Part 2

The night was gathering in, and the report of each successive wave, fraught as it were with my death warrant, struck on my heart like a funeral knell. Was there no hope of escape in the cove itself? no difficult path to the rocks aloft? were the questions I rapidly put to myself. An examination made as well as the darkness of the place permitted, convinced me that my hopes were vain and transitory. I now gave way to a sort of momentary despair; every instant was abridging my chance of life, and the sudden and frightful feeling that you are to be called on unprepared, to die, rushed on my mind with a choking sensation. I listened for some time at the entrance of one of the caverns, which the violence of the sea had excavated in picturesque confusion round the foot of the cliffs, to the sullen moaning and dashing of the tide, when my attention was rivetted by the sweet music of a female voice on the heights above, singing in a wild and elevated strain. It came over me with a sense so deep and clear, that I listened for a few minutes as if my life were in every note. At this instant a fishing boat passed under sail near the mouth of the cove. I shouted with despair, but my voice was lost in the echo of the rocks; it passed fleeting by, and with it my last chance of life. The shout had aroused the strange singer; she arose, advanced to the very extremity of the precipice, where one quiver would have been certain death, and flinging her arms towards the ocean, called out as I imagined from her gestures, to some imagined form. What could this fair apparition mean? I distinctly saw her tall white figure and hair on the sky line (for the moon was near rising) fluttering in the wind. She must either be mad or a spirit, I exclaimed, shouting again and again to her for help; but either my words were lost in the distance, or she regarded them not, for she seated herself, and began to sing in the same wild style as before. This was most extraordinary: a momentary tinge of superstition passed across my mind, but it was speedily dissipated by the exclusive feelings of my situation. Slowly did I see the waves dashing forward to their destined goal, hemming in every chance of escape. I retreated step by step till I reached the shingles, as if greedy of the space which measured out to me my last race of life. My existence was in a span. Great God! I exclaimed, am I then to perish thus--"without a grave, unkennelled, uncoffined, and unknown"--my once sunny home--those faces dearer than heart's blood--the days of my childhood passed over my spirit--my mind was crowded with the images of by-gone days; half an hour more and this breathing form would be clay. Yet how dreadful a death! my poor dog howled and looked up in my face as a violent rush of tide burst against the base of the rocks. Already I imagined the sea around me, lessening my moments of life inch by inch--the tide bubbling about my throat as I clung to the rock for help: I fancied I could have borne any death rather than this lingering misery.

I rallied: my feelings were unmanly. The moon had risen in unclouded brilliancy, gleaming on the heaving and rippled surface of the dark blue main; I looked up to the tranquil firmament, and the reflection was bitter. Pealing along with the voice of the ocean, the wild and lofty strains from the singular figure aloft, like a gentle brook commingling its waters with a vast and rapid river--failed not during this time to keep up my excitement. The sea was now fast covering the shingles; one chance was yet before me, which the instant I reflected on, I hesitated not to put into execution. It could at worst be only exchanging one death for another, and death would have been a boon indeed, rather than the longer endurance of that deeply agonizing state of suspense. I can fancy my faithful dog, by his actions, had anticipated this resolution: his joyful bark as I sprung forward into the waves, still rings in my ear. He was a dog of prodigious size and strength: holding by his shaggy neck with one hand, I assisted myself in swimming along by him with the other, intending after clearing the mouth of the cove, to make for the opening in the rocks to landward. I felt invigorated with new life, though the chances against me were still precarious, on account of the distance, as we went through the plashing waves with the broad expanse of ocean again before me. The sea was now tolerably calm along shore, for the tide was far advanced, and I had hardly swam twenty yards from the mouth of the cove when a Landwithiel fishing-boat came in sight almost within hail. An involuntary prayer came to my lips; I sung out with all the energy which the hope of life could produce; she was alongside in a trice, and in a few minutes I was sailing for Landwithiel Pier, merrily, at the rate of eight knots an hour. I found on detailing my adventure, which greatly surprised the fine fellows who picked me up, that the cove was called Dawlish's Hole; and that the apparition of the white lady on the rocks was one of flesh and blood, not an airy vision.

"Poor Ellen Dawlish," said Sam Clovelly, my informant, "once the pride of the parish--poor thing! her day has long since gone by; she is always worse when the moon's full; but it's a long yarn, sir, and you'll learn all about her and the wild skipper, as we used to call him, (that's her husband) far better up at the "Ship-Aground" yonder, than I can tell you."

The only consequence that resulted from the adventure thus providentially terminated, was a wet jacket; but a brisk fire, a glass of grog, and a warm welcome in my host's capacious settle, helped to banish it from my recollection. My worthy friend, Sam Clovelly, was not mistaken; my interest, which was deeply awakened, received a strong whet from the narrative which Mr. Sheepshanks related, and though wearied with the day's adventure, I did not go to rest till I had heard the conclusion of his somewhat prolix story. I afterwards happened to know more, indeed, of the circumstances alluded to; and though the day's incident was of a frightful nature, yet I look back upon it as the means of introducing me to the knowledge of events connected with the history of the last surviving member of an ancient family, to me of deep interest. I pause: the reader may hear more of the FATE OF WALTER DAWLISH.

VYVYAN.

[3] Printed by mistake Tor-withiel, in No. II. of these Recollections: see _Mirror_, vol. xv. p. 356.

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OLD POETS.

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MELANCHOLY.

Melancholy from the spleen begun, By passion mov'd into the veins doth run; Which when this humour as a swelling flood, By vigour is infused in the blood, The vital spirits doth mightily appal, And weakeneth so the parts organical, And when the senses are disturb'd and tir'd With what the heart incessantly desir'd, Like travellers with labour long oppress'd Finding relief, eftsoons thy fall to rest.

DRAYTON.

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LOVE.

Sweet are the kisses, the embracements sweet, When like desires and affections meet; For from the earth to heaven is Cupid raised Where fancies are in equal balance peised.

MARLOWE.

O learn to love, the lesson is but plain, And once made perfect, never lost again.

SHAKSPEARE.

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BEAUTY.

Such colour had her face as when the sun Shines in a watery cloud in pleasant spring; And even as when the summer is begun The nightingales in boughs do sit and sing, So the blind god, whose force can no man shun Sits in her eyes, and thence his darts doth fling; Bathing his wings in her bright crystal streams, And sunning them in her rare beauties beams. In these he heads his golden-headed dart, In those he cooleth it, and tempereth so, He levels thence at good Oberto's heart, And to the head he draws it in his bow.

SIR J. HARRINGTON.

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SLANDER.

Against bad tongues goodness cannot defend her, Those be most free from faults they least will spare, But prate of them whom they have scantly known, Judging their humors to be like their own.

IBID.

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POSTERITY.

Daughter of Time, sincere Posterity Always new born, yet no man knows thy birth, The arbitress of pure Sincerity, Yet, changeable, (like Proteus on the earth) Sometime in plenty, sometime joined with dearth. Always to come, yet always present here, Whom all run after, none come after near.

Impartial judge of all save present state Truth's _Idioma_ of the things are past, But still pursuing present things with hate, And more injurious at the first than last, Preserving others while thine own do waste; True treasurer of all antiquity, Whom all desire, yet never one could see.

FITZ JEFFREY.

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WAR.

The poets old in their fond fables feign, That mighty Mars is god of war and strife, The Astronomers think that whereas Mars doth reign, That all debate and discord must be rife; Some think Bellona goddess of that life. Among the rest that painter had some skill, Which thus in arms did once set out the same:-- A field of gules, and on a golden hill, A stately town consumed all with flame On chief of sable taken from the dame, A sucking babe, oh! born to bide mischance Begored with blood and pierced with a lance On high the Helm, I bear it well in mind, The wreath was silver, powdered all with shot, About the which, _goutte du sang_, did twine A roll of sable black, and foul be blot The crest two hands which may not be forgot, For in the right a trenchant blade did stand, And in the left a fiery, burning brand.

GASCOIGNE.

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MANNERS & CUSTOMS OF ALL NATIONS.

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CUSTOM OF BULL-BAITING AT GREAT GRIMSBY.

The amusement of bull-baiting is of such high antiquity in this country, that Fitz-Stephen, who lived in the reign of Henry II., tells us it was, at that early period, the common entertainment of the young Londoners during the winter season; and Claudian says of the English mastiffs--

"Magnaque taurorum fracturi colla Britanni."

The county of Lincoln is eulogized by Fuller as producing superior dogs for the sport; and in Grimsby bull-baiting was pursued with such avidity, that, to increase its importance, and prevent the possibility of its falling into disuse, it was made the subject of an official regulation of the magistracy. It had been practised within the borough from time immemorial, but about the beginning of the reign of Henry VII., the butchers finding it both troublesome and inconvenient to provide animals for the public amusement, endeavoured to evade the requisition; but it was made imperative upon them by the following edict of the mayor and burgesses, which was incorporated into a code of ordinances that were made and agreed to on the 23rd of October, 1499, for the better government of the borough:

"Also, that no Bocher flee or kill no Bull flesche wtin this Burgh, nor that none be brought to sell bot if the Bull be bayted openlye before the Mair and his burgesses, peon of forfeitr. of ev'y default vj _s_. viij _d_. Also that the Bochers of this Francheis, and al others that kepe slaughter shopes and kill flesche in this Francheis, to sell, mak onys yerly befor the Mair and his burgesses one bull-bayting, at convenient Tyme of the yere, according to the custom of this Francheis befor usyd, upon peyn of fortur of vj _s_. viij _d_."

In the reign of Charles I. an instance occurs of the violation of this ordinance; and it is formally recorded in the mayor's court book, that a fine was imposed by the chamberlains on Robert Camm for "killing a bull, and not first baiting him, according to the custom of the corporation."

These sports were conducted with great cruelty. To make the animal furious, gunpowder was frequently flashed up his nose, and pepper blown into his nostrils; and if this failed _to make him show game_, his flesh was lacerated, and aquafortis poured into the wound. About sixty years ago a bull was put to the stake at Grimsby; but the animal proving too tame, one William Hall put a spike or brad into his stick, and goaded the poor creature until the blood flowed copiously from several parts of his body; and at length, by continually irritating the lacerated parts, the bull became enraged, and roaring in the extremity of his torture, succeeded in tossing his assailant, to the infinite gratification of his cruel persecutors. It is recorded, to the credit of Mr. Alderman Hesleden, that during his mayoralty, in 1779, the annual exhibition was disallowed: from which time the custom declined, although some instances of this inhuman pastime have subsequently occurred.

Strutt says, that in some of the market towns of England, the _bull-rings_ to which the unfortunate animals were fastened are remaining to the present time. At Grimsby, the arena where this brutal ceremony was performed, is still distinguished by the name of the "Bull-ring." The ancient stone and ring were removed about thirty years since; but the chain is still in possession of the chamberlains, who pass it annually to their successors; and it is sometimes applied to the purpose of fastening up a gate, when a distress is made on a field belonging to the corporation for rent; but its primitive use is wholly superseded by the abolition of the amusement.

_Gentleman's Magazine._

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NOTES OF A READER.

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KNOWLEDGE FOR THE PEOPLE: OR, THE PLAIN WHY AND BECAUSE.

Part IV.--_Zoology--Birds._

This portion illustrates the Economy of Birds, with a few of the most attractive varieties, under European and British, and Foreign Birds. We quote from the "General Economy;" premising that the present Part contains about 250 such illustrations, or _Why and Because_.

Why are birds usually classed according to the forms of their bills and feet? Because those parts are connected with their mode of life, food, etc., and influence their total habit very materially. _Blumenbach._

Why have birds little power of suction?

Because of the narrowness and rigidity of their tongue; as may be seen when they drink, having to hold up their heads, and depend upon the weight of the water for transmitting it into the craw.--_Rennie._

Why are birds said to be "poised" in the air?

Because the centre of gravity of their bodies is always below the insertion of their wings, to prevent them falling on their backs, but near that point on which the body is, during flight, as it were, suspended. The positions assumed by the head and feet are frequently calculated to accomplish these ends, and give to the wings every assistance in continuing the progressive motion. The tail also is of great use, in regulating the rise and fall of birds, and even their lateral movements.--_Fleming._

Why do birds fly?

Because they have the largest bones of all animals, in proportion to their weight; and their bones are more hollow than those of animals that do not fly. Air-vessels also enable them to blow out the hollow parts of their bodies, when they wish to make their descent slower, rise more swiftly, or float in the air. The muscles that move the wings of birds downwards, in many instances, are a sixth part of the weight of the whole body; whereas, those of a man are not in proportion one-hundredth part so large.

Why are birds covered with feathers?

Because, by this addition to the non-conducting appendices of the skin, birds are enabled to preserve the heat, generated in their bodies, from being readily transmitted to the surrounding air, and carried off by its motions and diminished temperature.--_Fleming._

Why are the strongest feathers of birds in the pinions and tail?

Because the pinion-feathers may form, when the wing is expanded, as it were, broad fans, by which the bird is enabled to raise itself in the air and fly; whilst its tail feathers direct its course.--_Blumenbach._

Why do birds moult?

Because they may be prepared for winter; this change being analogous to the casting of hair in quadrupeds. During summer, the feathers of birds are exposed to many accidents. Not a few spontaneously fall; some of them are torn off during their amorous quarrels; others are broken or damaged; whilst, in many species, they are pulled from their bodies to line their nests. Hence, their summer dress becomes thin and suitable. Previous to winter, however, and immediately after incubation and rearing of the young is finished, the old feathers are pushed off in succession by the new ones, and thus the greater part of the plumage of the bird is renewed.--_Fleming._

Why do birds sing?

Because of the receptacles of air already mentioned but particularly by the disposition of the larynx, which in birds is not, as in mammifera and amphibia, placed wholly at the upper end of the windpipe; but, as it were, separated into two parts, one placed at each extremity. Parrots, ravens, starlings, bullfinches, &c., have been taught to imitate the human voice, and to speak some words: singing birds also, in captivity, readily adopt the song of others, learn tunes, and can even be made to sing in company, so that it has been possible actually to give a little concert by several bullfinches. In general, however, the song of birds in the wild state appears to be formed by practice and imitation.--_Blumenbach._

Why do the notes of different species of birds vary?

Because, probably, of the structure of the organs of each species enabling them more easily to produce the notes of their own species, than those of any other, and from the notes of their own species being more agreeable to their ears. These conditions, joined to the facility of hearing the song of their own species, in consequence of frequenting the same places, determine the character of the acquired language of the feathered tribes.--_Fleming._

Why are birds equally dispersed in spring over the face of the country?

Because, during that amorous season, such a jealousy prevails between the male birds, that they can hardly bear to be seen together in the same hedge or field. Most of the singing and elation of spirits, of that time, seem to be the effect of rivalry and emulation.--_G. White._

Why is August the most mute month, the Spring, Summer, and Autumn through?

Because many birds which become silent about Midsummer, reassume their notes in September; as the thrush, blackbird, woodlark, willow-wren, &c.--_G. White._

Why do birds congregate in hard weather?

Because, as some kind of self-interest and self-defence is, no doubt, their motive, may it not arise from the helplessness of their state in such rigorous seasons; as men crowd together, when under great calamities, they know not why? Perhaps approximation may dispel some degree of cold; and a crowd may make each individual appear safer from the ravages of birds of prey and other damages.--_G. White._

Why do we so often fail in rearing young birds?

Because of our ignorance of their requisite food. Every one who has made the attempt, well knows the various expedients he has resorted to, of boiled meats, bruised seeds, hard eggs, boiled rice, and twenty other substances that Nature never presents, in order to find a diet that will nourish them; but Mr. Montagu's failure, in being able to raise the young of the curl-bunting, until he discovered that they required grasshoppers, is a sufficient instance of the manifest necessity there is for a peculiar food in one period of the life of birds.--_Knapp._

Why have most noctural birds large eyes and ears?

Because large eyes are necessary to collect every ray of light, and large concave ears to command the smallest degree of sound or noise.

Why do stale eggs float upon water?

Because, by keeping, air is substituted for a portion of the water of the egg, which escapes.--_Prout._

Why has the breast-bone of all birds which fly, a long ridge or keel?

Because muscles are attached to it, to facilitate their flight.

Why is the plumage of aquatic birds kept dry?

Because the small feathers next the bird fall over each other like the tiles of a roof, and thus throw off the water.

* * * * *

FESTIVALS, GAMES, AND AMUSEMENTS.

BY HORATIO SMITH, ESQ.

(_National Library_--Vol. v.)

The readers of _The Mirror_ will doubtless expect in its pages some notice of the present work; although it belongs to a Series, which as yet possesses but few attractions for our attention. The title of the volume before us, and the name of its author, however, led us to expect better things; and sorry are we to have little but disappointment to report to the reader.

Mr. Smith sets out by telling us, in his _Preface_, that he has only been able to produce a _mediocre_ book, and at once shows that his task has been by no means a grateful one. He talks of compilation and selection as if they were the very drudgery of literature, although in the present instance he has executed both so indifferently. He speaks of _condensing_ into "one little volume," whereas the plan adopted by him has but little of the labour of condensation, his book being little but slice upon slice, like preserved fruit, instead of being thoroughly mixed and reduced like jelly. With Strutt's Sports and Pastimes, and Ellis's Edition of Brand's Popular Antiquities before him, he might have produced a volume of exhaustless interest and value, set with hundreds of foot-note references, which he has made but few and far between. Nay, with the example of Brand before him (for we see that he is occasionally quoted), it is difficult to conceive how Mr. Smith could overlook so important a point as the distinct acknowledgment of his authorities.

A slight analysis of Mr. Smith's volume will show the reader that our animadversions are not uncalled for.--Thus, upwards of one hundred pages are devoted to the Festival Games and Amusements of the Jews, Greeks, and Romans, meanly as Mr. Smith talks of "learned lore and antiquarian pedantry." Then follow twenty-two pages on, not of, Modern Festivals, &c.: from thence we quote two pages on the amusements of Londoners:--