The Mirror of Literature, Amusement, and Instruction. Volume 10, No. 279, October 20, 1827

In melody that sweet-ton'd voice
Implores our charity.

The birds of passage take their flight
To other lands—of warmth and light—
Where orient breezes blow.
While here the little red-breast stays,
And sweetly warbles out his lays,
Amidst the chilling snow.

When the keen North congeals the stream
That sparkled in the summer-beam—
Chink—chink—the Robin comes.
His near approach proclaims a dearth
Of food upon the ice-bound earth;—
He whistles for our crumbs.

But, like the child of want, he hails
Too oft where avarice prevails—
Devoid of charity;—
Where hearts 'neath rich-clad bosoms glow,
Yet never feel the inspiring throe
Of tender sympathy.

Tho' pleas'd with wildly-warbled song,
The minstrel's life will they prolong
With food and shelter warm?
No,—see, to shun the cruel snare,
Again he wings the frozen air,
And dies amidst the storm.

How sweeter far it were to see
The bird familiar, fond, and free,
With confidence intrude;—
To see him to the table come,
And hear him sing o'er ev'ry crumb
A song of gratitude.

    C. COLE.

BUYING AND SELLING THE DEVIL

(For the Mirror.[3 - Notwithstanding our correspondent's equivocal title to this article, we beg to assure our readers, who may suspect us of diablerie, that we are not a party to the purchase or sale. Could an ejectment in this case be effected by common law?])

"Every thing may be had for money," is an old remark, and perhaps no less true.

There have been also proverbial sayings of buying and selling the devil; but that such a traffic was actually ever negociated will appear incredible. Blount's "Law Dictionary," under Conventio, gives an instance of a sale; it is extracted from the court rolls of the manor of Hatfield, near the isle of Axholme, county of York, where a curious gentleman searched for it and found it regularly entered. There then followeth an English translation for the benefit of those who do not understand the original language.

"Curia tenta apud Hatfield die Mercurii Prov post Festum. Anno II Edw. III."

Robert de Roderham appeared against John de Ithon, for that he had not kept the agreement made between them, and therefore complains, that on a certain day and year, at Thorne, there was an agreement between the aforesaid Robert and John, whereby the said John sold to the said Robert the devil, bound in a certain bond, for threepence farthing; and thereupon the said Robert delivered to the said John one farthing as earnest-money, by which the property of the said devil rested in the person of the said Robert, to have livery of the said devil on the fourth day next following, at which day the said Robert came to the aforementioned John, and asked livery of the said devil, according to the agreement between them made. But the said John refused to deliver the said devil, nor has he yet done it, &c. to the grievous damage of the said Robert to the amount of sixty shillings; and he has therefore brought his suit, &c.

The said John came, &c., and did not deny the said agreement; and because it appeared to the court that such a suit ought not to subsist among Christians, the aforesaid parties are therefore adjourned to the infernal regions, there to hear their judgment; and both parties were amerced, &c.—by William de Scargell Snesclal.

The above is an exact translation of the original Latin; and if this is inserted in your entertaining work, I will make inquiries respecting the proceedings.

    W.H.H.

PREVENTION OF EFFLUVIUM

(To the Editor of the Mirror.)

Sir,—The choruret of lime is recommended for preventing bad smells from water-closets, &c. Can any of your correspondents oblige me and the public by communicating the least expensive method of preparing it ready for use, and also to state the proper quantity to be used?

    C.C.C.C.

NANCY LEWIS,

(A CASTLE BAYNARD LYRIC.)

(For the Mirror.)

My peace is fled—I cannot rest,—
The tale I tell most true is;
My heart's been stolen from my breast,
By lovely Nancy Lewis.

Fair is the blossom of the thorn,
And bright the morning dew is;
But sweeter than the dewy morn
The smiles of Nancy Lewis.

The eye that's sparkling black I love,
Ay, more than that which blue is;
And thine are like two stars above,
And sloe black—Nancy Lewis.

Alas! alas! their power I feel;
My bosom pierced right through is:
In pity, then, my bosom heal,
My charming Nancy Lewis.

Oh! bless me with thy heaven of charms,
And take a heart that true is,
While circling life my bosom warms
In thine dear Nancy Lewis.

    F. G–N.

THE NOVELIST No. CXII