The Mirror of Literature, Amusement, and Instruction

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VOL. 14, No. 394.] SATURDAY, OCTOBER 17, 1829. [PRICE 2d.



At the commencement of our Twelfth Volume, we took occasion to allude to
the public spirit of the Earl of Grosvenor, in our description of his
splendid mansion--Eaton Hall, near Chester. We likewise adverted to his
lordship's munificent patronage of the Fine Arts, and to the erection of
the Gallery which forms the subject of the annexed Engraving.

The Gallery forms the western wing of Lord Grosvenor's spacious town
mansion in Park Lane. It is from the designs of Mr. Cundy, and consists
of a colonnade of the Corinthian order, raised upon a plain joined
stylobate. Over each column of the principal building is an isolated
statue with an attic behind them, after the manner of the ancient
building called by Palladio the Forum Trajan at Rome. On the acroteria
of the building are vases on a balustrade, and between the columns is a
series of blank windows with balustraded balconies and triangular
pediments, which Mr. Elmes thinks are so introduced as to disfigure the
other grand parts of the design. Above these are sunk panels, with swags
or garlands of fruit and flowers. Mr. E. is likewise of opinion that,
"but for the stopped-up windows, and the overpowering and needless
balustrade over the heads of the statues, this building would rank among
the very first in the metropolis; even with these trifling drawbacks,
that can easily be remedied before the whole is completed, it is grand,
architectural, and altogether worthy of its noble proprietor."

The reader need not be told that the above Gallery has been erected for
the reception of the superb Grosvenor collection, the first effectual
foundation of which was laid by the purchase of the late Mr. Agar's
pictures for 30,000 guineas, and it has since been gradually enlarged
until it has become one of the finest collection in England. It is not
confined to works of the old masters, but embraces the best productions
of some of the most celebrated modern painters. The Earl of Grosvenor
has, for some years, been in the habit of admitting the public in the
months of May and June, to inspect his pictures, under certain

The Picture Gallery is but a portion of the improvements contemplated by
Lord Grosvenor. The mansion, in the distance of the Engraving is, we
believe, to be rebuilt in a correspondent style with the Gallery, and
the whole when completed, will be one of the most splendid
establishments in the metropolis.

Indeed, the recent embellishment of several mansions in Park Lane is
already indicative of the improved taste of their distinguished
occupants. A few years since the Lane for the most part consisted of
unsightly brick fronts; but stone and plaster encasements have given it
the appearance of a new neighbourhood.

* * * * *


_(For the Mirror.)_

A table showing the various changes in his religion, which by the
statute were required of Henry Jenkins, of Ellerton-upon-Swale, in the
county of York, in compliance with the principle, that the English
Constitution is essentially identified with the religion of the state,
and making it his bounden duty (as that of every subject) to conform to
it. Henry Jenkins was born in 1501, and died at the age of 169, in 1670.
He consequently was required by law, to adopt the following changes in
his religious creed and practice:--

Henry Jenkins
The Constitution should have been
Reigns of being essentially during

1st from Henry VII. and VIII. Catholic 33 years.
1501 to 1534
2nd from Henry VIII. {Between Catholic & } 13
1534 to 1547 {Church of England }
3rd from Edward VI Church of England 6
1547 to 1553
4th from Mary Catholic 5
1553 to 1558
5th from {Elizabeth, James I.} Church of England 91
1558 to 1649 {Charles I }
6th from Interregnum Fanatic 4
1649 to 1654
7th from Protectorate Presbyterian 7
1654 to 1660
8th from Charles II Church of England 10
1660 to 1670
169 years, the
age of Henry Jenkins.

Jenkins was buried at Bolton-upon-Swale. A handsome pyramid marks his
grave, as the oldest Englishman upon record, and in the church is a
monument to his memory, with the following inscription, written by Dr.
Thomas Chapman:--

Blush not marble!
To rescue from oblivion
The memory of
Henry Jenkins,
A person obscure in birth,
But of a life truly memorable,
He was enriched
With the goods of nature
If not of fortune;
And happy
In the duration
If not variety
Of his enjoyments,
And tho' the partial world
Despised and disregarded
His low and humble state,
The equal eye of Providence
Beheld and blessed it
With a Patriarch's health and length of days
To teach mistaken man
These blessings
Were entailed on temperance,
A life of labour, and a mind at ease.
He lived to the amazing age of
169 years,
Was interred here the 6th December,
And had this justice done to his memory,


* * * * *


_(For the Mirror.)_

The cat was held in high veneration by the ancient Egyptians. When a cat
died in a house, the owner of the house shaved his eye-brows; they
carried the cats when dead into consecrated houses to be embalmed, and
interred them at Bubastis, a considerable city of Lower Egypt. If any
killed a cat, though by accident, he could not escape death. Even in the
present day they are treated with the utmost care in that country, on
account of their destroying the rats and mice. They are trained in some
of the Grecian islands to attack and destroy serpents, with which those
islands abound.

In the time of Howel Dha, _Howel the Good_, Prince of Wales, who died in
the year 948, laws were made both to preserve and fix the prices of
different animals; among which the cat was included, as being at that
early period of great importance, on account of its scarcity and
utility. The price of a kitten before it could see, was fixed at one
penny; till proof could be given of its having caught a mouse,
two-pence; after which it was rated at four-pence, a great sum in those
days, when the value of specie was extremely high. It was likewise
required, that the animal should be perfect in its senses of hearing and
seeing, should be a good mouser, have its claws whole, and if a female,
be a careful nurse. If it failed in any of these qualifications, the
seller was to forfeit to the buyer the third part of its value. If any
one should steal or kill the cat that guarded the prince's granary, the
offender was to forfeit either a milch ewe, her fleece, and lamb, or as
much wheat as when poured on the cat suspended by its tail, (its head
touching the floor) would form a heap high enough to cover the tip of
the tail. From these circumstances (says Pennant) we may conclude that
cats were not originally natives of these islands, and from the great
care taken to improve and preserve the breed of this prolific creature,
we may with propriety suppose that they were but little known at that

When Mr. Baumgarten was at Damascus, he saw there a kind of hospital for
cats; the house in which they were kept was very large, walled round,
and was said to be quite full of them. On inquiring into the origin of
this singular institution, he was told that Mahomet, when he once lived
there, brought with him a cat, which he kept in the sleeve of his gown,
and carefully fed with his own hands. His followers in this place,
therefore, ever afterwards paid a superstitious respect to these
animals; and supported them in this manner by public alms, which were
very adequate to the purpose. Browne, in his _History of Jamaica_, tells
us, "A cat is a very dainty dish among the negroes."


* * * * *


_(To the Editor of the Mirror.)_

In your account of this church, in No. 388, I perceive you state that
the clock and figures were put up in 1761, whereas I find by reference
to works on this subject, that they were so placed in 1671.[1]

[1] Occasioned by a transposition of figures. In vol. xi.
referred to in the above page, the date stands 1671.

There are many curious monuments in this church, and among others, is
the beautiful one to the memory of Sir Richard Hoare, Knt. who was Lord
Mayor of London in the memorable year 1745, at which "alarming crisis,"
in the words of the inscription, "he discharged the great trust reposed
in him with honour and integrity, to the approbation of his sovereign
and the universal satisfaction of his fellow citizens." He died in 1754,
and was buried in this church. The monument, which is of marble,
consists of a sarcophagus, above which is a cherub in the act of
crowning a beautiful bust of Sir Richard with a laurel wreath, above is
a shield of arms, within an orb ar. sa. a spread eagle of the first
bearing an escutcheon of pretence ar. a lion ppr. in chief in base a
chev. gu. charged with three escallop shells of the first, impaling a
saltire sa. between four crosses fitche of the same. Crest, a griffin's
head erased ar. An inscription on the base informs us the monument was
restored in 1820, at the expense of the parish, "in testimony of their
grateful sense of obligation to a family whose eminent virtue and
munificence it is intended to perpetuate."

In the vestry of this church is preserved a finely executed portrait of
the "Virgin Queen," in stained glass; and there is also another window
consisting of the effigy of St. Matthias, but this is not to be compared
with the other for execution.


* * * * *


_(For the Mirror.)_

One of the finest buildings in Constantinople is a fountain in an open
square, near the seraglio gate; it is a place built and maintained by
the Grand Vizier, for the people to come and draw water, who have it
served out to them in great jugs by people who are constantly in
attendance to fill them; the jugs are chained to the place, and stand in
rows about four feet from the ground, between gilt iron bars in front of
the building. There are men always ready inside to draw the water and
fill the jugs, which till people come are kept full; these men receive a
yearly salary.

The houses are chiefly built of wood, and reach so far over the top that
in some of the streets it would be very possible to get from the windows
of one house to another across the street. By this manner of building,
any one who has seen the place will not wonder at the frequent and fatal
conflagrations there, for if once a fire break out it must burn till it
comes to some garden or large vacant place to stop at. The Bussard is
the most regular part of the city, and has a number of parallel streets
crossing one another, and covered at the top with planks which keep out
the rain and sun. Here all the richest and finest goods in
Constantinople are put out to show, as a pattern or sample of the
merchants' stock, for sale in their warehouses at home. Every street has
its particular trade, so that there is no mixture of shops as in other
capitals. One street is occupied by goldsmiths, another by silk and
brocade merchants; grocers and tailors have also different streets to
themselves. The city is always shut up at ten at night, so that no one
can have entrance or get out after that time. Indeed there is scarcely
any one in the streets after dusk, for every one then goes to rest, so
that when daylight is gone no business can be transacted; but the people
are obliged to pray every night one hour and a half after dark, when the
priests go up into the towers of the mosques, and in a loud voice call
crowds to prayers in these words:--"God is great; (three times) give
testimony there is but one God, yield yourselves to his mercy, and pray
to him to forgive your sins. God is great (three times more) there is no
other God but God."


* * * * *


* * * * *


_(For the Mirror.)_

Mr. Hardingham, or as some of his very intimate friends used to call
him, Jack Hardingham, lived in a dull looking house in ---- Square, his
profession (the law) was dull, his fire and fireside were dull; and as
he sat by the former one dull evening, in the dullest of all his dull
humours, and of such the lonely bachelor had many, he sighed, kicked his
shins, and looked into his books; but as that was like gazing upon a
very ugly face, he shut them again, and rang the bell. It was answered
by a portly dame, whose age might be about some four or five and forty,
whose complexion was fair, whose chubby cheeks were brilliantly rosy,
and whose black eyes were so vividly lustrous, that one might have
fancied the delicate cap-border near them, in danger from their fire.
Over her full-formed bust, she wore a clear, and stiffly-starched muslin
habit-shirt of purest white, a beautiful lace-edged ruff around her
throat, over her ample shoulders was thrown a fawn-coloured shawl, and
she wore also, a silver gray gown of the material called Norwich crape,
with an apron rivalling in whiteness cap, habit-shirt, and ruff. We are
particular in describing the costume of this fair creature, because when
_dress_ is invariably the same, it has unity with _person_; it is
identified with its wearer, and our affections even are caught and
retained by it, in a manner of which few are aware. On the exterior of
the lady whom we have endeavoured to portray, "housekeeper" was as
indelibly stamped as the effigy of our king on the coin of the realm;
and in a most soft and insinuating tone, she said, "Would you be pleased
to want any thing, sir?"

"Yes, Mrs. Honeydew--go and ask if they can't let me have De Vere."

"Yes, sir."

"Or the Chronicles of the Canongate."

"Yes, sir."

"Or Anne of Geierstein."

"Yes, sir."

"Or the Loves of the Poets."

"Yes, sir."

"Or, d'ye hear, hang it, tell Mr. Mason there are seven or eight other
new works, the names of which I have forgotten, and he must recollect."

"Certainly, sir."

"Stop, stop--don't be in such a hurry--tell him, he has never ordered
for me the Quarterly, as I desired--that I want to see the United
Service Journal, and Blackwood for the month; and that if he chooses to
charge four pence a night for his new novels, I'll not read one of

"Of course, sir; I'll tell him, for 'tis a shame, a real shame, for any
body to _repose_ on, as one may say, a gentleman like yourself. Never
fear, but I'll tell him."

The lady retired, the door closed, and Mr. Hardingham sighed, "A worthy
creature is Martha Honeydew." "Come in," cried the gentleman in a most
amiable tone, as he presently recognised his housekeeper's tap at the
parlour door, and with a curtsey she entered.

"O law, law! Mr. Hardingham, sir--Mr. Mason says--but I don't like to
give you all his message, indeed I don't--Mr. Mason says--but I hope
you'll never send me on such an _arrant_ again--he says, sir--O but I'm
sorry for it, that I am--he says then, that the _Quarter_ you _ax'd_
for, ar'n't come yet, and there's time enough for you to read it in when
it _do_; that the Blackwood and the Officers' Magazine are _hout_; that
you may go without your new novels afore he'll let you have 'em
_chaiper_ than other folks, (and there's a shocking shame, sir!) and as
for the works you mentioned, there's fifty new ones at least to choose
from; but he can't remember what you don't be pleased to recollect
yourself. Dear heart! to think of a gentleman like you, sir, being
_trated_ thus; why, my blood _biled_ within me; and I wouldn't demean
myself to bring back any thing for you from that place; but I took the
liberty, sir, to get you 'Damon and Dorinda,' a sweet pretty thing, from

"Ah!" sighed the bachelor, "I see there's nobody in this world cares for
poor Jack Hardingham, but Martha Honeydew;" and he felt sorry that his
housekeeper had departed ere his lips had emitted this grateful praise.
Yes, Mr. Hardingham felt vexed he scarcely knew why; and uncommonly
discontented he knew not wherefore; but had he troubled himself to
analyze such feelings, he would have discerned their origin to be
solitude and idleness. Mrs. Honeydew brought tea; she had buttered a
couple of muffins superlatively well; and making her master's fire burn
exceedingly bright, placed them on the cat before it, and a kettle,
which immediately commenced a delicate bravura, upon the glowing coals;
then, modestly waiting at the distance of a few paces from her master
until the water quite boiled, she fixed her brilliant eyes upon his
countenance with an expression _intended_ to be _piteous_.

"Mrs. Honeydew--Martha," said Hardingham in a low querulous tone, "I
fancy I'm going to have a fit of the gout, or a bilious fever."

"_Fancy_, indeed, sir; why, I never saw you looking haler."

"Ay, Ay, so much the worse; a fit of apoplexy then maybe."

"Lauk, lauk! sir; a fit of the blue devils more likely. How can you talk
so? A fit of _perplexity_! Dear, dear! how some men do go on to be
sure;" pouring the steaming water upon the tea.

"You are a kind comforter, Martha; nobody ever raises my spirits like
you. Get me my little leathern trunk."

"Why, then, that I won't;" getting it down from a closet-shelf as she
spoke. "I wish it was burnt with all my heart, that I do; making you so
_lammancholy_ as it always _do_."

And well might this trunk make Mr. Hardingham melancholy, for it was the
receptacle of letters and little gifts of a lady who had jilted him in
early life; and upon whom he had often vowed vengeance. She was yet
unmarried; but--no--her once devoted admirer was resolved to follow the
lady's advice, and place his "affections upon a worthier object than
Caroline Dalton;" and, thought he to himself, she shall at last see that
I have _found one_; nor shall wild Tom, my graceless nephew, who lives
upon my fortune, ever more touch one penny of it. The postman rapped,
and in a few minutes his housekeeper appeared with many apologies for
bringing to him her own newspaper, but perhaps in it he might be able to
find the names of some of the new novels that he wished to have.

"Martha Honeydew," cried Hardingham with a smile, the first he had
sported that week, "I am, as you know, a man of but few words, and
straight-forward in my dealings; say that you can fancy me, and I'll
marry you tomorrow."

Mrs. Honeydew's reply will be surmised; Caroline Dalton saw who was
preferred before her, and the bachelor's revenge ruined wild Tom; for
Hardingham settled all his property upon his wife, and a pretty life the
amiable creature led him.


* * * * *


* * * * *


_(For the Mirror.)_

The following is literally copied from an original autograph of the
unfortunate Lord Strafford, and may prove interesting to your numerous


"_Sweete Harte_.--It is _longe_ since I _writt_ unto you, for I am here
in such a _troubel_ as gives _mee_ little or _noe respett_. The
_chardge_ is now _cum in_, and I am now _abel_ I _prayse_ God, to
_telle_ you that I _conceaue_ there is nothing _capitall_, and for the
_reste_ I _knowe_ at the _worste_ his _maty_ will _pardonne_ all without
hurting my fortune, and then _wee_ shall be _happie_ by God's grace.
Therefore _comfortt_ yourself, for I trust these _cloudes_ will away and
_thate wee_ shall have _faire weathere afterwarde_.

"Fare well, your _lovinge husbande_,
"Tower of _Londonne_,


"4th Feb. 1640.

"My Wife."

* * * * *


_(For the Mirror.)_

It appears from the accounts of the earliest historians, that single
stones, or rude pillars were raised on various occasions, in the most
remote ages. Of these we have frequent notices in the Old Testament, as
of that raised by Jacob at Lug, afterwards named Bethel; a pillar was
also raised by him at the grave of Rachel. The Gentiles set up pillars
for idolatrous purposes. The Paphians worshipped their Venus under the
form of a white pyramid, and the Brachmans the great God under the
figure of a little column of stone. Many large stones are found at this
day in Wales and Cornwall, which are supposed to have been raised by the
Phoenicians and Grecians, who frequently resorted thither for tin and
other metals.

In Ireland some of these large stones have crosses cut on them, supposed
to have been sculptured by Christians, out of compliance with Druidical
prejudices, that the converts from Paganism not easily diverted from
their reverence for these stones, might pay them a kind of justifiable
adoration, when thus appropriated to the use of Christian memorials, by
the sign of the Cross. Some signs of adoration are at this day paid to
such stones, in the Scottish Western Isles; they are called _bowing
stones_. In the Isle of Barra there is one about seven feet high, and
when the inhabitants come near, they take a religious turn round it,
according with ancient Druidical custom.

Stones were raised also as memorials of _civil contracts_; as by Jacob,
in his contract with Laban, when the attendants of the latter raised a
heap, to signify their assent to the treaty. Those conical, pyramidal,
and cylindric stones, perpendicularly raised, which are seen in the
British Isles, were formerly introduced in general, to ascertain the
boundaries of districts. On these, representations of the crucifixion
were frequently cut, and the name of crosses were given to the boundary
stones in general, though remaining without this symbol. Many instances
might be given of these termini. At High Cross, on the intersection of
the Watling Street and Foss Roman roads, there was formerly a pillar
which marked the limits of Warwickshire and Leicestershire--the present
column is of modern date; another distinguished the boundaries of
Asfordby and Frisby, in the latter county. One at Crowland, in the
county of Lincoln, the inscription on which has caused considerable
dispute amongst antiquarians, has been much noticed. A famous one near
Landoris, in Fifeshire, placed, as Camden says, as a boundary between
the districts of Fife and Stathern, was also a place of sanctuary.

Stone pillars, or crosses were also raised to record remarkable events;
as where a battle had been fought, or over persons of distinction slain
therein. Crosses were likewise erected where any particular instance of
mercy had been shown by the Almighty, or where any person had been
murdered by robbers, or had met with a violent death; where the corpse
of any great person had rested on its way to interment, as those
splendid ones erected by Edward I. in memory of his beloved Queen
Elinor; often in churchyards, and in early times at most places of
public concourse; in market-places, perhaps to repress all idea of undue
gain or extortion; and at the meeting of four roads.

Penances were often finished at crosses. Near Stafford stood one called
_Weeping Cross_, from its being a place designated for the expiation of
penances, which concluded with weeping and other signs of contrition. A
great number of sepulchral crosses were erected in Great Britain and
Ireland, soon after prayers for the dead came into use, by the desire of
individuals, at their places of interment, to remind pious people to
pray for their souls.

The ancient practice of consecrating Pagan antiquities to religious
purposes, has been continued to times comparatively modern; thus, Pope
Sixtus V. purified the Antonine column and that of Trajan, dedicating
them to St. Peter and St. Paul, whose statues, of a colossal size, he
placed on their summits. Succeeding Popes followed these examples,
dedicating ancient columns, pillars, and obelisks to different Saints
and Apostles.


* * * * *


* * * * *


No. 1.

It is seldom that we "turn critics;" but our very bile rises at the
ill-timed dedication of this work to the King, as the "first fruits of
the combined exertions of a few of your majesty's subjects, educated
within the GROSSLY misrepresented UNIVERSITY of LONDON." It is quite
unnecessary for us to explain _why_ this Dedication deserves the epithet
we have chosen: it stands with the signature of "the Proprietors," and
we hope is not the act of the editors; but for the credit of the
University, the publishers, the proprietors, and editors, we recommend
their friends to cancel the leaf bearing this very offensive
inscription, whether they care or not for the golden opinions of all
sorts of people.

If the present Number be a fair sample of the _London University
Magazine_, we can promise the reader but little amusement in our "Notes"
from its pages. It may prove useful enough to the students of the
University, but it wofully lacks the attractive features of a Magazine
for the public; it may suit the library-table, but not the "excellent
coffee room," or the "retired cigar room" of the University Hotel. "On a
general Judgment--A new System of communicating Scientific Information
in a Tabular form--On the Study of the Law and Medicine--On Apoplexy,"
and the general business of the University, are very grave matters for
little more than 100 pages. "On the Metamorphosis of Plants," by Goethe,
is more attractive; but Magazine readers do not want the lumber of law
and medicine--the dry material of parchment, or the blood and filth of
the physiological chair. How different too, is all this from the
pleasantry and attic wit of "_The Etonian_," into whose volumes we still
dip with undiminished gratification.

As we have enumerated the least attractive of the papers in the London
University Magazine, we ought also to run over the lighter portions of
its pages. These are "A young head, and, what is still better, a young
heart,"--discursive enough--"A Tale of the Irish Rebellion--the Guerilla
Bride, a Poem," beginning

"It is a tale of Spain--Romantic Spain!"

--and a Sketch of the Irish Exchequer Court. A description of the
University, with a Vignette view, and ground plan, is perhaps, the most
interesting of the whole Number; but as dramatic critics sometimes say
of a new performer, we had rather see him in another character before we
form an estimate of his talents--so we wait for better things from the
London University Magazine.

* * * * *


We expected much from the announcement of this work, and are not
disappointed in its first Number. It contains original
papers--scientific Reviews--geographical and natural History
Collections--and an abundance of scientific intelligence--somewhat on
the plan of Mr. Loudon's excellent Magazines. We have not at present
room for extract; but the Number before us will furnish several
interesting Notes for a portion of our next publication. _A Tour in the
Island of Jersey_ is one of the most amusing articles we have read for
some time, and we hope to abridge it for our columns.

* * * * *


The Eighth Number of this valuable Journal is just published, and its
table of contents is exceedingly attractive. Among these are
Phrenology--a characteristic article on Germany--the French and Italian
Drama--anecdotical papers on Napoleon and General Jackson and the United
States of America, and the History of the Cid. Ours will be a pleasing
task to "note" through this Number.

* * * * *


_By the late Dr. Wolcot. (Peter Pindar.)_

I own I like not Johnson's turgid style,
That gives an inch the importance of a mile;
Casts of manure a wagon-load around
To raise a simple daisy from the ground;
Uplifts the club of Hercules--for what?--
To crush a butterfly or brain a gnat;
Creates a whirlwind from the earth to draw
A goose's feather or exalt a straw;
Sets wheels on wheels in motion--such a clatter!
To force up one poor nipperkin of water;
Bids ocean labour with tremendous roar,
To heave a cockle-shell upon the shore.
Alike in every theme his pompous art,
Heaven's awful thunder, or a rumbling cart!

_New Monthly Magazine._

* * * * *


We have now been so long accustomed to this new light in the streets,
that, like all other terrene goods, we have almost become insensible to
its blessings. Yet let him who desires to know what he owes to chemistry
and "Old Murdoch," turn into any of the streets still lighted with oil,
and then come back to the nocturnal day of the Strand or Pall Mall. The
parish oil lamps were like light-houses on the ocean; guides, not
lights; the gas has become a perpetual full moon; and it may assuredly
be pronounced one of the most splendid and valuable applications of
chemistry. Why has not old Murdoch his statue? He deserves it even
better than his master; for the master was well paid in solid pudding.
In other days, that statue would have equalled the Colossus at Rhodes,
and the demi-philosopher would have breathed flame like the Chimera; in
the fabulous ages before that, he would have come down to us a god, or a
demi-god, the rival of Prometheus, Hercules, and Atlas. Why not cast him
in Achillean brass, the rival of the great hero of gunpowder and
Waterloo, and make him breathe gas like the Dragon of Wantley, to
illuminate the triumphal arch. Ingrata Patria!

The new light! yes, much has been heard of its power and influence; but
what has the new light of all the preachers done for the morality and
order of London, compared to what has been effected by this new light.
Old Murdoch alone, has suppressed more vice than the Suppression
Society; and has been a greater police officer into the bargain than old
Colquhoun and Sir Richard Birnie united. It is not only that men are
afraid to be wicked when light is looking at them, but they are ashamed
also; the reformation is applied to the right place. Where does vice
resort? Where it can hide; in darkness, says the preacher, because its
deeds are deeds of darkness. Seek it in Pudding-lane, and Dyot-street,
and the abysses of Westminster. Why was not this new light preached to
them long ago: twenty bushels of it would have been of more value than
as many chaldrons of sermons, and taking even the explosions of the
inspector into the bargain. But it is well, that this is at length to be
compulsory; since it is never too late. Thieves and rogues are like
moths in blankets: bring the sun to shine on them, and they can neither
live nor breed. Let the Duke of Wellington place a gas-lamp at every
door of these infernal abodes; and since they cannot be smoked out, make
their houses as much like glass, on the principle of the old Roman, as
we can compass. This is the remedy; at least till common sense will
condescend to the better expedient of pulling down and laying open all
these retreats of misery and vice; the disgrace and the nuisance of
London, and not less a standing inhumanity to the poor
themselves.--_Westminster Review._

* * * * *


The commerce at the Cape is wine; and the vine has already increased
tenfold, since the colony became British. But unfortunately more
attention has been hitherto paid to quantity than to quality, except on
the farms which yield Constantia. The latter have an eastern exposure,
and are sheltered from the south-west, the only injurious blast. The
soil being a deposit from the neighbouring mountains, is light, but
enriched by manure. The subsoil, which is even more important, is still
lighter, being mixed with sand and broken stone; on the contrary, in
Drachenstein, where the chief vineyards are at present, the subsoil
being clay, the wine receives an unpleasant flavour, the idea of which
is inseparably associated with the very name of Cape wine. It is
unnecessary to enter into the subject of its manufacture. If the subsoil
be bad, so will the wine be. The vine does not require a rich subsoil.
In Italy, flags are laid to prevent the roots from penetrating into
clay; and in England, rubbish is thrown in to make a subsoil that shall
not be so rich as to produce leaves, instead of fruit. It would be
advantageous were premiums offered for wine that had not been produced
from clay of subsoil, but had been reared in trellis, as requiring less
labour than the standard, and made on a pure and good system, instead of
being mixed with Cape brandy, or sulphuric acid, &c. Notwithstanding all
these disadvantages, Cape wine is generally sold in England under the
names, and at the prices, of Madeira, Sherry, Teneriffe, Stem, Pontac,
and above all, Hock.--_Gill's Repository._

* * * * *


The finest view in London is from the top of Whitehall Place, looking
towards the river; but then you must see it as I did, at the same hour,
and under similar circumstances.

It was about a fortnight since I beheld that memorable spectacle. I was
on my way home, having dined with a friend, who, though not an habitual
votary of Bacchus, occasionally sacrifices to the god with intense and
absorbing zeal. After dinner we adjourned to the Opera, having only
determined to renew at supper our intimacy with certain flasks of
Champagne, which lay in their icy baths coolly expecting our return. We
carried our determination into effect to the fullest extent; and at
half-past three o'clock we parted, deeply impressed with a sense of each
other's good qualities, and with as keen and lively an appetite for the
sublime and beautiful as an X of Champagne[2] usually imparts to its
warm-hearted admirers. My way led me through Whitehall, at least I found
myself there, as "Charles," the guardian of the night, was announcing
the fourth hour. As my good fortune would have it, I happened to look
towards the river, and never, while memory holds her seat, shall I
forget the sight which presented itself. Six distinct St. Pauls lifted
themselves through the cloudless morning air (so pure, that the smoke of
a single cigar would defile it: I extinguished mine in awe) towards the
blue transparent sky; nearer, and beneath this stately city of temples,
were four Waterloo Bridges, piling their long arcades in graceful and
harmonious regularity one above the other, with the chaste and lofty
symmetry of a mighty aqueduct; while far away, in the dim distance, a
dome of gigantic dimensions was faintly visible, as if presiding over
the scene, linking shadow and substance, uniting the material with the
intellectual world, like the realization of a grand architectural dream.
Talk not to me of the Eternal City--in her proudest days of imperial
magnificence she could not furnish such a view--thrice be that Champagne
lauded!--_Monthly Magazine._

[2] _Reader_--What does he mean by an X of Champagne?

_Editor_--An unknown quantity, you fool.

* * * * *


The distant view of New York, almost free from smoke, is singularly
bright and lively; in some respects it refreshes a recollection of the
sea-bound cities of the Mediterranean. The lower parts of the interior,
next to the warehouses, resemble Liverpool; but the boast of the city is
Broadway, a street that, for extent and beauty, the Trongate of Glasgow,
which it somewhat resembles in general effect, alone excels. The style
of the Trongate is, if the expression may be used, of a more massy and
magnificent character, but there is a lightness in that of Broadway
which most people will prefer. Those who compare the latter with
Oxford-street, in London, do it injustice; for, although the shops in
Oxford-street display a richer show of merchandize, the buildings are
neither of equal consequence nor magnitude. Regent-street in London, is
of course always excepted from comparisons of this kind.

The portico of the Bowery Theatre is immeasurably the finest _morceau_
of architecture in the city. It resembles that of Covent-Garden, but
seems to be nobler and greater; and yet I am not sure if, in point of
dimensions, it is larger, or so large as that of Covent-Garden. The only
objection to it--and my objection is stronger against the London
theatre--is the unfitness. In both cases, the style and order are of the
gravest Templar character, more appropriate to the tribunals of criminal
justice, than to the haunts of Cytherea and the Muses.--_New Monthly

* * * * *


The account of a journey which was taken in the year 1664, by Cosmo, the
son of Ferdinand II. de Medici, was written at the time, by Philip
Pizzichi, his travelling chaplain. This work was published for the first
time at Florence, about seven months ago. It contains some curious
notices of persons and things, and among them, what will interest every
lover of the fine arts. It is this--speaking of Verona, he mentions the
Curtoni gallery of paintings, and says, "The picture most worthy of
attention is the lady of Raffaello, so carefully finished by himself,
and so well preserved that it surpasses every other." The editor of
these travels has satisfactorily shown that Raffaelo's lady here
described is the true Fornarina; so that of the three likenesses of her
said to be executed by this eminent artist, the genuine one is the
Veronese, belonging to the Curtoni gallery, now in the possession of a
lady Cavellini Brenzoni, who obtained it by inheritance.--_Monthly

* * * * *


Happy is the man, who, leaving the Alps behind him, has the plains of
Lombardy on his right hand and on his left, the Apennines in view, and
Florence as the city towards which he directs his steps. His way is
through a country where corn grows under groves of fruit trees, whose
tops are woven into green arcades by thickly-clustering garlands of
vines; the dark masses of foliage and verdure which every where appear,
melt insensibly, as he advances, into a succession of shady bowers that
invite him to their depths; the scenery is monotonous, and yet ever
various from the richness of its sylvan beauty, possessing all the
softness of forest glades without their gloom. Towards Bologna, the
landscape roughens into hills, which grow into Apennines, but Arcadia
still breathes from slopes and lawns of tender green, which take their
rise in the low stream-watered valleys, and extend up the steep ascent
till met midway by the lofty chestnut groves which pale them in. To
these gentler features succeeds the passage of the Apennines, which
here, at least, are not as the author of "Italy as it Is," describes
them, "the children of the Alps--smiling and gentle and happy as
children should be," but, as we remember them, their summits form
themselves into a wild, dreary region, sown with sterile mountain-tops,
and torn to pieces by wind and storm; the only glimpse of peace is
derived from the view on either side of the sea, which sometimes shows
itself on the horizon, a misty line, half silver, half ether. This
barren wilderness again softens into gracefully-swelling hills turned
towards Florence. The fair olive tree and the dark cypress mingle their
foliage with the luxuriant chestnut boughs, and the frequent marble
villa flashes a white gleam from amid its surrounding laurel bowers. The
sky is more beautiful than earth, and each symbolize peace and serene
enjoyment.--_Westminster Review._

* * * * *


One of the most amusing stories in ancient history, of the successful
and happy use of fine music, is told of Arion, who, when about to be
thrown overboard by some mutinous sailors, begged leave to sing to his
lute one funeral strain before his death. Having obtained leave, he
stood upon the prow with his instrument, chanted with a loud voice his
sweetest elegy, and then threw himself into the sea. A dolphin, as the
story goes, charmed with his music, swam to him while floating on the
waves, bore him on his back, and carried him safely to Cape Taenarus, in
Sparta, from whence he went to Corinth. It would have been well for the
mutineers if their taste for music had been as great as the dolphin's,
for the history not only affords a grand instance of the power of music,
but of retributive justice, as the sailors accidentally going to
Corinth, paid the penalty of their evil intentions with their lives.

* * * * *


Mr. Martin mentions a very curious fact. The increase of population, he
says, has been most rapid, and is to be accounted for by the number of
females born, the proportion being, with regard to males, as three to
one! The great preponderating number of females brought forth among
domesticated animals, will account for the countless herds of cattle
which overspread the colony.--_New Monthly Magazine._

* * * * *


* * * * *


With the exception of the shrine of the Three Kings at Cologne, there
exists throughout Germany no spot of greater sanctity, no altar of
richer endowments, than the Chapel of the Black Lady, on the frontier of
Bavaria. The hearts of its sovereign electors have been deposited, from
century to century, within the consecrated cells; nor is there an
historic event, involving the interests of their own, or the adjacent
kingdoms, which is not supposed to have been influenced by her potent
interposition. A sufficient history, in fact, of the destinies of the
whole empire, might be recorded in a mere catalogue of the national
offerings to the shrine of Altenoetting.

In rambling through the eastern provinces of Bavaria, some few springs
ago, I chanced to arrive one glowing afternoon at the post-house of an
inconsiderable town; which, from the grass-grown tranquillity of its
streets, and from a peculiar air of self-oblivion, appeared to be
basking fast asleep in the sunshine. There was little to admire in the
common-place character of its site, or the narrow meanness of its
distribution; yet there was something peculiar in its look of dreamy
non-identity; and had it not been for the smiling faces of the
fair-haired Bavarian girls, who were to be seen glancing here and there,
with their embroidered purple bodices and coifs, and silver-chained
stomachers, I could believe myself to have reached some enchanted realm
of forgetfulness.

As I entered the Platz, or market-square, of the little town, chiefly
with a view to the nearer inspection of the cunning workmanship of the
aforesaid carcanets of silver, a light sprinkling of April rain began to
moisten the pavement--one of those unheard, unseen, revivifying showers,
which weep the earth into freshness, and the buds into maturity. I was
anxious, however, to withdraw my mere human nature from participation in
these herbaceous advantages; and looking about for some shelter which
might preserve me from the mischiefs of the shower, without depriving me
of its refreshing fragrance, I espied in the centre of the Platz--a
square of no mighty area--a low, rotunda-like building, with slated
roof, overhanging and resting upon wooden pillars, so as to form a sort
of covered walk.

I settled with myself that this was the market-house of the town, and
hastened to besiege so desirable a city of refuge. But during my rapid
approach, I observed that the external walls of the nameless edifice
beneath the arcade were covered, and without a single interstitial
interval, by small pictures in oil-colours, equal in size, and equal in
demerit, and each and all representing some calamitous crisis of human
existence--a fire, a ship-wreck, a boat-wreck, a battle, a leprosy! It
occurred to me at the same moment, that this gallery of mortal
casualties and afflictions must be a collection of votive offerings, and
that the seeming market-house was, probably, a shrine of especial
sanctity. And so it was!--the shrine of "The Black Lady of Altenoetting."

Instigated by somewhat more than a traveller's vague curiosity, I
entered the chapel; the brilliancy of which, eternally illuminated by
the reflection of a profusion of silver lamps upon the thousand precious
objects which decorate the walls, forms a startling contrast with the
dim shadows of the external arcade. In most cases, the entrance to a
religious edifice impresses the mind with a consciousness of vastness,
and a sensation of awe:--

"------the tombs
And monumental caves of death look cold,
And strike an aching dullness to the breast."

But the chapel of the Black Virgin is diminutive as a boudoir, and yet
retains the usual character of listening and awful stillness, the
ordinary impression of local sanctity. A few peasants were seen kneeling
in utter immobility and self-abstraction beneath a lamp, which seemed to
issue in a crimson flame from a colossal two-fold silver heart,
suspended from the ceiling--their untutored minds were elevated into the
belief of a heavenly commune.

In a glass case above the altar, is deposited this far-famed effigy of
the Holy Galilean virgin--a hideous female negro, carved in wood, and
holding an infant Jesus in her arms of the same hue and material; and
exhibited in its extremity of ugliness by the reflected glare of the
silver and diamonds, and gems of every description, by which she is
surrounded. Chests, mimic altars, models of ships, crowns and sceptres,
chalices and crosses of gold and silver and enamel, and enriched with

Turkish blue and emerald green,

and every jewel of every land, lie amassed in gorgeous profusion in the
adjoining cases, and seemed to realize the fabled treasures of the
preadamite Sultans. Boasting themselves as gifts of gratitude or
invocation from emperors and popes, kings, princes, palsgraves, and all
the other minor thrones and dominions of the earth, these splendid
offerings form the most plausible illustration of the miraculous power
attributed to the image of the Black Lady, which has been deposited in
its actual abode since the year of Grace 696. In the course of the
Thirty Years' War, this important relic and its treasury were twice
removed into the city of Salzburg, for security from the Swedish
invaders; and twice brought back in solemn triumph to their ancient

But a mightier charm than that of gems or metals, the most precious or
the most beautiful, connects itself with the chapel of Altenoetting--its
association with historical names of all ages, from Charlemagne and Otto
of Wittelsbach, whose monuments we find inscribed in Runic characters,
to Pius the Sixth, whose dedication, "O clemens, O pia Virgo
Oettingana!" is graven in a "fine Roman hand." It contains sepulchral
vaults of the families of Wallenstein, Tilly, Montecuculi, besides those
of divers electors, archbishops, and archdukes, whose titles speak far
less stirringly to the heart; altogether forming an illustration of the
past, which brings the dark ages in living majesty before our eyes.

Alternately dazzled and disgusted by this fruitless waste of splendour,
this still more fruitless waste of national credulity, I was pondering
over the domestic virtues of a certain "Franziska Barbara, Countess of
Tilly," as recorded over her grave, when the chants of the priests, who
had been engaged in the celebration of mass before the altar, suddenly
ceased; and, as the last fumes of the incense circled upwards to the
blackened roof, there arose another and a solitary voice, evidently of
lay intonation, and deepened by that persuasive earnestness of devotion
which, like an electric chain, connects in holy feeling all sects of the
Christian church. It spoke in the fulness of gratitude, and in the
humbleness of prayer; and although the dialect was tinged with village
barbarism, and its thankfulness addressed to the Black Virgin, I heard
in its simple solemnity only the beauty of holiness; and, overlooking
the visible shrine, beheld in its ultimate object the tribunal of divine

The devout speaker was one of a peasant family who had entered the
chapel unobserved, during my contemplation of its glittering
decorations. He was apparently a Bavarian farmer, somewhat advanced in
years, and wearing, in addition to his richly-substantial holiday
attire, a deep green shade over his eyes, which accounted for the
character of his thanksgivings to the miraculous image. "I thank thee, O
most benign and saintly Maria!" had been the tenour of his prayer, "for
the scattered and glorious gifts of Heaven, which had become as vain
things to my soul, till thy grace renewed them in its knowledge. I thank
thee for the summer skies and the green pastures--for the footsteps
which no longer crave a helping hand--for the restored faces of my
beloved ones--and, above all, O holiest Virgin! I glorify thy name in
gratitude for the precious means by which the blessing of sight hath
been again vouchsafed me!"

This last mode of expression excited my curiosity, and when the little
group of votaries had concluded their ceremonies, had affixed their
consecrated tapers at the shrine, and deposited their oblations with its
officiating priests, I followed their joyful footsteps out of the
chapel, and was again struck by the delicious transition from the heated
and incense-laden atmosphere of its interior, to the pure, balmy April
air without, gushing with the sweetness of the passing shower.

The ceremonies of the day were still far from their conclusion. The
historical painter of Altenoetting was in attendance in the arcade,
bearing the votive picture which was to perpetuate the latest miracle of
the Black Lady; and as far as I could observe or ascertain of the
sacerdotal hangman of the consecrated gallery, the oldest and most
weather-stained of the pictures was made to yield precedence to the new
comer. Having profited by a stranger's privilege, and the English garb,
which is held as sacred as a herald's tabard in many a foreign land, to
unite myself to the little group, and address some casual inquiries to
its frank and overjoyous members--old Philipp Stroer himself, the hero
of the day, deigned to take the picture from the hands of the sacristan,
and to ciceronize for my especial edification. I trust his restored
vision was not yet sufficiently acute to admit of his noting the smile
which, in spite of my better will, stole over my face, as I contemplated
the phenomenon of bad taste, and worse execution, which he thrust upon
my observation. It represented his worthy but very unpicturesque self in
the hands of an oculist, and the endurance of a cataract. The eyes of
his surrounding family were fixed with eager interest upon the event of
the operation. "And what," said I, anxious to make some sympathy in this
domestic crisis--"and what is the name of the surgeon whose efforts have
been blessed by the protection of the Black Lady?"

"The surgeon!"

"Yes; the oculist who is represented in the picture."

"That, sir, is no oculist, no surgeon; it is my Karl, sir, my beloved
son!" I shall never forget the voice, struggling with emotion, in which
the old man pronounced the words "_mein sohn_!"

The story of that son was one of deep, though humble interest. Trained
in the agricultural habits of his forefathers, and destined to succeed
to the laborious honours of the Stroerische farm, young Karl, to whom
his gray-haired father was an object of the fondest and most reverential
affection, beheld with horror the gradual advances of the disease which
was about to render the remaining years of life a burden to the
sightless man. With the fractiousness of advancing age and growing
infirmity, old Philipp obstinately refused to seek the assistance of any
learned leech of the country round. Brannau and Burchhausen boasted each
of a chirurgic wonder, but Stroer misdoubted or defied their skill. "His
frail body," he said, "was in the hands of a heavenly Providence, to
which, as might best beseem, he bequeathed its guidance." Meanwhile, the
perilous uncertainty of his footing, and the growing isolation of his
existence, became more and more perceptible, when one day, just as an
acknowledgement of "total eclipse" had fallen from his quivering lips,
the prop and stay of his household, his beloved son Karl was missing
from the farm! The first moment of uncertainty touching his destinies
was a trying one, but it was also brief. A few days brought a letter
from Munich, in which the absconded son implored his father's
forgiveness, forbearance, and patience, during some ensuing months.
Time, he wrote, might alone explain the motives of duty which had caused
his apparent error.

Patience is a difficult virtue to the sick and the unhappy. The blind
man, pining for his absent Karl, had need of all his trust in the
excellence of his favourite child: at times, misdoubtings naturally
arose; for the few months lengthened into seven, eight--eleven--a whole
year, and the wanderer came not again.

At length, one autumn evening, a general shriek from the little
household apprized Philipp Stroer of some unwonted occurrence, and
straightway a voice demanded his blessing, and warm tears were wept upon
his hand, and he knew that his son was at his feet! The story of Karl's
absence was briefly and feelingly explained. Moved by his father's
obstinate aversion to place himself in the hands of a strange
practitioner, he had resolved to qualify himself for so precious a
charge; and having interested an eminent surgeon of Munich by the detail
of his affecting anxieties sufficiently to insure his instructions in
the single branch of surgery requisite for his purpose, Karl had passed
his days in infirmaries and hospitals, denying himself the common
sustenance of nature, in order to maintain the respectability of garb
necessary for his admittance to the lectures of his scientific
preceptor. At length, his ardent endeavours were rewarded by a
certificate of expertness; and a patent of nobility would have afforded
him a far less gratifying excitement. Nor did Heaven withhold its
blessing from a cause thus hallowed by filial devotion; the operation,
which quickly followed his arrival at the farm, was attended with
perfect success. For some days, indeed, the old man still maintained his
resistance; but when he was assured that Karl had preceded his departure
for Munich by a pilgrimage to Altenoetting, and that the especial favour
of the Black Lady had sanctified his undertaking, he became more
passive--the result was a perfect restoration to sight.

"And where," I exclaimed, "is this excellent, this worthy Karl of yours
at present?"

"By your side," replied a chorus of voices; and following their
indication, I turned towards a young man of sturdy appearance, who
acknowledged my salute with prompt and open frankness. He wore the
common peasant costume of the country, and laughed away my honest
praises as a mere exaggeration. "I had nothing to fear from my absence,"
said he, looking towards a very beautiful girl who stood beside him,
"for I was secure of the good faith of my Hannchen, and I knew that the
Black Lady would bless my enterprise!"

I could not presume to despise this strange union of intelligence and
bigotry; nay, so intimately is the remembrance of the family of Stroer
connected in my mind with that of the miraculous idol, that I must
acknowledge some sort of lingering superstitious reverence towards the
shrine of the Black Virgin of Altenoetting.--_New Monthly Magazine._

* * * * *


River, River, little River,
Bright you sparkle on your way,
O'er the yellow pebbles dancing,
Through the flowers and foliage glancing,
Like a child at play.

River, River, swelling River,
On you rush o'er rough and smooth--
Louder, faster, brawling, leaping
Over rocks, by rose-banks sweeping,
Like impetuous youth.

River, River, brimming River,
Broad and deep and _still_ as Time,
Seeming _still_--yet still in motion,
Tending onward to the ocean,
Just like mortal prime.

River, River, rapid River,
Swifter now you slip away;
Swift and silent as an arrow,
Through a channel dark and narrow,
Like life's closing day.

River, River, headlong River,
Down you dash into the sea;
Sea, that line hath never sounded,
Sea, that voyage hath never rounded,
Like eternity.

_Blackwood's Magazine._

* * * * *

The Anecdote Gallery.

* * * * *


_Abridged from the Foreign Quarterly Review._

When we bring into one view all the qualifications of Mozart as a
composer and practical musician, the result is astounding. The same man,
under the age of thirty-six, is at the head of dramatic, sinfonia, and
piano-forte music--is eminent in the church style--and equally at his
ease in every variety, from the concerto to the country dance or baby
song: he puts forth about 800 compositions, including masses, motetts,
operas, and fragments of various kinds; at the same time supporting
himself by teaching and giving public performances, at which he executes
concertos on the piano-forte, the violin, or the organ, or plays
_extempore_. But when we learn that the infant Mozart, at four years of
age, began to compose, and by an instinct perception of beauty to make
correct basses to melodies; and also that he became a great performer on
two instruments, without the usual labour of practice, we cease to be
surprised at the mechanical dexterity of his fingers in after-life, when
composition and other pursuits had engrossed the time usually employed
in preserving the power of execution.

The father of Mozart held the situation of Vice Kapell-meister and
violinist in the chapel of the archbishop of Salzburg. In the service of
this haughty and ignorant nobleman, (who appears to have been a complete
feudal tyrant, and to have represented all the pride and insolence for
which the then beggarly-princes of Germany were remarkable), he was so
ill paid, that notwithstanding his utmost exertions as an instructor, it
was with difficulty he supported a wife and family. Anna Maria,[3] born
August 29, 1751, and Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, born January 27, 1756,
were the only two of seven children who survived. The sister made such
progress on the harpsichord, that in the first journeys which the father
took in order to display the talents of his children, she divided the
public attention with her brother. Wolfgang, however, not only profited
as a player, from the careful instruction which both the children
received from their parent, but began then to exhibit the extraordinary
precocity of his musical mind; the minuets and other little movements
which he composed from the age of four to seven show a consistency of
thought and a symmetry of design which promised a maturity of the
highest genius. Of the first expedition of Leopold Mozart with his son
and daughter, in January, 1762, little account is preserved, further
than that they visited Munich, and played concertos on the harpsichord
before the royal family. In the following autumn, (Wolfgang being then
in his seventh year), the father proceeded in the same company to
Vienna; the journey was made by water, and the family gave concerts at
the principal towns they passed, as occasion served. Leopold Mozart
writes, "On Tuesday we arrived at Ips, where two Minorites and a
Benedictine who accompanied us said mass,[4] during which our little
Wolfgang _tumbled about_ upon the organ and played so well, that the
Franciscan fathers, who were just sitting down to dinner with some
guests, left the table, and ran with all their company into the choir,
where they were filled with wonder." A little before, he says, "the
children are as merry as when they were at home. The boy is friendly
with every body, but particularly with military officers, as though he
had known them all his life. He is the admiration of all." At the Court
of Vienna the family was received with great favour, the Emperor Francis
I. being mightily pleased with "the little magician," as he used
playfully to call young Mozart. "There is nothing wonderful," said the
emperor one day, joking with him, "in playing with all the fingers, but
to play with _one_ finger and with the keys covered, would really be
surprising." Upon which the child instantly performed in this manner
with as much neatness and certainty as if he had long practised it. The
father writes, "you will scarcely believe me when I tell you how
graciously we have been received. The empress took Wolfgang on her lap,
and kissed him heartily."[5] It was at this time that Mozart began to
display the feeling of a great artist; just before he commenced a
concerto, seeing himself surrounded by people of the Court, he asked the
emperor--"is not M. Wagenseil here? _he_ understands these things."
Wagenseil was called forward to the harpsichord; "I am going to play one
of your concertos," said the boy, "will you turn over for me?"

[3] This lady is at present living in Salzburg, and in 1826 had
not entirely given up her occupation as an instructress in
piano-forte playing. Many pupils have been brought up under her,
who by a peculiar neatness and precision of performance, evince
the excellent tuition of Nanette Mozart.

[4] Probably at a convent.

[5] The following anecdote is recorded in the history of this
journey:--Little Mozart one day, on a visit to the empress, was
led into her presence by the two princesses, one of whom was
afterwards the unfortunate Queen of France, Marie Antoinette.
Being unaccustomed to the smoothness of the floor, his foot
slipped and he fell. One of the princesses took no notice of the
accident, but the other Marie Antoinette, lifted him up and
consoled him. Upon which he said to her, "you are very good, I
will marry you." She related this to her mother, who asked
Wolfang how he came to make this resolution. He answered, "from
gratitude--she was so kind to me--whereas her sister gave
herself no trouble."

As yet Mozart had only played on keyed instruments, but on his return to
Salzburg he practised privately on a little violin which he had
purchased in Vienna, and, to the surprise of his father and some friends
who had met to play over some new trios, he performed the second violin
part, and then the first, with correctness, though without method. His
horror of the sound of the trumpet in childhood, and the early passion
he displayed for arithmetic, are well known; to the last he was fond of
figures, and was extremely clever in making calculations; though very
improvident in his pecuniary affairs. The peculiar delicacy of Mozart's
organization is displayed in the fine sense of hearing which he evinced
at a tender age. Schachtner, a trumpeter, who used to visit his father,
had a violin that Wolfgang was fond of playing upon, which he used to
praise extremely for its soft tone, calling it the "_butter fiddle_." On
one occasion, as the boy was amusing himself on his own little violin,
he said to Schachtner, "if you have left your violin tuned as it was
when I last played upon it, it must be full half-a-quarter of a note
flatter than mine." Those present laughed at a nicety of distinction,
upon which the most critical ear could hardly pronounce; but the father,
who had many proofs of the extraordinary memory and exquisite feeling of
his son, sent for the instrument, and it was found to be as the boy had
said. Although he daily gave fresh instances of his extraordinary
endowments, he did not become proud or conceited, but was always an
amiable and tractable child. The affection and sweetness which
characterize his airs were inherent in his disposition, and the
following anecdote accounts for the prevalence of those delightful
qualities in his vein of melody:--"Mozart loved his parents,
particularly his father, so tenderly, that every night before going to
bed he used to sing a little air that he had composed on purpose, his
father having placed him standing in a chair, and singing the second to
him. During the singing he often kissed his father _on the top of the
nose_, (the epicurism of childish fondness), and as soon as this
solemnity was over, he was laid in bed, perfectly contented and happy."

The young artist, in his eighth year, began to show a manly intellect.
It was in the third tour through Germany to Paris, London. &c. that the
fame of Mozart extended throughout Europe; but as many particulars of
this period of his life are already known, from the account published by
Daines Barrington in the Philosophical Transactions, the Letters of
Baron Grimm, and other sources, we shall only notice the newest and most
interesting incidents of this part of the Biography. From Wasserburg,
Leopold Mozart writes, "We went up to the organ to amuse ourselves,
where I explained the pedals to Wolfgang. He began instantly to make an
attempt with them, pushed back the stool and preluded standing, treading
the bass to his harmonies as if he had practised for months." The
violin-playing of Nardini, whom the party heard at Ludwigsberg, is much
praised by Leopold Mozart for the neatness of the execution, and the
beauty and equality of the tone. At Frankfort, Wolfgang one morning on
waking began to cry. His father asked him the reason. He said he was so
sorry at not being able to see his friends Hagenaur, Wenzl, Spitzeder,
and Reibl. Though the children performed before all the persons of
distinction they met on their route, yet as they were often rewarded
with costly presents, swords, snuff-boxes, trinkets, &c. instead of
money, the father had much anxiety on this account. He says, in a letter
from Brussels, "At Aix we saw the Princess Amelia, sister to the King of
Prussia, but she has no money. If the kisses which she gave my children,
especially to Master Wolfgang, had been louis d'ors, we might have
rejoiced." In Paris, little Mozart performed feats which would have done
honour to an experienced Kapellmeister, transposing at sight, into any
key whatever, any airs which were placed before him, writing the melody
to a bass, or the bass to a melody, with the utmost facility and without
premeditation. His deep acquaintance with harmony and modulation
surprised every one, and his organ-playing was particularly admired. A
very pleasant picture of the musical family was painted in Paris, of
which an engraving is given in the Biography. Mozart's sister relates,
that when they were at Versailles, Madame de Pompadour had her brother
placed upon a table, and that as he approached to salute her, she turned
away from him; upon which he said indignantly, "I wonder who she is,
that she will not kiss me--the empress has kissed me!" At Versailles the
whole court was present to hear the little boy of eight years play upon
the organ, and he was moreover treated by the royal family with great
distinction, particularly by the queen. When she dined in public, young
Mozart had the honour to stand near her, to converse with her
constantly, and now and then to receive some delicacy from her hand. The
father writes, "the queen speaks as good German as we do. As, however,
the king understands nothing of it, the queen interprets all that our
_heroic_ Wolfgang says."

_(To be concluded in our next.)_

* * * * *


A snapper up of unconsidered trifles.


* * * * *


Mr. Best, in his _Memorials_, says, I told my friend, Sir J., that Mr.
---- said, that among other fishes good for food, he was particularly
_attached_ to a smelt. "---- him;" said Sir J., "I wish a smelt was
attached to _him_--to his nose for a week, till it stank, and cured him
of his attachment."

* * * * *


Some people are very proud of their wine, and court your approbation by
incessant questions. One of a party being invited by Sir Thomas Grouts
to a second glass of his "old East India," he said that one was a
dose--had rather not double the _Cape_; and at the first glass of
champagne, he inquired whether there had been a plentiful supply of
gooseberries that year.

* * * * *


Was known to make no secret of his own plans or notions. "Have you ever
been in Parliament, Mr. Law?" asked the King, when Law was attending at
the levee on his appointment as Attorney-General. The answer was in the
negative. "That is right; my Attorney-General ought not to have been in
Parliament; for then, you know, he is not obliged to eat his own words."
On the esplanade at Weymouth, he used to stop and speak to some
children. "Well, little boy, what will you be? Will you be a soldier?"
Then turning to one of his attendants, "I know the children by the

* * * * *


At a celebrated watering-place a man was fined five shillings and costs
for being found in a state of inebriation, when he made an elaborate
appeal to their Worships (the Bench) _in mitigation of damages_, founded
upon the extreme hardship he had undergone in being fined _four_ several
times _for the same offence_!


* * * * *


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