Part 3

The Cemeterio degli Inglesi, or the Protestant burial-ground, stretches calmly and beautifully below the Pyramid of Cestius. The site was admirably chosen,--nothing can be more poetically and religiously sepulchral than this most attractive spot. It is worth a thousand churches. No one can stand long there without feeling in full descent upon his spirit the very best influences of the grave. The rich, red, ruinous battlements of the city, broken only by the calm and solid unity of the Pyramid; the clustering foliage beginning to brown on the ancient towers of the entrance; the deep, still, blue sky; the fluttering leaves of the vines which floated around, as one by one they dropped from the branches; the freshness of the green mounds at my feet,--these and a thousand other features, fully felt at the time, but untranslateable to writing, conveyed precisely that philosophy of Death which the poet and sculptor have more than once attempted to breathe over their most enchanting works, and which here seems an emanation from every object which you feel or see. I would place in this spot their Genius of Repose, that beautiful statue which joins its hands indolently on its head, and casts its melancholy eyes for ever towards the earth; that statue, so beautiful that it has been often confounded with the Grecian Eros, or the Celestial Love, and is, in itself, the best type of the messenger who is one day to lead us gently from the heat and toils of this world, into the coolness and tranquillity of the next. Every thing here is in unison with these thoughts. At a few paces distant from the Pyramid, and adjoining the wall, the Cippi and funeral Soroi of the Strangers are to be seen. The bright verdure and the bright marbles, the classical purity of the monuments, the desert air, the austere solemnity of every thing about me, came with new force upon my imagination. I walked slowly amongst the tombs, and tried to decipher the inscriptions. The dead are of various nations,--English, American, but principally German. Sometimes a cluster of cypresses shadowed the tomb--sometimes a fair flowering shrub had twined around it. The epitaphs were written with elegance always; at times with the deepest tenderness and beauty. Each had his short history, each his melancholy interest and adventure. Here was the man of science and literature, who came to lay down his head, after a painful and varied pilgrimage, in this City of the Soul. A Humboldt was buried here; a Thorwalsden yet may. Here reposes clay too finely tempered for the unkindnesses of mankind--Keats lies near;--a little farther is one who, on the point of quitting Rome to rejoin an affectionate family after a too long absence, full of the anticipations of the traveller and of youth, is thrown from his carriage at a mile's distance from the city, and never quits Rome more;--beside him is an only child, whom the sun of Italy could not save;--and next, one who perished suddenly, like Miss Bathurst, in the very bud and bloom of existence,--or another, who died away, day after day, in the embraces of her parents, and now rests in the midst of the beautiful in vain. The graceful lines of Petrarch are inscribed on the sarcophagus--they are full of feeling and the country, and make one pause and dream:--

"Non come fiamma, che per forza è spenta, Ma che per se medesma si consuma, Se n'andò in pace, l'anima contenta."

No epitaph could be better. _New Monthly Magazine._

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QUACKS

Have nearly the same interest as knaves in concealing their ignorance and frauds, and for the most part regard with the same fear and detestation the instrument which unmasks their pretensions. This must be understood with some qualification, because the exposure of ignorance and fraud is not always sufficient to open the eyes, and enlighten the understandings, of mankind. Some perverse dupes are not to be reasoned out of their infatuation; they had rather hug the impostor, than confess the cheat; and quacks, speculating upon this infirmity of human nature, will sometimes court even an infamous notoriety.--_Lancet._

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ANECDOTES OF THE MARVELLOUS.

_Charming away the Hooping Cough._

An English lady, the wife of an officer, accompanied her husband to Dublin not very long ago, when his regiment was ordered to that station. She engaged an Irish girl as nurse-maid in her family; and, a short time after her arrival, was astonished by an urgent request from this damsel, to permit her to _charm_ little miss from _ever_ having the hooping-cough, (then prevailing in Dublin). The lady inquired how this _charming_ business was performed; and not long after had, in walking through the streets, many times the pleasure of witnessing the process, which is simply this:--An ass is brought before the door of a house, into whose mouth a piece of bread is introduced; and the child being passed three times over and under the animal's body, the charm is completed; and of its efficacy in preventing the spread of a very distressing, and sometimes fatal disorder, the lower class of Irish are _certain_.

_The Legend of Hell Mary Hill._

Not many miles from Sheffield, as I was told by one who resided near the place, there is a forest; and in an out-of-the-way part of it, a hill, tolerably high, covered with wood, and vulgarly called Hell Mary Hill, though probably this is a name corrupted from one more innocent or holy. Near the top of it is a cave, containing, it is _said_, a chest of money,--a great iron chest, _so_ full, that when the sun shines bright upon it, the gold can be seen through the key-hole; but it has never yet been stolen, because, in the first place, a huge black cat (and wherever a black cat is there is mischief, you may be sure) guards the treasure, which bristles up, and, fixing a _gashful_ gaze on the would-be marauder, with fiery eyes, seems ready to devour him if he approach within a dozen yards of the cave; and, secondly, whenever this creature is off guard, (and it has occasionally been seen in a neighbouring village,) and the treasure has been attempted to be withdrawn from its tomb, no mortal rope has been able to sustain its weight, each that has been tried invariably breaking when the coffer was at the very mouth of the cave; which, being endowed with the gift of locomotion, has immediately retrograded into its pristine situation! I have mentioned this tradition, as it was told to me, because it is so curiously coincident with the German superstition of treasure buried within the Hartz mountains, guarded, and ever disappointing the cupidity of those who would discover and possess themselves of it.

_Fairy Loaves._

Being lately in Norfolk, I discovered that the rustics belonging to the part of it in which I was staying, particularly regarded a kind of fossil-stone, which much resembled a sea-egg petrified, and was found frequently in the flinty gravel of that county. They esteemed such stones sacred to the elfin train, and termed them fairy loaves, forbearing to touch them, lest misfortunes should come upon them for the sacrilege. An old woman told me, that as she was trudging home one night from her field-work, she took up one of these fossils, and was going to carry it home with her; but was soon obliged to drop it, and take to her heels as quick as might be, from hearing a wrathful voice exclaim, though she saw nobody, "Give me my loaf! Give me back my loaf, I say!"--_New London Literary Gazette_.

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FINE ARTS

HOGARTH'S MARRIAGE-A-LA-MODE.

Hogarth's admirable series of pictures, entitled _Marriage-à-la-mode_, were at first slightly treated by the public, at which the artist was greatly incensed. Being in want of money, he was at length obliged to dispose of them to Mr. Lane, of Hillington, for one hundred and twenty guineas. The pictures being in good frames, which cost Hogarth four guineas a piece, his remuneration for painting this valuable series was but a few shillings more than one hundred pounds. On the demise of Mr. Lane, they became the property of his nephew, Colonel Cawthorn, who very highly valued them. In the year 1797 they were sold by auction, at Christie's, Pall Mall, for the sum of one thousand guineas; the liberal purchaser being the late Mr. Angerstein. They now belong to government, and are the most attractive objects in the National Gallery.

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HAMPTON COURT PALACE.

The gardens and park, which are three miles in circumference, appear to me to be above all competition. As you enter, you are struck with the majestic beauty of the trees, and the fine gravel walks. As you advance, the fountains and statues demand your admiration; particularly the famous _Gladiator_, which was brought from Rome. While in the gardens, the statues of Flora, Ceres, Pomona, and Diana, placed on the west front of the building, are seen to much advantage.

The magnificent palace was originally built by Cardinal Wolsey, and consists of three principal quadrangles. Here Cromwell resided, and it was the favourite residence of William and Mary. It is chiefly built of brick, and is very capacious, more so than any other royal palace in the British empire. Arriving at the great entrance, you almost seem as if you were about to enter a fairy castle. The floor of the hall is laid out in beautiful square slabs of marble, and a staircase of the same material leads you to the upper apartments, which contain pictures and numerous curiosities.

Among the fine paintings, I shall notice a few, which appear to me as being perfect master-pieces. But I must first take the liberty of saying a word or two about the _gentleman_ who conducts you through the rooms to _explain_ the several pictures. When I had the pleasure of being with him, his hair was powdered, and he carried a silver-headed cane. He hurried me through the rooms, filling my ears with such gibberish as this:--"That ere picture, sir, up there, was painted, five hundred years ago, for William the Conqueror, by Wandyke."[4] This is no mean blunder in chronology!

[4] Sir Antony Vandyke, who died about the year 1640.

There is a fine portrait of _William the Third on horseback_, of the size of life, by Sir Godfrey Kneller; the horse is painted in a side view, and has a good effect. There are eight fine female portraits of distinguished personages, by the same hand, in the highest state of preservation.

_Bandinella, the Sculptor_, by Corregio, is a most beautiful portrait. The face of the sculptor is full of vivid expression, and the gold chain about his neck is almost a deception. This painting, and a _Holy Family_, are all we find of the great Corregio at Hampton Court.

_Charles the First_, on horseback, by Sir A. Vandyke, is certainly much superior to the portrait of William, mentioned above. As a painter, Sir Godfrey cannot be ranked with Vandyke, though, I believe, the former considered himself much higher in the arts than the latter. The picture before us is an admirable specimen of Vandyke's powers.

_George the Third_, likewise on horseback, reviewing his troops on Hounslow Heath, by Sir William Beechey, R.A. This picture is unquestionably one of Sir William's best productions, and does honour to the fine arts of this country. With the above portraits, there are others by West, &c., which possess considerable merit.

There are, also, several choice specimens of Titian, Holbein, and Domenichino; with a few cabinet pictures in the Dutch school, by Teniers, Ostade, &c. In this palace are Raphael's celebrated cartoons, which are too _well_ known to need describing in this place. G.W.N.

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THE SELECTOR; AND LITERARY NOTICES OF NEW WORKS.

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A BALLAD SINGER.

_A Ballad-Singer_ is a town-crier for the advertising of lost tunes. Hunger hath made him a wind-instrument; his want is vocal, and not he. His voice had gone a-begging before he took it up, and applied it to the same trade; it was too strong to hawk mackerel, but was just soft enough for "Robin Adair." His business is to make popular songs unpopular,--he gives the air, like a weather-cock, with many variations. As for a key, he has but one--a latch-key--for all manner of tunes; and as they are to pass current amongst the lower sorts of people, he makes his notes like a country banker's, as thick as he can. His tones have a copper sound, for he sounds for copper; and for the musical divisions he hath no regard, but sings on, like a kettle, without taking any heed of the bars. Before beginning he clears his pipe with gin; and is always hoarse from the thorough draft in his throat. He hath but one shake, and that is in winter. His voice sounds flat, from flatulence; and he fetches breath, like a drowning kitten, whenever he can. Notwithstanding all this, his music gains ground, for it walks with him from end to end of the street. He is your only performer that requires not many entreaties for a song; for he will chant, without asking, to a street cur, or a parish post. His only backwardness is to a stave after dinner, seeing that he never dines; for he sings for bread, and though corn has ears, sings very commonly in vain. As for his country, he is an Englishman, that by his birthright may sing whether he can or not. To conclude, he is reckoned passable in the city, but is not so good off the stones.--_Whims and Oddities. Second series._

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VOYAGE UP THE MISSISSIPPI.

On leaving New Orleans, in ascending the river, the country, still the same continuous flat, is enriched and enlivened by a succession of pretty houses and plantations, with each a small negro town near them, as well as the sugar-houses, gardens, and summer-houses, which give the idea of wealth and industry. For sixty miles the banks present the appearance of one continued village skirted with plantations of cotton, sugar-cane, and rice, for about two miles from the river, bounded in the rear, by the uncultivated swamps and woods. The boat proceeds continually near the shore on one side or the other, and attracts the inhabitants to the front of their neat houses, placed amidst orange groves, and shaded with vines and beautiful evergreens. I was surprised to see the swarms of children of all colours that issued from these abodes. In infancy, the progeny of the slave, and that of his master, seem to know no distinction; they mix in their sports, and appear as fond of each other as the brothers and sisters of one family; but in activity, life, joy, and animal spirits, the little negro, unconscious of his future situation seems to me to enjoy more pleasure in this period of existence, than his pale companions. The sultry climate of Louisiana, perhaps, is more congenial to the African constitution, than to that of the European.

The next morning we arrived at Baton Rouge, 127 miles on our journey; a pretty little town, on the east side, and the first rising ground we had seen, being delightfully situated on a gradual acclivity, from which is a fine view of the surrounding flats. The fine barracks close to it, contain a few companies of troops. We here stopped to take in some ladies, who continued with us till the end of the voyage. To this place the leveé, or artificial banks, are continued on both sides of the river from New Orleans, without which the land would be continually overflowed. From this to Natches (232 miles,) the country is not interesting, consisting principally of dense forest and wilderness, impenetrable to the eye, diversified, however, by the various water fowl which the passing vessels disturb, in their otherwise solitary haunts, and by the number of black and grey squirrels leaping from branch to branch in the trees. The great blue kingfisher, which is common here, is so tame, as scarcely to move, as the boat passes, and we frequently saw, and passed close to large alligators, which generally appeared to be asleep, stretched on the half-floating logs. Several were fired at from the vessel, but none procured. One pair that I saw together, must have been each upwards of twelve feet long.

Natches is a pleasantly situated town, or rather a steep hill, about half a mile from the landing place, where are many stores and public houses. The boat remained here an hour, and we ascended to the upper town, a considerable place, with a town-house, and several good streets and well-furnished shops, in which we purchased some books. This place exports much cotton, and the planters are said to be rich. It commands a fine prospect over the river and surrounding country. It has been tried as a summer residence by some of the inhabitants of New Orleans, but the scourges of this part of America (fever and ague) extend their ravages for more than 1000 miles higher up. A partial elevation of ground, in an unhealthy district, has been proved to be more pernicious, than even the level itself. From hence, to the junction of the Ohio, there is little to interest the stranger, excepting the diversity of wood and water. The ground rises in some places, though with little variety, till you pass the junction of the Ohio, 1253 miles from the sea. Shortly after entering the Ohio, the country begins to improve; you perceive the ground beginning to rise in the distance, and the bank occasionally to rear into small hills, which show their strata of stone, and rise into bluffs, projecting into the bends of the river, shutting it in, so as to produce the effect of sailing on a succession of the finest lakes, through magnificent woods, which momentarily changed their form, from the rapid motion of our boat. It was now full moon, and these scenes viewed during the clear nights, were indescribably beautiful.-- _Bullock's Journey to New York_.

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IRISH TWINS.

The Miss Mac Taafs were both on the ground, and both standing enough in profile, to give Lord Arranmore a full and perfect view of their figure, without being seen by them. His first opinion was, that they were utterly unchanged; and that like the dried specimens of natural history, they had bidden defiance to time. Tall, stately, and erect, their weather-beaten countenance and strongly marked features were neither faded nor fallen in. The deep red hue of a frosty and vigorous senility still coloured their unwrinkled faces. Their hair, well powdered and pomatumed, was drawn up by the roots from their high foreheads, over their lofty "systems;" and their long, lank necks rose like towers above their projecting busts; which, with their straight, sticky, tight-laced waists, terminating in the artificial rotundity of a half-dress bell-hoop, gave them the proportions of an hour-glass. They wore grey camlet riding habits, with large black Birmingham buttons (to mark the slight mourning for their deceased brother-in-law): while petticoats, fastened as pins did or did not their office, shewed more of the quilted marseilles and stuff beneath, than the precision of the toilet required: both of which, from their contact with the water of the bog, merited the epithet of "Slappersallagh," bestowed on their wearers by Terence O'Brien. Their habit-shirts, chitterlings, and cravats, though trimmed with Trawlee lace, seemed by their colour to evince that yellow starch, put out of fashion by the ruff of the murderous Mrs. Turner in England, was still to be had in Ireland. Their large, broad silver watches, pendant from their girdle by massy steel chains, showed that their owners took as little account of time as time had taken of them. "Worn for show, not use," they were still without those hands, which it had been in the contemplation of the Miss Mac Taafs to have replaced by the first opportunity, for the last five years. High-crowned black-beaver hats, with two stiff, upright, black feathers, that seemed to bridle like their wearers, and a large buckle and band, completed the costume of these venerable specimens of human architecture: the _tout ensemble_ recalling to the nephew the very figures and dresses which had struck him with admiration and awe when first brought in from the Isles of Arran by his foster mother, to pay his duty to his aunts, and ask their blessing, eighteen years before. The Miss Mac Taafs, in their sixty-first year, (for they were twins,) might have sunk with safety ten or twelve years of their age. Their minds and persons were composed of that fibre which constitutes nature's veriest huckaback. Impressions fell lightly on both; and years and feelings alike left them unworn and uninjured.--_The O'Briens, and the O'Flahertys, by Lady Morgan_.

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AUTUMN.

BY JOHN CLARE.

Me it delights, in mellow Autumn tide, To mark the pleasaunce that mine eye surrounds: The forest-trees like coloured posies pied: The upland's mealy grey, and russet grounds; Seeking for joy, where joyaunce most abounds; Not found, I ween, in courts and halls of pride, Where folly feeds, or flattery's sighs and sounds, And with sick heart, but seemeth to be merry: True pleasaunce is with humble food supplied; Like shepherd swain, who plucks the brambleberry. With savoury appetite, from hedge-row briars, Then drops content on molehills' sunny side; Proving, thereby, low joys and small desires Are easiest fed, and soonest satisfied. _The Amulet._

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THE GATHERER.

"I am but a _Gatherer_ and disposer of other men's stuff,"--_Wotton_.

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HOLY WATER.

A friend of mine (says Mr. Lambert, in his Travels,) was once present at the house of a French lady in Canada, when a violent thunder storm commenced. The shutters were immediately closed, and the room darkened. The lady of the house, not willing to leave the safety of herself and company to chance, began to search her closets for the bottle of holy water, which, by a sudden flash of lightning, she fortunately found. The bottle was uncorked, and its contents immediately sprinkled over the ladies and gentlemen. It was a most dreadful storm, and lasted a considerable time; she therefore redoubled her sprinklings and benedictions at every clap of thunder or flash of lightning. At length the storm abated, and the party were providentially saved from its effects; which the good lady attributed solely to the precious water. But when the shutters were opened, and the light admitted, the company found, to the destruction of their white gowns and muslin handkerchiefs; their coats, waistcoats, and breeches, that instead of holy water, the pious lady had sprinkled them with _ink_. W.P.

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QUID PRO QUO.

Louis XVIII. asked the Duke of Wellington familiarly, how old he was; the latter replied, "Sire, I was born in the year 1768." "And so was Buonaparte," rejoined the king; "Providence owed us this compensation." C.F.E.

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NAUTICAL EPITAPHS.

In the west part of Fife, in the churchyard of the village of Torryburn, part of an epitaph remains, which deserves notice. A part was very absurdly erased by the owner of the burying ground, to make way for the names of some of his kindred. The whole epitaph formerly stood thus:

At anchor now, in Death's dark road, Rides honest Captain Hill, Who served his king, and feared his God, With upright heart and will: In social life, sincere and just, To vice of no kind given; So that his better part, we trust, Hath made the Port of Heaven.

Another, in the parish of Duffus (Morayshire), runs thus: