Chapter 1

Produced by Jonathan Ingram and Project Gutenberg Distributed Proofreaders

THE MIRROR OF LITERATURE, AMUSEMENT, AND INSTRUCTION.

VOL. 10, No. 267.] SATURDAY, AUGUST 4, 1827. [PRICE 2d.

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HADLEY CHURCH.

Hadley, Mankin, or Monkton, Hadley, was formerly a hamlet to Edmonton. It lies north-west of Enfield, and comprises 580 acres, including 240 allotted in lieu of the common enclosure of Enfield Chase. Its name is compounded of two Saxon words--Head-leagh, or a high place; Mankin is probably derived from the connexion of the place with the abbey of Walden, to which it was given by Geoffrey de Mandeville, earl of Essex, under the name of the Hermitage of Hadley. The village is situated on the east side of the great north road, eleven miles from London.

The manor belonged to the Mandevilles, the founder of the Hermitage, and was given by Geoffrey to the monks of Walden; in the ensuing two centuries the manorial property underwent various transmissions, and was purchased by the Pinney family, in the year 1791, by the present proprietor, Peter Moore, Esq.

The house of the late David Garrow, father to the present judge of that name in the court of exchequer, is supposed to have been connected with a monastic establishment. Chimney-pieces remain in _alto-relievo_: on one is sculptured the story of Sampson; the other represents many passages in the life of our Saviour, from his birth in the stall to his death on the cross.

The parish church, of which our engraving gives a correct view, is a handsome structure, built at different periods. The chancel bears marks of great antiquity, but the body has been built with bricks. At the west end is a square tower, composed of flint, with quoins of freestone; on one side is the date Anno Domini 1393, cut in stone--one side of the stone bearing date in the sculptured device of a wing; the other that of a rose. The figures denote the year 1494; the last, like the second numerical, being the _half eight_, often used in ancient inscriptions. The unique vestige of the middle ages, namely, a firepan, or pitchpot, on the south-west tower of the church, was blown down in January, 1779 and carefully repaired, though now not required for the purpose of giving an alarm at the approach of a foe, by lighting pitch within it. The church has been supposed to have been erected by Edward IV. as a chapel for religious service, to the memory of those who fell in the battle of Barnet in 1471.

On the window of the north transcept are some remains of painted glass, among which may be noticed the rebus of the Gooders, a family of considerable consequence at Hadley in the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries. This consists of a partridge with an ear of wheat in its bill; on an annexed scroll is the word Gooder; on the capital of one of the pillars are two partridges with ears of corn in the mouth, an evident repetition of the same punning device, and it is probable the Gooder's were considerable benefactors towards building the church.

The almshouses for six decayed housekeepers were founded by Sir Roger Willbraham in 1616, but so slenderly endowed that they do not produce more than 9l.6s. annually. Major Delafonte, in 1762, increased the annuity, which expired in 1805; but Mr. Cottrell gained by subscription 2375l. in trust. The father of the late Mr. Whitbread, the statesman, subscribed the sum of 1000l. for the support of the almshouses. The charity-school for girls was established in 1773, and was enlarged and converted into a school of industry in 1800. Twenty girls in the establishment receive annually the sum of 1l. towards clothing; thirty girls besides the above are admitted to the benefit of education, on paying the weekly sum of 2d. and succeed to the vacancies which occur in the class more largely assisted. This charity is in like manner supported by contributions on the inhabitants. The boys' school, supported in the same way, which in 1804 amounted to the sum of 103l. 10s., has about seventy day-scholars; twenty are allowed 1l. towards clothing, and instructed without any charge; the remainder pay 2d. weekly.

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THE SKETCH BOOK.

NO. XLIII.

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THE BUTCHER.

Wolsey, they tell us, was a butcher. An alliterative couplet too was made upon him to that import:--

"By butchers born, by bishops bred, How high his honour holds his haughty head."

Notwithstanding which, however, and other similar allusions, there have arisen many disputes touching the veracity of the assertion; yet, doubtless, those who first promulgated the idea, were keen observers of men and manners; and, probably, in the critical examination of the Cardinal's character, discovered a particular trait which indubitably satisfied them of his origin.

Be this as it may, I am inclined to think there is certainly something peculiarly characteristic in the butcher.

The pursuit of his calling appears to have an influence upon his manners, speech, and dress. Of all the days in the week, Saturday is the choicest for seeing him to the best advantage. His hatless head, shining with grease, his cheeks as ruddy as his mutton-chops, his sky-blue frock and dark-blue apron, his dangling steel and sharp-set knife, which ever and anon play an accompaniment to his quick, short--"Buy! buy!" are all in good keeping with the surrounding objects. And although this be not _killing_ day with him, he is particularly winning and gracious with the serving-maids; who (whirling the large street-door key about their right thumb, and swinging their marketing basket in their left hand) view the well-displayed joints, undecided which to select, until Mr. Butcher recommends a leg or a loin; and then he so very politely cuts off the fat, in which his skilful hand is guided by the high or low price of mutton fat in the market. He is the very antipode of a fop, yet no man knows how to show a handsome _leg_ off to better advantage, or is prouder of his _calves_.

In his noviciate, when he shoulders the shallow tray, and whistles cavalierly on his way in his sausage-meat-complexioned-jacket, there is something marked as well in his character as his _habits_, he is never _moved_ to stay, except by a brother butcher, or a fight of dogs or boys, for such scenes fit his singular fancy. Then, in the discussion of his bull-dog's beauties, he becomes extraordinarily eloquent. Hatiz, the Persian, could not more warmly, or with choicer figure, describe his mistress' charms, than he does Lion's, or Fowler's, or whatever the brute's Christian name may be; and yet the surly, cynical, _dogged_ expression of the bepraised beast, would almost make one imagine he understood the meaning of his master's words, and that his honest nature despised the flattering encomiums he passes upon his pink belly and legs, his broad chest, his ring-tail, and his tulip ears!--_Absurdities, in Prose and Verse._

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CONFIDENCE AND CREDIT.

(_For the Mirror._)

The day was dark, the markets dull, The Change was thin, Gazettes were full, And half the town was breaking; The _counter-sign_ of Cash was "_Stop_!" Bankers and bankrupts shut up shop, And honest hearts were aching.

When near the Bench my fancy spied A faded form, with hasty stride, Beneath Grief's burden stooping: Her name was CREDIT, and she said Her father, TRADE, was lately dead, Her mother, COMMERCE, drooping.

The smile that she was wont to wear Was wither'd by the hand of care, Her eyes had lost their lustre: Her character was gone, she said, For she had basely been betray'd, And nobody would trust her.

For honest INDUSTRY had tried To gain fair CREDIT for his bride, And found the damsel willing, But, ah! a _fortune-hunter_ came, And SPECULATION was his name, A rake not worth a shilling.

The villain came, on mischief bent, And soon gain'd dad and mam's consent-- Ah! then poor CREDIT smarted;-- He filch'd her fortune and her fame, He fix'd a blot upon her name, And left her broken-hearted.

While thus poor CREDIT seem'd to sigh, Her cousin, CONFIDENCE, came by-- (Methinks he must be clever)-- For, when he whisper'd in her ear, She check'd the sigh, she dried the tear. And smiled as sweet as ever!

JESSE HAMMOND.

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CURIOUS SCRAPS RELATING TO CELEBRATED PERSONS.

(_For the Mirror._)

When the famous Cornelia, daughter of the great Scipio, was importuned by a lady of her acquaintance to show her toilette, she deferred satisfying her curiosity till her children, who were the famous Gracchi, came from school, and then said, "_En! haec ornamenta mea sunt._"--"These are my ornaments."

Cyneas, the minister of Pyrrhus, asked the king (before their expedition into Italy) what he proposed to do when he had subdued the Romans? He answered, "Pass into Sicily." "What then?" said the minister. "Conquer the Carthaginians," replied the king. "And what follows that?" says the minister. "Be sovereign of Greece, and then enjoy ourselves," said the king. "And why," replied the sensible minister, "can we not do this _last_ now?"

The emperors Nerva, Trajan, Antoninous, and Aurelius sold their palaces, their gold and silver plate, their valuable furniture, and other superfluities, heaped up by their predecessors, and banished from their tables all expensive delicacies. These princes, together with Vespasian, Pertinax, Alexander, Severus, Claudius the Second, and Tacitus, who were raised to the empire by their merit, and whom all ages have admired as the greatest and the best of princes, were always fond of the greatest plainness in their apparel, furniture, and outward appearance.

Cortez, the conqueror of Mexico, who lived unknown and disgraced in Spain, was scarcely able to obtain an audience of his master Charles V.; and when the king asked who was the fellow that was so clamorous to speak to him, he cried out, "I am one who have got your majesty more provinces than your father left towns."

Camoens, the famous Portuguese poet, was unfortunately shipwrecked at the mouth of the river Meco, on the coast of Camboja, and lost his whole property; however, he saved his life and his poems, which he bore through the waves in one hand, whilst he swam ashore with the other. It is said, that his black servant, a native of Java, who had been his companion for many years, begged in the Streets of Lisbon for the support of his master, who died in 1579. His death, it is supposed, was accelerated by the anguish with which he foresaw the ruin impending over his country. In one of his letters he uses these remarkable expressions: "I am ending the course of my life; the world will witness how I have loved my country. I have returned not only to die in her bosom, but to die with her."

Henrietta, daughter of Henry IV. of France, and wife of Charles I. of England, was reduced to the utmost poverty; and her daughter, afterwards married to a brother of Louis XIV., is said to have lain in bed for want of coals to keep her warm. Pennant relates a melancholy fact of fallen majesty in the person of Mary d'Este, the unhappy queen of James II., who, flying with her infant prince from the ruin impending over their house, after crossing the Thames from abdicated Whitehall, took shelter beneath the ancient walls of Lambeth church a whole hour, from the rain of the inclement night of December 6th, 1688. Here she waited with aggravated misery till a common coach, procured from the next inn, arrived, and conveyed her to Gravesend, from whence she sailed, and bid adieu to this kingdom.

Pascal, one of the greatest geniuses and best men that ever lived, entertained a notion that God made men miserable here in order to their being happy hereafter; and in consequence of this notion, he imposed upon himself the most painful mortification. He even ordered a wall to be built before a window in his study, which afforded him too agreeable a prospect. He had also a girdle full of sharp points next his skin; and while he was eating or drinking any thing that was grateful to his palate, he was constantly pricking himself, that he might not be sensible of any pleasure. The virtuous Fenelon submitted without reserve to the arbitrary sentence of the pope, when he condemned a book which he had published, and even preached in condemnation of his own book, forbidding his friends to defend it. "What gross and humiliating superstitions (says their biographer) have been manifested by men, in other respects of sound and clear understandings, and of upright, honest hearts."

In the churchyard of St. Ann's, Soho, says Pennant, is a marble, erected near the grave of that remarkable personage, Theodore Antony Newhoff, king of Corsica, who died in this parish in 1756, immediately after leaving the king's-bench prison, by the benefit of the act of insolvency. The marble was erected, and the epitaph written, by the honourable Horace Walpole:--

"The grave, great teacher, to a level brings Heroes and beggars, galley-slaves and kings; But Theodore this moral learn'd ere dead-- Fate pour'd its lesson on his living head, Bestow'd a kingdom, and denied him bread."

He registered his kingdom of Corsica for the use of his creditors. His biographer says, "He was a man whose claim to royalty was as indisputable as the most ancient titles to any monarchy can pretend to be; that is, the choice of his subjects, the voluntary election of an injured people, who had the common right of mankind to freedom, and the uncommon resolution of determining to be free."

P.T.W.

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"THE LILY BELLS ARE WET WITH DEW."

(_To the Editor of the Mirror._)

Sir,--I have taken the liberty of transmitting to you a piece of a Latin ode, which appears to me to be the original of the song--"The lily bells are wet with dew," in Miss Mitford's "Dramatic Scenes," which appeared in your miscellany of June 23, 1827.

It is copied from an old book published in the year 1697, by Charles Elford, entitled "Gemmae Poetarum."

If you think it worthy insertion, I should feel obliged by its appearance. Yours respectfully,

J.T.S.

Lilia rorescuut, jubara osculo blande rosarum Florem tangunt--o, dives odore, O, splendens tinctu floretum--est ... Surge Feronia, et sertum texe Caesariem nunc implectare tuum coracinum Ne aestu medio sol flores abripiat. In coelo tenuis nubes est, lenta susurra Cum aura veniunt--aut imbrem vaticinans Aut nivem: orire, Feronia, crinem stringere caute Sertum age, ne veniat tempestas minitans.

I have translated it thus, which you may perceive is strictly literal:--

The lilies are wet with the dew--the sunbeams with a kiss gently touch the flower of the roses.--O the garden is rich of scent--is bright of hue.--Arise Feronia and weave the garland even now to braid thy ravenlike hair, lest at mid-day the sun should spoil the flowers.--In the sky there is a little cloud, gentle whisperings come with the gale--they tell of rain or snow.--Arise Feronia and carefully weave the garland to bind up thy hair, lest the threatening storm should come.

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ASTRONOMICAL OCCURRENCES FOR AUGUST, 1827.

(_For the Mirror._)

It has been computed, that all the celestial orbs perceived by the unassisted eye (which on a clear night never exceed 1,000,) do not form the 80,000 part of those which may be descried by the help of a telescope, through which they appear prodigiously increased in number; seventy stars have been counted in the constellation of the _pleiades_, and no fewer than 2,000 in that of _Orion_.

The _galaxy_, or _via lactea_, (milky way,) is a remarkable appearance in the heavens, being a broad ray of whitish colour surrounding the whole celestial concave, whose light proceeds from vast clusters of stars, discoverable only by the telescope. Mr. Brydone, in his journey to the top of Mount Etna, found the phenomenon make a most glorious appearance, "like a pure flame that shot across the heavens."

Dr. Herschel made many observations on this portion of the heavens, using a Newtonian reflector of twenty feet focal length, and an aperture of eighteen inches. With this powerful telescope he completely resolved the whitish appearance into stars, which the telescopes he had formerly used had not light enough to do. In the most vacant place to be met with in that neighbourhood, he found sixty-three stars; other six fields, or apparent spaces in the heavens, which he could see at once through his telescope, averaged seventy-nine stars in each field: thus he found that by allowing 15 min. of a deg. for the diameter of his field of view, a belt of 15 deg. long, and 2 deg. broad, which he had often seen pass before his telescope in an hour's time could not contain less than 50,000 stars, large enough to be distinctly numbered, besides which he suspected twice as many more, which could be seen only now and then by faint glimpses, for want of sufficient light. In the most crowded part of that region he informs us, he has had fields of view which contained no less than 588 stars, and these were continued for many minutes, so that in one quarter of an hour's time there passed no less than 116,000 stars. He also intimates the probability of the sun being placed in this great stratum, though perhaps not in the very centre of its thickness.

From the appearance of the galaxy it seems to encompass the whole heavens, as it certainly must if the sun be within the same. From succeeding observations made by Dr. Herschel, he gathers that the milky way is a most extensive stratum of stars of various sizes, and our sun evidently one of the heavenly bodies belonging to it. In viewing and gauging this shining zone in almost every direction, he found the number of stars composing it, by the account of those gauges constantly increase and decrease in proportion to its apparent brightness to the naked eye.

The _nebulae_, or small whitish specks, discoverable by telescopes in various parts of the heavens are owing to the same cause. Former astronomers could only reckon 103, but Herschel counts upwards of 1,250. He has also discovered a species of them, which he calls planetary nebulae, on account of their brightness, and shining with a well defined disk.

The sun enters _Virgo_ on the 23rd at 11h. 42m. evening.

Mercury comes to his inferior conjunction on the 13th at 1-1/4h. morning, becomes stationary on the 22nd, and is at his greatest elongation on the 31st, when he passes his ascending node; he may be seen early on that morning rising at 3-1/2h.

Venus is in conjunction with Mars on the 21st at 3h. afternoon; she rises on the 1st at 2h. 38m., and on the 31st at 4h. 10m. morning.

Jupiter still continues a conspicuous object in the western part of the heavens, setting on the 1st at 9h. 43m., and on the 31st at 8h. None of the eclipses of his satellites are visible during the month in consequence of his being so near the sun.

Herschel comes to the south on the 1st at 11h. 6m., and on the 31st at 9h. 43m. evening.

_Spica virginis_ (the virgin's spike), in the constellation Virgo culminates on the 1st at 4h. 32m. afternoon, being situated 10 deg. 13m. south of the equator, at a meridional elevation of 28 deg. 26m. _Arcturus_ in Bootes south at 5h. 23m. with 20 deg. north delineation, and at an altitude of 58 deg. 46m. _Antares_ in the heart of Scorpio at 7h. 34m., declination 26 deg. south, elevation 12 deg. 38m. _Altair_ in the Eagle at 10h. 57m., declination 8 deg. 24m. north, altitude 47 deg. 3m. _Fomalhaut_ in the most southern fish of the constellation Pisces at 2h. 6m. morning, having a southern declination of 30 deg. 34m., being elevated only 8 deg. 5m. above the horizon. The above stars come to the meridian 4 min. earlier every evening; they are all of the first magnitude (with the exception of _Altair_, which is of the second,) and may be easily distinguished any hour of the day with a magnifying power of thirty times; stars of the second magnitude require a power of 100, but when the sun is not more than two hours above the horizon, they may be seen with a power of sixty.

PASCHE.

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THE NOVELIST.

NO. CVI.

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ROSALIE BERTON.

(_Concluded from page 74._ [Note: Mirror 266])

Things were in this state when I visited S----, and the union of Henri and Rosalie, though not positively fixed, was regarded as an event by no means distant. Every one was interested for the young and handsome couple, and wished for their espousal. Rosalie's friends longed for the day when she was to wed the young and handsome Henri; and Henri's comrades were perpetually urging him to cement his union with the lovely Rosalie.

We left the place with every kind wish for the young and betrothed pair. I have not since revisited S----, but by letters from my friend, I have been informed, that this commencement of their loves had a sad and melancholy sequel.

After our departure, it seems, the lovers continued equally attached; arrangements were making for their union, and it was intended that Henri should leave the army previous to their marriage. But just at this juncture, and as he was about to leave his corps, rumours of war were circulated, the enterprise against Spain was projected, and the royal guard was one of the first corps ordered for service. Henri, with the natural enthusiasm of a soldier, felt all his former ardour revive; and longed to mingle in the ranks of glory, ere he left them for ever. He, doubtless, felt severely the separation from Rosalie; yet his feelings were described to me as being of a joyous character, and as if evincing that he felt happy that the opportunity of joining his brethren in arms, and of signalizing himself perhaps for the last time, had presented itself, previous to his marriage and his quitting the service.

The enterprise against Spain, he considered as the French army commonly did, to be a mere excursion of pleasure, which, while it led them into a country which many of them had never visited before, would also afford them the occasion of gathering laurels which might serve to redeem somewhat of their lost glory. He therefore looked forward to the expedition, on the whole, with feelings of ardour and delight, and even longed for its approach. Not so Rosalie! She looked on war and bloodshed with the natural apprehensions of her sex; and saw in the projected expedition, and its prospects of glory, only danger and death to her lover! Her spirits received a severe shock when the intelligence was first communicated--she gradually lost her cheerfulness and spirits; the song, the dance, had no longer charm or interest for her, and she could only contemplate the approaching separation with sorrow and dismay!

Henri perceived her depression, and endeavoured to combat and remove her fears by arguments fond, but unavailing. It was only, he would urge, a jaunt of pleasure; it would admit his speedy return, when he would come to lay his services at her feet, and claim the hand which was already promised to his hopes; and surely, then, Rosalie could not regret his obeying the call of duty and of honour; or like her lover the worse, when crowned with victory in the cause of his country. To these and similar assurances, Rosalie could only reply with the mute eloquence of tears; and nothing could divest her of the apprehension with which she ever regarded an enterprise which she seemed to consider from the first as fatal.