The Mirror of Literature, Amusement, and Instruction. Volume 19, No. 532, February 4, 1832

(For the Mirror.)

Where these rich palaces and stately piles
Now rear their marble fronts, in sculptur'd pride,
Stood once a few rude scatter'd huts, beside
The desert shores of some poor clust'ring isles.
Yet here a hardy band, from vices free,
In fragile barks, rode fearless o'er the sea:
Not seeking over provinces to stride,
But here to dwell, afar from slavery.
They knew not fierce ambition's lust of power,
And while their hearts were free from thirst of gold,
Rather than falsehood—death they would behold.
If heaven hath granted thee a mightier dower,
I honour not the fruits that spring from thee
With thy new riches:—Death and Tyranny.

    E.L.J.

THE HOUSE OF UNDER

(For the Mirror.)

There are few families more ancient, more generally known, or more widely diffused throughout the known world, than that of Under: indeed, in every nation, though bearing different names, some branch of this family is extant; and there is no doubt that the Dessous of France, the Unters of Germany, and the Onders of the Land-under-water, belong to the same ancient and venerable house. The founders of the house, however, were of low origin, and generally down in the world. Undergo was the job of the family, as patient as a lamb: he encouraged the blessed martyrs in times of yore, and is still in existence, though his patience has somewhat diminished. Underhand is a far different character to the preceding, a double-dealing rascal, and as sly as a fox; he greets you with a smiling countenance, and while one hand is employed in shaking yours, he is disembarrassing you of the contents of your pocket with the other. Underline is a gentleman of some literary attainments, though not entirely divested of quackery; he is particularly noted for the emphasis he gives to certain points in his discourse, and though in some cases, perhaps, he is a little too prodigal of this kind of effect, yet we could not well do without him. Undermine is a greater rascal than Underhand, and had it not been for the counter-acting influence of Underproof, our house had fallen to the ground; to the ground it might have fallen, but had it gone farther, it would have been only to be revived in the person of Underground, a gentleman well known in the kitchens and pantries of the metropolis, the pantries in particular, he being a constant companion to the Under-butler. Understand is the pride of the house, and by his shining qualities, has raised himself to an eminence never reached by any other member of the family. He is a conspicuous exception to the downcast looks of so many of his relations. Undertake is an enterprising fellow, but he is often deceived and fails in his schemes; not so Undertaker, (whose similarity in name would make some folks believe there was some connexion;) no, his affairs are calculated to a wonderful nicety, and every tear is priced. Underwriter is a speculative genius, and—but the less we say of him the better. Underrate is a character I cannot avoid mentioning, though I wish with all my heart he was dead: his greatest pleasure consists in detracting from the good qualities of his neighbours.

I have only mentioned the English part of "Our House," although there are even some of that branch, whom I cannot at present call to mind, except Underdone, a lover of raw beef-steaks, and Undervalue, a person who has proved himself a great friend to custom-house officers, having some of the cunning of Underhand, but not quite so much luck, and subjecting his goods to seizure, for having tried to cheat the king. But I must leave this subject, and take my leave, till a fitter opportunity occurs for giving you further particulars of the "House of Under;" in the meanwhile, believe me, courteous reader, yours, sincerely,

UNDER THE ROSE.

THE SELECTOR; AND LITERARY NOTICES OF NEW WORKS

FRENCH REVOLUTION OF 1830

We quote a page or two from the second and concluding volume of Paris and its Historical Scenes, in the Library of Entertaining Knowledge, which gives the best account of la Grande Semaine that has yet appeared. The editor has taken Lord Bacon's advice—to read, not to take for granted—but to weigh and consider; and amidst the discrepancies of contemporary pamphleteers and journalists, his reader will not be surprised at the difficulty of obtaining correct information of what happens beneath our very window, as one of the great men of history confessed upwards of two centuries since. In this respect, mankind has scarcely progressed a jot, though men be more sceptical in not taking for granted.

Our extract is, we hope, to the point:

"It is curious to what an extent opposite feelings and opinions will colour even material scenes and objects to the eyes of different observers. Count Tasistro was also present at the capture of the Tuileries; and gives us in his narrative a description of what he witnessed of the conduct of the people after they had established themselves within the palace. Before presenting the reader, however, with what he says upon this subject, we will transcribe part of his account of his adventures in the earlier part of this day. 'The morning of the 29th,' he says, 'was ushered in by the dismal ringing of bells, the groans of distant guns, and the savage shouts of the populace; and I arose from a long train of dreams, which defied recollection as well as interpretation. The rabble, headed by a few beardless boys just let loose from the Polytechnic School and other seminaries, had been pleased to fix their head-quarters in our street. About half-past eleven, however, those of them who were collected here having heard that the popular forces who were fighting before the Louvre were nearly disabled by the cannon of the troops occupying that palace, their Polytechnic chief called upon them to follow him to the assistance of their brethren. Having entreated them to refrain from extravagant excesses, he rushed forward, and soon arrived at the scene of action. Here I saw him turn round and address his followers thus, 'Le cannon a déjà exterminé plusieurs de vos comarades; dans un instant il est à vous; suivez moi, et apprenez comme il faut mourir;' (the cannon has already destroyed numbers of your brethren; the next instant it will be directed against you: follow me, and learn how to die.) Having uttered these words, he darted forward, just as the gun which was pointed at him was discharged, and was blown into atoms. The people, however, following where he had led, in the enthusiasm of the moment seized the gun, and turned it immediately against the Swiss and the Guards that were stationed at the balconies of the Louvre. Other guns were afterwards taken—and the consequence was that the soldiers at last retreated with great precipitation, and concentrated their strength on the Place du Carrousel. The tricolour was already waving over the Louvre. I observed a little, insignificant urchin climb up the walls, and plant it during the contest.

"The last struggle made by the Guards for their royal master was to save the proud palace of his ancestors; but, alas, the attempt was vain. A storm of balls was poured in upon them from so many sides, that the little presence of mind they had preserved until now, deserted them at this trying moment; and after a few ineffectual discharges, they retreated toward the Champs Elysées; and the populace, unchecked by any power but their own will, rushed en masse into the regal mansion.

"During this attack, short as it was, I happened to be in a situation far more critical than that of the generality of the combatants on either side. On entering the Place du Carrousel by the archway leading from the Quays, we found the confusion extreme—and, as the fire besides grew every moment hotter and hotter, I felt the necessity of taking refuge somewhere, and in my agitation ran forward and sheltered myself under the Triumphal Arch. Here I passed the short interval during which the combat lasted in a confusion of all the senses, which extended minutes to months, and gave to something less than half a quarter of an hour the importance of a century; for I was all the time between the two fires. Fortunately, as I have said, the affair did not last very long; and when the victorious rabble at last rushed into the Tuileries, I followed the general movement, and soon after found myself in the throne hall, where I was joined by my two missing friends."

The Count now proceeds to inveigh in general terms against what he describes as the atrocious conduct of the unruly rabble—the devastation, pillage, and other enormities of which they were guilty. Having concluded this diatribe, he goes on with his narrative as follows: "Indeed the passion of mischief had taken such strong possession of the minds of all—the temptation was so widely thrown open wherever one went—that even I felt a touch of the desire; and, as I passed along the library hall, where a most splendid stock of books had been thrown on the floor, spying among many precious treasures a beautifully ornamented little volume, which, to say nothing of its gay appearance, promised to occupy no great room in the pocket, with the conviction that I was doing a good action, I picked it up. On opening it I found that it was neither a bible, nor a poem, nor a congurare (?), as I had anticipated, but simply a pocket memorandum-book in which his Majesty had been accustomed to note his parties de chasse, and the numbers of game he killed. I immediately thrust it into my pocket, and have since preserved it as a keepsake—but shall be most happy to restore it to the owner, should that august personage at any time feel disposed to claim it. Would that all the rest of the many articles that were this day pilfered were held as sacred, and ready to be as punctually surrendered!

"Tolerably tired at last of looking on the grim faces that surrounded us, we agreed to make our retreat; and descended into the garden, intending to pass out by the gate leading to the Quays. Here, however, we were met by a figure, at the sight of which we found it almost impossible to restrain our risibility. It was a man keeping watch at the gate as a sentinel, dressed for the most part as we commonly see the masters of chimney-sweeps, without a vestige of either shoes or shirt, and what were intended for coat and trousers having very doubtful pretensions to those designations—but, to make amends for this condition of his general habiliments, having a highly polished musket in his hand, a most splendid sword dangling by his side, and on his head a superb Marshal's hat! 'Où allez vous?' was the imperious demand of this extraordinary looking personage. 'Où nous voulons' was the instant and haughty reply of my friend M. The fellow, not being accustomed to such insubordination, ordered us to take off our hats to show whether we carried anything away with us. M. at this would have struck him down but for the sudden appearance of six men, whose looks and dress were not much better than those of the sentinel. These men, on being informed of our hauteur (as it was termed), insisted on our helping them, by way of penalty for our offence, to carry off the dead. This was more than I, with all my disposition to forbearance, could submit to; so, addressing myself to the ugliest of them, who seemed to be the commanding officer of the party, I told him scornfully and in good French, that we were foreign gentlemen, who had nothing to do either with the dead or the living of their country—and that it was a very despotic act to stop peaceable passengers in that manner. But this expostulation served only to irritate the raggamuffins; and one of them taking hold of my arm tried to force me into compliance with his orders. This was our trying moment; we all three made one desperate effort 'for liberty;' and, each of us having dealt his opponent a severe blow on the cheek, we broke from them, and ran off at our best speed. Three shots were immediately fired, and still we galloped on unhurt;—another went off, and I felt it—not that I was mortally wounded; it was only a spent ball that lodged itself in the flesh of my leg. The accident lamed me, however, for the time, and consequently put an end to my adventures. I was carried to my hotel, and the ball was extracted; but still the wound confined me to my room for two months."

The battle-pieces, and head and tail-cuts, well bespeak the ups and downs and bursts of the Revolution. They are as plentiful in this volume, as the balls were about Paris in La Grande Semaine.

TIME'S TELESCOPE FOR 1832

Is, as usual, a multifarious volume, and abounds with reading that must please all tastes. It has, moreover, to meet the exigencies of the day, a pretty sprinkling of cuts and plates, respecting the number of which we do not quarrel; in the choice of some of them we must, however, dissent from the editor. The Astronomical portion, by Mr. Barker, is unusually copious, and the cometary plates are well executed. We quote a passage:

On the probability of a concussion of a Comet with the earth.

It has been stated that the comet of 1770, passed through the system of the planet Jupiter, without in the slightest degree affecting the motions of either the primary or his satellites; also, that it passed sufficiently near our planet to have shortened the length of the year had its mass been equal to that of the earth. No effect whatever was produced, from whence it may be concluded, that the neighbourhood of a comet is not of sufficient importance to excite any alarming apprehensions for the safety of the habitation of man.

Most of the calculations that have been made respecting the effect of the proximity of a comet to our earth have proceeded on erroneous principles,—over-rating the quantity of matter in comets, and losing sight of their great velocity when in this part of the system. For a comet to produce any direful effect, it ought to contain not merely a considerable quantity of matter, but also ought to be vertical and stationary to the earth's surface for several hours; instead of which, we have sufficient reason to believe that though vast in volume, comets contain but little matter in proportion, consequently, their attractive energy would be inconsiderable; also their velocity would, in a very short period, carry them beyond the limit of exerting any influence on the waters of the globe. Of course, this general statement would be modified by the rate and direction of a comet's motion, and also the earth's rotation.

It may, then, be asserted with safety that the close appulse of a comet would not be attended with any fatal results; and that this security principally consists in its great velocity, which would so swiftly remove it to a distance. But, the very circumstance which, in the case of proximity, would be the security of our globe, (its velocity,) would, in the event of a contact, be attended with the direst effects. It is true that the probability of a contact is less, in an almost infinite degree, than the proximity of a comet, which, notwithstanding, is an event which every astronomer is fully aware, is within the verge of possibility.

The effects of a contact would be greatly modified by circumstance. Should the comet strike the earth obliquely, it would glance off, and the consequences would be partial. If the point of collision were on a continent of the globe, mountains would be hurled from their bases, and new ones would elevate their ridges towards the clouds. Were the place of meeting on either of the great oceans, some regions would be deserted, and others would be inundated by the waters of the sea. These dreadful consequences would be increased, in an indefinite proportion, if the point of contact were in the direction of the earth's centre; the meeting would be terrific; the earth's period of revolution would, in all probability, be altered, either by carrying it nearer to or farther from the sun; a different inclination of the axis might be given, and there would be a consequent change of seasons; the diurnal motion might be either accelerated or retarded, by which the length of the day would be affected; the vast continents of the globe would be again covered with the ocean, which, deserting its bed, would rush towards the new equator.

Infinitely more tremendous would be the catastrophe if the earth were struck by a retrograde comet in the direction of the terrestrial centre, the comet making up, by its velocity, the deficiency of mass: in this case the centrifugal force of both bodies might be annihilated,—the centripetal principle alone obeyed, and both comet and earth rush to the sun!

It must, however, be stated, that the probability of such an event is all but infinitely removed: the most likely of any that is known, to effect such a consummation, is the comet of Encke, which it has been calculated would come in collision with our earth after a lapse of 219 millions of years! This calculation proceeds on the soundest principles of reasoning, and proves not so much the safety of our globe from cometary destruction, (for some comet, hitherto unseen by mortal eyes, may now be winging its flight directly towards our globe,) as the astonishing powers of the mind of man, which can thus essay to penetrate the veil of futurity, and read the destiny of a world.

But destruction to this terrestrial orb and its teeming inhabitants, may be more speedily brought about than by a concussion with these celestial agents. A single principle of motion annihilated, evaporation suspended, or a component part of the atmosphere abstracted, and "final ruin would drive her ploughshare o'er creation;" universal conflagration would instantly ensue from the separation of the oxygen from the nitrogen of the atmosphere,—the former exerting its native energies without control wherever it extends,—solid rocks, ponderous marble, metals, and even water itself, would burst into an intensity of flame, and change the aspect of all sublunary things.

But all these vast bodies of the universe are, doubtless, kept in their prescribed limits as with so many "reins and bridles," and when this earth has completed its destined circles, and fulfilled the purposes for which it was called out of nothing, it will need but the command of the glorious Creator who at first spoke this beautiful frame into being, bliss, and light, to return it to its primeval gloom, or bid it shine forth with new resplendent beauty and lustre.

The "Notes of a Naturalist" are stated to be by Professor Rennie; but we question if they have been written expressly for this volume, as we recognise many passages from other works.

NOTES OF A READER

SCOTTISH LITERARY DINNER

As reported by Three Hands.

It is a miserable thing to quarrel or even differ over a dinner, although the whole affair be but a matter of taste. It is likewise a miserable thing to differ after dinner, since it lamentably disturbs the digestion of the food, as in this case it may the temper of the feeders. Yet respecting the dinner to celebrate the Birthday of Burns in Freemasons' Hall, there is a remarkable difference among the critical craft; which difference, by the way, no shades of opinion can reconcile. As we were not of the party, (and we congratulate ourselves on the escape from a Scottish half-dinner,) it may be well to quote from three of the reports that have appeared, rather than let the affair pass unnoticed in our pages. We do so from a wish to preserve certain traits and anecdotes which the occasion drew forth,—to give the pleasant rather than the "untoward" events of the day: though we must own the whole appears to have been a very droll business, always excepting the semi-pransus.

We start with an extract from Dr. Granville's Catechism of Health:—

Q. What should a dinner consist of?

A. Of any wholesome food that is in season, plainly dressed.

Q. Should the dinner be composed of many dishes?

A. The most wholesome dinner is that which consists of a single dish of meat, with a proper quantity of vegetables.

Whether the Scottish dinner was as aforesaid, we know not. Call the evidence.

Court Journal.—A public dinner at a public-house (this is a court sneer)—provided by Scotch booksellers, presided at by a Scotch baronet, accompanied by Scotch bagpipes, and prepared for two hundred Scotch appetites, there being four hundred of the said appetites admitted to partake of it.

Athenaeum.—Nearly five hundred persons were present at a dinner ordered for two hundred and fifty.

Literary Gazette.—The stewards provided for 300 guests: another hundred coming without notice of their intention, were speedily accommodated; and surely the exertion to accomplish this is more to be praised, than any little partial failure or inconvenience (such as attends all large public dinners) is to be cavilled at and blamed. The dinner and wines were of the first order, and at least nine-tenths of those present were highly gratified by their entertainment.