses were killed under me, and a grape shot passed
through my cap.

"Tell dear Beatrice, I have got that engraving of the Madonna del
Rosario of Domenichino which she wanted. I picked it up at Verona;
thanks to poor Alvinzi, by the way. Though you, neither of you, saw nor
knew much of this youth, you have so often heard me speak of his worth,
that you will be sorry for me when I tell you that I have lost him; and,
in him, my best and most zealous officer. He is covered with wounds, and
cannot live through the night;--the noble fellow was struck down within
a yard of the enemy's guns. Of others, whom you may remember, Kreiner,
Zetter, and Hartmann, are killed; and several are wounded: Kalmann and
Hettinger very severely.--You shall hear from me again soon; but matters
look very unpromising.

"Your faithful and loving cousin, CASIMIR ZICHY."

"Read the letter again, father," said Beatrice, with a tone such as he
had never heard from her before; "read it again," she cried, "pray read
it again!--'my best and most zealous officer,'--is it not so?--'covered
with wounds, and cannot live through the night,'--is it not so?--Father,
I loved this Alvinzi.--Ah! yes, I loved him well--now better than
ever;--but I knew it would be thus the very day on which I first saw
him:--read it again,--pray do?"--and, with a still-bewilderment of eye,
she took it from her trembling father, and read it slowly to herself.
"Give me this letter, father;" and she put it in her bosom: and there it
lay,--there it lay through a long and nervous illness, which mercifully
terminated in her death.

For a long time she was enabled to govern and controul her feelings, and
was silent, and, to outward seeming, resigned. She often remarked to her
father, that she could, and did, say daily upon her knees, "Thy will be
done,"--but that tears always followed that sincere, but mournful,
exercise. However her frame at last gave way--she sunk into great
weakness of body, and her mind became affected.

Her father watched her with unceasing solicitude throughout her
sufferings; but he was often driven from her chamber by the agony of his
emotions, as she read over the fatal letter, or sung, which she did
continually, that mournful song of Thecla.

The world it is empty, the heart will die,
There's nothing to wish for beneath the sky:
Thou Holy One, call Thy child away--
I've lived and loved; and that was to-day--
Make ready my grave-clothes to-morrow.

Such was the early and melancholy close of a young life of the loveliest
promise. The severe and sudden horror struck hard upon her fine mind,
and drove it mournfully astray. Her heart was so broken that she could
not live on. But Julius Alvinzi did not then or so perish: for seventeen
weeks he lay upon a hospital bed in Mantua, helpless as an infant;
and finally recovered so much of health as gave him again the common
promise of life. He was afterwards sent to pass the long period of his
convalescence at Venice; but the Julius Alvinzi, who rode forth from
Salzburgh, was no longer to be recognised: crippled in his limbs--his
fine countenance disfigured by deep and unsightly scars--his complexion
pale--his hair turned grey with suffering. He had already stepped on
twenty years in as many weeks, and he was already, to the eye, a worn
and broken-down officer of veterans. He could not stir a pace without
crutches; and his hip had been so shattered and distorted that it was
painful to see him move. It was well that Beatrice was in her grave. No
doubt she would have exhibited the noble constancy of a pure, angelic,
and true love;--but she was spared that longer and heavier trial.

Alvinzi, like a stricken deer, betook himself, with decayed hopes and an
aching bosom, to a retired valley near Burgersdorf, about ten miles from
Vienna. Here he took a small fishing cottage, near a lone and lovely
stream, which flowed across a few velvet meadows, amid deep dells
and still woods; and here he threw himself on the beautiful bosom of
nature as on that of a mother. Here, for the first time, he was made
acquainted, by a letter and a packet from the aged and desolate Adony,
of the melancholy end of the lovely Beatrice. The packet contained a
small cross which she had always worn, her miniature, and her psalter.

The traveller who may now wander into the little valley, near
Burgersdorf, where Alvinzi dwelt, will find the cypress, planted upon
his grave the day after his funeral, only three years' growth; and if he
go and sit under the tree, beneath which Alvinzi reposed his withered
and broken frame for thirty summers, will perhaps agree with the
narrator of this mournful story, that mercy was mingled in his bitter
cup, and that

Society is all but rude,
To that delicious solitude.

The peasants of that valley tell, with a superstitious awe, that Alvinzi
was wont to discourse for hours together with departed spirits; and
that they have stolen near his tree at sunset, and in the gloom of the
evening, and by moonlight, and have distinctly heard him talking with
some one whom he called "Beatrice."

[The Embellishments of the _Souvenir_ are nearly on a par with
those of previous years, with a light sprinkling of originality in the

* * * * *


* * * * *


[Illustration: (_In Devonshire_,)]

The subjoined are two specimens of rude workmanship, in comparison with
the ingenuity displayed in the Crosses already illustrated in our pages.
They are engraved from a drawing made by Mr. Britton, about thirty years
since. The first was in Devonshire, at the village of Alphington, about
one mile west of Exeter, on the side of the road leading from that city
to Plymouth. It represents the Calvary cross of heraldry, and consists
of a block of granite, which has been cut in an octagon shape, and fixed
in a large base.

[Illustration: (_In Cornwall_,)]

The second cross stood in Cornwall, on the wide waste of Caraton Down.
It consists of one block with a rounded head, bearing the couped cross.
This solitary pillar, evidently a Christian monument, is situate near a
Druidical temple called "the Hurlers." Crosses of this shape abound in
Cornwall. One has been found in Burian churchyard, and another in
Callington churchyard, bearing rude sculptures of the crucifixion;
others have been found in the county with holes perforated near the top,
and some with various ornaments on the shafts.

[3] We thank "an old Subscriber and a native of Holbeach" for his
testimony to the accuracy of our Engraving of Holbeach Cross, at
page 329 of the present volume. We shall feel further obliged to
him for the view of Holbeach Church.

We may here remark that the Cross described at page 115, at
Wheston, is now in the courtyard of Wheston Hall. Probably our
Correspondent _E.T.B.A_. will oblige us with a drawing of that
interesting structure.

* * * * *


* * * * *


Few articles differ more in quality than olive oil; not that the
different kinds are produced from different fruit, but in the different
stages of the pressure of the olives. Thus, by means of gentle pressure,
the best or _virgin_ oil flows first; a second, and afterwards a
third quality of oil is obtained, by moistening the residuum, breaking
the kernels, &c. and increasing the pressure. When the fruit is not
sufficiently ripe, the recent oil has a bitterish taste; and when too
ripe it is fatty. After the oil has been drawn, it deposits a white,
fibrous, and albuminous matter; but when this deposition has taken
place, if it be put into clean flasks, it undergoes no further
alteration. The common oil cannot, however, be preserved in casks above
a year and a half or two years. The consumption of olive oil as food is
not surprising if we remember, that it is the lightest and most delicate
of all the fixed oils.

* * * * *


Some misconception has arisen respecting the legality of _Second-hand
Cards_. It appears, however, that they may be sold by any person, if
sold without the wrapper of a licensed maker; and in packs containing
not more than 52 cards, including an ace of spades duly stamped, and
enclosed in a wrapper with the words "Second-hand Cards" printed or
written in distinct characters on the outside: penalty for selling
Second-hand Cards in any other manner, 20l.

* * * * *


Cassia bark resembles Cinnamon in appearance, smell, and taste, and is
very often substituted for it; but it may be readily distinguished: it
is thicker in substance, less quilled, breaks shorter, and is more
pungent. It should be chosen in thin pieces: the best being that which
approaches nearest to Cinnamon in flavour; but that which is small and
broken should be rejected.

* * * * *


The fine, bright, red colour of some Gloucester cheese has been
fraudulently produced by red lead, which, we need scarcely observe, is a
violent poison. The ingredient now employed for this purpose, (to the
exclusion of every thing else) in Cheshire and Gloucestershire, is
annatto, a dye prepared from the seeds of a tree of South America. It is
perfectly harmless in the proportion in which it is used; an ounce of
genuine annatto being sufficient to colour a hundred weight of cheese.
It may, however, be questioned whether annatto is not sometimes
adulterated with red lead.

Gouda cheese, the best made in Holland, is prized for its soundness,
which is referable to muriatic acid being used in curdling the milk
instead of rennet. This renders it pungent, and preserves it from
mites. Parmesan cheese, so called from Parma in Italy, where it is
manufactured, and highly prized, is merely a skim-milk cheese, which
owes its rich flavour to the fine herbage of the meadows along the
Po, where the cows feed.

* * * * *


The finer salt sold under this denomination is made by placing the
salt, after evaporation, in conical baskets, and passing through it a
saturated solution of salt, which dissolves, and carries off the muriate
of magnesia or lime. Pure salt should not become moist by exposure to
the air.

* * * * *


The imitation of gold sold with this taking name is nothing more than
the alloy formerly called Pinchbeck, and made by melting zinc, in a
certain proportion, with copper and brass, so as in colour to approach
that of gold.

* * * * *


* * * * *


[Our old friend Tom Cringle (of Blackwood,) occasionally spins or splits
his _Log_ too small. The incidents are weakened in the drawing out,
or exaggerated in the telling; but they are sometimes relieved by
brilliant descriptive touches, such as the following, introduced to set
off the fate of one of Tom's heroes at Santiago.]

_The Butterfly, Chameleon, and Serpent._

Glancing bright in the sunshine, a most beautiful butterfly fluttered in
the air, in the very middle of the open window. When we first saw it, it
was flitting gaily and happily amongst the plants and flowers that were
blooming in the balcony, but it gradually became more and more slow on
the wing, and at last poised itself unusually steadily for an insect of
its class. Below it, on the window sill, near the wall, with head erect,
and its little basilisk eyes upturned towards the lovely fly, crouched
a chameleon lizard, its beautiful body, when I first looked at it, was
a bright sea-green. It moved into the sunshine, a little away from the
shade of the laurel bush, which grew on the side it first appeared on,
and suddenly the back became transparent amber, the legs and belly
continuing green. From its breast under the chin, it every now and then
shot out a semicircular film of a bright scarlet colour, like a leaf of
a tulip, stretched vertically, or the pectoral fin of a fish.

This was evidently a decoy, and the poor fly was gradually drawn down
towards it, either under the impression of its being in reality a
flower, or impelled by some impulse which it could not resist. It
gradually fluttered nearer and more near, the reptile remaining all the
while steady as a stone, until it made a sudden spring, and in the next
moment the small meally wings were quivering on each side of the
chameleon's tiny jaws. While in the act of gorging its prey, a little
fork, like a wire, was projected from the opposite corner of the window;
presently a small round black snout, with a pair of little, fiery,
blasting eyes, appeared, and a thin, black neck, glancing in the sun.
The lizard saw it. I could fancy it trembled. Its body became of a dark
blue, then ashy pale; the imitation of the flower, the gaudy fin was
withdrawn, it appeared to shrink back as far as it could, but it was
nailed or fascinated to the window sill, for its feet did not move.
The head of the snake approached, with its long, forked tongue shooting
out, and shortening, and with a low hissing noise. By this time about
two feet of its body was visible, lying with its white belly on the
wooden beam, moving forward with a small horizontal wavy motion, the
head and six inches of the neck being a little raised. I shrunk back
from the serpent, but no one else seemed to have any dread of it;
indeed, I afterwards learned, that this kind being good mousers, and
otherwise quite harmless, were, if any thing, encouraged about houses in
the country. I looked again; its open mouth was now within an inch of
the lizard, which by this time seemed utterly paralyzed and motionless;
the next instant its head was drawn into the snake's mouth, and
gradually the whole body disappeared, as the reptile gorged it, and
I could perceive from the lump which gradually moved down the snake's
neck, that it had been sucked into its stomach. Involuntary I raised
my hand, when the whole suddenly disappeared.

[One of Tom's _land-storms_ is still more graphic.]

A heavy cloud that had been overhanging the small valley the whole
morning, had by this time spread out and covered the entire face of
nature like a sable pall; the birds of the air flew low, and seemed to
be perfectly gorged with the superabundance of flies, which were thickly
betaking themselves for shelter under the evergreen leaves of the
bushes. All the winged creation, great and small, were fast betaking
themselves to the shelter of the leaves and branches of the trees. The
cattle were speeding to the hollows under the impending rocks; negroes,
men, women, and children, were hurrying with their hoes on their
shoulders past the windows to their huts. Several large bloodhounds had
ventured into the hall, and were crouching with a low whine at our feet.
The large carrion crows were the only living things which seemed to
brave the approaching _chu-basco_, and were soaring high up in the
heavens, appearing to touch the black, agitated fringe of the lowering
thunder clouds. All other kinds of winged creatures, parrots, and
pigeons, and cranes, had vanished by this time under the thickest trees,
and into the deepest coverts, and the wild ducks were shooting past in
long lines, piercing the thick air with outstretched neck and clanging

Suddenly the wind fell, and the sound of the waterfall increased, and
grew rough and loud, and the undefinable rushing noise that precedes a
heavy fall of rain in the tropics, the voice of the wilderness, moaned
through the high woods, until at length the clouds sank upon the valley
in boiling mists, rolling halfway down the surrounding hills; and the
water of the stream, whose scanty rill but an instant before hissed over
the precipice in a small, transparent ribbon of clear grass-green,
sprinkled with white foam, and then threaded its way round the large
rocks in its capacious channel, like a silver eel twisting through a
desert, now changed in a moment to a dark turgid chocolate colour; and
even as we stood and looked, lo! a column of water from the mountains,
pitched in thunder over the face of the precipice, making the earth
tremble, and driving up from the rugged face of the everlasting rocks in
smoke, and forcing the air into eddies and sudden blasts which tossed
the branches of the trees that overhung it, as they were dimly seen
through clouds of drizzle, as if they had been shaken by a tempest,
although there was not a breath stirring elsewhere out of heaven; while
little, wavering, spiral wreaths of mist rose up thick from the surface
of the boiling pool at the bottom of the cataract, like miniature
water-spouts, until they were dispersed by the agitation of the air

At length the swollen torrent rolled roaring down the narrow valley,
filling the whole water-course, about fifty yards wide, and advancing
with a solid front a fathom _high_--a fathom _deep_ does not
convey the idea--like a stream of lava, or as one may conceive of the
Red Sea, when, at the stretching forth of the hand of the prophet of the
Lord, its mighty waters rolled back and stood heaped up as a wall to the
host of Israel.

The channel of the stream, which but a minute before I could have leaped
across, was the next instant filled and utterly impassable.

And the rain now began pattering in large drops, like scattering shots
preceding an engagement, on the wooden shingles with which the house was
roofed, gradually increasing to a loud rushing noise, which, as the
rooms were not ceiled, prevented a word being heard.

At length the weather cleared, and the shutters having been opened, and
with a suddenness which no one can comprehend who has not lived in these
climates, the sun now shone brightly on the flowers and garden plants
which grew in a range of pots on the balcony.

* * * * *


(_From the New Monthly Magazine_.)

We have much pleasure in inserting these very curious anecdotes of an
unfortunate Princess, though they come to us from one devoted to her
cause, as well as sympathizing with her misfortunes.

Few heroines of ancient days have displayed more courage, self-devotion,
and firmness, than has this high-souled and heroic woman. It is not
generally known in this country, that in an action in La Vendee, where
the partizans of the Duchess were opposed to the regular troops, she
headed her forces, and led the charges repeatedly. She had a horse shot
dead under her, and having been disarmed in the fall, seized the arms of
a fallen soldier next her, and again cheered on her followers. She was
eleven hours in action, and escaped unhurt, with the exception of some
contusions from the fall; and, when the battle was over, was seen
administering to the wants of those around her, dressing their wounds
with her own delicate hands; and whilst surrounded by the dead and
dying, she appeared wholly regardless of self, though overcome by a
fatigue and anxiety that few, even of the other sex, could have borne
so well.

On another occasion, the Duchesse de Berri had, with much difficulty,
procured a horse, and was mounted behind a faithful but humble adherent,
pursuing her route to a distant quarter, when her guide was accosted by
a peasant with whom he conversed some time in the patois of the country.
On quitting the peasant, he observed to the Duchess, that the man was
charged with a secret mission to a place at some distance, and was so
fatigued that he feared he could not reach it. She instantly sprang from
her seat, called after the peasant, and insisted on his taking the
horse, declaring that she could reach her destination on foot. After
walking for many hours, she arrived at a mountain stream that was
swollen by the recent rain, and having learned that her enemies were in
pursuit of her, she determined to cross it. Her guide, assisted by her,
fastened a large branch of a tree to his person, and, being an expert
swimmer, told her to hold by it, and that he hoped to get her over. They
had advanced to the deepest part of the stream when the bough broke, and
her guide gave her up for lost, when, to his surprise and joy, he saw
her boldly clearing the water by his side, and they soon reached the
bank in safety. During her visits to Dieppe, the Duchess had acquired a
proficiency in swimming, and it has since frequently saved her in the
hour of need. Overpowered by fatigue and hunger, and chilled by the cold
of her dripping garments, this courageous woman felt that her physical
powers were no longer capable of obeying her wishes, and that further
exertion was impossible. Seeing a house at a distance, she declared her
intention of throwing herself on the generosity of its owner, when her
guide warned her of the danger of such a proceeding, as the owner of the
house was a Liberal, and violently opposed to her party. All his
representations were made in vain. She boldly entered the house, and,
addressing the master of it, exclaimed--"You see before you the unhappy
mother of your king; proscribed and pursued, half dead with fatigue,
cold, wet, and hungry, you will not refuse her a morsel of your bread, a
corner at your fire, and a bed to rest her weary limbs on." The master
of the house threw himself at her feet, and, with tears streaming from
his eyes, declared that his house, and all that was his, were at her
service; and for some days, while the pursuit after her was the hottest,
she remained unsuspected in this asylum, the politics of the master
placing him out of suspicion; and when she left it, she was followed by
the tears and prayers of the whole of the family and their dependents.

This heroic woman, nurtured in courts, and accustomed to all the luxury
that such an exalted station as hers can give, has thought herself
fortunate, during many a night of the last year, when she could have the
shelter of the poorest hovel, with some brown bread and milk for food,
and has partaken, at the same humble board, the frugal repast of the
peasants who sheltered her. Her general attire has been the most common
dress, of a materiel called buse, made of worsted, and worn by the
poorest of the peasantry. A mantle of the same coarse stuff, with a
hood, completed her costume.

When one of the friends, who had seen her the pride and ornament of the
gilded saloons in the Tuileries, expressed his grief at the dreadful
hardships to which she was exposed, she pointed to a furze bush on the
heath where they were conversing, and said--"I shall sleep on that spot
to-night; and many nights I have had no better shelter than were
afforded by a few wild shrubs or trees, and I never slept better at
Rosny. If my mantle was long enough to allow of its covering my feet
when I slept, I should have nothing to complain of, but then it might
impede my flight, so I must be content."

* * * * *


* * * * *


As to the bottom of the basin of the sea, it seems to have inequalities
similar to those which the surface of continents exhibits; if it were
dried up, it would present mountains, valleys, and plains. It is
inhabited almost throughout its whole extent by an immense quantity of
testaceous animals, or covered with sand and gravel. It was thus that
Donati found the bottom of the Adriatic sea; the bed of testaceous
animals there, according to him, is several hundred feet in thickness.
The celebrated diver Pescecola, whom the emperor Frederick II. employed
to descend the strait of Messina, saw there with horror, enormous polypi
attached to the rocks, the arms of which, being several yards long, were
more than sufficient to strangle a man. In a great many places, the
madrepores form a kind of petrified forest fixed at the bottom of the
sea, and frequently, too, this bottom plainly presents different layers
of rock and earth.

The granite rises up in sharp-pointed masses. Near Marseilles, marble is
dug up from a submarine quarry. There are also bituminous springs, and
even springs of fresh water, that spout up from the depths of the ocean;
and in the Gulf of Spezia, a great spout or fountain of fresh water is
seen to rise like a liquid hill. Similar springs furnish the inhabitants
of the town of Aradus with their ordinary beverage.

On the southern coast of Cuba, to the southwest of the port of Batabano,
in the bay of Xagua, at two or three miles from the land, springs of
fresh water gush up with such force in the midst of the salt, that small
boats cannot approach them with safety; the deeper you draw the water,
the fresher you find it. It has been observed, that in the neighbourhood
of steep coasts, the bottom of the sea also sinks down suddenly to a
considerable depth; whilst near a low coast, and one of gentle
declivity, it is only gradually that the sea deepens. There are some
places in the sea where no bottom has yet been found. But we must not
conclude that the sea is really bottomless; an idea, which, if not
absurd, is, at least, by no means conformable to the analogies of
natural science. The mountains of continents seem to correspond with
what are called the abysses of the sea; but now, the highest mountains
do not rise to 20,000 feet. It is true that they have wasted down and
lessened by the action of the elements; it may, therefore, be reasonably
concluded, that the sea is not beyond 30,000 feet in depth; but it is
impossible to find the bottom even at one-third of this depth, with our
little instruments. The greatest depth that has been tried to be
measured, is that found in the northern ocean by Lord Mulgrave; he
heaved a very heavy sounding lead, and gave out with it cable rope to
the length of 4,680 feet, without finding bottom.--_Blake's

* * * * *


* * * * *


(_From the Buccaneer.--By Mrs. S.C. Hall_.)

There are two things that to a marvellous degree bring people under
subjection--moral and corporeal fear. The most dissolute are held in
restraint by the influence of moral worth, and there are few who would
engage in a quarrel if they were certain that defeat or death would be
the consequence. Cromwell obtained, and we may add, maintained his
ascendancy over the people of England, by his earnest and continually
directed efforts towards these two important ends. His court was a
rare example of irreproachable conduct, from which all debauchery
and immorality were banished; while such was his deep and intimate
though mysterious acquaintance with every occurrence throughout the
commonwealth, its subjects had the certainty of knowing that, sooner or
later, whatever crimes they committed would of a surety reach the ear
of the protector. His natural abilities must always have been of the
highest order, though in the early part of his career he discovered
none of those extraordinary talents that afterwards gained him so
much applause, and worked so upon the affections of the hearers
and standers-by. His mind may be compared to one of those valuable
manuscripts that had long been rolled up and kept hidden from vulgar
eyes, but which exhibits some new proof of wisdom at each unfolding. It
has been well said by a philosopher, whose equal the world has not known
since his day, "that a place sheweth the man." Of a certainty Cromwell
had no sooner possessed the opportunity so to do, than he showed to the
whole world that he was destined to govern. "Some men achieve greatness,
some men are born to greatness, and some have greatness thrust upon
them." With Cromwell greatness was achieved. He was the architect of
his own fortunes, owing little to what is called "chance," less to
patronage, and still less to crime, if we except the one sad blot upon
the page of his own history, as connected with that of his country.
There appears in his character but a small portion of that which is
evil, blended with much that is undoubtedly good. Although his public
speeches were, for the most part, ambiguous--leaving others to pick out
his meaning--or more frequently still, having no meaning to pick out,
being words, words, words--strung of mouldy sentences, scriptural
phrases, foolish exclamations, and such-like: yet when necessary, he
showed that he could sufficiently command his style, delivering himself
with so much energy, pith, propriety, and strength of expression, that
it was commonly said of him under such circumstances, "every word he
spoke was a thing." But the strongest indication of his vast abilities
was, the extraordinary tact with which he entered into, dissected, and
scrutinized the nature of human kind. No man ever dived into the manners
and minds of those around him with greater penetration, or more rapidly
discovered their natural talents and tempers. If he chanced to hear
of a person fit for his purpose, whether as a minister, a soldier, an
artisan, a preacher, or a spy, no matter how previously obscure, he sent
for him forthwith, and employed him in the way in which he could be made
most useful, and answer best the purpose of his employer. Upon this most
admirable system (a system in which, unhappily, he has had but few
imitators among modern statesmen,) depended in a great degree his
success. His devotion has been sneered at; but it has never been proved
to have been insincere. With how much more show of justice may we
consider it to have been founded upon a solid and upright basis, when we
recollect that his whole outward deportment spoke its truth! Those who
decry him as a fanatic, ought to bethink themselves that religion was
the chivalry of the age in which he lived. Had Cromwell been born a few
centuries earlier, he would have headed the crusades, with as much
bravery, and far better results than our noble-hearted, but wrong-headed
Coeur de Lion. It was no great compliment that was passed on him by the
French minister, when he called the protector "the first captain of the
age." His courage and conduct in the field were undoubtedly admirable:
he had a dignity of soul which the greatest dangers and difficulties
rather animated than discouraged, and his discipline and government of
the army, in all respects, was the wonder of the world. It was no
diminution of this part of his character, that he was wary in his
conduct, and that, after he was declared protector, he wore a coat of
mail concealed beneath his dress. Less caution than he made use of, in
the place he held, and surrounded as he was by secret and open enemies,
would have deserved the name of negligence. As to his political
sincerity, which many think had nothing to do with his religious
opinions, he was, to the full, as honest as the first or second Charles.
Of a truth, that same sincerity, it would appear, is no kingly virtue!
Cromwell loved justice as he loved his own life, and wherever he was
compelled to be arbitrary, it was only where his authority was
controverted, which, as things then were, it was not only right to
establish for his own sake, but for the peace and security of the
country over whose proud destinies he had been called to govern. "The
dignity of the crown," to quote his own words, "was upon the account of
the nation, of which the king was only the representative head, and
therefore, the nation being still the same, he would have the same
respect paid to his ministers as if he had been a king." England ought
to write the name of Cromwell in letters of gold, when she remembers
that, within a space of four or five years, he avenged all the insults
that had been lavishly flung upon her by every country in Europe
throughout a long, disastrous, and most perplexing civil war.
Gloriously did he retrieve the credit that had been mouldering and
decaying during two weak and discreditable reigns of nearly fifty years'
continuance--gloriously did he establish and extend his country's
authority and influence in remote nations--gloriously acquire the real
mastery of the British Channel--gloriously send forth fleets that went
and conquered, and never sullied the union flag by an act of dishonour
or dissimulation. Not a single Briton, during the protectorate, but
could demand and receive either reparation or revenge for injury,
whether it came from France, from Spain, from any open foe or
treacherous ally; not an oppressed foreigner claimed his protection but
it was immediately and effectually granted. Were things to be compared
to this in the reign of either Charles? England may blush at the
remembrance of the insults she sustained during the reigns of the first
most amiable, yet most weak--of the second most admired, yet most
contemptible--of these legal kings. What must she think of the treatment
of the elector palatine, though he was son-in-law to king James? And let
her ask herself how the Duke of Rohan was assisted in the Protestant war
at Rochelle, notwithstanding the solemn engagement of king Charles under
his own hand! But we are treading too fearlessly upon ground on which,
in our humble capacity, we have scarcely the right to enter. Alas! alas!
the page of history is but a sad one; and the Stuarts and the Cromwells,
the roundheads and the cavaliers, the pennons and the drums, are but
part and parcel of the same dust--the dust we, who are made of dust
animated for a time by a living spirit, now tread upon! Their words,
that wrestled with the winds and mounted on the air, have left no trace
along that air whereon they sported:--the clouds in all their beauty cap
our isle with their magnificence, as in those by-gone days; the rivers
are as blue, the seas as salt; the flowers, those sweet things! remain
fresh within our fields, as when God called them into existence in
Paradise, and are bright as ever. But the change is over us, as it has
been over them: we, too, are passing. O England! what should this teach?
Even three things--wisdom, justice, and mercy. Wisdom to watch
ourselves, and then our rulers, so that we neither do nor suffer wrong;
justice to the memory of the mighty dead, whether born to thrones or
footstools; mercy, inasmuch as we shall deeply need it from our

* * * * *


[We can vouch for the abridgement and collation of the following facts,
connected with this joyous season of old. Probably a few of the notes
may have been discussed in the course of our twenty-volume career; but
to omit such notices on the present occasion, would be to drop a link in
the little chain:]

Why is the evening before Christmas-day celebrated?

Because Christmas-day, in the primitive Church, was always observed as
the Sabbath-day, and, like it, preceded by an eve, or vigil.--_Brand._

It was once believed, that if we were to go into a cow-house, at twelve
o'clock at night, all the cattle would be found kneeling. Many also
firmly believed that bees sung in their hives on Christmas-eve, to
welcome the approaching day.

Why is Christmas-day so called?

Because of its derivation from _Christi Missa_, the mass of Christ;
and thence the Roman Catholic Liturgy is termed their _Missal_, or
_Mass-book_. About the year 500 the observation of this day became
general in the Catholic Church.

Why was the word _Yule_ formerly used to signify Christmas?

Because of its derivation from the word _ol_, ale, which was much used
in the festivities and merry meetings of this period; and the _I_ in
_Iol, icol_. Cimb. as the _ze_ and _zi_ in _zehol, zeol, ziol_, Sax. are
premised only as intensives, to add a little to the signification, and
make it more emphatical. _Ol_, or _Ale_, did not only signify the liquor
then made use of, but gave denomination to the greatest festivals, as
that of _zehol_, or _Yule_, at Midwinter; and as is yet plainly to be
discovered in that custom of the Whitsun ale at the other great

Why are certain initials affixed to crucifixes?

Because of their signifying the titular tributes paid to the Saviour of
the world. Thus, I.N.R.I. are universally agreed to be the initials of
the Latin words _Jesus Nazarenus Rex Judaeorum_; i.e. Jesus of
Nazareth, King of the Jews, a title which Pilot wrote and affixed to the
cross.--See John, ch. xix. The initials I.H.C., appended to other
crosses, are said to imply, _Jesus Humanitatis Consolator_, Jesus
the Consoler of Mankind; and the I.H.S. imply _Jesus Hominum
Salvator_, Jesus the Saviour of Men. The first-mentioned initials
are, however, found on the most ancient crosses.

Why is a certain song called a carol?

Because of its derivation from _cantare_, to sing, and _rola_,
an interjection of joy.--_Bourne_.

Bishop Taylor observes that the "Gloria in excelsis," the well-known
hymn sung by the angels to the shepherds at our Lord's nativity, was
the earliest Christmas carol. Bourne cites Durand to prove that
in the earlier ages of the churches, the bishops were accustomed, on
Christmas-day, to sing carols among their clergy. Fosbroke says--"It was
usual, in ancient feasts, to single out a person, and place him in the
midst, to sing a song to God." And Mr. Davies Gilbert, late President
of the Royal Society, in a volume which he has edited on the subject,
states, that till lately, in the West of England, on Christmas-eve,
about seven or eight o'clock in the evening, festivities were commenced,
and "the singing of carols begun, and continued late into the night.
On Christmas-day, these carols took the place of psalms in all the
churches, especially at afternoon service, the whole congregation
joining; and at the end it was usual for the parish-clerk to declare,
in a loud voice, his wishes for a merry Christmas and a happy new year
to all the parishioners."

Mr. Hone observes, in his work on "Ancient Mysteries," that "the custom
of singing carols at Christmas prevails in Ireland to the present time.
In Scotland, where no church fasts have been kept since the days of John
Knox, the custom is unknown. In Wales it is still preserved to a greater
extent, perhaps, than in England: at a former period, the Welsh had
carols adapted to most of the ecclesiastical festivals, and the four
seasons of the year; but at this time they are limited to that of
Christmas. After the turn of midnight, on Christmas-eve, service is
performed in the churches, followed by singing carols to the harp.
Whilst the Christmas holidays continue, they are sung in like manner in
the houses; and there are carols especially adapted to be sung at the
doors of the houses by visitors before they enter. _Lffyr Carolan_,
or the Book of Carols, contains sixty-six for Christmas, and five summer
carols. _Blodengerdd Cymrii_, or the Anthology of Wales, contains
forty-eight Christmas carols, nine summer carols, three May carols, one
winter carol, one nightingale carol, and a carol to Cupid. On the
Continent, the custom of carolling at Christmas is almost universal.
During the last days of Advent, Calabrian minstrels enter Rome, and are
to be seen in every street, saluting the shrines of the Virgin mother
with their wild music, under the traditional notion of charming her
labour pains on the approaching Christmas."

Why do the Christmas carols of the present day differ from the carols of
earlier times?

Because the present carols were substituted, by those enemies of
innocent mirth, the Puritans, for the original carols, which were festal
chansons for enlivening the merriment of the Christmas celebrity; and
not such religious songs as are current at this day, with the common
people, under the same title.

Dr. Johnson, in a note on _Hamlet_, tells us, that the pious
chansons, a kind of Christmas carol, containing some Scripture history,
thrown into loose rhymes, were sung about the streets by the common
people, when they went at that season to beg alms.--_Brand._

Why is laurel used with other evergreens to deck houses at Christmas?

Because of its use among the ancient Romans, as the emblem of peace,
joy, and victory. In the Christian sense, it may be applied to the
victory gained over the powers of darkness by the coming of

Why is the mistletoe so called?

Because its seeds are said to be dropped by the mistle-thrush, which
feeds on its berries.

Why was the mistletoe held sacred by the Druids?

Because they had an extraordinary reverence for the number _three_,
and not only the berries, but the leaves of the mistletoe, grow in
clusters of three united on one stalk. Its growing upon the oak, their
sacred tree, was doubtless another cause of its veneration.

We read of a celebrated oak at Norwood near London, which bore
mistletoe, "which some people cut for the gain of selling it to the
apothecaries of London, leaving a branch of it to sprout out; but they
proved unfortunate after it, for one of them fell lame, and others lost
an eye. At length, in the year 1678, a certain man, notwithstanding he
was warned against it, upon the account of what the others had suffered,
adventured to cut the tree down, and he soon after broke his

Mr. Brand, however, thinks that mistletoe was never put up in churches
but by mistake or ignorance of the sextons: it being a heathenish and
profane plant, and therefore assigned to the kitchen. Mr. Brand made
many diligent inquiries after the truth of this point. He learnt at Bath
that it never came into churches there. An old Sexton at Teddington told
him that mistletoe was once put up in the church there, but was by the
clergyman immediately ordered to be taken away.

Why was the boar's head formerly a prime dish at Christmas?

Because fresh meats were then seldom eaten, and brawn was considered a
great delicacy. Holinshed says, that "in the year 1170, upon the day
of the young prince's coronation, King Henry I. served his sonne at
table as server, bringing up the boar's head with trumpets before it,
according to the manner." For this ceremony there was a special carol.
Dugdale also tells us, that "at the inns of court, during Christmas, the
usual dish at the first course at dinner was a large _bore's head_,
upon a silver platter, with minstralsaye." In one of the carols we read
that the boar's head is "the rarest dish in all the londe, and that it
has been provided in honour of the king of bliss."

* * * * *


In all former times, and centuries before the labour of Napoleon had
added so immensely to its importance, the Scheldt had been the centre
of the most important preparations for the invasion of England, and the
spot on which military genius always fixed from whence to prepare a
descent on this island. An immense expedition, rendered futile by the
weakness and vacillation of the French monarch, was assembled in it in
the fourteenth century; and sixty thousand men on the shore of the
Scheldt awaited only the signal of Charles VI. to set sail for the shore
of Kent. The greatest naval victory ever gained by the English arms was
that at Sluys, 1340, when Philip of France lost 30,000 men and 230
ships of war in an engagement off the Flemish coast with Edward III.,
a triumph greater, though less noticed in history, than either that
of Cressy or Poictiers. When the great Duke of Parma was commissioned
by Philip II. of Spain to take steps for the invasion of England, he
assembled the forces of the Low Countries at Antwerp; and the Spanish
armada, had it proved successful, was to have wafted over that great
commander from the banks of the Scheldt to the opposite shore of Essex,
at the head of the veterans who had been trained in the Dutch war. In
an evil hour, Charles II., bought by French gold and seduced by French
mistresses, entered into alliance with Louis XIV. for the coercion of
Holland; the Lillies and the Leopards, the navies of France and England,
assembled together at Spithead, and made sail for the French coast,
while the armies of the Grande Monarque advanced across the Rhine into
the heart of the United Provinces; and the consequence was, such a
prodigious addition to the power of France, as it took all the blood and
treasure expended in the war of the Succession and all the victories of
Marlborough, to reduce to a scale at all commensurate with the
independence of the other European states.

* * * * *


* * * * *

Fleurus is a village in France, in the department of the Sombre and
Meuse, where the Austrians and the French fought a battle in the year
1794, in which the former were defeated. This victory is ascribed to the
information obtained in consequence of reconnoitering the army of the
enemy by the elevation of a balloon. The balloon employed on this
occasion was called the _Entreprenent_; and it was under the
direction of M. Coutel, the captain of the aeronauts at Meudon,
accompanied by an adjutant and a general. He ascended twice in the same
day, to the height of 220 fathoms, for the purpose of observing the
position and manoeuvres of the enemy. He continued each time four hours
in the air, and corresponded with General Jourdan, who commanded the
French army, by means of pre-concerted signals. The enterprise was
discovered by the enemy; and a battery opened its fire against the
ascending aeronauts, but they soon gained an elevation which was beyond
the reach of their fire. This balloon was prepared under the direction
of the Aerostatic Institute, for the use of the army of the north; as
were also another, called _Celeste_, for the army of the Sombre and
Meuse; and the _Hercule_ and _Intrepide_, for the army of the
Rhine and Moselle. Another, thirty feet in circumference, and weighing
160 lbs., was destined for the army of Italy. A new machine, invented by
M. Coutel, the director of the Aerostatic Institute, was designed to aid
the aeronauts in communicating intelligence, and denominated the
_Aerostatic Telegraph_.


_Muscular Strength_.--It is asserted by travellers, that a Turkish
porter will run along carrying a weight of 600 lbs. Milo, of Crotona,
is said to have lifted an ox, weighing upwards of 1,000 Ibs. Haller
mentions that he saw an instance of a man, whose finger being caught in
a chain at the bottom of a mine, by keeping it forcibly bent, supported
by that means the weight of his whole body, 150 lbs., till he was drawn
up to the surface, a height of 600 feet. Augustus II., king of Poland,
could with his fingers roll up a silver dish like a sheet of paper,
and twist the strongest horse-shoe asunder. An account is given in
the _Philosophical Transactions_, No. 310, of a lion who left the
impression of his teeth upon a solid piece of iron. The most prodigious
power of the muscles is exhibited by fish:--A whale moves with a
velocity through the dense medium of water that would carry him, if
he continued at the same rate, round the world in little more than a
fortnight; and a sword-fish has been known to strike his weapon quite
through the oak plank of a ship.


_Beauties of Chatsworth_.--Marshal Tallard, who was entertained a
few days at this place by the Duke of Devonshire, on leaving, made this
declaration--"When I return," said he, "into my own country, and reckon
up the days of my captivity, I shall leave out those which I spent at
Chatsworth." And Quin once said that he had nearly broken his neck in
coming to it, and he should break his heart on his return.


_Origin of the Discovery of Peru_.--Balboa, the famous Spanish
adventurer, in one of his expeditions, met with a young cazique, who
expressed his astonishment at the high value which was set upon the
gold, which the Spaniards were weighing and distributing. "Why do you
quarrel," said he, "about such a trifle? If you are so passionately fond
of gold as to abandon your own country, and to disturb the tranquillity
of distant nations, for its sake, I will conduct you to a region where
the metal, which seems to be the chief object of your admiration and
desire, is so common, that the meanest utensils are formed of it."
Transported with the intelligence, Balboa eagerly inquired where this
happy country lay, and how they might arrive at it. The cazique informed
them, that at the distance of six suns, or six days' journey to the
south, they would discover another ocean, near which this wealthy
kingdom was situated; but if they intended to attack it, they must
assemble forces far superior in number and strength to those which now
attended them.--This was the first information which the Spaniards
received concerning the great southern continent, known afterwards
by the name of Peru.


_Cholera Morbus._--Dr. James Johnson, in his interesting book
entitled, _Change of Air, or Pursuits of Health_, &c., says--"The
cholera morbus ought to be denominated the high-police of scavengers.
It has cleared away more filth, in Europe and England, than all the
municipal edicts that ever issued from the constituted authorities.
On this, and on some other accounts, it _will_ save more lives
than it _has_ destroyed."

_Patriotism._--When the Chancellor d'Auguesseau, who constantly
resisted the encroachments of Louis XIV. on the liberties of the people,
was sent for to Versailles by that monarch, he was thus encouraged by
his amiable wife: "Go," said she, "forget in the king's presence your
wife and your children,--sacrifice everything except your honour."


His late Majesty, when Prince of Wales, was looking out of a window with
Tom Sheridan, when the "Dart," with four grey horses passed by. "Is not
that a handsome coach, Tom?" observed the Prince. "Yes, your highness,"
replied Tom, who was suffering under a headach from the champagne of the
previous night, and was rather in a sombre and meditative humour, "it
certainly is; but," continued he, pointing to a hearse going by at the
same time, "that's the coach _after all_."

_A Knowing Seaman._--A rough-hewn seaman being brought before a wise
justice for some misdemeanour, was by him ordered to be sent to prison,
and was refractory after he heard his doom, insomuch as he would not
stir a foot from the place where he stood, saying it was better to stand
where he was than go to a worse place.--_Bacon_.


_Expensive Fishing._--In 1609, the Dutch were compelled to pay a tribute
for fishing on our coast; in 1683, they paid 30,000l. for liberty to
fish. Welwood, in his answer to Grotius, says, "that the Scots obliged
the Dutch, by treaty, to keep eighty miles from shore in fishing, and to
pay a tribute at the port of Aberdeen, where a tower was erected for
that and other purposes; and the Dutch paid the tribute, even in the
memory of our forefathers."


* * * * *

_Printed and published by J. LIMBIRD, 143, Strand, (near Somerset
House,) London; sold by G.G. BENNIS, 55, Rue Neuve, St. Augustin, Paris;
CHARLES JUGEL, Francfort; and by all Newsmen and Booksellers._


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