Read Ebook: The Mirror of Literature Amusement and Instruction. Volume 14 No. 397 November 7 1829 by Various

Font size: 10 px 15 px 20 px 25 px 30 px 35 px

Background color: BlackWhiteGrayLight GrayDark GrayDim Gray

Text color: BlackWhiteGrayLight GrayDark GrayDim Gray

Apply/Save settings

Ebook has 138 lines and 18133 words, and 3 pages

THE MIRROR OF LITERATURE, AMUSEMENT, AND INSTRUCTION.

About two miles west of Burleigh, are the ruins of Wothorp, or Worthorp House. According to Camden, a mansion of considerable size was erected here by Thomas Cecil, the first Earl of Burleigh, who jocularly said, "he built it only to retire to out of the dust, while his great house at Burleigh was sweeping." After the Restoration the Duke of Buckingham resided here for some years.

THE LION'S ROAR.

Sad is my grief, and violent my rage, Furious I knock my head against the rail, That damns me to this miserable cage; Fierce as a Jack Tar with his well chew'd tail, I dash my spittle on the ground, and roar Loud as the trump to bid us be no more.

Did I not eat my supper in your presence. And gnaw the beef bone with a greedy tusk? Did you not shudder at the marrow's essence, Not quite so beautiful or sweet as musk? Did I not ope my lion fauces wider Than is the difference 'twixt Moore and Ryder?

Sweet lovely corner, neighb'ring the Lyceum, Lord of whose showy board I used to crow. Frighting my brethren when folks came to see 'em, Or cutlery of Mr. Clarke below; I mourn thee in the King's Mews, Mr. Cross Get Mr. Southey's muse to sing my loss.

Yes, I am chang'd, like shillings from the Mint Sent forth to find another one's protection! Chang'd as palaver which the members print And do not follow after their election! Ah! Mr. Cross, your gratitude is low, You might have ask'd me where I wish'd to go.

The Monkeys should have dwelt in the Arcade, And join'd their fellows, and their brethren Ape Sat in the shop where clothes are ready made, To show how elegant they fit the shape! The Bears gone westward also, ne'er to range The city, lest they got upon the Change.

And, O, you Elephant!--I beg your pardon! Dead Chunee! listen to my grave petition, And take your ivory to Covent Garden; That they may furnish me a free admission, And you, you Lynx, you ought to out, and sally The Winter Theatres, or dark blind alley.

The lovely Zebra, Asia's painted ass, 'Stead of a den, and bed of straw possessor, Down to old Cambridge should have had a pass, To fill the office of some wise professor; Then, had he shown each antiquated quiz, His Zebra auricles were long as his.

Thus had we all obtained a proper station, 'Twere in one day of happiness to cruise. And I had never written my vexation At being palac'd in the Royal Mews. The reason for which conduct I'm at loss, O, Mr. Cross, 'tay'nt you, but I am cross.

My usage is the best, I don't deny, Thou'st fee'd the keeper, and he likes to feed us, But, then the situation I decry, But crying's useless--who the deuce will heed us? Then, reader would you listen to my wail, Come, and but see me, "I'll unfold my tail."

P.T.

CALCULATING CHILD.

Question 1.--A ship set sail at noon from Naples to Palermo , and sailed at the rate of ten miles an hour; another ship set off at the same time, to sail from Palermo to Naples, at the rate of seven miles per hour: at what time did the ships meet each other, and what was the distance sailed by each? Vincent Zuccaro immediately replied--The first ship sailed 105 15/17 miles; the second, 74 2/17 miles. It was then observed to him, that he had only answered part of the question, and that the hour of meeting had been omitted. He then said this would be 10 10-17 hours after the time of the departure. The child had perceived that this part of the answer was implicitly contained in the former; which he also imagined the examiners perceived as well as himself, and therefore he omitted it.

Question 2.--In three successive attacks upon a town, a quarter of the assailants perished in the first attack, a fifth in the second, and a sixth in the last, when their number was reduced to 138 men. Required the original number? Answer, 360.

Q.--How did you find that number?

A.--If the number had been 60, there would eventually have remained 23; now 23 being the sixth of 138, the assailants were 6 times 60 or 360 at first.

Q.--Why did you suppose the number 60, rather than 50 or 70?

A.--Because neither 50 nor 70 are divisible by 4 or 6.

From these questions and replies, it will be readily understood that the child does not employ the ordinary artifices of mathematicians. Marquess Scriso, who was the first person to discover this singular talent, is about, with several other persons of distinction in the city, to solicit the aid of Government in the education of the child, every one being fully aware of the impropriety of subjecting him to the ordinary mode of education.

"OUT OF SEASON," OR THE BEAU'S LAMENT.

"There is no labour so great as idleness."

M.L.B.

ANCIENT HISTORY OF DRURY LANE.

The reader will most probably exclaim, "Ancient History of Drury Lane! What a farce!" A dirty lane filled with all complexions of hawkers and pedlars, licensed and unlicensed!--true incurious reader, Gay has sung

"Who has not here a watch or snuff-box lost, Or handkerchiefs that India's shuttle boast."

GAY.

Stowe says, "Drury Lane, so called, for that there is a house belonging to the family of the Druries. This lane turneth north towards S. Giles in the field. From the south end of this lane in the high street, are divers faire buildings, hostelries, and houses for gentlemen, and men of honor, &c."

Nightingale tells us, "The west end of Wych Street was formerly ornamented by Drury House, built by Sir William Drury, an able commander in the Irish wars, in the reign of Queen Elizabeth, and who unfortunately fell in a duel with Sir John Burroughs, through a foolish quarrel about precedency. During the time of the fatal discontents of Elizabeth's favourite, the Earl of Essex, it was the place where his imprudent advisers resolved on such counsels, as terminated in the destruction of him and his adherents. In the next century it was possessed by the heroic Earl of Craven, who rebuilt it. It was lately a large brick pile, concealed by other buildings and was a public-house, bearing the sign of the Queen of Bohemia's Head, the earl's admired mistress, whose battles he fought animated by love and duty. When he could aspire to her hand, he is supposed to have succeeded, and it is said, that they were privately married; and that he built for her the fine seat at Hampstead Marshal, in the county of Berks, afterwards destroyed by fire. The services rendered by the earl to London, his native city, in particular, were exemplary. He was so indefatigable in preventing the ravages of the frequent fires of those days, that it was said his very horse smelt it out. He and Monk, Duke of Albemarle, heroically staid in town during the dreadful pestilence, and at the hazard of their lives preserved order in the midst of the terror of the times." The house was taken down, and the ground purchased by Mr. Philip Astley, who built there the Olympic Pavilion. In Craven Buildings there was formerly a very good portrait of the Earl of Craven in armour, with a truncheon in his hand, and mounted on his white horse. The Theatre Royal in this street, originated on the Restoration. "The king made a grant of a patent for acting in what was then called the Cockpit, and the Phoenix, the actors were the king's servants, were on the establishment, and ten of them were called gentlemen of the Great Chamber, and had ten yards of scarlet cloth allowed them, with a suitable quantity of lace."

He married a daughter of one of the Fine Barber-women of Drury Lane.

KING.

P.T.W.

SOLUTION OF THE ENIGMATICAL EPITAPH,

O! Superbe! Mors superte! Cur Superbis? Deus supernos! negat superbis vitam supernam. Proud man know this! then wherefore art thou proud? This awful doom--terrific cries aloud-- Death lifts his arm! with unrelenting dart, Ready to pierce thy lofty-tow'ring heart. Why then persist? The Almighty hath denied Eternal life to all the slaves of Pride!

THE NEW-YEAR'S GIFT AND JUVENILE SOUVENIR FOR 1830.

The association of the line--

In wit a man, simplicity a child--

A few weeks since we gave a copy of Robinson Crusoe to a young man, "whose education had been neglected," and who had never read this delightful book: the account of his delight from its perusal has more than recompensed us tenfold.

But this is too philosophical a strain for noticing a child's book--a little volume that is among books what a child is in human nature--"man in a small letter;" and such is Mrs. Watt's "New Year's Gift." To express all the kindly feelings which it must produce in a mind occupied as ours often is with graver matters--would be only to repeat what we said a fortnight since; and so without further premise, we will open this little casket of gems for the reader. We shall not string names together, but take a few of them. First, the "Sisters of Scio," a true story, by the author of "Constantinople in 1828," of two little Greek girls being saved from the Turks, by a good Christian. Next is "The Recall," by Mrs. Hemans:--

Music is sorrowful Since thou wert gone; Sisters are mourning thee-- Come to thine own Hark! the home voices call, Back to thy rest! Come to thy father's hall, Thy mother's breast! O'er the far blue mountains, O'er the white sea-foam, Come, thou long parted one! Back to thy home!

--How appropriate is the story and its sequel; nay, almost as good as two of Mr. Farley's pantomime scenes at Christmas. "The Miller's Daughter," a tale of the French Revolution, which follows, is hardly so fit: even the mention of Robespierre and the Reign of Terror chills one's blood. "The Sights of London," is a string of "City Scenes" in verse; and "May Maxwell," and "The Broken Pitcher," are pretty ballads, by the Howitts. We are not half through the book, and can only mention "the Young Governess," a school story--"the Birds and the Beggar of Bagdad," a fairy tale--"Lady Lucy's Petition," an historiette--"the Restless Boy," by Mrs. Opie, and the "Passionate Little Girl," by Mrs. Hofland--all sparkling trifles in prose. Among the poetry is "the African Mier-Vark," or Ant-eater, by Mr. Pringle, and "the Deadly Nightshade," a sweetly touching ballad, dated from Florence; "the Vulture of the Alps" is of similar character; and we are much pleased with some lines on Birds, by Barry Cornwall, one set of which we copy, the best prose papers being too long for extract:

TO A WOUNDED SINGING BIRD.

Poor singer! hath the fowler's gun, Or the sharp winter, done thee harm? We'll lay thee gently in the sun, And breathe on thee, and keep thee warm; Perhaps some human kindness still May make amends for human ill.

We'll take thee in, and nurse thee well, And save thee from the winter wild, Till summer fall on field and fell, And thou shalt be our feathered child, And tell us all thy pain and wrong When thou again canst speak in song.

'Tis common to the bird, and brute, To fallen man, to angel bright, And sweeter 'tis than lonely lute Heard in the air at night-- Divine and universal toungue, Whether by bird or spirit sung!

But hark! is that a sound we hear Come chirping from its throat,-- Faint--short--but weak, and very clear, And like a little grateful note? Another? ha--look where it lies, It shivers--gasps--is still,--it dies!

'Tis dead,--'tis dead! and all our care Is useless. Now, in vain The mother's woe doth pierce the air, Calling her nestling bird again! All's vain:--the singer's heart is cold, Its eye is dim,--its fortune told!

A versification of a story in Mrs. Barbauld's "Evenings at home," by Sneyd Edgeworth, Esq. deserves favourable mention; even the names will tempt the reader.

We should like to see a volume of poems written by Wordsworth, and illustrated by Gainsborough. How delightfully too would a few of the poet's lines glib off in a Juvenile Annual.

EDIE OCHILTREE.

Share on: WhatsApp @Hash Facebook Tweet