The Mirror of Literature, Amusement, and Instruction. Volume 20, No. 577, July 7, 1827

Rochester is well known to all who take an interest in America, as a remarkable instance of what may be done in the way of transition, and as exhibiting in its streets a perfect sample of the progress from stumps to steeples. It is certainly an interesting place, and presents a busy scene of manufacturing and commercial enterprise. My time being limited, I immediately procured a cicerone, and proceeded to walk over the town, concluding with the banks of the river, where there is a powerful fall upon the Genesee, about 90 feet in height, forming a most romantic scene, and which may be fairly denominated the parent of Rochester, as the mill power which it supplies has brought the whole affair into existence. There are also sulphur springs and baths in the town of some repute.

A splendid aqueduct carries the canal here across the river by ten arches. It is also at present in contemplation to unite the Genesee and Alleghany rivers, by a canal of more than 100 miles in extent, and which would open up a valuable trade with the upper part of the Ohio Valley. I have no doubt that it will be carried into effect, or perhaps a railroad substituted. Close upon the verge of the precipice at the fall, is observed a small islet or green knoll, from whence poor Sam Patch took his final plunge. Sam, it would seem, was no subscriber to the tenets of the Temperance Society, for upon this occasion his perceptions were far from being clear; and having neglected to spring in his usual adroit style, the unlucky wight never again appeared. The interest which this poor creature excited, both here and at Niagara, was astonishing. His very exit (than which nothing could be more natural) was considered somewhat mysterious, as his body was not found; and some time subsequent to the event, a fellow of a waggish disposition happening to be accidentally in that part of the country, and bearing, it is said, a singular resemblance to Patch, was stopped by a Rochester-man on the road, and questioned on the subject. The stranger immediately saw a fair opening for fun, and, after some hesitation, reluctantly confessed that he was actually Sam himself; but that, for particular reasons, his being alive must be kept a profound secret, until a day he named, when he would make a public appearance in Rochester, and that he trusted to the fidelity of the person who had discovered him not to mention the circumstance, meantime, to any living being. As a matter of course, it was speedily confided, in like manner, to the whole population; and on the appointed day, crowds assembled to laugh at the credulity of one another. A poor tradesman of the town had taken wilfully the same fatal leap, only on the day preceding my visit. Many of the poor Indians are lost over the fall, when rum has been in plenty. A squaw was observed upon one occasion, with her canoe absorbed in the current, and she herself utterly insensible to the danger. Warned at last by loud exclamations from the banks, she roused herself, only to behold the frightful chasm before her, when, perceiving all hope of escape to be vain, and every effort fruitless, she coolly finished off the contents of her bottle, and plunged into the abyss.—See Quart. Journ. Agric. No. 18.

ANECDOTE GALLERY

SATIN STONE NECKLACES

These beautiful ornaments of polished fluorspar—first made and brought into fashion, we believe, by the late Mr. Mawe, of the Strand—are even more appreciated by our Gallic neighbours than by ourselves. We have been in society where the attention and admiration of a gallant French gentleman was ludicrously divided between the attractions of a lady's face and her satin-stone necklace. Some years since, the Duchess de Berri, it is said, purchased various ornaments of this description and material, to a considerable amount, which she wore, either upon, or immediately subsequent to, her marriage. On the fatal night of the Duke de Berri's assassination, the Duchess happened (so goes the story) to be wearing one of these identical purchases; and, in consequence, upon the anniversary of her widowhood, and on other occasions when peculiarly depressed in spirits, never fails to put on a satin-stone necklace, as a memento of the hours of her bridal and deprivation. Louis XVIII. purchased, when in England, a large stock of these delicate, white necklaces, which, on returning to France, he disposed off amongst his admiring fair noblesse, by gift or purchase.

DUELLING IN FRANCE

Different versions of the following anecdotes, respecting Mr. G– (an English officer), may be abroad, but we give them as detailed to us:—

Mr. G–, a young English militaire of fashion and spirit, not a great while since, had the fortune to fight a couple of duels in Paris, under circumstances rather curious. He was acquainted with a French gentleman, whom nature had endowed with more tongue than with discretion and good principles;—in fact, it came to the ears of Mr. G–, that the loquacious Gaul was a revolutionist in politics, a professed atheist in religion, and (how could it happen otherwise?) a man devoid of the most ordinary principles of honour, probity, and social decencies. He was in the habit of slandering and vituperating, in the most violent manner; and, in the well-thronged cafés and salons of the French capital, not only his bon ami Mr. G–, but everything and everybody English, until our young officer, provoked by his insolence beyond all patience, taking the advice of a friend, challenged him. The Gaul, affecting to be highly irritated, at first protested that "he would never consent to degrade himself by fighting any of the d—d English;" and, with horrid imprecations, parodied Caligula's memorable malice, by wishing that "all the cursed members of that infernal nation were but one body, which he might destroy at a shot!" However, that no imputation might rest on his courage, he consented to meet his adversary—for whom, by the way, he expressed the most thorough contempt—next morning, at the Bois de Boulogne. They met; and this miserable man received the reward of his perfidy and malice, by a ball through his heart!

Some days after this affair, Mr. G– being grossly insulted by another French gentleman—a notorious duellist, and, if we mistake not, an ally of the deceased—felt himself obliged to notice the affront in a similar manner. Monsieur – treated the challenge with supreme contempt, begged to assure Mr. G– that he was a dead man if they met, but professed himself much at his service if he was really bent on quitting this world, and thought the most appropriate spot for so doing would be the Champs d'Elysées. Thither next morning the parties repaired. Mr. G– found his antagonist already on the ground, and amusing himself by firing at a mark: viz.—his glove, attached to the branch of a tree, which he shot at with such precision as to send his bullet, at every successive trial, through the aperture in the glove made by the first. Monsieur was, in truth, a splendid and formidable marksman. Mr. G–, in preparing for the duel, happening to cast his eyes on his adversary, perceived that he had slily placed his arm in such a position, as must ensure, on the honourable gentleman's fire, the fulfilment of his vaunt to make him "a dead man." No time was to be lost; the young Englishman's life depended upon dispatch; and, instantly firing, he proved himself as good a marksman as Monsieur –, by sending his ball, with the utmost precision, through the wily manœuvrer's elbow, from whence it passed into his side; and he dropped down, disabled, if not dead. Thus did British spirit twice humble, in a remarkable manner, French insolence and presumption!

A DISTINCTION

"La-a-dy * *," exclaimed a certain Colonel, in that very original Scotch brogue which a long acquaintance with the world has not tended in any degree to diminish, "alloo me to introduce you to my brother, Carnal M– –." "What!" asked the lady, "are you both Colonels?" "Oo—ay—La-a-dy * *, that are we, in troth; but the daff'rence is this, my brother, you see, is Carnal" (Lieutenant-colonel he intended to express), "and I—am fool Carnal!"

M.L.B

MANNERS AND CUSTOMS

PETER PENCE

Were an ancient levy, or tax, of a penny on each house throughout England, paid to the Pope. It was called Peter-pence because collected on the day of St. Peter ad vincula. By the Saxons it was called Rome-feoh—i.e. the fee of Rome; and also Rome-scot, and Rome-pennying, because collected and sent to Rome;—and lastly, it was called Hearth-money, because every dwelling-house was liable to it, provided there were thirty-pence vivæ pecuniæ belonging to it;—nay, and every religious house, the Abbey of St. Alban's alone excepted.

This Peter-pence was at first given as a pension, or alms, by Ina, king of the West Saxons, in the year 727, being then in pilgrimage at Rome; and the like was done by Offa, king of the Mercians, throughout his dominions, in 794; and afterwards by Ethelwulph, through the whole kingdom, in the year 855.

It was not intended as a tribute to the Pope, but chiefly for the support of the English school, or college, at Rome. The popes, however, shared it with the college, and at length found means, to appropriate it to themselves.

At first it was only an occasional contribution; but it became at last a standing tax, being established by the laws of King Canute, Edward the Confessor, the Conqueror, &c. The bishops, who were charged with the collecting it, employed the rural deans and archdeacons therein.

Edward III. first forbade the payment; but it soon after returned, and continued till the time of Henry VIII., when Polydore Virgil resided here as the Pope's receiver general. It was abolished under that prince, and restored again under Philip and Mary; but it was finally prohibited under Queen Elizabeth.

WALTER E.C

POPISH RELICS

Ere the bright dawn of the Reformation lighted upon England, the furniture of churches appears, from ancient records, to have been of a splendid description; and vast sums are stated to have been lavished upon the images of saints, &c. Great Saint Mary's Chapel, Cambridge, is in the possession of an inventory of the goods and chattels possessed by that ancient edifice in the 19th year of Henry VII., of which the following is a transcript:—

"Item—A coat of tawney damask, purfled with velvet, appertaining to our Lady.

"Item—A coat for her son, of the same satin, purfled with black velvet, and spangled with gold.

"Item—A relic, called a box of silver with the oil of St. Nicholas.

"Item—Another little box of silver, with a bone of St. Lawrence.

"Item—A shoe of silver for the image of our Lady, and a piece of a penny, weighing in all two ounces in a box.

"Item—An image of our Lady and her Son, of copper and gilt, with a chrystal stone.

"Item—A collar of gold for to hang about our Lady's neck, of nine links in the collar.

"Item—A cap of black velvet, with fine pearl, for our Lady's son.

"Item—Two maces for St. Edmund.

"Item—Three small crowns for St. Katherine.

"Item—A cross and staff for St. Nicholas."

The orthography of this extract has been modernized, but the idiom (if any) has been retained.

JUVENIS

ANCIENT CHAIR

This curious relic is traditionally called the Prior's Chair, and belonged to the priory of Southwick, which formerly stood near Portsmouth, in Hampshire. It is made of oak, its several parts being fastened together with small wooden pegs. On the back of the chair, within a square panel, is carved an animal somewhat resembling a buck, which was probably the armorial bearing of the prior; as it was anciently, and is now, the custom to carve or paint on chairs placed in halls or other conspicuous places, the crest or arms of the proprietor. Above the panel are two mitres, and on each side of the arms of the chair is a rose, ornamented with rays issuing from its centre. This ancient specimen of furniture is extremely interesting as a specimen of the mechanical ingenuity of the age in which it was constructed, and as the only vestige of the establishment to which it was annexed. Upon part of the Priory buildings being taken down, a few years since, the Chair with other old furniture found on the premises, was sold by auction, when it was rescued from the hands of a person who was bidding for it as a smoking chair, by a gentleman, who allowed a drawing to be taken of it. Of the Priory of Southwick very scanty information is to be obtained: no mention of it is to be found in the Monasticon: but Sir Robert Atkyns, in his history of Gloucestershire, says that it was founded by Henry I. and dedicated to St. Mary. It was for canons regular of the order of St. Augustine. The last prior surrendered this convent on the 7th of April, 1539: it was valued in the catalogue of religious houses at 257l.

ANTIQUE KNIFE-HANDLE

This was found about 20 years since, at the manorhouse of Lake, near Amesbury, in Wiltshire. The handle consists of two figures, a warrior and a female: it was probably the haft of a small knife or dagger, is made of brass, and considering its great antiquity, is in good preservation. The features of the figures are the parts mostly injured by wear; the female holds in the right hand a small bag or purse, the custom of carrying which fell into disuse in the days of Queen Elizabeth. This ancient haft is, however, most likely of an age considerably anterior to the above reign, and from the costume in general, and the simple cross hilt of the sword attached to the warrior's side, it may not unjustly claim a date coeval with the Crusades.

ANCIENT BELL

This Bell, as the motto (God save the Queen, 1560,) explains, is of the age of Elizabeth. The handle is of considerably older date, and probably belonged to a mass-bell, as it bears the effigies of a devotee, holding her beads, and a cross. Indeed, the prayer for the Queen, on the Bell, in English, would indicate its subsequent age. This curious relic was a few years since in the possession of the Rev. Mr. Crutwell, a name distinguished in topographical and antiquarian literature.

FALCONRY TENURE

The manorial rights of Comberton, in the county of Cambridge, were formerly held by the lord, being the keeper of the king's falcons. A record of the year 1374 says, that the manor was held "by the service of carrying a goshawk at coronations."—JUVENIS.

THE PUBLIC JOURNALS

FUNERAL OF SIR WALTER SCOTT.—BY AN EYE-WITNESS

(Abridged from Tait's Edinburgh Magazine.)

When we arrived at the ford, which gave its fancied name to the poet's dwelling, we found the silver Tweed sparkling merrily along, as if all things were as they were wont to be. The young woods before us, and the towers, and gables, and pinnacles of the mansion, were smiling beneath the mellowing rays of the September sun, as if unconscious that the master-spirit which called them into being had for ever fled from them. The sound of wheels came on the ear at intervals, rushing from different directions, and indicating the frequent arrival of carriages; yet when we, availing ourselves of the open doors, had taken our well-known way through the garden, and passed beneath the Gothic screen that might have vied with the Beautiful Gate of the Temple itself, and on into the courtyard in front of the house, we were surprised to find it deserted and lonely. Before any one came to interrupt us, we had leisure to gaze around, and to wonder at the great growth of the trees and shrub's since we had last beheld them; and as we did so, the venerable shade of him who had last walked there with us, filled our imagination and our eyes—shifted with them as they shifted;—and as it glided around us, it recalled to our full hearts a thousand pleasing and touching recollections. But our dreams were at length abruptly broken, by the appearance of some of our acquaintances, who issued from the house; and the sight of their weeds of woe immediately recalled our thoughts to the garb of grief which we also wore, and to the sad object of our present visit.

Passing through the Gothic hall, we met with no one till we entered the library, where we found a considerable circle of gentlemen already assembled: these were chiefly from the neighbouring districts; but there were a few whom we recognised as having come from Edinburgh, and other places equally distant. Obscured within the shadow of one of the book-cases, we remained ruminating as if we had been absolutely alone, until we were interrupted by a summons to the drawing-room, where certain refreshments were prepared for those who had any inclination to partake of them. But we must confess our natural antipathy to all such mournful feasts; we therefore declined to join in this; and after catching, as well as our position near the door allowed us to do, a few stray sentences of a prayer, which was feelingly offered up by the parish clergyman, we became so oppressed by the heat of the room, that we ventured to steal away to enjoy the air in the porch.

That porch was soon tenanted in our imagination by that venerable ideal image which we had been all this while courting to our side. With it we continued to hold sacred communion—with it we looked, as we had formerly done with the reality, on the effigy of Maida;[2 - A celebrated stag-hound, which Sir Walter received from Glengarry.] and the harsh truth that Maida's master was now as cold as Maida itself, went rudely home to our hearts. But footsteps came slowly and heavily treading through the small armoury: they were those of the servants of the deceased, who, with full eyes, and yet fuller hearts, came reverently bearing the body of him whose courteous welcome had made that very porch so cheerful to us. We were the only witnesses of this usually unheeded part of the funeral duties: accident had given to us a privilege which was lost to the crowd within. We instinctively uncovered our heads, and stood subdued by an indescribable feeling of awe as the corpse was carried outwards; and we felt grateful, that it had thus fallen to our lot to behold the departure of these the honoured and precious remains of Sir Walter Scott from the house of Abbotsford, where all his earthly affections had been centered. The coffin was plain and unpretending, covered with black cloth, and having an ordinary plate on it, with this inscription, "Sir Walter Scott, of Abbotsford, Bart., aged 62." "Alas!" said we, as we followed the precious casket across the courtyard—"alas! have these been the limits of so valuable a life?"

Having followed the coffin until we saw it deposited in the hearse, which stood on the outside of the great gate of the courtyard, we felt ourselves unequal to returning into the apartment where the company were assembled; and we continued to loiter about, seeking for points of recollection which might strengthen the chain of association we wished to indulge in. Our attention was attracted, by observing the window of the study open, and we were led to look within, impelled by no idle or blameable curiosity, but rather like a pilgrim approaching the shrine where his warmest adoration has ever been paid. But, alas I the deep tones of the venerable old Principal Baird, whose voice was heard in earnest and impressive prayer, came upon us through an opposite door, from the library beyond; and the affecting allusions which he uttered again brought us back to the afflicting truth, that Sir Walter Scott was gone from us for ever!