The Mirror of Literature, Amusement, and Instruction. Volume 10, No. 274, September 22, 1827

I found it a wild tree, whose wanton strength
Had swollen into irregular twigs
And bold excrescences,
And spent itself in leaves and little rings;
So in the flourish of its outwardness
Wasting the sap and strength
That should have given forth fruit;
But when I pruned the tree,
Then it grew temperate in its vain expanse
Of useless leaves, and knotted, as thou seest,
Into these full, clear clusters, to repay
The hand that wisely wounded it.
Repine not, O my son!
In wisdom and in mercy heaven indicts,
Like a wise leech, its painful remedies.

    SOUTHEY.

WEATHERCOCKS

Weathercocks do not always show the real direction of a very gentle wind. The strange figures of them, usually the productions of capricious fancy, is one cause of their imperfection as vanes to indicate the wind. Griffins, half-moons, foxes, or figures of St. Margaret and the dragon, are not good shapes for weathercocks, which ought to be plain fans, the large surface of one side being counterbalanced against the weight of the other.

THE VALUE OF ACCOMPLISHMENTS

A general, though superficial acquaintance with such subjects as well-educated men and women talk about in mixed society is absolutely necessary. A practised eye will easily distinguish the silence of modest attention from the mute weariness of ignorance. The most inveterate talker, if he be not quite a fool, desires to be listened to as well as heard; and a "yes" or a "no" may be placed and accented so as to show intelligence, or betray stupidity. Grace in action and deportment is so essential, that it may almost be said to make all that is beautiful in beauty. We do not mean that a lady should, in dancing, walking, or sitting, display attitudes worthy of a painter's model. In walking we, however, recommend something between the listless saunter of a she-dandy, and the bustling gait of a notable body, who perhaps saves three minutes out of four-and-twenty hours, by doing every thing throughout the day with a jerk and a toss.—Dancing, unless it be done quietly and gracefully, without the fatal results of a shining face, and red neck and arms, it is far better to forbear altogether, it being a very superfluous quality in a gentlewoman; whereas to please by all honest means is her proper calling and occupation. A high degree of positive grace is very rare, especially in northern climates, where the form is degraded and spoiled by ligatures and by cold; but every woman may attain to negative grace, by avoiding awkward and unmeaning habits. The incessant twirling of a reticule, the assiduous pulling of the fingers of a glove, opening and shutting a book, swinging a bell-rope, &c. betray either impatience and weariness of the conversation, disrespect of the speakers, or a want of ease and self-possession by no means inseparably connected with modesty and humility; those persons who are most awkward and shy among their superiors in rank or information being generally most over-bearing and peremptory with their equals or inferiors. We are almost ashamed, in the nineteenth century, to say any thing concerning personal neatness; but cannot forbear hinting, that clean gloves and neat shoes aid the captivating powers of a lady much more certainly than pearl ear-rings or gold chains—that clean muslin is more bewitching than dirty blond lace—and that a pocket-handkerchief should be like a basilisk, a thing heard of, but never seen; we mean in the capacity in which our cold-catching, rheum-exciting climate calls it into action.

SELECT BIOGRAPHY. No. LVII

KARL THEODORE KORNER

Korner is one of the poets of whom modern Germany is justly proud. His was not the mere theoretic heroism which contents itself with celebrating the deeds of others. His own conduct embodied the most noble conceptions of his imagination, and his life and death exhibited a splendid example of the patriotism which breathed throughout his verse. He was born at Dresden in 1791. His education was of the most careful kind. He was not only instructed in various branches of learning, but the elegant accomplishments of the fine arts were added, and the exercises of the body were not less attended to than those of the mind. Called upon to choose some occupation, he determined to apply himself to mining, and took up his residence at Vienna, where he enjoyed the advantage of a familiar intercourse with William Von Humboldt, the Prussian ambassador, Frederic Schlegel, and other eminent literary and scientific men. Here, within the short space of fifteen months, he produced a rapid succession of dramas, operas, and farces, as well as several small poems. The success of his works obtained him the appointment of poet to the court. He was now in the enjoyment of all that could render life happy—competence, distinction, esteem, friendship and love; but he resolved to sacrifice them all "for that greatest mortal blessing, his country's freedom."

"Could I," says he, in a letter to his father, "could I, think you, stand aloof, contented to celebrate with weak inspiration the success of my conquering brethren? I am aware that you will suffer much anxiety,—My mother too will weep—may God be her comfort!—I cannot spare you this trial. That I simply offer my life is of little import; but that I offer it, crowned as it is with all the flowery wreaths of love, of friendship, and of joy,—that I cast away the sweet sensations which lived in the conviction that I have caused you no inquietude, no anguish,—this indeed is a sacrifice which can only be opposed to such a prize!"

He left Vienna in March 1813, and joined the free corps which Major Von Lutzow was then forming. This was a voluntary association, and the corps was remarkable throughout the war for its valour and enterprise. In the midst of the most active campaigns, Korner continued to pour forth his verses. Other poets have written of battles in the retirement of the closet, but he sang his song of war on the tented field, and amid the din of conflict. Nor was this all: he collected too the strains of other poets, and adapted them to appropriate airs, to animate the ardour of his companions in arms. We cannot follow him through his career, brief as it was; but the subjoined incident is too striking to be omitted, and is especially adapted to our purpose, as it affords an opportunity of giving a passage of his unpremeditated verse in a moment of pain and danger.

On the 28th of May, Major Von Lutzow had determined on setting out on an expedition towards Thuringia, with four squadrons of his cavalry, and fifty cossacks. Korner earnestly entreated permission to accompany him, and his desire was fulfilled by his being appointed adjutant by Major Von Lutzow, who highly esteemed him, and wished to have him near his person.

The expedition passed in ten days through Halberstadt, Eisleben, Buttstadt, and Schlaitz, to Plauen, though not without encountering great danger from the enemy, who were dispersed throughout these districts, but, also, not without effecting some important results. Intelligence and information were procured, ammunition was captured and seized, and couriers on missions of importance were taken prisoners. The gallant troop acquired considerable renown, and harassed the enemy much, especially by cutting off his communications. A plan was in consequence laid by the French emperor for the extirpation of the corps, that, as a deterring example, no man should be left alive. The armistice, concluded at this moment, afforded an opportunity for putting it in practice. (The Duke of Padua, it is observable, particularly profited by this armistice; for being shut up in Leipzig by Generals Woronzow and Czernichef, with the co-operation of two battalions of the Lutzow infantry, he was only saved by this cessation of hostilities.)

Major Von Lutzow had received official information of the armistice at Plauen. Without expecting to meet with any opposition, he chose the shortest route to rejoin the infantry of his corps, having received the most confidential assurances of safety from the enemy's commanding officers, and proceeded along the high road, without interruption, to Kitzen, a village in the neighbourhood of Leipzig; but here he found himself surrounded and menaced by a very superior force. Theodore Korner was despatched to demand an explanation; but, instead of replying, the commander of the enemy struck at him with his sword; and it being now twilight, a general attack was made on the three squadrons of the Lutzow cavalry before they had drawn a sabre. Several were wounded and taken, and others dispersed in the surrounding country; but Major Von Lutzow himself was saved by the assistance of a squadron of Uhlans, who being in advance with the Cossacks, formed the van-guard, and consequently were not assailed at the same moment. He reached, with a considerable body of his troops, the right bank of the Elbe, where the infantry of his corps, and a squadron of its cavalry, were already collected.

Korner received the first blow, which he was not prepared to parry, as he approached close to the enemy's commanding officer to deliver his message without drawing his sabre, and was thus severely wounded in the head: the second blow only inflicted a slight injury. He fell back, but speedily recovered himself, and his spirited steed bore him in safety to a neighbouring wood. He was here occupied, at the first moment, with the assistance of a comrade, in binding up his wounds, when he perceived a troop of the enemy, who were in pursuit, riding towards him. His presence of mind did not forsake him, but turning towards the wood, he called with a loud voice, "Fourth squadron,—Advance!"—His stratagem succeeded—the enemy were appalled, drew back, and thus afforded him time to conceal himself deeper in the wood. It had now become dark, and he found a place in the thicket where he could remain undiscovered.

The pain of the deeper wound became very severe, his strength was exhausted, and his last hope was gone. It was in this extremity that he composed the beautiful sonnet, of which the following is a translation:—

FAREWELL TO LIFE

[Written in the night of the 17th and 18th of June, as I lay, severely wounded and helpless in a wood, expecting to die.]

"My deep wound burns;—my pale lips quake in death,—
I feel my fainting heart resign its strife,
And reaching now the limit of my life,
Lord, to thy will I yield my parting breath!

Yet many a dream hath charm'd my youthful eye;
And must life's fairy visions all depart;
Oh surely no! for all that fired my heart
To rapture here, shall live with me on high.

And that fair form that won my earliest vow,
That my young spirit prized all else above,
And now adored as freedom, now as love,
Stands in seraphic guise, before me now.

And as my fading senses fade away,
It beckons me, on high, to realms of endless day!"

During the night he heard the enemy searching the wood near him, but afterwards fell asleep, and was saved in the morning by two peasants. He was conveyed secretly into Leipsic, which was then under the French yoke, and where the concealment of any of the Lutzow free corps was prohibited, under severe punishment. He subsequently travelled in safety to Berlin, and having recovered from his wound, rejoined the corps of Lutzow on the right bank of the Elbe. Hostilities recommenced on the 17th of August; and on the 28th an engagement took place near Rosenberg, in which Korner fell. He was in pursuit of a body of the enemy, when the riflemen, who had found a rallying-place in some under-wood, sent forth a shower of balls upon their pursuers. By one of these Korner was wounded in the abdomen, the liver and spine were injured, and he was immediately deprived of speech and consciousness. He was carried to a neighbouring wood, but all medical aid was vain. He was buried under an oak in the village of Wobbelin, about a mile from Ludwigslust. A tomb has since been placed over his remains, and enclosed by a wall. He died at the early age of twenty-two.

From a Critical Notice of The Life of Korner, New Monthly Mag.

Cannot he that wisely declines walking upon the ice for fear of falling, though possibly it might carry him sooner to his journey's end, as wisely forbear drinking more wine than is necessary, for fear of being drunk and the ill-consequences thereof?—Lord Clarendon.

THE NOVELIST. No. CX

THE RESCUE

By Miss Roberts

"King Stephen was a worthy peer."

The hall was lofty, sculptured round with armorial devices, and hung with gaily-embroidered banners, which waved in the wind streaming from the crannies in windows which had suffered some dilapidation from the hand of time. Minstrel harps rang throughout the wide apartment, and at a board well covered with smoking viands—haunches of the red deer, bustards, cranes, quarters of mutton, pasties, the grinning heads of wild boars,—and flanked with flagons of wine, and tankards of foaming ale, sat King Stephen, surrounded by the flower of the Norman nobles, whose voices had placed him on the English throne. In the midst of the feast, the jovial glee of the wassailers was interrupted by the entrance of a page, who, forcing his way through the yeomen and lacqueys crowding at the door, flew with breathless haste to the feet of the king, and falling down on his knees, in faltering accents delivered the message with which he had been intrusted. "Up, gallants," exclaimed the martial monarch, "don your harness, and ride as lightly as you may to the relief of the Countess of Clare, she lies in peril of her life and honour, beleaguered by a rabble of unnurtured Welsh savages, who, lacking respect for beauty, have directed their arms against a woman. Swollen with vain pride at their late victory, (the fiend hang the coward loons who fled before them,) they have sworn to make this noble lady serve them barefoot in their camp. By St. Dennis and my good sword, were I not hampered by this pestilent invasion of the Scots, I would desire no better pastime than to drive the ill-conditioned serfs howling from the walls. Say, who amongst you will undertake the enterprise?—What, all silent? are ye knights? are ye men? do I reign over christian warriors, valiant captains who have been sworn to protect beauty in distress; or are ye like the graceless dogs of Mahomed, insensible to female honour?" "My ranks are wonderous scant," returned Milo Fitzwalter, "I may not reckon twenty men at arms in the whole train, and varlets have I none; but it boots not to number spears when danger presses; so to horse and away. Beshrew me, were it the termagant Queen Maude herself, I'd do my best to rescue her in this extremity."—"Thou art a true knight, Fitzwalter," replied the king, "and wilt prosper: the Saint's benizon be with thee, for thou must speed on this errand with such tall men as thou canst muster of thine own proper followers: the Scots, whom the devil confound, leave me too much work, to spare a single lance from mine own array. We will drink to thy success, and to the health of the fair countess, in a flask of the right Bourdeaux: and tell the lady that thy monarch grudges thee this glorious deed; for by my Halidom, an thou winnest her unscathed from the hands of these Welsh churls, thou wilt merit a niche beside the most renowned of Charlemagne's paladins." Fitzwalter made no answer, but he armed in haste, and, leaping into his saddle, gave the spur to his gallant steed, and followed by his esquires and men at arms, rested not either night or day, until he reached the marches of Wales. The lions of England still proudly flying over the castle walls, assured him that the countess had been enabled to hold out against the savage horde, who surrounded it on all sides. The besiegers set up a furious yell as the knight and his party approached their encampment. Half naked, their eyes glaring wildly from beneath a mass of yellow hair, and scantily armed with the rudest species of offensive and defensive weapons, their numbers alone made them terrible; and had the castle been manned and victualled, it might have long defied their utmost strength. Drawing their falchions, the knight and his party keeping closely together, and thus forming an impenetrable wedge, cut their desperate path through the fierce swarm of opposing foes, who, like incarnate demons, rushed to the onslaught, and fell in heaps before the biting steel of these experienced soldiers. Pressing forward with unyielding bravery, Fitzwalter won the castle walls; whence, with the assistance of such frail aid as the living spectres on the battlements could give, he beat back the Welsh host, and in another quarter of an hour, having dispersed the enemy with frightful loss, gained free entrance to the castle. Feeble was the shout of triumph which welcomed Fitzwalter and his brave companions; the corpses of the unburied dead lay strewed upon the pavement; the heroic countess, and her attendant damsels, clad in the armour of the slain, weakened by famine, and hopeless of succour, yet still striving to deceive the besiegers by the display of living warriors, by this stratagem retarded the assault which they could not repel. Fitzwalter took advantage of the darkness of the night, and the panic of the Welshmen, to withdraw from a fortress which was destitute of all the implements of war; and with the rescued ladies mounted behind them, the brave band returned to the court of King Stephen; and the charms of the fair one, and the valour of her chivalric defender, formed the theme of the minstrel in every knightly hall and lady's bower throughout Christendom.

SPIRIT OF THE PUBLIC JOURNALS

THE CONFESSIONS OF AN ENGLISH NOVEL READER

How shall I describe the emotions with which I read the first novel I ever perused! A school-fellow had secretly brought with him from home after the holidays, the novel of Peregrine Pickle, which he carefully concealed in his trunk. He at first lent it to some of the elder boys, who read it, and enlarging on some of the most despicable incidents to be found, disgusted my meek spirit of it, by their report. It seemed to violate all my cherished ideas of beauty and soft luxury. I was then about fourteen years of age, and my companions persuaded me to a perusal. I took it up listlessly, expecting but little pleasure, but what language can paint the manner in which I was entranced by it? I read it over and over with increased delight, my entire soul and frame of mind and passions seemed to be suddenly changed and remodelled. I forgot Ariadne and Telemachus, and Tom Pipes and Hatchway became my idols, the undivided objects of my admiration.

I had hitherto been a remarkably quiet and inoffensive boy; Telemachus I considered never took delight in robbing orchards. I had the confidence of my teachers from my uniform rejection of any participation in the rude affrays, the catastrophe of which dramas was in general an almost universal flogging match. My admiration naturally led to its probable result, a desire to imitate—I firmly resolved to become a Peregrine. I soon promoted myself to be the leader of every mad prank that the wit of a spirit suddenly excited to activity could devise. In the first fortnight I got flogged for tying a huge mass of brown paper to the tail of the favourite cat of the master's lady, with which she rushed with an insane and terrifying distraction into the drawing-room. We owed a spite to a neighbouring milkman for tale-bearing, and we rendered his pump, the great source of profit, useless, by filling it with soot and mire. The old woman who served the school with tarts, and who, in her endeavours to please all palates, brought some varieties heated over a charcoal fire, had her apparatus blown to atoms by an ounce of gunpowder, insinuated with so much art, that although done before her face, she could attach no one with the offence. All became riot, waste, and destruction under the guidance of my beloved Peregrine.

But, ah! the poor Count—amiable, patient, and long-suffering Gaul! He was an unhappy refugee, who had sought a home, by becoming the reviled, insulted teacher of his native tongue to a mob of heartless ruffians. How well do I remember his neat but thread-bare coat and pigtail; his stooping gait, not the decrepitude of age, but as though it sprang from the abasement of his fortune; his endurance of injury to a certain point, when patience suddenly forsook him, and his, to us, irresistibly comic rage and exasperation! What would that generous seaman Pipes have thought a defenceless Frenchman fit for, but as the object of spirited and well-conducted pranks? Nothing cruel or revengeful, but only to show our own superior wit and address in concerted and premeditated annoyance.

I had gained with a most surprising rapidity upon the confidence of the most conspicuous rioters in the school. There was something so noble and daring in all my designs, that they seemed to yield willingly to so superior a spirit. The sudden alteration in my manners had been noticed with secret wonder by the masters, and they, thinking to check my fatal tendencies at the outset, had inflicted on me several severe and well-merited chastisements. I converted even these into means of extending my influence. I had borne them like a hero, a very Peregrine. No groan—no sigh—no bellowing promise of amendment, had lessened my dignity. Under the torture, I was sullen and silent. The stoutest heart in the school envied my manhood and composure.

The poor French teacher had been the hereditary object of annoyance for several generations of boys. The meekest and most chicken-hearted scrubs in the school tried their apprenticeship to mischief upon him, and were tutored to more noble game by beginning with the Count. They split and cut his pens into a thousand fantastic shapes during a momentary absence; they filled his snuff with the most odious pulverulents. They placed on his desk rude, but expressive designs of a guillotine, with a meagre fellow in ruffles and no shirt, running in the extremity of speed from the spot. These, and a thousand exhibitions of budding genius, and original sin, were our daily subjects of merriment and applause. I taught them nobler arts, or rather the spirit of Pickle which spake within me. It was nothing to annoy on such a petty and momentary scale; let the art and forethought of Hatchway be exhibited.

The amiable Frenchman was a zealous Catholic, and upon certain festivals always received from a Catholic gentleman of rank and fortune in the neighbourhood, an invitation to visit him. On these occasions his dress was the most ludicrous imaginable, being compounded of remnants of pristine finery, such as his wardrobe could afford, without attention to uniformity, or consistency of colour. Above all, he possessed a pair of light pea-green small clothes, on which he much prided himself, and I swore by old Trunnion to be their murderer. His custom on the aforesaid visits was to dress early, and then hastily to dismiss his lessons, and proceed immediately.