The Mirror of Literature, Amusement, and Instruction. Volume 17, No. 494, June 18, 1831

(For the Mirror.)

Upon the silent grassy bed,
Shall maiden's tears at eve be shed,
And friendship's self shall often there
Heave the sigh, and breathe the pray'r.
Young flowers of spring around shall bloom,
And summer's roses deck thy tomb.
The primrose ope its modest breast
Where thy lamented ashes rest,
And cypress branches lowly bend
Where thy lov'd form with clay shall blend.
The silver willow darkly wave
Above thy unforgotten grave,
And woodbine leaves will fondly creep,
Where * * lies in holy sleep.

Sturminster.

COLBOURNE

PARLIAMENTARY SCRAPS

(For the Mirror.)

Lord Coke, in his fourth institute, defines certain qualities essentially requisite to constitute a good member of parliament; and he refers to a parliament roll, 3 Henry VI., which affirms that a parliament man should have three properties ascribed to the elephant—1. That he hath no gall; 2. That he is inflexible, and cannot bow; 3. That he is of a most ripe and perfect memory.—1. To be without malice, rancour, heat, and envy;—in elephante melancholia transit in nutrimentum corporis: every gallish inclination, if any were, should tend to the good of the whole body—the commonwealth. 2. That he be constant, inflexible, and not be bowed, or turned from the right, either from fear, reward, or favour; not in judgment respect any person. 3. That in remembering perils past, dangers to come may be prevented.

To these, addition is made by Lord Coke of two other properties of elephants: the one, that though they be maximæ virtutis et maximi intellectus, of great strength and understanding, tamen gregatim semper incedunt, yet they are sociable, and go in companies; for animalia gregalia non sunt nociva, sed animalia solivaga sunt nociva: sociable creatures that go in flocks or herds are not hurtful—as deer, sheep, &c.; but beasts that walk solely or singularly, as bears, foxes, &c., are dangerous and hurtful. The other property is, that the elephant is philanthropos, homini erranti viam ostendit. And, in the opinion of Coke, these properties ought every parliament man to have.

Neither the ancient nor modern election statutes mention, or imply, the existence of a "candidate." The old laws direct that the representative shall be freely and indifferently chosen by the electors. The choice was of their own motion, and the person elected was passive. Even at the present day, the law does not contemplate his asking for votes, and therefore does not allow, after the issuing of the writ, sufficient time for a regular canvass. The term "candidate" had its derivation from the person being candidatus, clothed in white, as symbolical of the wearer's purity.

James I. issued a proclamation, in which the voters for members of parliament are directed "not to choose curious and wrangling lawyers, who seek reputation by stirring needless questions."

At the Sussex election, in 1807, an elector, named Morton, voted in right of his patrimonial land at Rusper, which had been in possession of his ancestors 750 years.

W.G.C

SONNET

TO AN EOLIN HARP, HEARD AT EVENING

(For the Mirror.)

Soft breathings of aerial melody,
Ye seem like love-songs from the elfin land,
Or soundings from that heaven-commissioned band,
Ushering the good man to the bliss on high.
Now swells the chorus full, anon ye die
Away upon the breeze, so soft and bland
Melting on evening's ear. Sure Love's own hand
In kindest mood hath wrought this minstrelsy.
How to the lorn heart does its influence creep,
As the wild winds sweep o'er the fairy strings,
Bringing again departed, perish'd things,
O'er which we feel it luxury to weep.
Sing on ye zephyr-sprites, your vespers cheer
The heart, whose off'ring is a holy tear.

Sturminster.

COLBOURNE

THE COSMOPOLITE

HINTS FOR SELF-ADVANCEMENT; OR, HOW TO MAKE ONE'S WAY IN THE WORLD

(For the Mirror.)

When you visit married people, pay particular attention to their children: the more noisy, troublesome, and disagreeable they are, the more is it incumbent upon you to praise them. Should the baby entertain you with a passionate squall for an hour or two, vow that it is "a charming child"—"a sweet pet"—"a dear, pretty, little creature," &c. &c. Call red hair auburn, and "a sweet, uncommon colour;" a squint, or cross-eye, think "an agreeable expression;" maintain that an ugly child is extremely handsome, and the image either of one or other of its parents, or of its handsomest, wealthiest, or most aristocratic relations. Discover which of a family is mamma's, and which papa's favourite, and pay your court accordingly; for it is better to lavish, in this case, your attentions and encomiums upon one or two, than upon all.

When requiring an introduction to any great people, scruple not to avail yourself of the services of the little; but when mounted as high as you please, by all means kick down your ladders, cast away your stepping stones—since they might, instead of being of any further assistance, only prove incumbrances to you.

Take every opportunity of joining in conversation with those to whom you desire to recommend yourself. Should you feel at a loss for topics of discourse, mention servants, and tradesmen, upon whom fail not to bestow most hearty abuse;—vow that they are an unprincipled set of knaves, scoundrels, and thieves. Hence you will be thought to have "much to say for yourself;" and should you be enabled to narrate any grievous losses sustained from these members of society, you will obtain credit for having "something to lose" at any rate, and find it of incalculable value.

When you direct a letter to a knight bachelor—though it is indeed customary and well-bred to omit altogether the Knt.—yet it will never be taken amiss should you venture to address him as a Knight of the Garter, Bath, &c.&c., or even as a Baronet. Undoubtedly it is as vulgar to misapprehend and confound titles, as it is to mispronounce and misspell names; nevertheless rest assured, that flattered vanity will go far to pardon vulgarity.

If a gentleman, pay infinite attention to the single ladies of a family—compliment, flirt, converse with, and ask them to dance. This conduct will obtain for you, on account of the fair creatures, marvellous good report, numerous invitations; and if you have sufficient tact to steer clear of committing yourself for more than a few flattering and general attentions, you may be considered one of the happiest of those who live—by their wits, and upon their friends.

Should your "dancing days be over," which is scarcely probable, considering how greatly it is now the fashion for "potent, grave, and reverend signors," and signoras also, to join the gay quadrille, &c. (and here we may as well note, that in genteel society, dowager honourables and old ladies may dance, whilst young, plain misses may not)—there are sundry modes of rendering yourself agreeable, which your own taste and talents, it is to be presumed, will naturally suggest: chess, whist, ecarté, quadrille, &c. &c., not to mention a little practical knowledge of music, are acquirements which cause an individual to be considered "very agreeable"—because very useful; and rely upon it, as the world goes, utility in nine cases out of ten is, with society, a consideration. Hence, no creature is so universally voted disagreeable as one from whom no kind of service can be exacted; and whilst roués, gamesters, and tipplers, duelists, pugilists, and blacklegs, are tolerated in society, stupid men are overlooked, or thrust out of it with contempt.

Dress in the extreme of fashion: you can neither gain nor maintain your ground without so doing; and as you have an end to answer, which your tailors or milliners have not, of course you will not suffer the unfashionable dictates of conscience, respecting their bills, to interfere with your proceedings.

Answer an invitation as soon as it is received; many individuals defer so doing for some days, which certainly shows fashionable ease and nonchalance, besides allowing time for the arrival of another and preferable one; but, by those who are absolutely bent upon advancing themselves in society, this practice is to be eschewed, since by perplexing, it so annoys the donor of a fête, that the chances are greatly against your ever again being asked.

Never omit, the day after a party, to send or leave your card, as an acknowledgment for the civility you have received. This ceremony, indeed, it is to your interest frequently to repeat at the doors of your friends, since it will ensure your never being forgotten by them.

Never go to an evening party until you are pretty certain that everybody else is coming away. Your consequence will by this conduct be enhanced;—you may protest that you have already appeared at two or three balls, &c. When, if a student or fashionable novel-writer, your time may have been more rationally employed at home, you go too late to dance much, if the exercise, or rather the partners, be disagreeable to you; you ensure being seen, which is something,—for, alas! how many worthy aspirants to fashion, fortune, and fame, if of no actual importance, are fated to pass unnoticed in a crowd! and the opportunity is besides afforded you of paying almost undivided attention to your host, hostess, and family, which must materially advance your interests. Neither be in too great haste to quit the houses of those to whom you desire to recommend yourself. Parties, even the worst, cost both money and trouble; and whilst the givers of them feel it no compliment to be run away from, as if a pestilence raged in their habitations, it is positively insulting to inform them that another soiree, from which you hope better things, awaits your presence.

If a lady, "set up for a beauty:" rely upon it, no persons will "cry you up" as such unless you give them the note. Should you be extremely plain, no matter; friz your hair until it stands out one English ell from your face, and mount it, in bows, braids, &c., three yards at least from the crown of your head; drawl, or lisp in your speech; bring out words and phrases from every living tongue with which you may happen to be slightly acquainted; boast of "the continent;" mince your gait; wriggle forward upon your toes when you walk; and swim and dip, whenever led into the atrocity of committing a quad-rille. In brief, give yourself unimaginable airs; then protest that your manners, as well as your costume, are of the newest Parisian mode—and it is ten to one but that affectation will be accepted in lieu of, or mistaken for, beauty.

Never forget, that as it is sometimes very prudent to be deaf and dumb in society, so is it extremely convenient upon occasions to be blind. The cuts, direct and oblique—the looks at, and the looks over—the distant, formal bow, and the adroit turn upon the heel (should you perceive the party, intended to be cut for the time being at least, advancing with dire intent of obliging a recognition), may be, especially upon old and provincial friends, practised ad libitum, without the slightest danger of your character for etiquette, politeness, suavity, and general pleasantness, being impeached. Indeed it is not incompatible with the highest breeding, to allow your slighted and amazed acquaintance to hear you quizzing, and see you laughing at, him heartily, should it be your interest so to do; and then next day, to walk boldly up to him, protest he is the best fellow in the world; and should he be so senseless as to venture an allusion to your "late conduct," to vow, with the extremest audacity, that he happens to be under some evident and deplorable mistake, &c. &c. In short, should you really find yourself in a scrape, to back out of it as well as you are able.

When at a ball, it may sometimes be to your advantage (though fashionable insolence should not be carried too far) to act in the following manner:—

1. Ask a lady if she is engaged to dance. Should she answer "No," whilst her eyes say "Yes, if you will be my partner," then, instead of offering yourself for that purpose, protest that "dancing is a mighty bore, which no gentleman would endure, could he possibly help it," and walk away.

2. Having elicited from a lady that she is not engaged for the ensuing dance, exclaim, with a smile of triumph, "I am! and must go and find my partner."

3. When conversing with one young lady, whom you do not design to compliment by leading out for waltz, quadrille, or galoppe, mazurka, or Russian cotillon, &c., take particular care, in her hearing, to engage yourself to another. This is equally kind and polite.