Read Ebook: The Mirror of Literature Amusement and Instruction. Volume 10 No. 276 October 6 1827 by Various

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THE MIRROR OF LITERATURE, AMUSEMENT, AND INSTRUCTION.

There is given Unto the things of earth, which Time hath bent, A spirit's feelings, and where he hath leant His hand, but broke his scythe, there is a power And magic in the ruin'd battlement For which the palace of the present hour Must yield its pomp, and wait till ages are its dower.

BYRON.

The present cathedral is represented to have been merely the church of the monastery, which was entirely rebuilt in the commencement of the fourteenth century. The style of architecture in the different parts of this cathedral is accurately discriminated in the following account from the pen of Bishop Littleton, F.S.A.:--"The lower parts of the chapter house walls," says he, "together with the door-way and columns at the entrance of the chapter-house, may be pronounced to be of the age of Stephen, or rather prior to his reign, being fine Saxon architecture. The inside walls of the chapter-house have round ornamental arches intersecting each other. The cathedral appears to be of the same style of building throughout, and in no part older than Edward the First's time, though some writers suppose the present fabric was begun in king Stephen's time; but not a single arch, pillar, or window agrees with the mode which prevailed at that time. The great gateway leading into the College Green is round-arched, with mouldings richly ornamented in the Saxon taste." From this account it appears probable that the chapter-house and gateway are all the present remains of the ancient monastery. The mutilations which the cathedral of Bristol has undergone, are not entirely to be referred to the era of the dissolution of the monasteries, since this structure suffered very considerably during the period of the civil wars. The ruthless soldiers discovered their barbarism by violating the sacred tombs of the dead, and by offering every indignity which they supposed would be considered a profanation of the places which the piety of their ancestors consecrated to religion. At such instances of the violence of civil factions, the sensitive mind shudders with disgust.

DEBTOR AND CREDITOR.

Run not into debt, either for wares sold or money borrowed; be content to want things that are not of absolute necessity, rather than to run up the score: such a man pays at the latter a third part more than the principal comes to, and is in perpetual servitude to his creditors; lives uncomfortably; is necessitated to increase his debts to stop his creditors' mouths; and many times falls into desperate courses.

SIR M. HALE.

"The greatest of all distinctions in civil life," says Steele, "is that of debtor and creditor;" although no kind of slavery is so easily endured, as that of being in debt. Luxury and expensive habits, which are commonly thought to enlarge our liberty by increasing our enjoyments, are thus the means of its infringement; whilst, in nine cases out of ten, the lessons taught by this rigid experience lead to the bending and breaking of our spirits, and the unfitting of us for the rational pleasures of life. All ranks of mankind seem to fall into this fatal error, from the voluptuous Cleopatra to the needy philosopher, who doles out a mealsworth of morality for his fellow-creatures, and who would fain live according to his own precepts, had he not exhausted his means in the acquisition of his experience.

I fear that I am breaking my rule in not confining myself to a few shades of debt and conscience, with a view of determining how far they are usually reconciled among us. The task may not prove altogether fruitless; notwithstanding, to find honest men, would require the lantern of Diogenes, and perhaps turn out like Gratiano's wheat.

AN ENGLISHMAN'S PRAYER

Grant, righteous Heaven, however cast my fate On social duties or in toils of state, Whether at home dispensing equal laws, Or foremost struggling for the world's applause, As neighbour, husband, brother, sire, or son, In every work, accomplished or begun, Grant that, by me, thy holy will be done. When false ambition tempts my soul to rise, Teach me her proffer'd honours to despise, Though chains or poverty await the just, Though villains lure me to betray my trust, Unmoved by wealth, unawed by tyrant, might Still let me steadily pursue the right, Hold fast my plighted faith, nor stoop to give For lengthen'd life, the only cause to live.

ITALY.

In other places, as you may remember, he gives it the appellation of "Ausonia."

Now as to the singularity of the circumstance, supposing it were otherwise, to what does it amount but this: that when Italian power extended over the countries of Europe, Italian names were given them; that as this power declined, these names as naturally fell into disuse; and the different nations, actuated severally by a spirit of independence or of caprice, recurred to their own or foreign tongues for the designation of their territory. While at Rome itself, which, though often suffering from the calamities of war, still retained a considerable share of influence, the inhabitants adhered to their native dialect, and the same city which had been the birth-place and cradle of the infant language was permitted to become its sanctuary at last.

Y.M.

SPIRIT OF THE PUBLIC JOURNALS.

ELISE.

O Let me love her! she has past Into my inmost heart-- A dweller on the hallowed ground Of its least worldly part; Where feelings and where memories dwell Like hidden music in the shell.

She was so like the forms that float On twilight's hour to me, Making of cloud-born shapes and thoughts A dear reality; As much a thing of light and air As ever poet's visions were.

I left smoke, vanities, and cares, Just far enough behind, To dream of fairies 'neath the moon, Of voices on the wind, And every fantasy of mine Was truth in that sweet face of thine.

Her cheek was very, very pale, Yet it was still more fair; Lost were one half its loveliness, Had the red rose been there: But now that sad and touching grace Made her's seem like an angel's face.

The spring, with all its breath and bloom, Hath not so dear a flower, As the white lily's languid head Drooping beneath the shower; And health hath ever waken'd less Of deep and anxious tenderness.

And O thy destiny was love, Written in those soft eyes; A creature to be met with smiles. And to be watch'd with sighs; A sweet and fragile blossom, made To be within the bosom laid.

And there are some beneath whose touch The coldest hearts expand, As erst the rocks gave forth their tears Beneath the prophet's hand; And colder than that rock must be The heart that melted not for thee.

Thy voice--thy poet lover's song Has not a softer tone; Thy dark eyes--only stars at night Such holy light have known; And thy smile is thy heart's sweet sign, So gentle and so feminine.

COLONEL GEORGE HANGER.

Dining on one occasion at Carlton-house, it is said that, after the bottle had for some time circulated, his good-humoured volubility suddenly ceased, and he seemed for a time to be wholly lost in thought. While he "chewed the cud" in this ruminating state, his illustrious host remarked his very unusual quiescency, and interrupted it by inquiring the subject of his meditation. "I have been reflecting, Sir," replied the colonel, "on the lofty independence of my present situation. I have compromised with my creditors, paid my washerwoman, and have three shillings and sixpence left for the pleasures and necessities of life," exhibiting at the same time current coin of the realm, in silver and copper, to that amount, upon the splendid board at which he sat.

The day arrived, and etiquette demanded that the proper officer should examine and report upon the nature of the expected entertainment, a duty that had been deferred until a late hour of the day. Well was it that the confiding prince had not wholly dispensed with that form; for verily the said officer found the colonel, with a dirty scullion for his aide du camp, in active and zealous preparation for his royal visiter; his shirt sleeves tucked up, while he ardently basted the identical and solitary "leg of mutton" as it revolved upon the spit: potatoes were to be seen delicately insinuated into the pan beneath to catch the rich exudation of the joint; while several tankards of foaming ale, and what the French term "bread ? discretion," announced that, in quantity, if not in quality, he had not been careless in providing for the entertainment of his illustrious guest. Although the colonel's culinary skill leaves no doubt that the leg of mutton would have sustained critical discussion on its intrinsic merits, or on its concoction; and although the dinner might have been endured by royalty , yet his royal highness's poodles would assuredly have perspired through every pore at the very mention of what a certain nobleman used to term a "jig-hot;" so the feast was dispensed with, and due acknowledgment made for the evident proofs of hospitality which had been displayed.

ANECDOTES OF UGO FOSCOLO, THE ITALIAN POET.

Foscolo was in person about the middle height, and somewhat thin, remarkably clean and neat in his dress,--although on ordinary occasions, he wore a short jacket, trousers of coarse cloth, a straw hat, and thick heavy shoes; the least speck of dirt on his own person, or on that of any of his attendants, seemed to give him real agony. His countenance was of a very expressive character, his eyes very penetrating, although they occasionally betrayed a restlessness and suspicion, which his words denied; his mouth was large and ugly, his nose drooping, in the way that physiognomists dislike, but his forehead was splendid in the extreme; large, smooth, and exemplifying all the power of thought and reasoning, for which his mind was so remarkable. It was, indeed, precisely the same as that we see given in the prints of Michael Angelo; he has often heard the comparison made, and by a nod assented to it. In his living, Foscolo was remarkably abstemious. He seldom drank more than two glasses of wine, but he was fond of having all he eat and drank of the very best kind, and laid out with great attention to order. He always took coffee immediately after dinner. His house,--I speak of the one he built for himself, near the Regent's Park,--was adorned with furniture of the most costly description; at one time he had five magnificent carpets, one under another, on his drawing-room, and no two chairs in his house were alike. His tables were all of rare and curious woods. Some of the best busts and statues were scattered through every apartment,--and on those he doated with a fervour scarcely short of adoration. I remember his once sending for me in great haste, and when I entered his library, I found him kneeling, and exclaiming, "beautiful, beautiful." He was gazing on the Venus de Medici, which he had discovered looked most enchanting, when the light of his lamp was made to shine upon it from a particular direction. On this occasion, he had summoned his whole household into his library, to witness the discovery which gave him so much rapture. In this state, continually exclaiming, "beautiful, beautiful," and gazing on the figure, he remained for nearly two hours.

He had the greatest dislike to be asked a question, which he did not consider important, and used to say, "I have three miseries--smoke, flies, and to be asked a foolish question."

His memory was one of the most remarkable. He has often requested me to copy for him a passage, which I should find in such a page of such a book; and appeared as if he never forgot any thing with which he was once acquainted.

His conversation was peculiarly eloquent and impressive, such as to render it evident that he had not been over-rated as an orator, when in the days of his glory, he was the admiration of his country. I remember his once discoursing to me of language, and saying, "in every language, there are three things to be noticed,--verbs, substantives, and the particles; the verbs," holding out his hand, "are as the bones of these fingers; the substantives, the flesh and blood; but the particles are the sinews, without which the fingers could not move."

I have said that his cottage, near the Regent's Park, was very beautiful. I remember his showing me a letter to a friend, in which were the following passages:--After alluding to some pecuniary difficulties, he says, "I can easily undergo all privations, but my dwelling is always my workshop, and often my prison, and ought not to distress me with the appearance of misery, and I confess, in this respect, I cannot be acquitted of extravagance."

The following sonnet was written by Ugo Foscolo, in English, and accompanied the Essays on Petrarch, in the edition of that work which was printed for private circulation. It was omitted when the volume was subsequently published, and is consequently known to very few:

TO CALLIRHOE, AT LAUSANNE.

I twine far distant from my Tuscan grove, The lily chaste, the rose that breathes of love, The myrtle leaf, and Laura's hallow'd bay, The deathless flowers that bloom o'er Sappho's clay; For thee, Callirhoe! yet by love and years, I learn how fancy wakes from joy to tears; How memory, pensive, 'reft of hope, attends The exile's path, and bids him fear new friends. Long may the garland blend its varying hue With thy bright tresses, and bud ever new With all spring's odours; with spring's light be drest, Inhale pure fragrance from thy virgin breast! And when thou find'st that youth and beauty fly, As heavenly meteors from our dazzled eye, Still may the garland shed perfume, and shine, While Laura's mind and Sappho's heart are thine.

ENGLISH FRUITS.

THE MONTHS

On the woods are hung With many tints, the fading livery Of life, in which it mourns the coming storms Of winter.

PERCIVAL.

Change is the characteristic of the month of October; in short, it includes the birth and death--the Alpha and Omega--of Nature. Hence, it is the most inviting to the contemplatist, and during a day in October, the genius of melancholy may walk out and take her fill, in meditating on its successive scenes of regeneration and decay.

The weather becomes misty, though the middle of the day is often very fine. Hence it is the proper season for the enjoyment of forest scenery. The leaves, which, towards the close of September, began to assume their golden tints and gorgeous hues, now lecture us with their scenes of falling grandeur; and nothing is more delightful than in an autumnal walk to emerge from the pensive gloom of a thick forest, and just catch the last glimpse of an October sun, shedding his broad glare over the varied tints of its leaves and branches, for the sombre and silvery barks of the latter add not a little to the picture. "The hedges," says the author already quoted, "are now sparkling with their abundant berries,--the wild rose with the hip, the hawthorn with the haw, the blackthorn with the sloe, the bramble with the blackberry; and the briony, privet, honey-suckle, elder, holly, and woody nightshade, with their other winter feasts for the birds."

October in Italy is thus vividly described: "It was now the beginning of the month of October; already the gales which attend upon the equinox swept through the woods and trees; the delicate chestnut woods, which last dare encounter the blasts of spring, and whose tender leaves do not expand until they may become a shelter to the swallow, had already changed their hues, and shone yellow and red, amidst the sea-green foliage of the olives, the darker but light boughs of the cork-trees, and the deep and heavy masses of ilexes and pines."

Astronomical Occurences

Mercury is in conjunction with Jupiter on the 7th at noon: he is too near the sun to be observed this month.

Venus passes her superior conjunction on the 7th, at 10 h. morning, thenceforward she sets after the sun, and becomes an evening star. This interesting planet makes a very near appulse to Jupiter on the 16th at 1 h. morning.

Jupiter is in conjunction with the sun on the 18th at 10-3/4 h. evening. He is afterwards a morning star, preceding the sun in his rising.

The Georgian planet, or Herschel, ceases from his retrograde movement on the 4th, and appears stationary till the 11th, when he resumes a direct motion. He is still in a favourable situation for evening observation. Its great distance from the earth, and the long period of its revolution round the sun prevent any rapid change in its situation among the fixed stars; the place therefore which the Greorgium Sidus occupied in Capricornus in July, is so contiguous to that planet's present position, that the observations then made may be a sufficient guide for the present month. Its slow motion among the fixed stars makes it participate in that daily change which is common to them, hence the planet may be observed in the same place a few minutes earlier every night. It comes to the south on the 1st at 7 h. 16 min., and on the 31st at 5 h. 26 min. evening.

The moon is in opposition on the 5th; in apogee on the 11th; in conjunction on the 20th; and in perigee on the 23rd. She is in conjunction with Saturn on the 13th at 3-1/4 h. after with Mars on the 18th at 2 h. morning; and Jupiter and Venus on the 20th, with the former at 1-1/2 h. and the latter at 11 h. afternoon, also with Mercury on the 21st at 10-1/2 h. afternoon.

The Solar luminary is eclipsed on the 20th at 3 h. 47 min. afternoon. He is above the horizon during the whole time the central shade is passing over the disc of the earth, but the moon having nearly 2 deg. southern latitude at the time of true conjunction, in middle of the eclipse, it will be invisible not only to us but to the whole boreal hemisphere of the globe. He enters Scorpio on the 24th at 4 h. 36 min. morning.

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