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قراءة كتاب The Mirror of Literature, Amusement, and Instruction Volume 17, No. 495, June 25, 1831

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‏اللغة: English
The Mirror of Literature, Amusement, and Instruction
Volume 17, No. 495, June 25, 1831

The Mirror of Literature, Amusement, and Instruction Volume 17, No. 495, June 25, 1831

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دار النشر: Project Gutenberg
الصفحة رقم: 5

they were sewn

Up by a milliner, and made water-proof,

To guard the fount of wisdom that's within.

Her borrowed locks, of dry and withered hue,

Her straggling beard of ill-condition'd hairs,

And then her jaws of wise and formal cast;

Chat-chat—chat-chat! Grand shrewd remarks!

That may have meaning, may have none for me.

I like the creature so supremely ill,

I never listen, never calculate.

I know this is ungenerous and unjust:

I cannot help it; for I do dislike

An old blue-stocking maid even to extremity.

I do protest I'd rather kiss a tailor.

A GREEDY EATER! He is worst of all.

The gourmand bolts and bolts, and smacks his chops—

Eyes every dish that enters, with a stare

Of greed and terror, lest one thing go by him.

The glances that he casts along the board,

At every slice that's carved, have that in them

Beyond description. I would rather dine

Beside an ox—yea, share his cog of draff;

Or with a dog, if he'd keep his own side;

Than with a glutton on the rarest food.

A thousand times I've dined upon the waste,

On dry-pease bannock, by the silver spring.

O, it was sweet—was healthful—had a zest;

Which at the paste my palate ne'er enjoyed.

My bonnet laid aside, I turned mine eyes

With reverence and humility to heaven,

Craving a blessing from the bounteous Giver;

Then grateful thanks returned. There was a joy

In these lone meals, shared by my faithful dog,

Which I remind with pleasure, and has given

A verdure to my spirit's age. Then think

Of such a man, beside a guzzler set;

And how his stomach nauseates the repast.

"When he thinks of days he shall never more see.

Of his cake and his cheese, and his lair on the lea,

His laverock that hung on the heaven's ee-bree,

His prayer and his clear mountain rill."

I cannot eat one morsel. There is that,

Somewhere within, that balks each bold attempt;

A loathing—a disgust—a something worse:

I know not what it is. A strong desire

To drink, but not for thirst. 'Tis from a wish

To wash down that enormous eater's food—

A sympathetic feeling. Not of love!

And be there ale, or wine, or potent draught

Superior to them both, to that I fly,

And glory in the certainty that mine

Is the ethereal soul of food, while his

Is but the rank corporeal—the vile husks

Best suited to his crude voracity.

And far as the bright spirit may transcend

Its mortal frame, my food transcendeth his.

A CREDITOR! Good heaven, is there beneath

Thy glorious concave of cerulean blue,

A being formed so thoroughly for dislike,

As is a creditor? No, he's supreme,

The devil's a joke to him! Whoe'er has seen

An adder's head upraised, with gleaming eyes,

About to make a spring, may form a shade

Of mild resemblance to a creditor.

I do remember once—'tis long agone—

Of stripping to the waist to wade the Tyne—

The English Tyne, dark, sluggish, broad, and deep;

And just when middle-way, there caught mine eye,

A lamprey of enormous size pursuing me!

L—— what a fright! I bobb'd, I splashed, I flew.

He had a creditor's keen, ominous look,

I never saw an uglier—but a real one.

This is implanted in man's very nature,

It cannot be denied. And once I deemed it

The most degrading stain our nature bore:

Wearing a shade of every hateful vice,

Ingratitude, injustice, selfishness.

But I was wrong, for I have traced the stream

Back to its fountain in the inmost cave,

And found in postulate of purest grain,

It's first beginning.—It is not the man,

The friend who has obliged us, we would shun,

But the conviction which his presence brings,

That we have done him wrong:—a sense of grief

And shame at our own rash improvidence:

The heart bleeds for it, and we love the man

Whom we would shun. The feeling's hard to bear.

A BLUSTERING FELLOW! There's a deadly bore,

Placed in a good man's way, who only yearns

For happiness and joy. But day by day,

This blusterer meets me, and the hope's defaced.

I cannot say a word—make one remark,

That meets not flat and absolute contradiction—

I nothing know on earth—am misinformed

On every circumstance. The very terms,

Scope, rate, and merits of my own transactions

Are all to me unknown, or falsified,

Of which most potent proof can be adduced.

Then the important thump upon the board,

Snap with the thumb, and the disdainful 'whew!'

Sets me and all I say at less than naught.

What can a person do?—To knock him down

Suggests itself, but then it breeds a row

In a friend's house, or haply in your own,

Which is much worse; for glasses go like cinders;

The wine is spilled—the toddy. The chair-backs

Go crash! No, no, there's nothing but forbearance,

And mark'd contempt. If that won't bring him down,

There's nothing will. Ah! can the leopard change

His spots, or the grim Ethiop his hue?

Sooner they may and nature change her course,

Than can a blusterer to a modest man:

He still will stand a beacon of dislike.

A fool—I wish all blustering chaps were dead,

That's the true bathos to have done with them.

Fraser's Magazine.


A snapper up of unconsidered trifles.


Gad's Hill, not far from Chatham, was formerly a noted place for depredations on seamen, after they had received their pay at the latter place. The following robbery was committed there in or verging on the year 1676: About four o'clock one morning, a gentleman was robbed by one Nicks, on a bay mare, just as he was on the declivity of the hill, on the west side. Nicks rode away, and as he said, was stopped nearly an hour by the difficulty of getting a boat, to enable him to cross the river; but he made the best use of it as a kind of bait to his horse. From thence he rode across the county of Essex to Chelmsford. Here he stopped about an hour to refresh his horse, and give the animal a ball;—from thence to Braintree, Bocking, and Withersfield; thence over the Downs to Cambridge; and from thence, keeping still the cross roads, he went by Fenny Stratford, 9 to Godmanchester and Huntingdon, where he and his mare baited about an hour; and, as he said himself, he slept about half an hour: then holding on the north road, and keeping a full gallop most of the way, he came to York the same afternoon; put off his boots and riding clothes, and went dressed as if he had been an inhabitant of the place, to the bowling-green, where, among many other gentlemen, was the Lord Mayor of the city. He, singling out his lordship, studied to do something particular that the mayor might remember him, and then took occasion to ask him what o'clock it was. The mayor, pulling out his watch, told him the time, which was a quarter before, or a quarter after eight at night. Upon a prosecution for this robbery, the whole merit of the case turned upon this single point:—the person robbed, swore to the man, to the place, and to the time, in which the robbery was committed; but Nicks, proving by the Lord Mayor of York, that he was as far off as Yorkshire at that time, the jury acquitted him on the bare supposition, that the man could not be at two places so remote on one and the same day.

I need not remind your numerous readers that the roads in 1676 were in a very different plight to those of 1831; at the former period it would not have been possible for Tom Thumb to have trotted sixteen miles an hour on any turnpike road in England. Even my friend, the respected driver of the Old Union Cambridge Coach to London, can remember, in his time, the coach being two days on the road, and occasionally being indebted to farmers for the loan of horses to drag the coach wheels out of their sloughy tracks.



Catherine Parthenay, niece of the celebrated Anna Parthenay, returned this spirited reply to the importunities of Henry IV.—"Your majesty must know, that although I am too humble to become your wife, I am at the same time descended from too illustrious a family ever to become your mistress."



The circumlocution and diffuseness of law papers—the apparent redundancy of terms, and multiplicity of synonymes, which may be found on all judicial proceedings, are happily hit off in the following, which we copy from Jenk's New York Evening Journal:—

"A LAWYER'S STORY.—Tom strikes Dick over the shoulders with a rattan as big as your little finger. A lawyer would tell you the story something in this way:—And that, whereas the said Thomas, at the said Providence, in the year and day aforesaid, in and upon the body of the said Richard, in the peace of God and the State, then and there being, did make a most violent assault and inflicted a great many and divers blows, kicks, cuffs, thumps, bumps, contusions, gashes, wounds, hurts, damages, and injuries, in and upon the head, neck, breast, stomach, lips, knees, shins, and heels of the said Richard, with divers sticks, staves, canes, poles, clubs, logs of wood, stones, guns, dirks, swords, daggers, pistols, cutlasses, bludgeons, blunderbusses, and boarding pikes, then and there held in the hands, fists, claws, and clutches of him the said Thomas."


"On one of these graves I observed the little wild blue flower, known by the name of 'Forget me not'."—Visit to the Field of Waterloo.

No marble tells, nor columns rise,

To bid the passing stranger mourn,

Where valour fought, and bled, and died,

From friends and life abruptly torn.

Yet on the earth that veils10 their heads,

Where bravest hearts are doom'd to rot,

This simple flower, with meek appeal,

Prefers the prayer "Forget me not."

Forget! forbid my heart responds

While bending o'er the hero's grave—

Forbid that e'er oblivion's gloom

Should shade the spot where rest the brave.

Fond kindred at this awful shrine

Will oft, with footsteps faltering,

Approach and drop the pious tear—

Sad Memory's purest offering.

And well their country marks those deeds—

The land that gave each bosom fire:

Deeds that her proudest triumph won,

But gaining, saw her sons expire.

And ages hence will Britain's sons,

As trophied tributes meet their view,

Admire, exult—yet mourn the pangs

These glories cost, at Waterloo.



On the hilt, and executed in high relief, are branches of oak surrounding the crown. The bark of the branches are opening, which display the words—"India, Copenhagen, Peninsula, and Waterloo." The top part of the scabbard exhibits his majesty's arms, initials, and crown; the middle of the scabbard exhibits the arms and orders of the Duke of Wellington on the one side, and on the reverse his batons. The lower end has the thunderbolt and wings, the whole surrounded with oak leaves and laurel, with a rich foliage, in which was introduced the flower of the Lotus. The blade exhibits, in has relief, his majesty's arms, initials, and crown; the arms, orders, and batons, of the Duke of Wellington, Hercules taming the tiger, the thunderbolt, the British colours bound up with the caduceus and fasces, surrounded by laurel, and over them the words—"India, Copenhagen, Peninsula, and Waterloo," terminating with a sheathed sword, surrounded by laurel and palm.


Fashion-mongers make odd work with language. Thus, we read of Mrs. Ravenshaw giving a "petit" souper to about 150 of the haut ton.

The Court Journal, too, tells us that a few days since Lord Lansdowne met with "a severe accident," by which "he suffered no material injury."

The Queen's dress at her last ball was "white and silver, striped with blue." The song says—

To be nice about trifles

Is trifling and folly;—

but the modistes can gather little from such a description as the above.

In the Zoological Gardens is a pheasant, one of whose feathers measures 5 feet 11 inches in length!

A "Charming Fellow,"—The records of the Horticultural Society inform us that Lady Cochrane has been elected "a Fellow of the Society."


See Paganini, and then die!

I beg to tell a different story;

And to the bowing crowd I cry,

See Paganini, and then Mori!

Court Journal.

In a List of New Books and Reprints we find one by "Bishop Home; in silk, 2s. 6d."

Epitaph on Spenser.

In Spenserum.

Famous alive and dead, here is the odds,

Then god of poets, now poet of the gods.

The Philomathic Society of Warsaw have elected Mr. Campbell a corresponding member, as "Campbell Tomes Poète Anglais."—Literary Gazette.

Anatomy.—The price for unopened subjects in Paris is 5 francs, or 4s. 2d.; and 3 francs, or 2s. 6d. for opened ones.—Lancet.


Vol. XVII. of the MIRROR,

With a Steel-plate Portrait of this illustrious Individual, Memoir, &c., 50 Engravings, and 450 closely printed Pages, will be published on the 30th instant, price 5s. 6d. boards.

Part 110, price 10d., will be ready on the same day.

The Supplementary Number will contain the above Portrait, a copious Memoir, Title-page, Index, &c; and, from its extension beyond the usual space, will be published at 4d.