Chapter II: Part 2

"One of the best conundrums I have heard for a long time, is attributed to that excellent and agreeable fellow, Yates, who is amongst those who do credit to the stage. Whether it is his own, or not, is a question to rest upon his veracity. It is this--'When does an alderman look like a ghost?' Answer. 'When he's a _gobbling_.' This is surely a _jeu d'esprit_. By the way, Rogers begins to whistle now; not in fear, or harmony, or for amusement, but I am afraid from the effects produced by advanced age. I regret this--he is an excellent person, and a gentlemanly poet; and I never shall forget the patience with which he bore a most unintentional misquotation, made from his works, and in his presence, by a man of the name of Barton, who wanted to compliment him, by recollecting his verses. The story that he quoted was Rogers' pretty song of

"Dear is my little native vale,
The ring-dove builds and warbles there,
Close by my cot she tells her tale,
To every passing villager."

"Mr. Barton--who he was I never found out--having eulogized this little effusion with a superhuman ecstacy, repeated it right to a line--but not to a word. He gave it us thus--

"Dear is my little native vale,
The ring-dove builds and warbles there,
Close by my cot she _shows_ her _tail_
To every passing villager."

"Not a muscle moved in Mr. Rogers' pale and placid countenance, you would hardly have thought he lived; but turning to Luttrell, whose mouth twisted and whose eye rolled at the fun of the mistake, he simply whispered, 'Non _tali_ auxilio, &c.' Barton survived it, and is still alive and merry.

"I perceive that there have been changes at the Admiralty. Dyer, Darch, and Riley superannuated. Hay takes Darch's place as reading clerk. This is right. Hay is a gentleman, and a man of business. Met Sir Francis--which Sir Francis, you would say, for there are two who frequent the Admiralty, the obtuse and the clever. I mean the clever. 'Well, Frank, how goes on the Vernon, and how did she go off the other day? No want of water, I presume.' 'No; thank _heaven_ for that! Why, she went off beautifully, but the lubberly mateys contrived to get her foul of the hulk, and Lord Vernon came out of the conflict minus a leg and an arm.'--'Who had you there?' 'Upon my honour I hardly know. I was so busy paying my devoirs to Lady Graham; she looked for all the world like a mermaid, as she stood by the bows and christened the vessel. Her hair hung down as straight as the lower rigging when first put over the mast heads.'--'I wish I had such a beautiful mermaid for a wife,' replied H----, who had joined and listened to our conversation. 'What a pretty creature is that Miss E----; she looked as fresh as if she had just come out of a shower bath.' 'Well, so she had.'"

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"I went to the Opera on Tuesday to hear Mariani. She is splendid--confounded plain, but that's no consequence. That Grisi screams rather too much, although she acts well, and has a pretty person, if it was washed. I believe Brugnoli's toes are made of _cast iron_. _Toe_ K--g, could make no impression upon them. You know how K--g obtained that name. He is a little puffy fellow, who goes about town, making acquaintance with every body--is endured at watering places for his poodle qualities of 'fetch and carry:' he is very anxious to become acquainted with noblemen, and his plan is to sidle up and tread very lightly upon an aristocratical toe--then an immediate apology, and the apology is followed also with the wind and weather, and the leading topic of the day, a knowledge of his lordship's friends or relations, and a good morning. The next day when they meet, a polite bow from Mr. K--g, and if an opportunity offers he enters into conversation, and thus establishes his acquaintance.

"Such is his EXTREME method of introducing himself, which deserves credit for its ingenuity and exclusiveness. I once knew a man who had only one story, and that was about a gun. His difficulty was to introduce this story, and he at last succeeded, like K--g, by the use of his foot. When sitting after dinner he would stamp under the table and create a hollow sound. Then, God bless me! what's that--a gun? By the by, talking about guns--and then came his story."

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THE SELECTOR; AND LITERARY NOTICES OF _NEW WORKS._

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THE MESSIAH.

_By Robert Montgomery._

The subsequent passages exhibit many of the beauties and few of the blemishes of Mr. Montgomery's new poem:

THE WILDERNESS.

Oh, when hath mind conceived
Magnificence beyond a midnight there,
When Israel camp'd, and o'er her tented host
The moonlight lay?--On yonder palmy mount,
Lo! sleeping myriads in the dewy hush
Of night repose; around in squared array,
The camps are set; and in the midst, apart,
The curtain'd shrine, where mystically dwells
Jehovah's presence!--through the soundless air
A cloudy pillar, robed in burning light,
Appears:--concenter'd as one mighty heart,
A million lie, in mutest slumber bound.
Or, panting like the ocean, when a dream
Of storm awakes her:--Heaven and Earth are still;
In radiant loveliness the stars pursue
Their pilgrimage, while moonlight's wizard hand
Throws beauty, like a spectre light, on all.
At Judah's tent the lion-banner stands
Unfolded, and the pacing sentinels,--
What awe pervades them, when the dusky groves,
The rocks Titanian, by the moonshine made
Unearthly, or yon mountains vast, they view!
But soon as morning bids the sky exult,
As earth from nothing, so that countless host
From slumber and from silence will awake
To mighty being! while the forest-birds
Rush into song, the matin breezes play,
And streamlets flash where prying sunbeams fall:
Like clouds in lustre, banners will unroll!
The trumpet shout, the warlike tramp resound,
And hymns of valour from the marching tribes
Ascend to gratulate the risen morn.

PATRIARCHAL TIMES.

A vision of that unforgotten prime,
The patriarchal age, when Earth was young,
A while oh: let it linger!--oh the soul
It breaketh, like a lovely burst of spring
Upon the gaze of captives, when the clouds
Again are floating over freedom's head!--
Though Sin had witherd with a charnel breath
Creation's morning bloom, there still remain'd
Elysian hues of that Adamic scene,
When the Sun gloried o'er a sinless world,
And with each ray produced a flower!--From dells
Untrodden, hark! the breezy carol comes
Upwafted, with the chant of radiant birds.--
What meadows, bathed in greenest light, and woods
Gigantic, towering from the skiey hills,
And od'rous trees in prodigal array,
With all the elements divinely calm--
Our fancy pictures on the infant globe!
And ah! how godlike, with imperial brow
Benignly grave, yon patriarchal forms
Tread the free earth, and eye the naked heavens!
In Nature's stamp of unassisted grace
Each limb is moulded; simple as the mind
The vest they wear; and not a hand but works,
Or tills the ground with honourable toil:
By youth revered, their sons around them grow
And flourish; monarch of his past'ral tribe,
A patriarch's throne is each devoted heart!
And when he slumbers on the tented plain
Beneath the vigil stars, a living wall
Is round him, in the might of love's defence:
For he is worthy--sacrifice and song
By him are ruled; and oft at shut of flowers,
When queenly virgins in the sunset go
To carry water from the crystal wells,
In beautiful content,--beneath a tree
Whose shadows hung o'er many a hallow'd sire,
He sits; recording how creation rose
From nothing, of the Word almighty born;
How Man had fallen, and where Eden boughs
Had waved their beauty on the breeze of morn;
Or, how the angels still at twilight love
To visit earth with errands from the sky.

ISAIAH.

Terrific bard! and mighty--in thy strain
A torrent of inspiring passion sounds--
Whether for cities by the Almighty cursed,
Thy wail arose--or, on enormous crimes
That darken'd heav'n with supernat'ral gloom,
Thy flash of indignation fell, alike
The feelings quiver when thy voice awakes!--
Borne in the whirlwind of a dreadful song,
The spirit travels round the destin'd globe,
While shadows, cast from solemn years to come,
Fall round us, and we feel a God is nigh!

But when a gladness from thy music flows,
Creation brightens!--glory paints the sky,
The Sun hath got an everlasting smile,
And Earth in temper'd for immortal spring--
The lion smoothes his ruffled mane, the lamb
And wolf together feed, and by the den
Of serpents, see! the rosy infant play.

THE SAVIOUR.

As o'er the grandeur of unclouded heaven
Our vision travels with a free delight,
As though the boundless and the pure were made
For speculation--so the tow'ring mind,
By inward oracle inspired and taught,
The lofty and the excellent in mind adores.
Then, Saviour! what a paragon art Thou
Of all that Wisdom in her hope creates--
A model for the universe--Though God
Be round us, by the shadow of His might
For aye reflected, and with plastic hand
Prints on the earth the character of things--
Yet He Himself,--how awfully retired
Depth within depth, unutterably deep!
His glory brighter than the brightest thought
Can picture, holier than our holiest awe
Can worship,--imaged only in I AM!
But Thou--apparell'd in a robe of true
Mortality; meek sharer of our low
Estate, in all except compliant sin;
To Thee a comprehending worship pays
Perennial sacrifice of life and soul,
By love enkindled;--Thou hast lived and breathed;
Our wants and woes partaken--all that charms
Or sanctifies, to Thine unspotted truth
May plead for sanction--virtue but reflects
Thine image! wisdom is a voice attuned
To consonance with Thine--and all that yields
To thought a pureness, or to life a peace,
From Thee descends--whose spirit-ruling sway,
Invisible as thought, around us brings
A balm almighty for affliction's hour--
Once felt, in all the fullness of Thy grace
The living essence of the living soul,--
And there is faith--a firm-set, glorious faith,
Eternity cannot uproot, or change--
Oh, then the second birth of soul begins,
That purifies the base, the dark illumes,
And binds our being with a holy spell,
Whereby each function, faculty, and thought
Surrenders meekly to the central guide
Of hope and action, by a God empower'd.

THE CRUCIFIXION.

A God with all his glory laid aside,
Behold Him bleeding,--on his awful brow
The mingled sorrows of a world repose--
"'Tis FINISH'D,"--at those words creation throbs,
Round Hell's dark universe the echo rolls--
All Nature is unthroned--and mountains quake
Like human being when the death-pang comes--
The sun has wither'd from the frighted air,
And with a tomb-burst, hark, the dead arise
And gaze upon the living, as they glide
With soundless motion through the city's gloom,
Most awfully,--the world's Redeemer dies.

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SPAIN AND PORTUGAL.

We quote the following from the _Cabinet Cyclopaedia_ history of these countries:

_The Penitential Habit._

"From the fifth century," says Masden, "or from the beginning of the sixth, the custom prevailed in Spain of the infirm, when so heavily afflicted as to be in danger of death, piously assuming the tonsure and the penitential habit, and engaging to continue both through life, if God raised them up. As the use of this penance became common enough to throw discredit on the piety of all who did not thus undertake it, if the sick or dying man was unable to demand the habit, his relations or friends could invest him with it, and his obligation to a penitential life thenceforward was as great as if that obligation had been imposed, not by others, but at his own request, since, as he was charitably supposed to be thus piously inclined, he must of necessity wish to become a penitent. This continued in force until king Chindaswind, impressed with the abuses to which it had given rise, decreed that in such cases the obligation imposed by others should be void unless the patient should afterwards ratify it when in a sound state of mind. Penitents of this class might remain in their own houses, without seclusion within the walls of a monastery; but they were for ever compelled to wear the habit and shaven crown, to shun business and diversions, to lead exemplary and chaste lives: if single, they could not marry; if married, they could not enjoy the privileges of the state: hence, though they inhabited not the cloister, they were of the religious order, and consecrated to God."

"This penance was not merely assumed by such as were anxious to make atonement for some heavy sin; it was often voluntarily undertaken by individuals whose lives had been blameless, and who were anxious by this work of supererogation to increase their stock of merits. If the penitent died of his disease, the intention of his sacrifice was believed to be availing in the sight of Heaven; if he recovered, he became a monk. No less a doom than excommunication, and a rigorous penitential seclusion during life within the walls of a monastery, were hurled against such as married, or used their conjugal privilege, or laid down the habit. If, however, the married penitents were _very young_ at the time he or she entered on the monastic obligation, in case of recovery the bishop had power to permit the use of matrimony a certain number of years. This was called an _indulgence_ or _dispensation_, the _debitum conjugale_ being totally annihilated by the obligations of the new state.

"This custom is not yet extinct in Spain, though, like many others of a similar kind, its observance is daily weakening since the period of the French revolution, and of the increased intercourse between the two nations. Many of the greatest names in the Spanish annals voluntarily assumed the profession, and thereby ceased to be laymen. Among these was the author of Don Quixote."

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THE GATHERER.

CONCEALED SORROW.

(_From the portfolio of a Correspondent._)

There oft times dwells within the human breast, a grievous and a bitter sorrow; a sorrow once formed--seldom, if ever, entirely eradicated. Such sorrow hath borne down to the grave many a noble, though ill-fated, heart; there to seal up the remembrance of the degraded, the broken, feelings of its once fine nature, and for ever crush the spirit of its love. It is a sorrow that cometh not as the whirlwind's rushing blast, in the fury of the tempest, or as the lion's roar; but rather as the soft, still moan of the desert's poisoned breeze, or as the silent gnawing of a cankering worm: so comes it preying on our heart's fondest hopes till they gradually sink to ruin and oblivion. It is a grief that mortal eyes cannot see; it is only keenly felt; its tears are the wasting away of health, and its lamentation is the low beating of a sinking pulse. The loudest cry of its woe is but the dull, bitter sigh of its lonely unhappiness, engendered by the deep misery of the secret depression of its mental complaining, making the heart like a faded flower in a gloomy wilderness; like a blighted tree in a sultry waste. Weep! weep! and sigh from thy very soul; yet thy sorrows will not end; their root will still remain to spring and spread afresh. Unhappy they that such sorrows have! alas! for them! R.N.

_Pleasure Gardens._--Has it never occurred to any nurseryman that his garden might be made delightful and profitable promenades for the public, at a low charge for admission? In the neighbourhood of Philadelphia, we learn from a communication to the _Gardeners' Magazine_, there is a class of gardens very distinct from any in this country; those of plant-growers, who to a small nursery, and green and hot-houses, add the appendage of a tavern. The two principal ones of this description are kept by Mr. Arran, and M. d'Arras: the first has a very good museum in his garden; and the latter possesses a beautiful collection of orange and lemon trees, very large, but trimmed after the French fashion. These places are the resort of many of the citizens; Philadelphia having no park, or national gardens, for the purpose of recreation.

_American Prejudice._--Everything British creates a spirit of rivalry among the vulgar Americans. A great number of the workmen's anecdotes are directed against the aristocratical bearing of Englishmen: nothing gives greater delight to the rustics than to hear of the Honourable D.S. or Lord John P. having been the last served, or badly served, at an inn for being surly to the waiters, &c.

_Cheap Fruit._--In Philadelphia, peaches are 25 cents, (about a shilling) per bushel; pine-apples from the West Indies from 5 to 15 cents. (2d. to 6d.) each, and water melons cheaper.

_Newtown Pippin._--Near New York, at the residence of Mrs. Col. More, is the original tree of the celebrated apple called the Newtown pippin. It stands in the centre of an old orchard; the tree divides itself about 2-1/2 or 3 feet from the ground; but, although the estate has been in the possession of Colonel More's family for two centuries, they are unable to give any account of its origin; consequently the tree must be of very old standing.

_Hyde Park on the Hudson River._--Our Hyde Park on this side the water, can bear no comparison with its namesake on the other side of the Atlantic, The latter is extensive; the rides numerous; and the variety of delightful distant views embrace every kind of scenery. The pleasure-grounds are laid out on just principles, and in a most judicious manner; there is an excellent range of hot-houses, with a collection of rare plants; remarkable for their variety, their cleanliness, and their handsome growth. The construction and arrangement of the farm buildings deserve the strongest praise; but, in fact, everything connected with Hyde Park is performed in a manner unparalleled in America. The proprietor of Hyde Park is Dr. David Hosack, a gentleman well known in the literary and scientific world--the Sir Joseph Banks of America.

_Modern Cincinnatus._--Near Bordentown, in the state of New Jersey is the seat of the Count de Survilliers, elder brother of Napoleon Buonaparte, and formerly King of Spain. He has effected great improvements on this estate, and is now actively employed in others. It is most gratifying to see this amiable nobleman withdrawing himself from the busy scene of politics into retirement, and expending his princely fortune in rural improvements.

_Fiddling Poetry._--The following may be seen in the first volume of Purcell's _Catches_, on two persons of the name of Young, father and son, who lived in St. Paul's Churchyard; the one was an instrument maker, and the other an excellent performer on the violin:--

"You scrapers that want a good fiddle well strung,
You must go to the man that is old while he's Young,
But if this same fiddle you fain would play bold,
You must go to his son, who'll be Young when he's old.
There's old Young and young Young, both men of renown,
Old sells, and Young plays, the best fiddle in town;
Young and old live together, and may they live long,
Young to play an old fiddle, old to sell a new song."

P.T.W.

_Greenwich Hospital._--The foundation-stone of this magnificent building was laid June 30, 1696, by John Evelyn (the treasurer), with a select committee of the commissioners, and Sir Christopher Wren, the architect, precisely at five in the evening, _after they had dined together_! Flamstead, the royal astronomer, observing the punctual time by instruments. The time is not unworthy of remark. The King (Charles II.) subscribed 2,000_l._; the Archbishop of Canterbury, Lord Keeper Sommers, Dukes of Leeds, Pembroke, Devonshire, Shrewsbury, and Earls of Dorset and Portland, 500_l._ each; with others amounting to upwards of 9,000_l_. According to a note by the Treasurer, four months after the foundation, the work done amounted to upwards of 5,000_l._ towards which the treasurer had received only 800_l._, there being among the defaulters the king's 2,000_l._, paid by exchequer tallies on the post-office, "which," says he, "nobody will take at 30 per cent discount:" so that we see the suspension of great works for want of friends was never uncommon; though this was a "season of debt and disgrace" in England. The sum paid in Evelyn's time towards building Greenwich Hospital, seems to have been upwards of 69,000_l_.

_Major Mason and George II._--During the siege of Fort St. Philip, a young lieutenant of the Marines was so unhappy as to lose both his legs by a chain shot. In this miserable and helpless condition, he was conveyed by the first opportunity to England, and a memorial of his case presented to an honourable Board, in order to obtain some additional consideration to the narrow stipend of half-pay. The honourable Board pitied the youth, but disregarded his petition. Major Mason had the poor lieutenant conducted to court on a public day, in his uniform, where, posted in the guard-room, and supported by two brother officers, he cried out as George II. was passing to the drawing-room, "Behold, great sire, a man who refuses to bend his knee to you; he has lost both in your service." The king, struck no less by the singularity of this address, than by the melancholy object before him, stopped, and hastily demanded what had been done for him. "Half-pay," replied the lieutenant, "and please your majesty." "Fie, fie, on't," said the king, shaking his head, "but let me see you again next levee-day." The lieutenant did not fail to appear at the place of assignation, when he received from the immediate hands of royalty, five hundred pounds, smart money, and a pension of two hundred a-year.

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