The Mirror of Literature, Amusement, and Instruction. Volume 20, No. 581, December 15, 1832

Gave the foam-born goddess birth!
Her, whose glory's radiant fulness.
All too bright for mortal dulness,
Sparkles in a lovelier star!
Are not Ocean's shady places
Rich in kindred forms and faces,
Choral bands of sister-Graces
Circling Amphitrite's car?

Toiling o'er the shallow page,
Vainly pedants seek the lore
Taught us by that prophet sage,
Whom our azure Thetis bore.
Wiser Eld his solemn numbers,
Listening, stole from Ocean's slumbers,
Signs of coming doom to learn.
Poor were all your labours reap,
To the gifted seers that keep
Mysteries of the ancient deep,
Drawn from Nereus' sacred urn.

Let us find our old retreat,
Yield us to the kissing wave,
From the daylight's parching heat
In its cool profound to lave.
If ye needs must rob for beauty,
Earth's abysses teem with booty.
Gems, that love the blaze of day:—
We are tired of glittering shows,
And the strife of man's display;
Let us sink to sweet repose
Where the lulling water flows;
Give us to our native bay!

    Tait's Edinburgh Magazine.

SHELLEY

[We find the clever and curious sketches of Shelley, in the New Monthly Magazine, concluded with the following interesting anecdote.]

That Shelley gave freely, when the needy scholar asked, or in silent, hopeless poverty seemed to ask, his aid, will he demonstrated most clearly by relating shortly one example of his generosity, where the applicant had no pretensions to literary renown, and no claim whatever, except perhaps honest penury. It is delightful to attempt to delineate from various points of view a creature of infinite moral beauty,—but one instance must suffice; an ample volume might be composed of such tales, but one may be selected, because it contains a large admixture of that ingredient which is essential to the conversion of alms-giving into the genuine virtue of charity—self-denial. On returning to town after the long vacation, at the end of October, I found Shelley at one of the hotels in Covent Garden. Having some business in hand he was passing a few days there alone. We had taken some mutton chops hastily at a dark place in one of the minute courts of the city, at an early hour, and we went forth to walk; for to walk at all times, and especially in the evening, was his supreme delight. The aspect of the fields to the north of Somers-Town, between that beggarly suburb and Kentish-Town, has been totally changed of late. Although this district could never be accounted pretty, nor deserving a high place even amongst suburban scenes, yet the air, or often the wind, seemed pure and fresh to captives emerging from the smoke of London; there were certain old elms, much very green grass, quiet cattle feeding, and groups of noisy children playing with something of the freedom of the village green. There was, oh, blessed thing! an entire absence of carriages and of blood-horses; of the dust and dress and affectation and fashion of the parks: there were, moreover, old and quaint edifices and objects which gave character to the scene. Whenever Shelley was imprisoned in London,—for to a poet a close and crowded city must be a dreary gaol,—his steps would take that direction, unless his residence was too remote, or he was accompanied by one who chose to guide his walk. On this occasion I was led thither, as indeed I had anticipated: the weather was fine, but the autumn was already advanced; we had not sauntered long in these fields when the dusky evening closed in, and the darkness gradually thickened. "How black those trees are," said Shelley, stopping short, and pointing to a row of elms; "it is so dark the trees might well be houses, and the turf, pavement,—the eye would sustain no loss; it is useless therefore to remain here, let us return." He proposed tea at his hotel, I assented; and hastily buttoning his coat, he seized my arm, and set off at his great pace, striding with bent knees over the fields and through the narrow streets. We were crossing the New Road, when he said shortly, "I must call for a moment, but it will not be out of the way at all," and then dragged me suddenly towards the left. I inquired whither we were bound, and, I believe, I suggested the postponement of the intended call till the morrow. He answered, it was not at all out of our way. I was hurried along rapidly towards the left; we soon fell into an animated discussion respecting the nature of the virtue of the Romans, which in some measure beguiled the weary way. Whilst he was talking with much vehemence and a total disregard of the people who thronged the streets, he suddenly wheeled about and pushed me through a narrow door; to my infinite surprise I found myself in a pawnbroker's shop! It was in the neighbourhood of Newgate Street; for he had no idea whatever in practice either of time or space, nor did he in any degree regard method in the conduct of business. There were several women in the shop in brown and grey cloaks with squalling children: some of them were attempting to persuade the children to be quiet, or at least, to scream with moderation; the others were enlarging upon and pointing out the beauties of certain coarse and dirty sheets that lay before them to a man on the other side of the counter. I bore this substitute for our proposed tea some minutes with tolerable patience, but as the call did not promise to terminate speedily, I said to Shelley, in a whisper, "Is not this almost as bad as the Roman virtue?" Upon this he approached the pawnbroker: it was long before he could obtain a hearing, and he did not find civility. The man was unwilling to part with a valuable pledge so soon, or perhaps he hoped to retain it eventually; or it might be, that the obliquity of his nature disqualified him for respectful behaviour. A pawnbroker is frequently an important witness in criminal proceedings: it has happened to me, therefore, afterwards to see many specimens of this kind of banker; they sometimes appeared not less respectable than other tradesmen, and sometimes I have been forcibly reminded of the first I ever met with, by an equally ill conditioned fellow. I was so little pleased with the introduction, that I stood aloof in the shop, and did not hear what passed between him and Shelley. On our way to Covent-Garden, I expressed my surprise and dissatisfaction at our strange visit, and I learned that when he came to London before, in the course of the summer, some old man had related to him a tale of distress,—of a calamity which could only be alleviated by the timely application of ten pounds; five of them he drew at once from his pocket, and to raise the other five he had pawned his beautiful solar microscope! He related this act of beneficence simply and briefly, as if it were a matter of course, and such indeed it was to him. I was ashamed of my impatience, and we strode along in silence.

It was past ten when we reached the hotel; some excellent tea and a liberal supply of hot muffins in the coffee-room, now quiet and solitary, were the more grateful after the wearisome delay and vast deviation. Shelley often turned his head, and cast eager glances towards the door; and whenever the waiter replenished our teapot, or approached our box, he was interrogated whether any one had yet called. At last the desired summons was brought: Shelley drew forth some bank notes, hurried to the bar, and returned as hastily, bearing in triumph under his arm a mahogany box, followed by the officious waiter, with whose assistance he placed it upon the bench by his side. He viewed it often with evident satisfaction, and sometimes patted it affectionately in the course of calm conversation. The solar microscope was always a favourite plaything or instrument of scientific inquiry; whenever he entered a house his first care was to choose some window of a southern aspect, and, if permission could be obtained by prayer or by purchase, strightway to cut a hole through the shutter to receive it. His regard for his solar microscope was as lasting as it was strong; for he retained it several years after this adventure, and long after he had parted with all the rest of his philosophical apparatus.

Such is the story of the microscope, and no rightly judging person who hears it will require the further accumulation of proofs of a benevolent heart; nor can I, perhaps, better close these sketches than with that impression of the pure and genial beauty of Shelley's nature which this simple anecdote will bequeath.

[In parting with this very ingenious series of papers, we beg to concur in the well-expressed wish of the Editor of the New Monthly Magazine, "that their author could be tempted to give the world a complete history of one whose peculiar and subtle nature he so well comprehends."]

THE NATURALIST

NEW SPECIES OF BAT.—(VESPERTILIO AUDUBONI.)

(By Richard Harlan, M.D.)

Of the numerous creatures which attract our admiration, or excite our fears, the greater part display their appetites, or develope their instincts, during the day time only; especially—with few exceptions—all those remarkable for beauty of plumage, and vocal melody. Predacious animals are chiefly distinguished for their nocturnal habits; and ideas of rapine, terror and blood, are ever associated with the tiger, the hyena, and the wolf. Among the feathered tribes, the owl and the bat, also companions of darkness, are shunned by many, as horrible objects, and full of ill-omen. Haunted castles, ruined battlements, and noisome caverns, are the chosen abodes of these noctural maurauders, and it is to such associations that these animals are indebted for the unamiable character they have obtained. The prejudices conceived against that portion of these animals, with which we are familiar, are founded entirely upon these their habits; for small quadrupeds, reptiles and fish, constitute the food of the first, whilst insects and fruit suffice for the other. It is at the close of the day, when the hum of nature is beginning to subside, that the patient bat steals from his dark retreat, and spreads his leathery wings in search of his food.

The new species of this little flying quadruped, which we are now about to notice, belongs to a very large and respectable family. In the days of Linnaeus, they all—from their appearance at twilight—went by the family name of Vespertilio. They further belong to the order Carnivora, their teeth being constructed for masticating flesh; though some—and in this they resemble ourselves—are also fond of fruit. In one important point, the whole race has a common character, in their organ of flight. The bones of the fingers are extremely elongated, and united by a membrane, which is continued down the side of the body; and extending on the leg as far as the tarsus, also unites the legs and tail. Agreeing so universally in this particular, they form a very natural family, under the appropriate term. Cheiroptera, constructed from two Greek words, signifying hand and wing.

The vespertilio are again divided into GENERA and Species,—divisions which are grounded on certain peculiarities of dental structure, and various developements of the brachial, digital, and interfemoral appendages, with other modifications of the organs of progression. These genera include species which are discovered in every habitable part of the globe, of various magnitudes, from the size of a half grown cat, to that of a half grown mouse.

Of this numerous family only three genera, of modern authors, inhabit the United States, viz. RHINOPOMA, VESPERTILIO, and TAPHOZOUS. Seven species, exclusive of the present, are all that have been hitherto discovered in North America.

We propose to dedicate this new species, to our valuable friend the justly celebrated naturalist J.J. AUDUBON, as a small tribute of respect to his eminent talents, and the highly important services he has rendered science. The drawing which accompanies this paper, is from his inimitable pencil.

This species was first observed, during the summer of 1829, when an individual female flew into the apartment of the late Dr. Hammersly, then one of the resident physicians of the Pennsylvania hospital: on the subsequent evening a male individual, of the same species, was also taken in the same manner. In August 1830, a very fine specimen was brought to the Academy of Natural Sciences, and Mr. Audubon informs me that the species has very recently been observed in New York.

The natural characters of the species are—General colour black, sprinkled with gray above and beneath; ears black and naked; auriculum, short and broad or obtusely triangular; interfemoral membrane, sparsely hairy; last joint of the tail free: two incisors, with notched crowns, on each side of the canine teeth of the upper jaw, with a broad intervening space without teeth.

The dimensions are.—Total length 3 inches 7 tenths; tail 1.7; length of ear 0.5. breadth of ear 0.4; length of leg 1.7; spread of wings 10.7. inhabit Pennsylvania and New York, and probably the southern states.—Cab. of Acad. Nat. Sc. Philad. (Abridged from Featherstonhaugh's Monthly American Journal of Geology and Natural Science.)

FINE ARTS

MOSAIC PAVEMENT

The chief object of curiosity at Palestrina, (ancient Praeneste,) is the castle or palace of the prince, in the highest part of the city, to which there is an ascent by an excellent coach-road to the right, by the Capucin Convent, without entering the narrow street. Before it is a level space of considerable length; which formed the highest platform of the Temple of Fortune. Two flights of steps lead to an amphitheatre, or semicular staircase, in excellent preservation, which is the same that led to the sanctuary of the temple, on the foundation of which the palace is built: in the middle of the semicircle is a well; each step is about a foot and a half high, like the ancient steps of the capitol which led to the church of Ara Coeli, at Rome. Another short flight conducts to the hall of entrance, where there is a double staircase, and a recess closed by iron grates, which contains the celebrated antique pavement, of which Pliny speaks in the following terms, "The fine mosaic of small stones, placed by Sylla as a pavement in the Temple of Fortune at Praeneste, was the first thing of the kind seen in Italy." There does not seem to be the smallest room to doubt of this being the genuine mosaic he mentions; it is in excellent preservation, and appears to be about twenty feet by sixteen. It was found in the same cellar of the seminary, where is still the altar of Fortune, and may be considered as one of the most interesting relics of antiquity. Towards the upper part of it are mountains, with negro savages hunting wild beasts; animals of different sorts, with their names in Greek written below them, such as the rhinoceros, crocodile, and lynx. Lower down are seen houses of various forms, temples, vessels of different constructions, particularly a galley of 32 oars, manned with armed blacks, and commanded by a white man; a tent with soldiers, a palm tree, flowers, a collation in an arbour, an altar of Anubis; in short, almost every circumstance imaginable in life. The scene apparently lies in Egypt. The figures are well drawn, the light and shadows happily disposed, and the colouring harmonious. The stones which compose this very curious pavement are remarkably small which renders the effect peculiarly pleasing, from the neatness of its appearance.

W.G.C

PANORAMA OF STIRLING

Stirling, or Strivelin, and its storied environs have furnished Mr. Burford with a new Panorama, of more than usual interest in its details. The town is fraught with historical association, and the surrounding country is of picturesque and poetical character. A Scottish poet describes its attractions in these enthusiastic lines:

O! grander far than Windsor's brow!
And sweeter to the vale below!
Whar Forth's unrivalled windings flow
Through varied grain,
Brightening, I ween wi' glittering glow,
Strevlina's plain!
There, raptured trace, (enthroned on hie)
The landscape stretching on the ee,
Frae Grampian hills down to the sea—
A dazzling view—
Corn, meadow, mansion, water, tree,
In varying hue.
There, seated, mark, wi' ardour keen,
The Skellock bright 'mang corn sae green,
The purple pea, and speckled bean,
A fragrant store—
And vessels sailing, morn and een,
To Stirling's shore.