The Mirror of Literature, Amusement, and Instruction. Volume 14, No. 402, Supplementary Number (1829)

"'It's honour, mother,' was the short reply of the soldier; and with clenched hands and set teeth, he took a stiffer posture on the coach.

"'Thady, come down—come down, ye fool of the world—come along down wid ye!' The tone of the present appeal was more impatient and peremptory than the last; and the answer was more promptly and sternly pronounced: 'It's honour, brother!' and the body of the speaker rose more rigidly erect than ever on the roof.

"'O Thady, come down! sure it's me, your own Kathleen, that bids ye! Come down, or ye'll break the heart of me, Thady, jewel; come down then!' The poor girl wrung her hands as she said it, and cast a look upward that had a visible effect on the muscles of the soldier's countenance. There was more tenderness in his tone, but it conveyed the same resolution as before.

"'It's honour, honour bright, Kathleen!' and, as if to defend himself from another glance, he fixed his look steadfastly in front, while the renewed entreaties burst from all three in chorus, with the same answer.

"'Come down, Thady, honey!—Thady, ye fool, come down!—O Thady, come down to me!'

"'It's honour, mother!—It's honour, brother!—Honour bright, my own Kathleen!'

"Although the poor fellow was a private, this appeal was so public, that I did not hesitate to go down and inquire into the particulars of the distress. It appeared that he had been home, on furlough, to visit his family,—and having exceeded, as he thought, the term of his leave, he was going to rejoin his regiment, and to undergo the penalty of his neglect. I asked him when the furlough expired?

"'The first of March, your honour—bad luck to it of all the black days in the world—and here it is, come sudden on me, like a shot!'

"'The first of March!—why, my good fellow, you have a day to spare then—the first of March will not be here till to-morrow. It is Leap Year, and February has twenty-nine days.'

"The soldier was thunder-struck.—'Twenty-nine days is it?—you're sartin of that same! Oh, mother, mother!—the devil fly away wid yere ould almanack—a base cratur of a book, to be deceaven one, afther living so long in the family of us!'

"His first impulse was to cut a caper on the roof of the coach, and throw up his cap with a loud hurrah! His second was to throw himself into the arms of his Kathleen; and the third was to wring my hand off in acknowledgment.

"'It's a happy man I am, your honour, for my word's saved, and all by your honour's manes. Long life to your honour for the same! May ye live a long hundred—and lape-years every one of them.'"

What will Mr. Gurney's helpers say to the following

SONNET ON STEAM

BY AN UNDER-OSTLER

I wish I livd a Thowsen year Ago
Wurking for Sober six and Seven milers
And dubble Stages runnen safe and slo!
The Orsis cum in Them days to the Bilers
But Now by meens of Powers of Steem forces
A-turning Coches into Smoakey Kettels
The Bilers seam a Cumming to the Orses
And Helps and naggs Will sune be out of Vittels
Poor Bruits I wander How we bee to Liv
When sutch a change of Orses is our Faits
No nothink need Be sifted in a Siv
May them Blowd ingins all Blow up their Grates
And Theaves of Oslers crib the Coles and Giv
Their blackgard Hannimuls a Feed of Slaits!

Space we have not for the whole of "A Letter from a Market Gardener to the Secretary of the Horticultural Society," but here is the concluding paragraph:—

"My Wif had a Tomb Cat that dyd. Being a torture Shell and a Grate faverit, we had Him berrid in the Guardian, and for the sake of inrichment of the Mould, I had the carks deposeted under the roots of a Gosberry Bush. The Frute being up till then of a smooth kind. But the nex Seson's Frute after the Cat was berrid, the Gosberris was al hairy—and more Remarkable, the Capilers of the same bush was All of the same hairy description.

    "I am, Sir, your humble servant,
    "THOMAS FROST."

We have lately paid much attention to the subject of Emigration, but quite in a different vein to the following, which will introduce one of the cuts:—

"Squampash Flatts, 9th Nov. 1827.

"Dear Brother—Here we are, thank Providence, safe and well, and in the finest country you ever saw. At this moment I have before me the sublime expanse of Squampash Flatts—the majestic Mudiboo winding through the midst—with the magnificent range of the Squab mountains in the distance. But the prospect is impossible to describe in a letter! I might as well attempt a panorama in a pill-box! We have fixed our settlement on the left bank of the river. In crossing the rapids we lost most of our heavy baggage, and all our iron work; but, by great good fortune, we saved Mrs. Paisley's grand piano, and the children's toys. Our infant city consists of three log-huts and one of clay, which, however, on the second day, fell in to the ground landlords. We have now built it up again, and, all things considered, are as comfortable as we could expect: and have christened our settlement New London, in compliment to the old metropolis. We have one of the log-houses to ourselves—or at least shall have, when we have built a new hog-sty. We burnt down the first one in making a bonfire to keep off the wild beasts, and, for the present, the pigs are in the parlour. As yet our rooms are rather usefully than elegantly furnished. We have gutted the Grand Upright, and it makes a convenient cupboard; the chairs were obliged to blaze at our bivouacs—but thank Heaven, we have never leisure to sit down, and so do not miss them. My boys are contented, and will be well when they have got over some awkward accidents in lopping and felling. Mrs. P. grumbles a little, but it is her custom to lament most when she is in the midst of comforts: she complains of solitude, and says she could enjoy the very stiffest of stiff visits. The first time we lighted a fire in our new abode, a large serpent came down the chimney, which I looked upon as a good omen. However, as Mrs. P. is not partial to snakes, and the heat is supposed to attract those reptiles, we have dispensed with fires ever since. As for wild beasts, we hear them howling and roaring round the fence every night from dusk till daylight; but we have only been inconvenienced by one lion. The first time he came, in order to get rid of the brute peaceably, we turned out an old ewe, with which he was well satisfied, but ever since he comes to us as regular as clock-work for his mutton; and if we do not soon contrive to cut his acquaintance, we shall hardly have a sheep in the flock. It would have been easy to shoot him, being well provided with muskets; but Barnaby mistook our remnant of gunpowder for onion seed, and sowed it all in the kitchen garden. We did try to trap him into a pit-fall; but after twice catching Mrs. P. and every one of the children in turn, it was given up. They are now, however, perfectly at ease about the animal, for they never stir out of doors at all; and, to make them quite comfortable, I have blocked up all the windows, and barricaded the door. We have lost only one of our number since we came—namely, Diggory, the market-gardener, from Glasgow, who went out one morning to botanize, and never came back. I am much surprised at his absconding, as he had nothing but a spade to go off with. Chippendale, the carpenter, was sent after him, but did not return; and Gregory, the smith, has been out after them these two days. I have just dispatched Mudge, the herdsman, to look for all three, and hope he will soon give a good account of them, as they are the most useful men in the whole settlement, and, in fact, indispensable to its existence. The river Mudiboo is deep and rapid, and said to swarm with alligators, though I have heard but of three being seen at one time, and none of those above eighteen feet long: this, however, is immaterial, as we do not use the river fluid, which is thick and dirty, but draw all our water from natural wells and tanks. Poisonous springs are rather common, but are easily distinguished by containing no fish or living animal. Those, however, which swarm with frogs, toads, newts, efts, &c., are harmless, and may be safely used for culinary purposes. In short, I know of no drawback but one, which, I am sanguine, may be got over hereafter, and do earnestly hope and advise, if things are no better in England than when I left, you, and as many as you can persuade, will sell off all, and come over to this African Paradise. The drawback I speak of is this:—Although I have never seen any one of the creatures, it is too certain that the mountains are inhabited by a race of monkeys, whose cunning and mischievous talents exceed even the most incredible stories of their tribe. No human art or vigilance seems of avail: we have planned ambuscades, and watched night after night, but no attempt has been made; yet the moment the guard was relaxed, we were stripped without mercy. I am convinced they must have had spies night and day on our motions—yet so secretly and cautiously, that no glimpse of one has yet been seen by any of our people. Our last crop was cut and carried off with the precision of an English harvesting. Our spirit stores—(you will be amazed to hear that these creatures pick locks with the dexterity of London burglars)—have been broken open and ransacked, though half the establishment were on the watch; and the brutes have been off to their mountains, five miles distant, without even the dogs giving an alarm. I could almost persuade myseif at times, such are their supernatural knowledge, swiftness, and invisibility, that we have to contend with evil spirits. I long for your advice, to refer to on this subject; and am, dear Philip,

    "Your loving brother,
    "AMBROSE MAWE.

"P.S. Since writing the above, you will be concerned to hear the body of poor Diggory has been found, horribly mangled by wild beasts. The fate of Chippendale, Gregory, and Mudge is no longer doubtful. The old lion has brought the lioness, and, the sheep being all gone, they have made a joint attack upon the bullock-house. The Mudiboo has overflowed, and Squampash Flatts are a swamp. I have just discovered that the monkeys are my own rascals, that I brought out from England. We are coming back as fast as we can."

EMIGRATION:

Meeting a Settler.

THE CUTS

A clear stage, and no favour: a coach and horses on their sides, with all the passengers' heels uppermost, in a horse-pond.—The air adapted to a Violin: a fellow flying a kite-fiddle in a field.—"Those Evening Bells:" a postman and muffin-man.—Shrimp Sauce to a Lobster: a little urchin putting out his tongue at a Foot Guard.—"Toe-ho:" a sportsman caught in a spring-trap.—Boarded, Lodged, and Done for: a wight in the pillory, and a shower of brick-bats, dead cats, &c.—"A Constable's Miscellany:" a crowd of offenders, preceded by the man in office, staff-in-hand.—Unlicensed Victuallers: a couple of greyhounds seizing a dinner. "She walks in beauty, like the night:" a black girl, shaded by a broad leaf.—Boxer and Pincher: a pair of dogs taking snuff together.—A Round Robin: a red-breast in the shape of a ball.– Hook and Eye: a parrot on a perch.—A Leading Article: a jockey a-head in a race.—A Sweepstakes—"Every jockey has a jenny:" sweeps on donkeys.—Soap-orifics and Sud-orifics: two busy washerwomen.—A Court Day: a crowd sheltered from the rain, beneath "Poppin's Court." These are but a few of the eighty-seven drolleries of the cuts and plates, which have more fun and humour than all the pantomime tricks and changes of our time; they are worth all the fine conceits of all the great painters of any age, and the pun and patter which accompany them are excellent. We give one of the tail-pieces:

Breaking up—no Holiday.

EMMANUEL

This little work is "decidedly of a religious character," and, to quote the preface, "its contents are in unison with the sanctity of its title." The editor is the Rev. W. Shepherd, the author of Clouds and Sunshine; and we quote an extract from one of his contributions: its gravities will blend with the gaieties of our sheet. The passage occurs in "Holy Associations:"—

"But there are other feelings besides those of mortality which are closely connected with a churchyard. Whilst from the ashes of the dead comes forth a voice which solemnly proclaims, 'The end of all things is at hand,' there arises also to the well-regulated mind a scene of still greater interest—one more in unison with the soul. There is a kind of indescribable sympathy, which, like the sentiment of the prophet of Judah, prompts us to wish that our bones may lie by the side of our brethren in the sepulchre. This feeling is part of our nature, and belongs to that universal link which connects and binds man to man, and continues the chain till lost in the essence of divinity....

"What, indeed! can mark a greater alienation of the soul from its original nature, than the infidelity which chooses for the bed of the grave spots unhallowed by religious associations. They who deny their God, and cavil at his Word, can have no reverence for places which, like his houses of prayer and the consecrated receptacles of the dead, derive all their sanctity and influence from a belief in his mercies, and a sense of our demerits—hence, having banished themselves from their Father's house, they are content to 'lie down in the grave like the beasts that perish.' Whilst, on the contrary, the simply virtuous, the sincerely religious, the soberly pious, without attaching any value as to the future destination of the soul, to the spot in which its earthly sister may crumble to its kindred dust, cherish the pleasing hope that their mortal bodies may repose in those places alone which religion hallows. They long not for pleasure grottos or druidical coppices, in which to be gathered to their fathers, but dwelling with chastened hope on the glories of the resurrection, they desire their mortal particles may be found when the Lord cometh to complete his victory over the grave, in the spot, and contiguous to the house 'in which he has chosen to place his name there.'

"From the same fountain of ethereal purity, deduced through this genuine principle of amiability, is derived that love of country which makes his Alps and Avalanches dear to the Swiss, and suggested that beautiful image to the Mantuan muse, of the Grecian soldier remembering in the last struggles of death his pleasant Argos. It is this which makes us revert, with ever verdant freshness, to our homes and native places, and binds us to the land of our birth with adamantine links. From the burning desarts of sunny Africa—from the wild tornados of the gusty West—from the mountains of ice piled by a thousand ages, like impassable barriers round each frozen pole—from the fertile plains and trackless forests of Australia, frequently rises, like a breeze of sweetest incense, the fond remembrance of our native land; which, even in bosoms scathed by storm and pilgrimage, causes to spring up, like a sudden fountain in a barren waste, the gushing images of the scenes of home, and all their prime deliciousness."

There are seventy-five pieces in prose and verse, narrative and descriptive.—The price and pretensions would not allow costly engravings; and, with the exception of a beautiful architectural frontispiece, by Mr. Britton, F.S.A. the embellishments are but meagre. This plate is accompanied by a brief paper on Christian Architecture, at the close of which Mr. Britton says, "The frontispiece has been composed from the architectural members of the west front of York Minster; and it shows that the monastic artist who designed that magnificent facade, gave to it a decided, unequivocal Christian character."

THE BIJOU

Is very properly entitled "An Annual of Literature and the Arts," since considerably more attention seems to have been paid to the Illustrations than to their accompaniments. Few of the prose or verse pieces present much novelty of matter or manner; but the following will, perhaps, be esteemed a curiosity:—

PORTRAIT OF UGO FOSCOLO

(From the Italian,) by Himself

A furrow'd brow, intent and deep sunk eyes,
Fair hair, lean cheeks, are mine, and aspect bold;
The proud quick lip, where seldom smiles arise,
Bent head and fine form'd neck, breast rough and cold,
Limbs well compos'd; simple in dress, yet choice:
Swift or to move, act, think, or thoughts unfold;
Temperate, firm, kind, unus'd to flattering lies,