The Mirror of Literature, Amusement, and Instruction. Volume 19, No. 548, May 26, 1832

THE SELECTOR; AND LITERARY NOTICES OF NEW WORKS

THE FAIR OF MAY FAIR

The volumes of sketches of fashionable life with this quaint title will serve to amuse a few inveterate novel-readers; while occasional pages may induce others to take up the thread of the narrative. The flying follies of high life, or rather, we think, of affected ton, are hit off with truth and vigour, and there is a pleasantry in the writer's style which is an acceptable relief to the dulness of common-place details. We shall endeavour to detach a scene or two, one, as a specimen of "the art of ingeniously tormenting," and the incipient waywardness of a newly-married pair.

"From the first months of his domestication with his wife at Wellwood Abbey, Sir Henry Wellwood had intended, had longed, to commence his little system of tender remonstrance; but the slightest insinuation of a difference of opinion was sufficient to fan the embers of Henrietta's distemperature into a conflagration. The blaze was not strong, indeed; for the lady had always been accustomed to find a fit of wilfulness, or of affected despondency, more available and becoming than one of hasty anger. But she was tolerably expert in those piquant flippancies of speech which harass the enemy like a straggling fire; and could contrive, when it suited her purpose, to make herself as disagreeable as if her face had not been that of a cherub, or her voice seraphic.

"'A woman,' quoth La Bruyère, 'must be charming indeed, whose husband does not repent, ten times a day, that he is a married man.' Sir Henry Wellwood would have scoffed at the axiom. The 'idol of his soul' was still an idol; although, like the votaries of old, he had managed to discover that it was not wholly formed of precious metals; that its feet were of clay! He still fancied himself the happiest of mortals; particularly when Henrietta, in her best looks and spirits, was riding by his side through the Wellwood plantations, listening to the project of his intended improvements;—or seated in her boudoir sketching designs and modelling plans for his two new lodges. Sometimes after dinner she would busy herself with her guitar, and insist on his attempting a second to her Italian notturno; sometimes she persuaded him to lend her his arm towards the village, to assist in executing that easy work of benevolence, the deplenishment of her silken purse. At such, moments she was indeed enchanting;—and the fascinated Wellwood was quite willing to echo the chorus of Mrs. Delafield's visiters, that he had 'drawn a prize.'

"But the sands of life are not formed exclusively of diamond sparks. Flint and granite mingle in the contents of the hour-glass; and Sir Henry often found himself required to listen to fractious complaints of old Roddington's innovations, of Lawford's negligence—of roses that would not blow at the gardener's bidding,—of London booksellers, who would not send down the new novels in proper time,—of old women who refused to be cured of their rheumatism, and young ones who declined becoming scholars at her platting school. His own misdemeanours, too, were frequent and unpardonable. He had a knack of carrying off the very volume she was reading,—of losing her place, and leaving his own marked by leaving the unfortunate book sprawling upon its face on the table, like a drunkard on the ground. He often kept her waiting five minutes for her ride, or twenty for dinner; would stop and detain her, in their walks, while he corrected the practical blunders of some superannuated hedger and ditcher; had a trick of whipping off the thistle-tops while driving her in the garden chair, to the imminent indignation of her ponies; was sometimes seen to nod after dinner, when the morning's run had been a good one; and had an opinion of his own in politics, which precisely reversed those of Lady Mandeville and her coterie.—In a word, he was often very 'tiresome!' and whenever the fair Henrietta was excited into pronouncing that sentence on his proceedings, it was a signal for ill-humour for the remainder of the day; or rather till the spoiled child would condescend to be coaxed into a more satisfactory mood of mind."

But we are more struck with the appalling fidelity of the following scene in a tale named the Divorcee. The heroine, Amelia, is married in early life to a Mr. Allanby, "a man with 10,000l. per annum, and a grey pigtail:" the match turns out a miserable one: Amelia's dishonour by Vavasor Kendal, her divorce, and Mr. Allanby's death are told in a few pages—the guilty pair, Vavasor and Amelia, flee to Paris, and we are introduced to this faithful picture of Parisian vice:—

"The infirmity of Amelia's health served at least to release her from those forced efforts of gaiety which had recoiled so heavily on her feelings. Her day for vivacity was gone.—In an atmosphere whose buoyancy is exhausted, the feather falls as heavily as the plummet.

"But instead of commiserating the languor and feebleness extending from the physical to the moral existence of the invalid, Vavasor only made her dulness an excuse for flying to the relief of society more congenial with his own tendency to vice and folly. Lady Emlyn who in London was the leader of a coterie devoted to the excitements of high-play,—a coterie that felt privileged to inveigh with horror against 'gambling,' because its members ventured their thousands on games where cunning tempers the fortuities of chance,—on the manoeuvres of écarté and whist instead of the dare-all risks of hazard and rouge-et-noir,—had now removed her card-table from Grosvenor-square to a splendid hotel in the Rue Rivoli; where she had the honour of assembling, twice a week, a larger proportion of the idle and licentious of the exclusive caste, than could be found in any other suite of drawing-rooms in civilized Europe. Her salon was in fact crowded with busy ranks of those swindlers of distinction who, in opposition to their brethren of lower pretensions, (the chevaliers d'industrie), ought surely to be termed the chevaliers de la paresse. Among these, the brilliant air and lively effrontery of Captain Kendal secured him a warm acceptance; and by frequenting the circle of Lady Emlyn, he had not only the gratification of escaping from the insipid mediocrity of the home his vices had created, but acquired the power of indulging in others which were now still dearer to his heart.

"Vavasor Kendal was an expert player. Like other frigid egotists, his head and heart were always at leisure; and his successes had been the means, on more than one occasion, of extending his means of disgraceful enjoyment. At least, however, his career lay on the verge of a precipice; for playing at a stake beyond the limit of his fortune, a single faltering step might at any hour precipitate him into an abyss of shame and ruin. Amelia was often tempted to doubt whether she had more cause to dread that intoxication of triumph, which induced him to still further excesses, or the reverses tending to aggravate the violence of temper to which she was an habitual victim. The fluctuating fortunes of the gamester,—his losses or gains,—were equally a source of suffering to herself. But the Carnival was drawing to a close; she soon began ardently to wish that his sister might grow weary of the increasing dulness of the French capital, and migrate among other swallows of the season, in search of new pleasures.

"Long had she been in expectation of an announcement to this effect, when one night,—a cold cheerless night in March,—Vavasor exceeded even his ordinary period of absence. The habitually dissolute of Paris rarely keep late hours. Vice does not form with them, as with the English roue, an occasional excess, but is consistent and regular in its habits. Captain Kendal usually returned home between two and three; and Amelia was accustomed to sit up, and by her own services lighten the labours of their scanty establishment. It was she, the invalid, who was careful to keep up light and fire for the tyrant of the domestic hearth.

"But on this occasion two o'clock came,—three, four, five o'clock,—and no Vavasor. Hour after hour she listened to the chime of the gaudy timepiece decorating their shabby apartment; and while the night advanced, in all its chilly, lonely, comfortless protraction, shivered as she added new logs to the dying embers, and as she hoped or despaired of his return, alternately replaced the veilleuse by candles, the candles by a veilleuse. She had already assumed her night-apparel; and alter wandering like an unquiet spirit from her own apartment to the sitting-room and back again, a thousand, thousand times,—after reclining her exhausted frame and throbbing head against the door of the ante-room, in the trust of catching the sound of his well-known step upon the stairs, she threw herself down on the sofa for a moment's respite. But in a few minutes she started up again.—Surely that was his voice, which reached her from some passenger in the street below, some passenger humming an air from the new Opera, according to Vavasor's custom, when returning flushed with the excitement of success? Again and hurriedly did she prepare for his reception,—again place his chair by the fire, his slippers beside it; and stand with a beating heart and suspended breath, to await the entrance of the truant. But, no! it was not him. The wanderer had hastened onwards to some happier home. The street was quiet again. She would take a book and strive to beguile the tediousness of suspense.

"Dreary indeed is that hour of the twenty-four which may be said to afford the true division between night and day; when even the latest watcher has retired to rest, while the earliest artisans scarcely yet rouse themselves for the renewal of their struggle with existence;—when even the studious, the sorrowing, and the dissipated, close their over-wearied eyes;—and when those who 'do lack, and suffer hunger,' enjoy that Heaven-vouchsafed stupor affording the only interim to their consciousness of want and woe. The winds whistle more shrilly in the stillness of that lonely hour. Man and beast are in their lair, and unearthly things alone seem stirring;—the good genius glides with a holy and hallowing influence through the tranquil dwelling of virtue; the demon grins and gibbers in the deserted but reeking chambers of the vicious. Even sorrow has phantoms of its own; and when Amelia found herself a lonely watcher in the stillness of night, the kind voice of old Allanby,—the voice that was wont of yore to bid her speak her bosom's wish that it might be granted,—often seemed creeping into the inmost cell of her ear. She could fancy him close beside her,—taunting her,—touching her,—till, starting from her seat, she strove to shake off the hideous delusion. Sometimes the soft cordial tones of her mother,—her mother, who was in the grave,—seemed again dispensing those lessons of virtue of which her own life had afforded so pure an example: sometimes the playful caresses of her boys seemed to grow warm upon her lips—around her neck. Yes! she could hear them, see them:—little Charles, who, in his very babyhood, had been accustomed to uplift his tiny arm in championship of his own dear mother;—Digby, the soft, tender, loving infant, whose every look was a smile, whose every action an endearment!—And now they appeared to pass before her as strangers; changed—matured—enlightened;—without one word of fondness—one gesture of recognition!

"From such meditations, how horrible to start up amid the dreariness of night, nor find a human heart unto which to appeal for comfort,—a human voice from which to claim reply in annihilation of the spell that transfixed her mind. The cold cheerless room, the flickering light, the desolation that was around her, struck more heavily than ever on her heart. 'Oh! that this were an omen!' she cried, with clasping hands, as she listened to the howling of the wind upon the lofty staircase leading to their remote apartments. Drawing closer over her bosom the wrapper by which she attempted to exclude the piercing night-air, Amelia smiled at the thought of the chilliness of the grave,—of the grave, where the heart beats not, and the fixed glassy eye is incapable of tears.

"'I shall lie among the multitudes of a strange country,' faltered she; 'there will be no one to point out with officious finger to my sons, the dishonoured resting-place of their mother,—their divorced mother! Vavasor will be freed from his bondage—free to choose anew, and commence H more auspicious career. But for me he might have been a different being. It is I who have hardened his heart and seared his mind. And oh! may Heaven in its mercy touch them,—that he may deal gently with me during the last short remnant of our union!'

"A harsh sound interrupted her contemplations;—the grating of his key in the outer door,—of his step in the ante-room. Mechanically she rose, and advanced to meet the truant who had kept her watching,—who had so often kept her watching,—so often been forgiven. A momentary glimpse of his countenance convinced her that he was in no mood even to wish for indulgence. His brow was black—his eyes red and glaring. After a terrified pause, she tendered him her assistance to unclasp his cloak; but with a deadly execration he rejected the offer.

"'Are the servants up?' said he sullenly.

"'Not yet.'

"'So much the better! I must be off before they are on the move.'

"'Off? Vavasor!—for the love of Heaven—'

"'Be still! Do not harass me with your nonsense. I was a fool to come here at all; only it may be necessary for you to know explicitly to what you may trust for the future.'

"Amelia sank stupefied into a chair.

"'In one word, I am a ruined man. To-night's losses have made me as hopeless as I ought to have been long ago. I have lost—but no matter!—I know I played like a fool. What is to be expected from a miserable dog like me, who has thrown away his prospects, and is harassed with all sorts of cares and annoyances?—No matter!—To-morrow the thing will be blown; and before my creditors get wind of the business I shall be half way to Brussels.'

"'To Brussels?' faltered Amelia.

"'Of course it is out of the question hampering myself with companions of any kind at such a moment. Besides, my sister has only afforded me the means of getting out of the scrape, on condition that you return to England to your family. I have no longer the power of maintaining you; but if you are inclined to co-operate in the only plan that can save us both from starving, Sophia will secure you an allowance of fifty or sixty pounds a year.'

"Amelia was silent.

"If not, you must take your chance; for I can do nothing further for you. For Heaven's sake don't treat me with a scene; for I have only a few minutes to pack up my property! The fiacre is waiting; there is not a moment to lose. Well, Amelia! what do you say?—I want an answer. Do you, or do you not choose to go to England?'

"Amelia made an affirmative movement;—she could not utter a syllable. And Vavasor instantly passed into his own room to make his preparations for immediate flight.—She never knew in what manner he took his last leave of her. When the servants proceeded to their occupations on the following morning, they found her insensible on the ground; but when restored to consciousness, the continued absence of her husband and a note of five hundred franks which he had deposited in her work-box for the purpose of enabling her to quit Paris, served to prove that the dreadful impression on her mind was not a mere delusion of the night. Alas! she was soon compelled to admit that she had looked upon him for the last time."

THE CABINET ANNUAL REGISTER FOR 1831

Is a well-arranged digest of the history of the past year, in a more concise and compact form than such matters are chronicled in that woolly work—the Annual Register. The Parliamentary Summary is brief but satisfactory, and the Occurrences are copious enough for the most gossipping reader. The volume has been produced in truly good style, is, in all respects, cheap, and deserves encouragement.

Retrospective Gleanings

ORIGIN OF THE HOUSE OF RUSSEL

"The Russel family (say Britton and Brayley,) may date the era of their greatness to a violent storm, which happened about the year 1500, on the coast of Dorset; a county which appears to have been the birthplace of their ancestors, one of whom was Constable of Corfe Castle, in the year 1221. Philip, Archduke of Austria, son of the Emperor Maximilian, being on a voyage to Spain, was obliged by the fury of a sudden tempest, to take refuge in the harbour of Weymouth. He was received on shore, and accommodated by Sir Thomas Trenchard, who invited his relation, Mr. John Russel, to wait upon the Archduke. Philip was so much pleased with the polite manners and cultivated talents of Mr. Russel, who was conversant with both the French and German languages, that on arriving at court, he recommended him to the notice of Henry VII., who immediately sent for him to his palace, where he remained in great favour till the king's death. In the estimation of Henry VIII. he rose still higher; by that monarch he was made Lord Warden of the Stannaries, Lord Admiral of England and Ireland, Knight of the Garter, and Lord Privy Seal, and on the 9th of March, 1538, created Baron Russel, of Cheneys, in the county of Bucks, which estate he afterwards acquired by marriage. At the Coronation of Edward VI. he officiated as Lord High Steward, and two years afterwards, in the year 1549, was created Earl of Bedford. He died in 1554, and was buried at Cheneys, where many of his descendants have also been interred," &c. &c.

"Henry VII. (says Pennant,) often resided at Baynard Castle, and from hence made several of his solemn processions. Here, in 1505, he lodged Philip of Austria,[7 - There is an old (full-length) engraving of this personage, and I am in the possession of one.] the matrimonial King of Castille, tempest-driven into his dominions, and showed him the pomp and glory of his capital." P.T.W.

COVENTRY CHARITY

(For the Mirror.)

Bablake Hospital, in the city of Coventry, was originally founded in 1506, by Thomas Bond, Mayor. Part of this hospital furnishes a residence for a number of boys, who are educated and clothed in blue, through the justice and benevolence of Thomas Wheatley, Mayor, in 1556, whose servant, sent to Spain by him to purchase some barrels of steel gads, brought home through an unaccountable mistake, a number of casks filled with ingots of silver and cochineal, which were offered for sale in an open fair, as the articles alluded to, and bought as such. This worthy ironmonger and card-maker made every possible effort to discover the person who sold them, but without success. He then honourably converted the profits to this charity, to which he added part of his own property. P.T.W.

CURIOUS PARLIAMENT

(For the Mirror.)

Acton Burnel, is a village in Shropshire, about three miles from Great Wenlock, where a Parliament was held in the reign of Edward I., 1284. Many of the Welsh nobles who had taken up arms were pardoned by this Parliament, and the famous act, entitled Statutum de Mercatoribus, was passed here, by which debtors in London, York, and Bristol, were obliged to appear before the different Mayors, and agree upon a certain day of payment, otherwise an execution was issued against their goods. The Lords sat in the castle, and the Commons in a large barn, the remains of which are still to be seen. P.T.W.

FOUR LEARNED SISTERS

(For the Mirror.)

Sir Anthony Cooke, who was preceptor to King Edward VI., and great grandson to Sir Thomas Cooke, Lord Mayor of London, in the year 1462, was particularly fortunate in his four daughters, who were all eminent for their great literary attainments.

Mildred, the eldest, married William Cecil, Lord Burleigh. She was learned in the Greek tongue, and wrote a letter in that language to the University of Cambridge.

Anne, the second, was the second wife of Sir Nicholas Bacon, Lord Keeper, and mother of the great Lord St. Alban's. She was greatly skilled in Greek, Latin, and Italian, and had the honour of being appointed governess to King Edward VI.

Elizabeth, the third, was first the wife of Sir Thomas Hobby, ambassador to France, and afterwards, of John, Lord Russel, son and heir of Francis Russel, Earl of Bedford. Such was her progress in the learned languages, that she gained the applause of the most eminent scholars of the age, and for the tombs of both her husbands, she wrote epitaphs in Greek, Latin, and English.

Catherine, the fourth, who was the wife of Sir Henry Killegrew, was famous for her knowledge in the Hebrew, Greek, and Latin tongues, and her skill in poetry. She was buried in the chancel of the church of St. Thomas Apostle, in Vintry Ward, London, where there is an elegant monument erected to her memory, with an inscription composed by herself. Sir Anthony Cooke lived at Gidea Hall, near Romford, in Essex, and had the honour of entertaining Queen Elizabeth here, in the year 1568. Mary de Medicis, mother of Queen Henrietta Maria, was also entertained in this mansion, the night before her arrival in London. P.T.W.

PARISH REGISTERS OF ST. BRIDE'S

At the great fire of London, nearly all the churches and records were consumed, wherefore scarcely any registers are to be found in the city of an earlier date than the above period. In searching the muniments preserved in St. Bride's Church, Fleet-street, for a history of that parish, Mr. Elmes, the architect, discovered a few days since, that, although the church was destroyed, the records were left uninjured. He has accordingly brought to light a series of vestry books from 1653, embracing regular accounts and entries of the calamitous fire, and the proceedings of the parish authorities during that eventful period, till the re-opening of the church for public worship; together with register books of baptisms, burials, &c. from 1587, nearly eighty years before the fire, continued without interruption to the present day. One of them is a complete record of every meeting of the Committee for rebuilding the present splendid church, from its commencement to its completion, containing many curious items relative to contracts with the workmen, their prices, &c.; meetings with Sir Christopher Wren, Mr. Hooke, and other eminent persons, and the arrangement entered into for accommodating the parishioners with pews and seats after the completion of the church. There are also adjudications of property, settlements of boundaries, and many other interesting documents of that eventful period.

From the Globe journal.—(Mr. Elmes will be recollected as the author of a valuable Life of Sir Christopher Wren, published a few years since in quarto, and of several practical works on architecture. We are happy to learn that a kindred enthusiasm to that shown in this great biographical labour, has led him to undertake the history of one of the proudest monuments of Wren's genius—the church of St. Bride. Mr. Elmes may therefore be considered peculiarly fortunate in his discovery of these relics, and his work will be looked for with additional curiosity.)