The Mirror of Literature, Amusement, and Instruction. Volume 13, No. 364, April 4, 1829

Years have gone by—my thoughts have risen higher—
I sought for refuge at the Almighty's throne;
And when I sit by this low mould'ring fire,
With but my Bible, feel not quite alone.
Lingering in peace, till I can lay me down,
Quiet and cold in that last dwelling place,
By him o'er whose young head the grass is grown—
By him who yet shall rise with angel face,
Pleading for me, the lost and sinful of my race.
And if I still heave one reluctant sigh—
If earthly sorrows still will cross my heart—
If still to my now dimmed and sunken eye
The bitter tear, half checked, in vain will start;
I hid the dreams of other days depart,
And turn, with clasping hands, and lips compress'd,
To pray that Heaven will soothe sad memory's smart;
Teach me to bear and calm my troubled breast;
And grant her peace in Heaven who not on earth may rest.

The author of this exquisite volume is the daughter of the late Thomas Sheridan, and is described as a young and lovely woman, moving in a fashionable sphere.

In this edition are several minor pieces, and others not before published, some of which are of equal merit with the specimens we have here quoted.

PILGRIMAGE TO MEKKA

Of the numerous pilgrims who arrive at Mekka before the caravan, some are professed merchants; many others bring a few articles for sale, which they dispose of without trouble. They then pass the interval of time before the Hadj, or pilgrimage, very pleasantly; free from cares and apprehensions, and enjoying that supreme happiness of an Asiatic, the dolce far niente. Except those of a very high rank, the pilgrims live together in a state of freedom and equality. They keep but few servants; many, indeed, have none, and divide among themselves the various duties of housekeeping, such as bringing the provisions from market and cooking them, although accustomed at home to the services of an attendant. The freedom and oblivion of care which accompany travelling, render it a period of enjoyment among the people of the East as among Europeans; and the same kind of happiness results from their residence at Mekka, where reading the Koran, smoking in the streets or coffee-houses, praying or conversing in the mosque, are added to the indulgence of their pride in being near the holy house, and to the anticipation of the honours attached to the title of hadjy for the remainder of their lives; besides the gratification of religious feelings, and the hopes of futurity, which influence many of the pilgrims. The hadjys who come by the caravans pass their time very differently. As soon as they have finished their tedious journey, they must undergo the fatiguing ceremonies of visiting the Kaaba and Omra; immediately after which, they are hurried away to Arafat and Mekka, and, still heated from the effects of the journey, are exposed to the keen air of the Hedjaz mountains under the slight and inadequate covering of the ihram: then returning to Mekka, they have only a few days left to recruit their strength, and to make their repeated visits to the Beitullah, when the caravan sets off on its return; and thus the whole pilgrimage is a severe trial of bodily strength, and a continual series of fatigues and privations. This mode of visiting the holy city is, however, in accordance with the opinions of many most learned Moslem divines, who thought that a long residence in the Hedjaz, however meritorious the intention, is little conducive to true belief, since the daily sight of the holy places weakened the first impressions made by them. Notwithstanding the general decline of Musselman zeal, there are still found Mohammedans whose devotion induces them to visit repeatedly the holy places.—Burckhardt's Travels in Arabia.

RUSSIAN BOTANICAL GARDEN

The botanical garden of St. Petersburg, like all the rest of the institutions, is of gigantic dimensions. It contains sixty-five acres: a parallelogram formed by three parallel lines of hot-houses and conservatories, united at the extremities by covered corridors, constitutes the grand feature of this establishment. The south line contains green-house plants in the centre, and hot-house plants at each end; the middle line has hot-house plants only, and the north line is filled with green-house plants. The connecting corridors are two hundred and forty-five feet. The north and south line contain respectively five different compartments of one hundred toises each, that is to say, they are together six thousand feet. The middle line has seven compartments, that is, three thousand more, making in the whole length nine thousand feet!—Granville's Travels.

THE HIRLAS HORN

THE HIRLAS HORN.

The engraving represents an elegant complimentary piece of plate, presented by the Committee for managing the Eisteddvod, held at Denbigh, September, 1828, to Dr. Jones, their Honorary Secretary, for his valuable services on that occasion.

Mr. Ellis, of John-street, Oxford-street, Medalist to the Royal Cambrian institution, was requested to execute (for this purpose) after his own design, a drinking goblet of an ancient form. Mr. E. thought of the Hirlas Horn, and he has completed a beautiful and unique piece of workmanship. It is an elegantly carved horn, about eighteen inches long, brilliantly polished, and richly mounted, the cover highly ornamented with chased oak leaves, and the tip adorned with an acorn; the horn resting on luxuriant branches of an oaken tree, exquisitely finished in chased silver. Around the cover is engraved the following inscription:—"Presented by the Cymmrodorion in Gwynedd, to RICHARD PHILLIPS JONES, M.D. for his unwearied exertions in promoting the Royal Eisteddvod, held at Denbigh, 1828." The horn (the inside of which is lined with silver,) will contain about three half pints; and we doubt not that it will be often passed around, filled with Cwrw da, in remembrance of the interesting event which it is intended to commemorate—

"And former times renew in converse sweet."

The origin of the Hirlas Horn is as follows:—

About 1160, Owain Cyveiliog, one of the most distinguished Princes of Powis, flourished; he was a great warrior and an eminent poet; several specimens of his writings are given in the Archaiology of Wales, published by the late patriotic Owain Jones Myfyr. His poem called the Hirlas Horn (the long blue horn,) is a masterpiece. It used to be the custom with the prince, when he had gained a battle, to call for the horn, filled with metheglin, or mead, and drink the contents at one draught, then sound it to show that there was no deception; each of his officers following his example. Mrs. Hemans has given a beautiful song, in Parry's second volume of Welsh Melodies, on the subject, concluding thus:—

"Fill higher the HIRLAS' forgetting not those
Who shar'd its bright draught in the days which are fled!
Tho' cold on their mountains the valiant repose,
Their lot shall be lovely—renown to the dead!
While harps in the hall of the feast shall be strung,
While regal ERYRI[3 - Snowdon] with snow shall be crown'd—
So long by the bard shall their battles be sung,
And the heart of the hero shall burn at the sound:
The free winds of Cambria shall swell with their name,
And OWAIN's rich HIRLAS be fill'd to their fame!"

THE NATURALIST

BIRDS OF LONDON

It may be observed, that although many of the bird tribe seem to prefer the vicinity of the residence of man for their domicile, yet they, for the most part, avoid cities and large towns, for one, among other reasons, because there is no food for them. There are, notwithstanding, some remarkable exceptions to this. The House Sparrow is to be seen, I believe, in every part of London. There is a rookery in the Tower; and another was, till lately, in Carlton Palace Gardens; but the trees having been cut down to make room for the improvements going on there, the rooks removed in (1827,) to some trees behind the houses in New-street, Spring-gardens. There was also, for many years, a rookery on the trees in the churchyard of St. Dunstan's in the East, a short distance from the Tower; the rooks for some years past deserted that spot, owing, it is believed, to the fire that occurred a few years ago at the old Custom House. But in 1827, they began again to build on those trees, which are not elm, but a species of plane. There was also, formerly, a rookery on some large elm trees in the College Garden behind the Ecclesiastical Court in Doctors' Commons, a curious anecdote concerning which has been recorded.

The Stork, and some other of the tribe of waders, are occasionally also inhabitants of some of the continental towns.

Rooks appear to be peculiarly partial to building their nests in the vicinity of the residence of man. Of the numerous rookeries of which I have any recollection, most of them were a short distance from dwelling houses. In March, 1827, there was a rookery on some trees, neither very lofty nor very elegant, in the garden of the Royal Naval Asylum, at Greenwich; and although many very fine and lofty elms are in the park near, which one might naturally suppose the rooks would prefer, yet, such is the fact, there is not even one rook's nest in Greenwich Park. Possibly the company of so large a number of boys, and the noise which they make, determine these birds in the choice of such a place for their procreating domicile.

There is also a remarkable fact related by Mr. French, on the authority of Dr. Spurgin, in the second volume of the Zoological Journal, which merits attention, in regard to the rook.

A gentleman occupied a farm in Essex, where he had not long resided before numerous rooks built their nests on the trees surrounding his premises; the rookery was much prized; the farmer, however, being induced to hire a larger farm about three quarters of a mile distant, he left the farm and the rookery; but, to his surprise and pleasure, the whole rookery deserted their former habitation and came to the new one of their old master, where they continue to flourish. It ought to be added, that this gentleman was strongly attached to all animals whatsoever, and of course used them kindly.

The Swallow, Swift, and Martin, seem to have almost deserted London, although they are occasionally, though not very plentifully, to be seen in the suburbs. Two reasons may be assigned for this relative to the swallow; flies are not there so plentiful as in the open country; and most of the chimneys have conical or other contracted tops to them, which, if they do not preclude, are certainly no temptation to their building in such places; the top of a chimney being, as is well known, its favourite site for its nest. The Martin is also scarce in London. But, during the summer of 1820, I observed a Martin's nest against a blind window in Goswell Street Road, on the construction of which the Martins were extremely busy in the early part of the month of August. I have since seen many Martins, (August, 1826,) busily engaged in skimming over a pool in the fields, to the south of Islington: most of these were, I conjecture, young birds, as they were brown, not black; but they had the white on the rump, which is characteristic of the species. A few days afterwards I observed several Martin's nests in a blind window on Islington-Green. And, Sept. 20, of the same year, I saw from the window of my present residence, in Dalby Terrace, City Road, many similar birds actively on the wing.

The Redbreast has been, I am told, occasionally seen in the neighbourhood of Fleet-market and Ludgate-hill. I saw it myself before the window of my present residence, Dalby Terrace, in November, 1825, and in Nov. 1826, the Wren was seen on the shrubs in the garden before the house at Dalby Terrace; it was very lively and active, and uttered its peculiar chit, chit.

The Starling builds on the tower at Canonbury, in Islington; and the Baltimore Oriole is, according to Wilson, found very often on the trees in some of the American cities; but the Mocking-bird, that used to be very common in the American suburban regions, is, it is said, now becoming more rare, particularly in the neighbourhood of Philadelphia.

The Thrush was also often heard in the gardens behind York-place, during the spring of 1826. I heard it myself in delightful song early in March, 1826, among the trees near the canal, on the north side of the Regent's Park.

Some of the migratory birds approach much nearer to London than is generally imagined. The Cuckoo and Wood-pigeon are heard occasionally in Kensington-gardens. The Nightingale approaches also much nearer to London than has been commonly supposed. I heard it in melodious song at seven o'clock in the morning, in the wood near Hornsey-wood House, May 10, 1826, which is, I believe, the nearest approach to St. Paul's it has been for some time known to make. It is also often heard at Hackney and Mile-end. I have also heard it regularly for some years past in a garden near the turnpike-gate on the road leading from London to Greenwich, a short distance from the third mile stone from London-Bridge. This charming bird may be also heard, during the season, in Greenwich Park, particularly in the gardens adjoining Montagu-house; but never, I believe, on its lofty trees. The Nightingale prefers copses and bushes to trees; the Cuckoo, on the contrary, prefers trees, and of these the elm, from which it most probably obtains its food. The Nightingale is also common at Lee and Lewisham, Forest-hill, Sydenham, and Penge-wood; in all these places, except Hackney and Mile-end, I have myself often heard it, and in the day-time. Those who are partial to the singing of birds generally, will find the morning, from four to nine o'clock, the most favourable time for hearing them–Jennings's Ornithologia.

MOCK SUNS

In the centre of the heavens above us, the sun began to break through the mist, forming a clear space, which, as it grew wider by the gradual retreat of the mist and clouds, was enclosed or surrounded by a complete circle of hazy light, much brighter than the general aspect of the atmosphere, but not so brilliant as the sun itself. This circle was about half as broad as the apparent size of the sun, through which it seemed to pass, while on each side of the sun, at about the distance of a sixth of the circumference of the ring, which likewise traversed them, were situated two mock suns, resembling the real sun in everything but brightness, and on the opposite side of the circle two other mock suns were placed, distant from each other about a third of the circuit of the band of light, forming altogether five suns, one real and four fictitious luminaries, through which a broad hoop of subdued light ran round an area of slightly hazy blue sky. The centre of this area was occupied by a small segment of a rainbow, the concave side of which was turned from the true sun, while on its convex edge, in contact with it at its most prominent part, was stretched a broad straight band of prismatic colours, similar to the rainbow in all but curvature. Across the space, within the circle of light, there was a broad stream of dusky cloud, formed of three distinct streaks, and reaching from one of the most distant mock suns to another opposite to it, in the shape of a low arch; but in a little while one extremity of this bar moved away from its original position, while the other end remained stationary, leading me to suppose that it was merely an accidental piece of cloud.

As noon approached, or rather as the clouds dispersed, the blue hazy sky extended beyond the ring of light, and while the day advanced, and the heavens grew more clear, the whole meteor gradually disappeared, the circle vanishing first, and then the imitative suns. My companions assured me they had never before witnessed a similar exhibition during voyages in these seas; but more learned Thebans describe them as phenomena frequently witnessed in high latitudes, and have assigned them the designation of parhelia. There was, during this solar panorama, a large and complete semicircle of haze, lighter in colour than the surrounding fog, resting on the horizon perpendicularly, like a rainbow, but this appearance my associates informed me was familiar to their sight.—Tales of a Voyager in the Arctic Ocean.

THE ANECDOTE GALLERY

BROILING STEAKS

A Munchausen Story

"Talking of broiling steaks—when I was in Egypt we used to broil our beef-steaks on the locks—no occasion for fire—thermometer at 200—hot as h-ll! I have seen four thousand men at a time cooking for the whole army as much as twenty or thirty thousand pounds of steaks at a time, all hissing and frying at a time—just about noon, of course, you know—not a spark of fire! Some of the soldiers who had been brought up as glass-blowers at Leith swore they never saw such heat. I used to go to leeward of them for a whiff, and think of old England! Ay! that's the country, after all, where a man may think and say what he pleases! But that sort of work did not last long, as you may suppose; their eyes were all fried out, – me, in three or four weeks! I had been ill in my bed, for I was attached to the 72nd regiment, seventeen hundred strong. I had a party of seamen with me; but the ophthalmia made such ravages, that the whole regiment, colonel and all, went stone-blind—all, except one corporal! You may stare, gentlemen, but it's very true. Well, this corporal had a precious time of it: he was obliged to lead out the whole regiment to water—he led the way, and two or three took hold of the skirts of his jacket on each side; the skirts of these were seized again by as many more; and double the number to the last, and so all held on by one another, till they had all had a drink at the well; and, as the devil would have it, there was but one well among us all—so this corporal used to water the regiment just as a groom waters his horses; and all spreading out, you know, just like the tail of a peacock."—"Of which the corporal was the rump," interrupted the doctor. The captain looked grave. "You found it warm in that country?" inquired the surgeon. "Warm!" exclaimed the captain; "I'll tell you what, doctor, when you go where you have sent many a patient, and where, for that very reason, you certainly will go, I only hope, for your sake, and for that of your profession in general, that you will not find it quite so hot as we found it in Egypt. What do you think of nineteen of my men being killed by the concentrated rays of light falling on the barrels of the sentinels' bright muskets, and setting fire to the powder? I commanded a mortar battery at Acre, and I did the French infernal mischief with the shells. I used to pitch in among them when they had sat down to dinner; but how do you think the scoundrels weathered on me at last? – me, they trained a parcel of poodle dogs to watch the shells when they fell, and then to run and pull the fusees out with their teeth. Did you ever hear of such villains? By this means they saved hundreds of men, and only lost half-a-dozen dogs—fact, by–; only ask Sir Sydney Smith, he'll tell you the same, and a– sight more." * * * * He continued his lies, and dragged in as usual the name of Sir Sydney Smith to support his assertions. "If you doubt me, only ask Sir Sydney Smith; he'll talk to you about Acre for thirty-six hours on a stretch, without taking breath; his cockswain at last got so tired of it, that he nick-named him 'Long Acre.'" * * * "Capital salmon this," said the captain; "where does Billet get it from? By the by, talking of that, did you ever hear of the pickled salmon in Scotland?" We all replied in the affirmative. "Oh, you don't take. Hang it, I don't mean dead pickled salmon; I mean live pickled salmon, swimming about in tanks, as merry as grigs, and as hungry as rats." We all expressed our astonishment at this, and declared we never heard of it before. "I thought not," said he, "for it has only lately been introduced into this country by a particular friend of mine, Dr. Mac—. I cannot just now remember his–, jaw-breaking, Scotch name; he was a great chemist and geologist, and all that sort of thing—a clever fellow, I can tell you, though you may laugh. Well, this fellow, sir, took Nature by the heels, and capsized her, as we say. I have a strong idea that he had sold himself to the d—l. Well, what does he do, but he catches salmon and puts them into tanks, and every day added more and more salt, till the water was as thick as gruel, and the fish could hardly wag their tails in it. Then he threw in whole pepper-corns, half-a-dozen pounds at a time, till there was enough. Then he began to dilute with vinegar until his pickle was complete. The fish did not half like it at first; but habit is every thing; and when he showed me his tank, they were swimming about as merry as a shoal of dace: he fed them with fennel, chopped small, and black pepper-corns. 'Come, doctor,' says I, 'I trust no man upon tick; if I don't taste I won't believe my own eyes, though I can believe my tongue.' (We looked at each other.) 'That you shall do in a minute,' says he; so he whipped one of them out with a landing-net; and when I stuck my knife into him, the pickle ran out of his body like wine out of a claret-bottle, and I ate at least two pounds of the rascal, while he flapped his tail in my face. I never tasted such salmon as that. Worth your while to go to Scotland, if it's only for the sake of eating live pickled salmon. I'll give you a letter, any of you, to my friend. He'll be d—d glad to see you; and then you may convince yourselves. Take my word for it, if once you eat salmon that way, you will never eat it any other."—The Naval Officer.

NAPOLEON AT FONTAINBLEAU,

As related by De Bausset

On the evening of April 8, 1814, De Bausset left Blois, commissioned by Josephine to deliver at Paris, a letter to the Emperor of Austria, and afterwards another at Fontainbleau to her husband. Having executed the first part of this commission, he set out at two in the morning of the 11th of April for Fontainbleau, and arrived at the palace about nine o'clock. He was introduced to Napoleon immediately, and gave him the letter from the empress. "Good Louise!" exclaimed Napoleon, after having read it, and then asked numerous questions as to her health and that of his son. De Bausset expressed his wish to carry back an answer to the empress, and Napoleon promised to give him a letter in the afternoon. He was calm and decided; but his tones were milder, and his manners mere gentle than was his wont. He began talking about Elba, and showed to De B. the maps and books of geography which he had been consulting on the subject of his future little empire. "The air is good," said he, "and the inhabitants well-disposed: I shall not be very ill off there, and I hope Marie-Louise will put up with it as well as I shall." He knew that for the present they were not to meet, but his hope was that when she was once in the possession of the duchy of Parma, she and his son would be allowed to reside with him in the island. But he never saw either again. The prince of Neufchâtel, Berthier, entered the room to demand permission to go to Paris on his private affairs; he would return the next day. After he had left the room, Napoleon said with a melancholy tone:—"Never! he will never return hither!" "What, sire!" replied Maret, who was present, "can that be the farewell of your Berthier?" "Yes! I tell you; he will not return." He did not. At two o'clock in the afternoon Napoleon sent again for De Bausset. He was walking on the terrace under the gallery of Francis I. He questioned De B. as to all he had seen or heard during the late events; he found great fault with the measure adopted by the council in leaving Paris; the letter to his brother, upon which they acted, had been written under very different circumstances; the presence of Louise at Paris would have prevented the treason and defection of many of his soldiers, and he should still have been at the head of a formidable army, with which he could have forced his enemies to quit France and sign an honourable peace. De B. expressed his regret that peace had not been made at Châtillon. "I never could put any confidence," said Napoleon, "in the good faith of our enemies. Every day they made fresh demands, imposed fresh conditions; they did not wish to have peace—and then—I had declared publicly to all France that I would not submit to humiliating terms, although the enemy were on the heights of Montmartre." De B. remarked that France within the Rhine would be one of the finest kingdoms in the world; on which Napoleon, after a pause, said—"I abdicate; but I yield nothing." He ran rapidly over the characters of his principal officers, but dwelt on that of Macdonald. "Macdonald," said he, "is a brave and faithful soldier; it is only during these late events that I have fully appreciated his Worth; his connexion with Moreau prejudiced me against him: but I did him injustice, and I regret much that I did not know him better." Napoleon paused; then after a minute's silence—"See," said he, "what our life is! In the action at Arcis-sur-Aube I fought with desperation, and asked nothing but to die for my country. My clothes were torn to pieces by musket balls—but alas! not one could touch my person! A death which I should owe to an act of despair would be cowardly; suicide does not suit my principles nor the rank I have holden in the world. I am a man condemned to live." He sighed almost to sobbing;—then, after several minutes' silence, he said with a bitter smile—"After all they say, a living camp-boy is worth more than a dead emperor,"—and immediately retired into the palace. It was the last time De Bausset ever saw his master.