{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_11871/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_11871","id":"gutenberg_11871","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/11871","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Essays, Letters & Speeches","Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","Category: Travel Writing","Popular literature -- Great Britain -- Periodicals","The Mirror of Literature, Amusement, and Instruction"],"text":"Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this\n      file which includes the original illustration.\n      See 11871-h.htm or 11871-h.zip:\n      (http://www.ibiblio.org/gutenberg/1/1/8/7/11871/11871-h/11871-h.htm)\n      or\n      (http://www.ibiblio.org/gutenberg/1/1/8/7/11871/11871-h.zip)\n\n\n\n\nTHE MIRROR OF LITERATURE, AMUSEMENT, AND INSTRUCTION.\n\nVOL. 19, No. 549] SUPPLEMENTARY NUMBER [PRICE 2_d_.\n\n\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\n\n\nTHE ALHAMBRA, IN SPAIN\n\n[Illustration: GENERAL VIEW.]\n\n[Illustration: Palace of Charles V., see page 340.]\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n   Accumulated novelties from Books published within the past month\n   have led to the publication of the present Supplement. Although\n   its contents have not been drawn from works of unfettered fancy,\n   it is hoped they will be found to blend the real with the\n   imaginative in such a degree as to render their knowledge not the\n   less useful for its being amusive. The Engravings are perhaps as\n   appropriate as attractive; since they illustrate, and the artists\n   hope not unworthily, the _New Sketch Book_ of WASHINGTON IRVING.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nTHE ALHAMBRA.\n\n    by Geoffrey Crayon, Author Of The Sketch Book, &c.\n\nWhat! Washington Irving, or, as the title-page will have it, Geoffrey\nCrayon, in SPAIN, wandering up and down the deserted halls of the\nAlhambra, and weaving its legendary lore with thick coming fancies\ninto sketches of enchanting interest. The origin of the work, (the\n_New Sketch Book_,) as it has been inappropriately styled, is told in\nthe dedication to David Wilkie, Esq., R.A. Mr. Irving and the great\nartist just named were fellow travellers on the continent a few years\nsince. In their rambles about some of the old cities of Spain, they\nwere more than once struck with scenes and incidents which reminded\nthem of passages in the \"Arabian Nights.\" The painter urged Mr.\nIrving to write something that should illustrate those peculiarities,\n\"something in the Haroun Alrasched style\" that should have a dash of\nthat Arabian spice which pervades every thing in Spain. The author set\nto work, _con amore,_ and has produced two goodly volumes, with a\nfew \"Arabesque\" sketches and tales founded on popular traditions. His\n_study_ was THE ALHAMBRA, which must have inspired him for his task.\nTo quote his own words: \"how many legends and traditions, true and\nfabulous; how many songs and romances, Spanish and Arabian, of love\nand war, and chivalry, are associated with this romantic pile.\" The\nGovernor of the Alhambra gave Mr. Irving and his companion, permission\nto occupy his vacant apartments in the Moorish Palace. \"My companion,\"\nsays the author, \"was soon summoned away by the duties of his station;\nbut I remained for several months, spellbound in the old enchanted\npile.\"\n\nSuch is the plan or frame of the work before us. It has induced us to\nselect the Embellishments on the annexed page; and their description,\nfrom so graceful a pencil as that of the author, will, we hope,\nbespeak the favour of the reader.\n\n\"The Alhambra is an ancient fortress or castellated palace of the\nMoorish kings of Granada, where they held dominion over this their\nboasted terrestrial paradise, and made their last stand for empire in\nSpain. The palace occupies but a portion of the fortress, the walls of\nwhich, studded with towers, stretch irregularly round the whole crest\nof a lofty hill that overlooks the city, and forms a spur of the\nSierra Nevada, or snowy mountain.\n\n\"In the time of the Moors, the fortress was capable of containing\nan army of forty thousand men within its precincts, and served\noccasionally as a stronghold of the sovereigns against their\nrebellious subjects. After the kingdom had passed into the hands\nof the Christians, the Alhambra continued a royal demesne, and was\noccasionally inhabited by the Castilian monarchs. The Emperor Charles\nV. began a sumptuous palace within its walls, but was deterred from\ncompleting it by repeated shocks of earthquakes. The last royal\nresidents were Philip V. and his beautiful queen Elizabetta of Parma,\nearly in the eighteenth century. Great preparations were made for\ntheir reception. The palace and gardens were placed in a state of\nrepair, and a new suite of apartments erected, and decorated by\nartists brought from Italy. The sojourn of the sovereigns was\ntransient, and after their departure the palace once more became\ndesolate. Still the place was maintained with some military state. The\ngovernor held it immediately from the crown, its jurisdiction extended\ndown into the suburbs of the city, and was independent of the captain\ngeneral of Granada. A considerable garrison was kept up, the governor\nhad his apartments in the front of the old Moorish palace, and never\ndescended into Granada without some military parade. The fortress, in\nfact, was a little town of itself, having several streets of houses\nwithin its walls, together with a Franciscan convent and a parochial\nchurch.\n\n\"The desertion of the court, however, was a fatal blow to the\nAlhambra. Its beautiful halls became desolate, and some of them fell\nto ruin; the gardens were destroyed, and the fountains ceased to play.\nBy degrees the dwellings became filled up with a loose and lawless\npopulation; contrabandistas, who availed themselves of its independent\njurisdiction to carry on a wide and daring course of smuggling, and\nthieves and rogues of all sorts, who made this their place of refuge\nfrom whence they might depredate upon Granada and its vicinity. The\nstrong arm of government at length interfered: the whole community was\nthoroughly sifted; none were suffered to remain but such as were of\nhonest character, and had legitimate right to a residence; the greater\npart of the houses were demolished and a mere hamlet left, with\nthe parochial church and the Franciscan convent. During the recent\ntroubles in Spain, when Granada was in the hands of the French,\nthe Alhambra was garrisoned by their troops, and the palace was\noccasionally inhabited by the French commander. With that enlightened\ntaste which has ever distinguished the French nation in their\nconquests, this monument of Moorish elegance and grandeur was rescued\nfrom the absolute ruin and desolation that were overwhelming it. The\nroofs were repaired, the saloons and galleries protected from the\nweather, the gardens cultivated, the water courses restored, the\nfountains once more made to throw up their sparkling showers; and\nSpain may thank her invaders for having preserved to her the most\nbeautiful and interesting of her historical monuments.\n\n\"On the departure of the French they blew up several towers of the\nouter wall, and left the fortifications scarcely tenable. Since that\ntime the military importance of the post is at an end. The garrison is\na handful of invalid soldiers, whose principal duty is to guard some\nof the outer towers, which serve occasionally as a prison of state;\nand the governor, abandoning the lofty hill of the Alhambra, resides\nin the centre of Granada, for the more convenient dispatch of his\nofficial duties.\n\n\nInterior of the Alhambra\n\n\n\"The Alhambra has been so often and so minutely described by\ntravellers, that a mere sketch will, probably, be sufficient for the\nreader to refresh his recollection; I will give, therefore, a brief\naccount of our visit to it the morning after our arrival in Granada.\n\n\"Leaving our posada of La Espada, we traversed the renowned square of\nthe Vivarrambla, once the scene of Moorish jousts and tournaments, now\na crowded market-place. From thence we proceeded along the Zacatin,\nthe main street of what, in the time of the Moors, was the Great\nBazaar, where the small shops and narrow allies still retain the\nOriental character. Crossing an open place in front of the palace of\nthe captain-general, we ascended a confined and winding street, the\nname of which reminded us of the chivalric days of Granada. It is\ncalled the Calle, or street of the Gomeres, from a Moorish family\nfamous in chronicle and song. This street led up to a massive gateway\nof Grecian architecture, built by Charles V. forming the entrance to\nthe domains of the Alhambra.\n\n\"At the gate were two or three ragged and superannuated soldiers,\ndozing on a stone bench, the successors of the Zegris and the\nAbencerrages; while a tall meagre varlet, whose rusty-brown cloak was\nevidently intended to conceal the ragged state of his nether garments,\nwas lounging in the sunshine and gossiping with an ancient sentinel on\nduty. He joined us as we entered the gate, and offered his services to\nshow us the fortress.\n\n\"I have a traveller's dislike to officious ciceroni, and did\nnot-altogether like the garb of the applicant.\n\n\"'You are well acquainted with the place, I presume?'\n\n\"'Ninguno mas; pues Senor, soy hijo de la Alhambra.'--(Nobody better;\nin fact, Sir, I am a son of the Alhambra!)\n\n\"The common Spaniards have certainly a most poetical way of expressing\nthemselves. 'A son of the Alhambra!' the appellation caught me at\nonce; the very tattered garb of my new acquaintance assumed a dignity\nin my eyes. It was emblematic of the fortunes of the place, and\nbefitted the progeny of a ruin.\n\n\"I put some farther questions to him, and found that his title was\nlegitimate. His family had lived in the fortress from generation to\ngeneration ever since the time of the conquest. His name was Mateo\nXimenes. 'Then, perhaps,' said I, 'you may be a descendant from the\ngreat Cardinal Ximenes?'--'Dios Sabe! God knows, Senor! It may be so.\nWe are the oldest family in the Alhambra,--_Christianos Viejos_, old\nChristians, without any taint of Moor or Jew. I know we belong to some\ngreat family or other, but I forget whom. My father knows all about\nit: he has the coat-of-arms hanging up in his cottage, up in the\nfortress.' There is not any Spaniard, however poor, but has some claim\nto high pedigree. The first title of this ragged worthy, however, had\ncompletely captivated me, so I gladly accepted the services of the\n'son of the Alhambra.'\n\n\"We now found ourselves in a deep narrow ravine, filled with beautiful\ngroves, with a steep avenue, and various footpaths winding through it,\nbordered with stone seats, and ornamented with fountains. To our left,\nwe beheld the towers of the Alhambra beetling above us; to our right,\non the opposite side of the ravine, we were equally dominated by\nrival towers on a rocky eminence. These, we were told, were the Torres\nVermejos, or vermilion towers, so called from their ruddy hue. No one\nknows their origin. They are of a date much anterior to the Alhambra:\nsome suppose them to have been built by the Romans; others, by some\nwandering colony of Phoenicians. Ascending the steep and shady avenue,\nwe arrived at the foot of a huge square Moorish tower; forming a kind\nof barbican, through which passed the main entrance to the fortress.\nWithin the barbican was another group of veteran invalids, one\nmounting guard at the portal, while the rest, wrapped in their\ntattered cloaks, slept on the stone benches. This portal is called the\nGate of Justice, from the tribunal held within its porch during the\nMoslem domination, for the immediate trial of petty causes: a custom\ncommon to the Oriental nations, and occasionally alluded to in the\nSacred Scriptures.\n\n\"The great vestibule or porch of the gate, is formed by an immense\nArabian arch, of the horse-shoe form, which springs to half the height\nof the tower. On the key-stone of this arch is engraven a gigantic\nhand. Within the vestibule, on the key-stone of the portal, is\nsculptured, in like manner, a gigantic key. Those who pretend to some\nknowledge of Mahometan symbols, affirm that the hand is the emblem of\ndoctrine, and the key of faith; the latter, they add, was emblazoned\non the standard of the Moslems when they subdued Andalusia, in\nopposition to the Christian emblem of the Cross. A different\nexplanation, however, was given by the legitimate son of the Alhambra,\nand one more in unison with the notions of the common people, who\nattach something of mystery and magic to every thing Moorish, and have\nall kind of superstitions connected with this old Moslem fortress.\n\n\"According to Mateo, it was a tradition handed down from the oldest\ninhabitants, and which he had from his father and grandfather,\nthat the hand and key were magical devices on which the fate of the\nAlhambra depended. The Moorish King who built it was a great magician,\nor, as some believed, had sold himself to the devil, and had laid\nthe whole fortress under a magic spell. By this means it had remained\nstanding for several hundred years, in defiance of storms and\nearthquakes, while almost all other buildings of the Moors had fallen\nto ruin, and disappeared. This spell, the tradition went on to say,\nwould last until the hand on the outer arch should reach down and\ngrasp the key, when the whole pile would tumble to pieces, and all the\ntreasures buried beneath it by the Moors would be revealed.\n\n\"Notwithstanding this ominous prediction, we ventured to pass through\nthe spell-bound gateway, feeling some little assurance against magic\nart in the protection of the Virgin, a statue of whom we observed\nabove the portal.\n\n\"After passing through the barbican, we ascended a narrow lane,\nwinding between walls, and came on an open esplanade within the\nfortress, called the Plaza de los Algibes, or Place of the Cisterns,\nfrom great reservoirs which undermine it, cut in the living rock by\nthe Moors for the supply of the fortress. Here, also, is a well of\nimmense depth, furnishing the purest and coldest of water; another\nmonument of the delicate taste of the Moors, who were indefatigable in\ntheir exertions to obtain that element in its crystal purity.\n\n\"In front of this esplanade is the splendid pile commenced by Charles\nV., intended, it is said, to eclipse the residence of the Moslem\nkings. With all its grandeur and architectural merit, it appeared\nto us like an arrogant intrusion, and, passing by it, we entered\na simple, unostentatious portal, opening into the interior of the\nMoorish palace.\n\n\"The transition was almost magical: it seemed as if we were at once\ntransported into other times and another realm, and were treading the\nscenes of Arabian story. We found ourselves in a great court, paved\nwith white marble, and decorated at each end with light Moorish\nperistyles: it is called the Court of the Alberca. In the centre was\nan immense basin or fish-pond, a hundred and thirty feet in length by\nthirty in breadth, stocked with gold-fish and bordered by hedges of\nroses. At the upper end of this court rose the great Tower of Comares.\n\n\"From the lower end we passed through a Moorish archway into the\nrenowned Court of Lions. There is no part of the edifice that gives\nus a more complete idea of its original beauty and magnificence than\nthis, for none has suffered so little from the ravages of time. In\nthe centre stands the fountain famous in song and story. The alabaster\nbasins still shed their diamond drops; and the twelve lions, which\nsupport them, cast forth their crystal streams as in the days of\nBoabdil. The court is laid out in flower-beds, and surrounded by light\nArabian arcades of open filagree work, supported by slender pillars\nof white marble. The architecture, like that of all the other parts\nof the palace, is characterized by elegance rather than grandeur;\nbespeaking a delicate and graceful taste, and a disposition to\nindolent enjoyment. When one looks upon the fairy tracery of the\nperistyles, and the apparently fragile fretwork of the walls, it is\ndifficult to believe that so much has survived the wear and tear of\ncenturies, the shocks of earthquakes, the violence of war, and the\nquiet, though no less baneful, pilferrings of the tasteful traveller:\nit is almost sufficient to excuse the popular tradition, that the\nwhole is protected by a magic charm.\n\n\"On one side of the court, a portal, richly adorned, opens into a\nlofty hall, paved with white marble, and called the Hall of the Two\nSisters. A cupola, or lantern, admits a tempered light from above, and\na free circulation of air. The lower part of the walls is encrusted\nwith beautiful Moorish tiles, on some of which are emblazoned the\nescutcheons of the Moorish monarchs: the upper part is faced with the\nfine stucco-work invented at Damascus, consisting of large plates,\ncast in moulds, and artfully joined, so as to have the appearance of\nhaving been laboriously sculptured by the hand into light relievos\nand fanciful arabesques, intermingled with texts of the Koran,\nand poetical inscriptions in Arabian and Cufic character. These\ndecorations of the walls and cupolas are richly gilded, and the\ninterstices pencilled with lapis-lazuli, and other brilliant and\nenduring colours. On each side of the hall are recesses for ottomans\nand couches. Above the inner porch is a balcony, which communicated\nwith the women's apartments. The latticed 'jalousies' still remain,\nfrom whence the dark-eyed beauties of the haram might gaze unseen upon\nthe entertainments of the hall below.\n\n\"It is impossible to contemplate this once favourite abode of Oriental\nmanners without feeling the early associations of Arabian romance,\nand almost expecting to see the white arm of some mysterious princess\nbeckoning from the balcony, or some dark eye sparkling through the\nlattice. The abode of beauty is here, as if it had been inhabited but\nyesterday; but where are the Zoraydas and Lindaraxas?\n\n\"On the opposite side of the Court of Lions, is the Hall of the\nAbencerrages; so called from the gallant cavaliers of that illustrious\nline who were here perfidiously massacred. There are some who doubt\nthe whole truth of this story; but our humble attendant Mateo pointed\nout the very wicket of the portal through which they are said to have\nbeen introduced, one by one, and the white marble fountain in the\ncentre of the hall where they were beheaded. He showed us also certain\nbroad ruddy stains in the pavement, traces of their blood, which,\naccording to popular belief, can never be effaced. Finding we listened\nto him with easy faith, he added, that there was often heard at night,\nin the Court of Lions, a low, confused sound, resembling the murmuring\nof a multitude; with now and then a faint tinkling, like the distant\nclank of chains. These noises are probably produced by the bubbling\ncurrents and tinkling falls of water, conducted under the pavement,\nthrough pipes and channels, to supply the fountains; but, according to\nthe legend of the son of the Alhambra, they are made by the spirits\nof the murdered Abencerrages, who nightly haunt the scene of their\nsuffering, and invoke the vengeance of Heaven on their destroyer.\n\n\"From the Court of Lions we retraced our steps through the Court of\nthe Alberca, or Great Fishpool; crossing which we proceeded to the\nTower of Comares, so called from the name of the Arabian architect. It\nis of massive strength and lofty height, domineering over the rest\nof the edifice, and overhanging the steep hill-side, which descends\nabruptly to the banks of the Darro. A Moorish archway admitted us into\na vast and lofty hall, which occupies the interior of the tower, and\nwas the grand audience chamber of the Moslem monarchs, thence\ncalled the Hall of Ambassadors. It still bears the traces of past\nmagnificence. The walls are richly stuccoed and decorated with\narabesques; the vaulted ceiling of cedar-wood, almost lost in\nobscurity, from its height, still gleams with rich gilding, and the\nbrilliant tints of the Arabian pencil. On three sides of the saloon\nare deep windows cut through the immense thickness of the walls, the\nbalconies of which look down upon the verdant valley of the Darro, the\nstreets and convents of the Albaycin, and command a prospect of the\ndistant Vega.\n\n\"I might go on to describe minutely the other delightful apartments of\nthis side of the palace; the Tocador, or toilet of the queen, an\nopen belvidere, on the summit of a tower, where the Moorish sultanas\nenjoyed the pure breezes from the mountain, and the prospect of\nthe surrounding paradise; the secluded little patio, or garden of\nLindaraxa, with its alabaster fountain, its thickets of roses and\nmyrtles, of citrons and oranges; the cool halls and grottoes of\nthe baths, where the glare and heat of day are tempered into a soft\nmysterious light, and a pervading freshness.\n\n\"While the city below pants with the noontide heat, and the parched\nvega trembles to the eye, the delicate airs from the Sierra Nevada,\nplay through these lofty halls, bringing with them the sweetness of\nthe surrounding gardens. Every thing invites to that indolent repose,\nthe bliss of southern climes; and while the half-shut eye looks out\nfrom shaded balconies upon the glittering landscape, the ear is lulled\nby the rustling of groves, and the murmur of running streams.\" Here we\nmust end.\n\nThe Sketches bear the very perfection of romance in their titles. Yes,\nexpectant reader, think of the Alhambra by Moonlight--A Ramble\namong the Hills--Legend of the Arabian Astrologer--The Tower of Las\nInfantas--Legends of the three beautiful Princesses--The Pilgrim of\nLove--The Rose of the Alhambra,--the two discreet Statues, &c. &c.\nWhat hours of spell-bound delight do these two volumes lock up, yet\nwe hope but for a short season, from all who would vary \"life's dull\nround\" with romantic lore.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\nNATURAL HISTORY.\n\nThe remarkably attractive Number of the _Magazine of Natural History_\nfor the present month enables us to checker our sheet with a page or\ntwo of facts which will be interesting to every inquiring mind.\n\nHail at Lausanne.\n\n\"At Lausanne, on the 14th of July, 1831, about 8 P.M., we witnessed\none of those hail-storms which, every summer, cause such ravages in\nthe south of Europe. A great proportion of the hailstones were as\nbig as hen's eggs, and some even bigger: seven nearly filled a common\ndinner plate. They were mostly oval or globular; but one piece,\nbrought to us after the storm, was flat and square, full 2 in. long,\nas many broad, and three quarters of an inch thick, with several\nprojecting knobs of ice as big as large hazel nuts. This mass exactly\nresembled a piece of uniformly transparent ice, but the oval and\nglobular masses had the same conformation as has often been described\nin these hailstones, and on which Volta founded his ingenious but\nuntenable theory of their formation. In the centre of each was a\nsmall, white, opaque nucleus, the size of a pea, and evidently one of\nthe hailstones usually seen in England, to which the French give the\nname of _gr\u00e9sil_, confining the term _gr\u00e9le_ to the larger masses of\nice now under our observation. This nucleus of _gresil_ was\nenclosed in a coat about half an inch thick of ice considerably more\ntransparent than it, but still somewhat opaque, as though of snow\nmelted and then frozen again, and externally the rest of the mass was\nof ice perfectly transparent, and as compact and hard as possible,\nresounding like a pebble, and not breaking when thrown on the floor.\nThe inhabitants of Lausanne, aware that the cinereous and puffed up\nappearance of the clouds charged with this tremendous aerial artillery\nportended more than a mere thunder-storm, had adopted the precaution\nof closing their Venetian shutters; but such windows as were deprived\nof this protection had almost every pane broken: and much damage was\ndone to the tiles of all the houses, and to the gardens and vineyards;\nbut less than might have been expected, owing to the short duration of\nthe storm, which did not last longer than seven or eight minutes, and\nto the circumstance of the hailstones not being very numerous.\"--(W.\nSpence.)\n\nCedar Wood.\n\n\"The _cedar_ has been recommended, among other woods, for the purpose\nof constructing drawers for cabinets of insects. Let the inexperienced\ncollector be warned that this is, perhaps, the _very worst_ wood that\ncan be employed for the purpose; a strong effluvia, or sometimes\na resinous gum, exudes from the wood of the cedar, which is apt to\nsettle in blotches on the wings of the specimens, especially of the\nmore delicate Lepid\u00f3ptera, and entirely discharges the colour. The\nRev. Mr. Bree once had a whole collection of lepidopterous insects\nutterly spoiled from having been deposited in cedar drawers; and\nhe has understood, also, that the insects in the British Museum,\ncollected, he believes, chiefly by Dr. Leach, have been greatly\ninjured from the same cause. Possibly, however, cedar wood, after it\nhas been thoroughly well seasoned, may be less liable to produce these\ninjurious effects.\"\n\nHabits of the Common Snake in Captivity.\n\nA Staffordshire Correspondent writes thus familiarly:\n\n\"This has been a remarkably good season, both for vegetables and\nanimals. It has been a singular time for adders, snakes, and lizards;\nI never saw so many as I have seen this year in all my life. I have\nbeen trying, a great part of this summer, to domesticate a common\nsnake, and make it familiar with me and my children; but all to\nno purpose, notwithstanding I favoured it with my most particular\nattention. It was a most beautiful creature, only 2 ft. 7 in. long. I\ndid not know how long it had been without food when I caught it; but\nI presented it with frogs, toads, worms, beetles, spiders, mice, and\nevery other delicacy of the season. I also tried to charm it with\nmusic, and my children stroked and caressed it; but all in vain:\nit would be no more familiar with any of us than if we had been the\ngreatest strangers to it, or even its greatest enemies. I kept it in\nan old barrel, out of doors, for the first three weeks: during that\ntime, I can aver, it ate nothing; but, after a very wet night, it\nseemed to suffer from the cold. I then put it into a glass vessel, and\nset it on the parlour chimney-piece, covering the vessel with a piece\nof silk gauze. I caught two live mice, and put them in to it; but they\nwould sooner have died of hunger than the snake would have eaten them:\nthey sat shivering on its back, while it lay coiled up as round as a\nball of worstep. I gave the mice some boiled potatoes, which they eat:\nbut the snake would eat neither the mice nor the potatoes. My\nchildren frequently took it out in their hands, to show it to their\nschoolfellows; but my wife, and some others, could not bear the sight\nof it. I one day took it in my hand, and opened its mouth with a\npenknife, to show a gentleman how different it was from that of the\nadder, which I had dead by me: its teeth being no more formidable\nor terrific than the teeth of a trout or eel; while the mouth of the\nadder had two fangs, like the claws of a cat, attached to the roof of\nthe mouth, no way connected with its jaw-teeth. While examining the\nsnake in this manner, it began to smell most horridly, and filled the\nroom with an abominable odour; I also felt, or thought I felt, a kind\nof prickly numbness in the hand I held it in, and did so for some\nweeks afterwards. In struggling for its liberty, it twisted itself\nround my arm, and discharged its excrements on my coat-sleeve, which\nseemed nothing more than milk, or like the chalkings of a woodcock.\nIt made its escape from me several times by boring a hole through the\ngauze; I had lost it for some days at one time, when at length it was\nobserved peeping out of a mouse-hole behind one of the cellar steps.\nWhether it had caught any beetles or spiders in the cellar, I cannot\nsay; but it looked as fierce as a hawk, and hissed and shook its\ntongue, as in open defiance. I could not think of hurting it by\nsmoking it out with tobacco or brimstone; but called it my fiery\ndragon which guarded my ale cellar. At length I caught it, coiled up\non one of the steps. I put it again into an American flour barrel;\nbut it happened not to be the same as he had been in, and I observed a\nnail protruding through the staves about half way up. This, I suppose,\nhe had made use of to help his escape; for he was missing one morning\nabout ten o'clock: I had seen him at nine o'clock; so I thought he\ncould not be far off. I looked about for him for half an hour, when I\ngave up the hunt in despair. However, at one o'clock, as the men were\ngoing from dinner, one of them observed the rogue hiding himself under\na stone, fifty yards from the house. 'Dang my buttons,' said he, 'if\nhere is not master's snake. He came back and told my wife, who\ntold him to go and kill it. It happened to be _washing-day_: the\nwasherwoman gave him a pailful of scalding soapsuds to throw on\nit; but whether he was most afraid of me or of the snake is still a\nquestion: however, the washerwoman brought it home with the tongs,\nand dropped it into the dolly-tub. It dashed round the tub with the\nvelocity of lightning; my daughter, seeing its agony, snatched it out\nof the scalding liquid, but too late: it died in a few minutes. I\nwas not at all angry with my wife: I had had my whim, and she had had\nhers. I had got all the knowledge I wanted to get; I had learned that\nit was of no use for a human being, who requires food three times a\nday, to domesticate an animal which can live weeks and months without\nfood: for, as the saying is, 'Hunger will tame any thing;' and without\nhunger you can tame nothing. I have also learned that the serpent,\ninstead of being the emblem of wisdom, should have been an emblem of\nstupidity.\"\n\n\"The stench emitted by the common snake, when molested, is\nsuperlatively noisome; and is given off so powerfully and copiously,\nthat it infects the air around to a diameter of several yards. This I\nwitnessed on observing a bitch dog kill a rather large snake; in which\nact two points beside the odour effused were notable. The coils of the\nsnake formed, as it were, a circular wall; and in the circular space\nbetween it, the snake sunk its head, as if for protection. The dog's\nefforts were to catch and crush the head; and, shrivelling up her\nfleshy lips, 'which all the while ran froth,' she kept thrusting the\npoints of her jaws into the circular pit aforesaid, and catching at\nand fracturing the head. During the progress of these acts, she, every\nfew seconds, snorted, and shook off the froth, of which she seemed\nsedulously careful to free herself, and barked at the conquered snake.\nThe dog was a most determined vermin-killer, and in rats, &c., quite\nan accomplished one; but snakes did not often come in her way.\"--J.D.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nCURIOUS FACTS IN VEGETATION\n\n(From Part xiv. of _Knowledge for the People, or the Plain Why and\nBecause._)\n\nWhy is it improper to consider the turnip a real bulb?\n\nBecause it is an intermediate stem which swells into a bulbous form.\nTurnips have not been cultivated in England, in fields, more than a\ncentury; but this agricultural practice now yields an annual return\nwhich probably exceeds the interest of our national debt.--_Sir Walter\nScott._\n\nWhy is the Cauliflower so named?\n\nBecause of its origin from _caulis,_ the stalk of a herb. Colewort is\nof a similar origin.\n\nWhy are the stems of the Cabbage tribe considered wholesome food?\n\nBecause their acrid flavour is dipersed among an abundance of\nmucilage. Cabbages were commonly used among the ancients, and Cato\nwrote volumes on their nature. The Indians had so much veneration for\nthem, that they swore by cabbages, and were therein as superstitious\nas the Egyptians, who gave divine honours to leeks and onions, for the\ngreat benefits which they said they received from them.--_Lemery on\nFood._\n\nWhy do Cabbages emit a strong animal odour?\n\nBecause they contain a great quantity of azote or nitrogen, one of the\nultimate elements of animal matter, and strongly characterized in the\ndestructive distillation of horn, hoofs, or bones.\n\nWhy do not the leaves of the Cabbage remain wet, after being immersed\nin water, and again taken out of it?\n\nBecause they are powdered with a slight layer of resinous matter,\nsimilar to that which covers certain fruits, and, in particular, plums\nand grapes. Their sea-green colour is also attributed to this resinous\nlayer.\n\nWhy is Quassia so called? Because it was named in honour of a negro,\nQuassia, a drunken doctor, who discovered the virtue of the wood in\ncuring malignant fevers.\n\nWhy is the Ice plant so called?\n\nBecause its stem is covered with soft tubercles, or excrescences,\nwhich have a crystalline appearance.\n\nWhy do the leaves of some trees fall very early?\n\nBecause they are articulated to the branch; that is, they do not unite\nwith it by the whole of their base, but are simply fixed to it by\na kind of contraction or articulation; as in the maple and horse\nchestnut.\n\nWhy do leaves fall at the approach of winter?\n\nBecause a separation takes place, either in the foot-stalk, or more\nusually at its base, and the dying part quits the vigorous one, which\nis promoted by the weight of the leaf itself, or the action of the\ngales that blow in autumn on its expanded form. M. Richard explains\nthe cause more philosophically: \"Although the fall of the leaves\ngenerally takes place at the approach of winter, cold is not to be\nconsidered as the principal cause of this phenomenon. It is much more\nnatural to attribute it to the cessation of vegetation, and the want\nof nourishment which the leaves experience at that season, when the\ncourse of the sap is interrupted. The vessels of the leaf contract,\ndry up, and soon after, that organ is detached from the twig on which\nit had been developed.\"\n\nWhy do some trees, as the Oak, the Beech, and the Hornbeam, retain\ntheir leaves to a late period of autumn?\n\nBecause the life of the twigs on which they grow is not sufficiently\nvigorous to throw them off, after the brown colour indicates that they\nare dead.\n\nWhy have some plants been termed the Poor Man's Weather-glass?\n\nBecause they shut up their flowers against the approach of rain.\nLinnaeus, however, thinks, that flowers lose their fine sensibility,\nafter the anthers have performed their office, or when deprived of\nthem artificially. Sir James Smith also observes, that some species\nare sometimes exhausted by continued wet; \"and it is evident that\nvery sudden thunder showers often take such flowers by surprise, the\nprevious state of the atmosphere not having been such as to give them\ndue warning.\"\n\nMany flowers have a regular time of opening and shutting. We have\nalready mentioned the Marigold; the goat's-beard is vulgarly called\n\"John go-to-bed at noon,\" from its closing at mid-day; and at the Cape\nof Good Hope there is a \"four o'clock flower,\" because it invariably\ncloses at that time. The common daisy is, however, a readier example,\nits name being a compound of day's and eye--Day's-eye, in which\nway, indeed, it is written by Ben Johnson. It regularly shuts after\nsun-set, to expand again with the morning light. Thus,--\n\n  The little dazie, that at evening closes.\n\nSpenser.\n\n  By a daisy, whose leaves spread,\n  Shut when Titian goes to bed.--_G. Withers._\n\nLeyden sings of moist or rainy weather foretold by daisies. Thus we\nmay examine a whole field, and not find a daisy open, except such as\nhave their flowering nearly over, and have in consequence lost their\nsensibility.\n\nThe daisy is one of the pet flowers of the poets. Chaucer is ecstatic\nin its praise, and calls it his \"owne hartes' rest;\" Burns, \"Wee,\nmodest, crimson-tipped flower;\" and Wordsworth, in beautiful and\ntouching simplicity, has addressed several poems to \"the poet's\ndarling.\"\n\nAppended to Richard's valuable \"Elements,\" is the _Horologium Florae,_\n(timepiece of Flora,) or a table of the hours at which certain plants\nexpand and shut, at Upsal, 60 deg. north latitude. The earliest Meadow\nSalsafy opens from 3 to 4 A.M.; and closes from 9 to 10 A.M. The\nlatest A.M. is the _Mesembryanthemum Modiflorum,_ (used in the\nmanufacture of Maroquin leather,) which opens 10 to 11 A.M.,\nand closes at 12 P.M. The latest opening P.M. is the _Cactus\nGrandiflorus,_ 9 to 10 P.M., and closing at 12 P.M., thus remaining\nopen only two or three hours. Other flowers, we may add, are\nso peculiarly delicate, as scarcely to bear the contact of the\natmosphere.\n\nForster, in his \"Researches about Atmospheric Phenomena,\" notices\nseveral prognostics of the weather by plants. Thus, Chickweed has been\nsaid to be an excellent weather-guide. When the flower expands freely,\nno rain need be feared for a long time. In showery days the flower\nappears half concealed, and this state may be regarded as indicative\nof showery weather; when it is entirely shut, we may expect a rainy\nday. If the flowers of the Siberian sowthistle remain open all night,\nwe may expect rain next day. Before showers, the trefoil contracts its\nleaves. Lord Bacon observes, that the trefoil has its stalk more\nerect against rain. He also mentions a small red flower, growing in\nstubble-fields, called by the country people _wincopipe_, which, if it\nopens in the morning, assures us of a fine day.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\nTRAVELS\n\n    _Pen and Pencil Sketches of India, being the Journal of a Tour\n    in India. By Captain Mundy._\n\nThese are two very amusing volumes of scenes and situations full of\nstirring interest, as their criticships would say--for example the\nfour extracts immediately following:\n\nPalankeen Travelling and a Sortie of Tigers.\n\n\"To those unitiated into the mysteries of Indian travelling, the\nprospect of a journey of six hundred miles, night and day, in a hot\nclimate, inclosed in a sort of coffin-like receptacle, carried on the\nshoulders of men, is somewhat alarming; but to one more accustomed to\nthat method of locomotion, the palankeen would, perhaps, prove\nless fatiguing and harassing, for a long journey, than any other\nconveyance.\n\n\"The horizontal or reclining position is naturally the most easy to\nthe body; and the exhaustion consequent upon a journey in the heat of\nthe day, generally secures to the traveller as much sleep during\nthe cooller hours of the night, as the frequent interruptions of the\nbearers at the several stages will allow him to enjoy. I had laid in a\ngood store of tea, sugar, and biscuits, a novel, some powder and shot,\na gun, and a sword, and plenty of blankets, as a defence against\nthe coldness of the night. Our baggage consisted of a dozen boxes\n(patarras) appended to bamboos, and carried by men: these, with two\ntorch-bearers (mussalgees) to each palankeen, completed our cavalcade.\n\n\"Nov. 24th, 7 A.M., reached Hazarebaug, a small station, about two\nhundred and twenty miles from Calcutta. It is a healthy spot; the\nearth sandy and rocky, presenting a strong contrast to the loomy and\nalluvial soil of Southern Bengal. From Rogonn\u00e2thpore to Hazarebaug the\nroad runs through an almost uninterrupted jungle, swarming with wild\nbeasts. At this place we met with a hospitable friend, who stored our\npalankeens with provisions, after giving us a capital breakfast.\n\n\"At eleven o'clock at night we entered the famous pass of Dunghye. The\nroad bears the appearance of a deep sandy ravine; the banks are rocky\nand woody, and in many places quite overhung by the forest-trees. We\nhad accomplished about half the defile, when I was suddenly and rudely\nawakened from a dozing sleep by the shock of my palankeen coming to\nthe ground, and by the most discordant shouts and screams. I jumped\nout to ascertain the cause of the uproar, and found, on inquiry, that\na foraging party of tigers--probably speculating upon picking up a\nstraggling bearer--had sprung off the rocks, and dashed across the\nroad, bounding between my palankeen and that of Colonel D., who was\nscarcely ten yards a-head. The bearers of both palankeens were all\nhuddled together, bellowing like bedlamites, and the mussalgees waving\ntheir torches most vehemently. On mustering our forces, we discovered\nthat two of our patarra-bearers were missing, and fearing that the\ntigers might pick them up, we dispatched four men with spare torches\nto bring them on. Meanwhile my friend and myself, having brought\nour palankeens together, armed ourselves with patience and a pair of\npistols to await the result. The whole incident, with the time and\nscene, was highly interesting and wild, with just enough of the awful\nto give an additional piquancy. The night was dark and stormy, and the\nwind roared among the trees above our heads: the torches cast a red\nand flickering light on the rocks in our immediate neighbourhood, and\njust showed us enough of the depths of the forest to make the back\nground more gloomy and unfathomable. The distant halloos of the men\nwho were gone in search of their comrades, came faintly and wildly\nupon the breeze; and the occasional shots that we fired rang through\nthe rocky jungle with an almost interminable echo. In about three\nquarters of an hour our bearers joined us, together with the two\npatarra-bearers. These latter, hearing the vociferations of our men,\nand guessing the cause, had quietly placed their boxes on the ground,\nabout a mile in the rear of us, and seating themselves on their heels,\nhad determined not to proceed until the break of day.\n\n\"All being reported present, we resumed our journey, the men screaming\nchorus to scare our unwelcome visitors, whom I several times fancied\nI heard rustling among the brushwood on the road side, as though they\nwere moving on our flanks in order to cut off any straggler who might\ndrop astern. I never saw bearers go more expeditiously, or in more\ncompact order, every man fearing to be the last in the cavalcade.[1]\nA sheet would have covered the whole party! The tigers, if they had\ncalculated upon one of our number for their evening meal, must have\ngone supperless to their lair, for we mustered all our twenty-four men\nin the morning. A d\u00e2k hurkarah (post messenger) had been carried\noff in the same spot two days before, probably by the same family of\ntigers, which according to the bearer's account, consisted of two old\nones, and three cubs.\n\n[Footnote 1: It is said, that a tiger lying in wait for a string of\npassengers usually selects the last of the party.]\n\nWild Beast Fights\n\n\"Early in the morning, the whole party, including ladies, eager for\nthe novel spectacle, mounted elephants, and repaired to the private\ngate of the royal palace, where the King met the Commander-in-Chief,\nand conducted him and his company to a palace in the park, in one of\nthe courts of which the arena for the combats was prepared. In the\ncentre was erected a gigantic cage of strong bamboos, about fifty\nfeet high, and of like diameter, and rooffed with rope network. Sundry\nsmaller cells, communicating by sliding doors with the main theatre,\nwere tenanted by every species of the savagest inhabitants of\nthe forest. In the large cage, crowded together, and presenting a\nformidable front of broad, shaggy foreheads well armed with horns,\nstood a group of buffaloes sternly awaiting the conflict, with their\nrear scientifically appuy\u00e9 against the bamboos. The trap-doors being\nlifted, two tigers, and the same number of bears and leopards, rushed\ninto the centre. The buffaloes instantly commenced hostilities, and\nmade complete shuttlecocks of the bears, who, however, finally\nescaped by climbing up the bamboos beyond the reach of their horned\nantagonists. The tigers, one of which was a beautiful animal, fared\nscarcely better; indeed, the odds were much against them, there\nbeing five buffaloes. They appeared, however to be no match for these\npowerful creatures, even single-handed, and showed little disposition\nto be the assaulters. The larger tiger was much gored in the head, and\nin return took a mouthful of his enemy's dewlap, but was finally (as\nthe fancy would describe it) 'bored to the ropes and floored.' The\nleopards seemed throughout the conflict sedulously to avoid a breach\nof the peace.\n\n\"A rhinoceros was next let loose in open courtyard, and the attendants\nattempted to induce him to pick a quarrel with a tiger who was chained\nto a ring. The rhinoceros appeared, however, to consider a fettered\nfoe as quite beneath his enmity; and having once approached the tiger,\nand quietly surveyed him, as he writhed and growled, expecting the\nattack, turned suddenly round and trotted awkwardly off to the yard\ngate, where he capsized a palankeen which was carrying away a lady\nfatigued with the sight of these unfeminine sports.\n\n\"A buffalo and tiger were the next combatants: they attacked\nfuriously, the tiger springing at the first onset on the other's head,\nand tearing his neck severely; but he was quickly dismounted, and\nthrown with such violence as nearly to break his back, and quite to\ndisable him from renewing the combat.\n\n\"A small elephant was next impelled to attack a leopard. The battle\nwas short and decisive; the former falling on his knees, and thrusting\nhis blunted tusks nearly through his antagonist.\n\n\"On our return from the beast fight a breakfast awaited us at the\nroyal palace; and the white tablecloth being removed, quails, trained\nfor the purpose, were placed upon the green cloth, and fought most\ngamely, after the manner of the English cockpit. This is an amusement\nmuch in fashion among the natives of rank, and they bet large sums on\ntheir birds, as they lounge luxuriously round, smoking their houkahs.\n\nHunting with Leopards\n\n\"The leopards are each accommodated with a flat-topped cart, without\nsides, drawn by two bullocks, and each animal has two attendants. They\nare loosely bound by a collar and rope to the back of the vehicle,\nand are also held by the keeper by a strap round the loins. A leathern\nhood covers their eyes. The antelopes being excessively timid and\nwild, the best way to enjoy the sport is to sit on the cart alongside\nthe driver; for the vehicle being built like the hackeries of the\npeasants, to the sight of which the deer are accustomed, it is not\ndifficult, by skilful management, to approach within two hundred yards\nof the game. On this occasion we had three chetahs in the field, and\nwe proceeded towards the spot where the herd had been seen, in a line,\nwith an interval of about one hundred yards between each cart. On\nemerging from a cotton-field, we came in sight of four antelopes, and\nmy driver managed to get within one hundred yards of them ere they\ntook alarm. The chetah was quickly unhooded, and loosed from his\nbonds; and as soon as he viewed the deer he dropped quietly off\nthe cart, on the _opposite_ side to that on which they stood, and\napproached them at a slow, crouching canter, masking himself by\nevery bush and inequality of ground which lay in in his way. As soon,\nhowever, as they began to show alarm, he quickened his pace, and was\nin the midst of the herd in a few bounds.\n\n\"He singled out a doe, and ran it close for about two hundred yards,\nwhen he reached it with a blow of his paw, rolled it over, and in an\ninstant was sucking the life-blood from its throat.\n\n\"One of the other chetahs was slipped at the same time, but after\nmaking four or five desperate bounds, by which he nearly reached his\nprey, suddenly gave up the pursuit, and came growling sulkily back to\nhis cart.\n\n\"As soon as the deer is pulled down, a keeper runs up, hoods the\nchetah cuts the victim's throat, and receiving some of the blood in\na wooden ladle, thrusts it under the leopard's nose. The antelope\nis then dragged away, and placed in a receptacle under the hackery,\nwhilst the chetah is rewarded with a leg for his pains.\"[1]\n\n[Footnote 1: A pair of fine Chetahs, or Hunting Leopards, may be seen\nin the Gardens of the Zoological Society.--ED. M.]\n\nAn Alligator in the Ganges.\n\n\"A beautiful specimen of an alligator's head was here given by Mr.\nAlexander to Lord Combermere. He was rather a distinguished monster,\nhaving carried off at different occasions, six or eight brace of men\nfrom an indigo factory in the neighbourhood. A native, who had long\nlaid wait for him, at length succeeded in slaying him with poisoned\narrows. One of these notoriously ghaut-frequenting alligators is well\nnigh as rich a prize to the poor native who is fortunate enough to\ncapture him, as a Spanish galleon is to a British frigate; for on\nripping open his stomach, and over-hauling its freight, it is not\nunfrequently found to contain 'a choice assortment'--as the Calcutta\nadvertisers have it--of gold, silver, or brass bangles and anklets,\nwhich have not been so expeditiously digested as their fair owners,\nvictims of the monster's voracity. A little fat Brahminee child,\n'farci an ris,' must be a tempting and tender _bonne bouche_ to these\nriver gourmands. Horrific legends such as the above, together with a\ngreat deal of valuable advice on the subject, were quite thrown away\nupon me; for ninety degrees of Fahrenheit, and the enticing blueness\nof the water generally betrayed me into a plunge every evening during\nmy Gangetic voyage.\"\n\nNocturnal Bathing.\n\n\"On the occasion of a grand nocturnal bathing ceremony, held at the\ngreat tank called the Indra Dam\u00e2n, I went with a party of three or\nfour others to witness the spectacle. The walls surrounding the pool\nand a cluster of picturesque pavilions in its centre were brilliantly\nlighted up with hundreds of cheraugs, or small oil-lamps, casting a\nflickering lustre upon the heads and shoulders of about five hundred\nmen, women, and children, who were ducking and praying, _\u00e0 corps\nperdu,_ in the water. As I glanced over the figures nearest to me,\nI discovered floating among the indifferent bathers two dead bodies,\nwhich had either been drowned in the confusion, or had purposely\ncome to die on the edge of the sacred tank; the cool and apathetic\nsurvivors taking not the slightest notice of their soulless\nneighbours.\"\n\nKing John at the Cape.\n\n\"The largest house in Simon's Town, and, indeed, the greater part of\nthe town itself, belongs to an Englishman of the name of Osbond,\nwho, however, is more generally known by the dignified title of 'King\nJohn.' He was carpenter on board the sixty-gun ship Sceptre, which was\nwrecked off this coast some yearn ago. Like Juan, he escaped the sea,\nand like Juan he found a Haidee. Being well-favoured and sharp-witted,\nhe won the heart and the hand of a wealthy Dutch widow, whose dollars\nhe afterwards, in some bold but successful speculations, turned to\ngood account. He is said to have laid out ten thousand pounds on\nthese--to every one but himself--_inhospita littora._ King John is\nmuch respected.\"\n\nPopulation of Cape Town.\n\n\"The variety of nations, and the numerous shades of complexion\namong the people in the streets of Cape Town, are very striking to\na stranger. First may be remarked the substantial Dutchman, with his\npretty, smiling, round-faced, and particularly well-dressed\ndaughter: then the knot of 'Qui hi's,' sent to the Cape, per doctor's\ncertificate, to husband their threadbare constitutions, and lavish\ntheir rupees: next the obsequious, smirking, money-making China-man,\nwith his poking shoulders, and whip-like pig-tail: then the\nstout, squat Hottentots--who resemble the Dutch in but one\ncharacteristic!--and half castes of every intermediate tint between\nblack and white. These are well relieved and contrasted by the\ntall, warlike figures and splendid costume of his Majesty's 72nd\nHighlanders, who, with the 98th regiment, form the garrison of Cape\nTown.\"\n\nVisit to the Residence of Napoleon at St. Helena.\n\n\"We soon came in sight of the level plateau of the Longwood estate,\nthe residence of the late emperor, and six miles from Plantation\nHouse. Here the country gradually assumes a more desolate and a wilder\nlook; and the English visitor arrives at the unfortunate and unwelcome\nconclusion, that the best part of the island was not given to the\nillustrious captive. One cannot avoid agreeing with Sir W. Scott, that\nPlantation House should have been accorded to him, in spite of the\ndetering reasons of its vicinity to the sea, and its sequestered\nsituation. Longwood, however, has better roads, more space for riding\nor driving, and in summer must have been much cooler than the less\nsheltered parts of the isle. As we turned through the lodges the old\nhouse appeared at the end of an avenue of scrubby and weather-worn\ntrees. It bears the exterior of a respectable farm-house, but is now\nfast running to decay. On entering a dirty courtyard, and quitting\nour horses, we were shown by some idlers into a square building, which\nonce contained the bed-room, sitting-room, and bath of the _Empereur\ndes Fran\u00e7ois._ The partitions and floorings are now thrown down, and\ntorn up, and the apartments occupied for six years by the hero before\nwhom kings, emperors, and popes had quailed, are now tenanted by\ncart-horses!\n\n\"Passing on with a groan, I entered a small chamber, with two windows\nlooking towards the north. Between these windows are the marks of a\nfixed sofa: on that couch Napoleon died. The apartment is now occupied\nby a threshing machine; 'No bad emblem of its former tenant!' said\na sacrilegious wag. Hence we were conducted onwards to a large room,\nwhich formerly contained a billiard-table, and whose front looks out\nupon a little latticed veranda, where the imperial peripatetic--I\ncannot style him philosopher--enjoyed the luxury of six paces to and\nfro,--his favourite promenade. The white-washed walls are scored with\nnames of every nation; and the paper of the ceiling has been torn off\nin strips as holy relics. Many couplets, chiefly French, extolling and\nlamenting the departed hero, adorn or disfigure (according to their\nqualities) the plaster walls. The only lines that I can recall to\nmind--few are worth it--are the following, written ever the door, and\nsigned '---- ----, Officier de la Garde Imp\u00e9riale.'\n\n  \"'Du grand Napol\u00e9on le nom toujours cit\u00e9\n  Ira de bouche en bouche \u00e0 la post\u00e9rit\u00e9!'\"\n\nThe writer doubtless possessed more spirit as a sabreur than as a\npoet.\n\n\"The emperor's once well-kept garden,\n\n  \"'And still where many a garden-flower grows wild,'\n\n\"is now overgrown and choked with weeds. At the end of a walk still\nexists a small mound, on which it is said the hero of Lodi, Marengo,\nand Austerlitz, amused himself by erecting a mock battery. The little\nchunamed tank, in which he fed some fresh-water fish, is quite\ndried up; and the mud wall, through a hole in which he reconnoitered\npassers-by, is, like the great owner, returned to earth!\"\n\nCaptain Mundy's volumes are illustrated chiefly with sketches of\nIndian sports from the master-hand of Land-seer; and for spirit of\nexecution they deserve to rank among the finest productions of this\ndistinguished artist.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\nRECENT FRENCH LITERATURE.\n\nA novel picture of Paris has lately appeared with the taking title\nof the _Hundred and One._ Its origin, as well as its subject, is\ninteresting. It is a voluntary association of almost all the literary\ntalent of France, for the benefit of an enterprising bookseller,\nwhose affairs have, it seems, fallen into the sere, since the\ncommercial embarrassments following on the Revolution. A hundred\nand one authors of all ranks and political opinions, philosophers,\nacademicians, journalists, deputies, poets, artists, have combined\nin this work to pass in review before us the humours, follies and\nopinions of the French capital, painted in colours gay or grave,\nsketchy or elaborate, according to the manner or mood of the artist. A\nvery amusing work, suitable to all tastes, is the result, and, by\naid of the _Foreign Quarterly Review_, we are enabled to present\nthe reader with a specimen sketch by Leon Guzlan, an author of some\ncelebrity in this species of writing.[1]\n\n[Footnote 1: Several specimens have been ably translated in the\nAthenaeum.]\n\nVISIT TO THE MORGUE, AT PARIS.\n\n(The Morgue, we should premise, is an establishment in Paris for\nthe reception of all persons found dead in the City or its environs.\nThither it is the duty of the police to convey the bodies, where they\nare exposed in a hall open to the public for a stated time,[1] when,\nif not identified, and claimed, they are interred in the neighbouring\ncemetery.)\n\n[Footnote 1: The bodies are stripped, and placed on sloping slabs of\nmarble; above each are hung the clothes of the deceased.]\n\n\"After describing the exterior, the _Salle de l'Exposition_, which is\nthe only portion of the building, of course, with which the public\nare acquainted, the writer conducts us into the inner recesses of this\nhouse of death, the apartments of the superintendant.\n\n\"M. Perrin, is a little old man, who coughs incessantly. When I\nexplained to him the object of my visit, he very politely offered to\nshow me all the details of his administration, regretting much, as he\nsaid, that there was not so much variety as could be desired. 'But I\nwill show you what I have--be pleased to walk up.'\n\n\"As we were climbing the narrow stairs, and he was informing me that\nhis establishment was connected both with the prefecture and the\npolice, with the one on account of the local expenses, with the other\nfrom its connexion with the public health, we were obliged to stand\nclose against the wall to allow a troop of young girls to pass, well\ndressed, gay, but shivering with the cold, which blew from the river\nthrough the chink which lighted the stair.\n\n\"'These are four of my daughters. I have eight children. Fran\u00e7ois, the\nkeeper, has had four, and he has had the good fortune to get them all\nmarried. Fran\u00e7ois is a kind father.'\n\n\"'So,' said I, 'twelve children then have been born in the Morgue.\nDreams of joy, and conjugal endearments, and parental delights, have\nbeen experienced in this chamber of death. Marriage with its orange\nflowers, baptism with its black robed sponsors, the communion, and the\nembroidered veil, love, religion, virtue, have had their home here as\nelsewhere. God has sown the seeds of happiness every where.'\n\n\"'Papa, we are going to a distribution of prizes. My sisters are sure\nto get a prize. Don't weary, we will be back in good time.'\n\n\"'Go, my children,'--and all four embraced him.\n\n\"I thought of the body of the little Norman in the dreary room\nbeneath, and of the mother who even now, perhaps, was anxiously\nlooking for her from the window.\n\n\"'This is the apartment of Fran\u00e7ois'. Fran\u00e7ois did the honours with\nthe activity of a man who is not ashamed of his establishment. His\nroom is comfortably furnished; two modern pendules mounted on\nbronze, a wardrobe with a Medusa's head, a high bed, and a handsome\nrose-coloured curtain. If the room was not overburdened with\nfurniture, if there was not much of luxury, yet, to those not early\naccustomed to superfluities, it might even seem gay. It represented\nthe tastes, opinions, and habits of its master. Vases of flowers threw\na green reflection on the curtains, for Fran\u00e7ois is fond of flowers.\nAmong his gallery of portraits were those of Augereau and Kleber, both\nin long coats, leaning on immense sabres, with peruques and powder.\nNapoleon is there three times.\n\n\"'Look at these jars,' said Fran\u00e7ois, 'these are sweetmeats of\nmy wife's making; she excels in sweetmeats.' I read upon them,\n'gooseberries of 1831.' We left Fran\u00e7ois's apartment which forms the\nright wing of the Morgue, while the clerk's house is on the left, and\nentered the cabinet of administration of M. Perrin.\n\n\"If Fran\u00e7ois is fond of flowers, M. Perrin has the same penchant for\nhydraulics and the camera obscura; he draws, he makes jets from the\nSeine, by an ingenious piece of machinery of his own invention; while\nhe was retouching his syphon, I asked permission to turn over the\nregister, where suicides are ranged in two columns.\n\n\"The fatal 'unknown' was the prevailing designation; 'brought here at\nthree in the morning, skull fractured, _unknown;_' 'brought at twelve\nat night, drowned under the Pont des Arts, cards in his pocket,\n_unknown;_'--'young woman, pregnant, crushed by a fiacre at the corner\nof the Rue Mandar, _unknown_;'--'new born child found dead of cold,\nat the gate of an hotel, _unknown.'_\n\n\"I said to M. Perrin that he must weary here very much occasionally\nduring the long nights of winter.\n\n\"'No,' replied he good humouredly, 'the children sing, we all work,\nFran\u00e7ois and I play at draughts or piquet; the worst of it is, we are\nsometimes interrupted; a knock comes, we must go down, get a stone\nready, undress the new comer and register him: that spoils the game;\nwe forget to mark the points.'\n\n\"'And this is the way you generally spend your evenings?'--'Always,\nexcept when Fran\u00e7ois has to go to Vaugirard at four o'clock: then\nhe must go to bed earlier. Perhaps you do not know that our burying\nground is at Vaugirard: as that burying ground is not much in fashion,\nwe have been allowed to retain our privilege of having a fosse to\nourselves.'\n\n\"'I understand,--it is a fief of the Morgue.'\n\n\"'You saw that chariot below near the entrance gate, in which the\nchildren were hiding themselves at play,--that is our hearse.'\n\n\"'And rich or poor, all must make use of your conveyance? If for\ninstance a suicide is recognised, his relations or friends may reclaim\nhim, take him home, and bestow the rites of sepulture on him at his\nown house?'\n\n\"'No, the Morgue does not give back what has been once deposited here.\nIt allows the funeral ceremonies to be as pompous as they will, but\nthey must all set out from hence; one end of the procession perhaps\nis at Notre Dame, while the other is starting from the Morgue. The\nArchbishop of Paris may be there; but Fran\u00e7ois's place is fixed. It is\nthe first.'\n\n\"'And the priests of Notre Dame, do they never make any difficulty\nabout administering the funeral rites to your dead?'\n\n\"'Never!'\n\n\"'Not even to the suicides?'\n\n\"'There are no suicides for Notre Dame: one is drowned by accident,\nanother killed by the bursting of a gun, a third has fallen from\na scaffold. I invent the excuse, and the conscience of the priest\naccepts it. That's enough.'\n\n\"So, thought I! Notre Dame, which formerly witnessed the execution at\nthe stake of sorcerers, alchymists, and gipsies on the Grande Place,\nhas now no word of reprobation for the carcass of the suicide, once\nallowed to rot on the ground, or be devoured by birds. She asks not\nhere what was his faith. The priest says mildly, 'Peace be with you.'\n\n\"We walked down, and Fran\u00e7ois opened the first room, that which\ncontains the dresses; habits of all shapes, all dimensions, hideously\njumbled together; gaiters pinned to a sleeve, a shawl shading the neck\nof a coat; dresses of peasants, workmen, carters and brewers' frocks,\nwomen's gowns, all faded, discoloured, shapeless, flap against each\nother in the current of air which entered through the windows. There\nis something here appalling in the sight and sound of these objects,\nsoulless, body-less, yet moving as if they had life, and presenting\nthe form without the flesh. Your eye rests on a handkerchief, the\nproperty of some poor labourer, suddenly seized with the idea of\nsuicide, after some day that he has wanted work.\n\n\"Fran\u00e7ois, who followed the direction of my eyes to see what\nimpression the picture produced on me sighed heavily.\n\n\"'Does it move you too,' said I? 'Are you discontented with your\nlot.--Unhappy?'\n\n\"'Not exactly! But, Sir, formerly, you must know, the dresses, after\nbeing six months exhibited, became a perquisite of ours; we sold them.\nNow they talk of taking the dresses from us.'\n\n\"I reassured Fran\u00e7ois as to the intention of government, and assured\nhim there was no talk of taking away the dresses.\n\n\"The second room, that which adjoins the public exhibition room, is\nappropriated for the dissection of those, the mode of whose death\nappears to the police to be suspicious. Its only furniture is a marble\ntable, on which the dissections take place, and a shelf on which are\nplaced several bottles of chlorate. This room is immediately above\nthe room of M. Perrin. The dissecting table above just answers to the\ngirls' piano below.\n\n\"In this room, which I crossed rapidly to avoid as much as possible\nthe sight of a body extended on the plank, I saw the little girl, who\nhad been stifled the night before in the diligence; she was a lovely\nchild. The other figure was frightfully disfigured; scarcely even\nwould his mother have recognised him.\n\n\"There remained only the public room; it is narrow, ill aired; ten or\ntwelve black and sloping stones receive the suicides, who are placed\non it almost in a state of nudity; the places are seldom all occupied,\nexcept perhaps during a revolution. Then it is that the Morgue is\nrecruited; two more days of glory and immortality in July, and the\nplague had been in Paris.\n\n\"'It is true,' said M. Perrin, 'we worked hard during the three days,\nand we were allowed the use of two assistants. Corpses every where,\nwithin, without, at the gate, on the bank.'--\n\n\"'And your girls?'\n\n\"'During these days they did not leave their apartment, nor looked\nout to the street, nor to the river; besides, you are mistaken if you\nthink the spectacle would have terrified them. Brought up here,\nthey will walk at night without a light in front of the glass, which\ndivides the corpses from the public, without trembling; we become\naccustomed to any thing.'\n\n\"Methought I heard the poor children, so familiar with the idea of\ndeath, so accustomed to this domestic spectacle of their existence,\nasking innocently of the strangers whom they visited,--as one would\nask where is your garden, your kitchen, or your cabinet,--'where do\n_you_ keep your dead here?'\n\n\"These were all the facts I could gather with regard to the\nestablishment. I was opening the glass door to breathe the fresh air\nagain, when the entrance of the crowd drove me back into the interior;\nthey were following a bier, on which lay a body, from which the water\ndripped in a long stream. From one of the hands which were closely\nclenched, the keeper detached a strip of coloured linen, and a\nfragment of lace. 'Ah!' said he, 'let me look, 'tis she!'\n\n\"'Who is it?'\n\n\"'The nurse who was here this morning; the nurse of the little Norman\ngirl. Good! they may be buried together.' And M. Perrin put on\nhis spectacles, opened his register, and wrote in his best\ncurrent-hand--_unknown!_\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\nPOETRY.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThe Maid of Elvar. By Allan Cunningham.\n\nThis is one of the most gratifying \"appearances\" in the literature of\nthe day. It reminds us that however the poet's harp may have remained\nunstrung, it has not lost its vigour or sweetness--its depth of\nfeeling, or its melody of tone, and these too are ably sustained\nthrough nearly 600 stanzas in an exquisitely embellished narrative.\nThe poem is \"a song of other times;\" the story is one of chivalrous\nlove; the hero is a young warrior and poet; the Maid of Elvar offers\na garland of gold for the best song in honour of one of his victories;\n\"minstrels meet and sing, but the song of Eustace, though on another\ntheme, is reckoned the best; the Maid hangs the gold chain round his\nneck, and retires, admiring the young stranger;\" and thereby hangs the\ntale. As our limits will not allow us to detach a scene or incident,\nwe must be content, for the present, with culling a few of the\nchoicest flowers of the song.\n\nCIVIL WAR.\n\n  Woe, woe was ours. Chief drew his sword on chief:\n  Religion with her relique and her brand,\n  Made strife between our bosom-bones, and grief\n  And lawless joy abounded in the land;\n  Our glass of glory sank nigh its last sand;\n  Rank with its treason, priesthood with its craft,\n  Turned Scotland's war-lance to a willow-wand.\n  But war arose in Scotland--civil war;\n  Serf warred with chief, and father warred with son,\n  The church too warred with all: her evil star\n  That rules o'er sinking realms shone like the sun--\n  Her lights waxed dim and died out one by one--\n  Woe o'er the land hung like a funeral pall:\n  The sword the bold could brave, the coward shun,\n  But famine followed fast and fell on all--\n  Pale lips cried oft for food which came not at their call.\n\nRURAL PEACE.\n\n  Much mirth was theirs--war was no wonder then;\n  Dread fled with danger, and the cottage cocks,\n  The shepherd's war-pipe, called the sons of men\n  When morning's wheel threw bright dew from its spokes,\n  To pastures green to lead again their flocks;\n  The horn of harvest followed with its call;\n  Fast moved the sickle, and swift rose the shocks,\n  Behind the reapers like a golden wall--\n  Gravely the farmer smiled, by turns approving all.\n\n  The ripe corn waved in lone Dalgonar glen,\n  That, with its bosom basking in the sun,\n  Lies like a bird; the hum of working men\n  Joins with the sound of streams that southward run,\n  With fragrant holms atween: then mix in one\n  Beside a church, and round two ancient towers\n  Form a deep fosse. Here sire is heired by son,\n  And war comes never; ancle deep in flowers\n  In summer walk its dames among the sunny bowers.\n\n  He rose, find homeward by the slumbering stream\n  Walked with the morn-dew glistening on his shoon.\n  The sun was up, and his outbursting beam\n  Touched tower and tree and pasture hills aboon;\n  The stars were quenched, and vanished was the moon;\n  Loud lowed the herds and the glad partridge' cry\n  Made corn-fields musical as groves at noon;\n  Birds left the perch, bee following bee hummed by,\n  And gladness reigned on earth and brightness claimed the sky.\n\nMINSTRELSY.\n\n  I sing of days in which brave deeds of arms\n  And deeds of song went hand in hand: our kings\n  Heroic feelings had and owned the charms\n  Of minstrel lore--they loved the magic strings\n  More than the sceptre; still their kingdom rings\n  With their gay musings and their harpings high.\n  To noble deeds fair poesie lends wings;\n  She lifts them up from grovelling earth to sky,\n  And bids them sit in light, and live and never die.\n\nFAME.\n\n  Fame, fame--thou warrior's wish, thou poet's thought,\n  Thou bright delusion; like the rainbow thou\n  Glitterest, yet none may touch thee; thing of naught,\n  Star-high with heaven's own brightness on thy brow,\n  Blazoned and glorious I beheld thee grow--\n  Vision, begone,--for I am none of thine.\n  Of all that fills my heart and fancy now,\n  From dull oblivion not one word or line\n  Wilt thou touch with thy light and render it divine.\n\n  Even be it so. I sing not for thy smiles--\n  I sing to keep down sighs and ease the smart\n  Of care and sadness, and the daily toils\n  Which crush my soul and trample on my heart.\n  Far mightier spirits of the inspired art\n  Are mute and nameless, mid the muse in grief\n  Calls from the eastern to the western airt,\n  On tale, tradition, ballad, song, and chief\n  On thee, to give their names one passage bright and brief.\n  She calls in vain; like to a shooting star\n  Their storied rhymes shone brightly in their birth,\n  And shot a dazzling lustre near and far;\n  Then darkened, died, as all things else on earth.\n\nEVENING.\n\n                                     The sun\n  Behind the mountain's summit slowly sank;\n  Crows came in clouds down from the moorlands dun,\n  And darkened all the pine-trees, rank on rank;\n  The homeward milch-cows at the fountains drank;\n  Swains dropt the sickle, hinds unloosed the car--\n  The twin hares sported on the clover-bank,\n  And with the shepherd o'er the upland far,\n  Came out the round pale moon, and star succeeding star.\n  Star followed star, though yet day's golden light\n  Upon the hills and headlands faintly stream'd;\n  To their own pine the twin-doves took their flight;\n  From crag and cliff the clamorous seamews screamed,\n  In glade and glen the cottage windows gleam'd;\n  Larks left the cloud, for flight the grey owl sat;\n  The founts and lakes up silver radiance steamed;\n  Winging his twilight journey, hummed the gnat--\n  The drowsy beetle droned, and skimmed the wavering bat.\n\nTHE MAID'S FIRST LOVE.\n\n  The maiden heard a light foot on the floor,\n  And sidelong looked, and there before her stood\n  Young Eustace Graeme: far from the pasture moor\n  He came: the fragrance of the dale and wood\n  Was scenting all his garments green and good.\n  A sudden flush when tie the maiden saw,\n  Burned through his temples, kindled up his blood--\n  His stifling breath waxed nigh too tight to draw,\n  He bowed, and silent stood in wonderment and awe.\n\n  The father smiled, the mother smiled. Now why\n  Are her eyes downcast and his white brow glowing?\n  Say, have they vowed while heaven was witness by\n  With all her radiant lights like fountains flowing,\n  To love while water runs and woods are growing,\n  And stars glowed conscious of the compact pure?\n  They never woo'd, nor, love for love bestowing.\n  Met with the moonshine in the green-wood bow'r,\n  Nor looked and sighed, and looked and drank love by the hour.\n\n  Yet they have met. Though not fools of the flock,\n  On whom love like the tiger gives one bound.\n  And then the heart is rent--a thunderstroke\n  That makes men dust before they hear the sound--\n  A shaft that leaves dark venom in the wound--\n  A frost that all the buds of manhood nips--\n  A sea of passion in which true love's drowned--\n  A demon strangling virtue in his grips--\n  A day when reason's son is quenched in dread eclipse.\n\n  True gentle love is like the summer dew,\n  Which falls around when all is still and hush--\n  And falls unseen until its bright drops strew\n  With odours, herb and flower, and bank, and bush\n  O love, when womanhood is in the flush,\n  And man's a young and an unspotted thing!\n  His first breathed word and her half conscious blush,\n  Are fair us light in heaven, or flowers in spring--\n  The first hour of true love is worth our worshipping.\n\nLOVE OF COUNTRY.\n\n  \"I would not leave old Scotland's mountain gray,\n  Her hills, her cots, her halls, her groves of pine,\n  Dark though they be: yon glen, yon broomy brae,\n  Yon wild fox cleugh, yon eagle cliffs outline\n  An hour like this--this white right-hand of thine,\n  And of thy dark eyes such a gracious glance,\n  As I got now, for all beyond the line,\n  And all the glory gained by sword or lance,\n  In gallant England, Spain, or olive vales of France.\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n_Printed and Published by J. LIMBIRD, 143, Strand. (near Somerset\nHouse,) London; sold by ERNEST FLEISCHER, 626, New Market, Leipsic;\nG.G. BENNIS, 55, Rue Neuve, St. Augustin, Paris, and by all Newsmen\nand Booksellers._","title":"The Mirror of Literature, Amusement, and Instruction. Volume 19, No. 549 (Supplementary number)","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":12668}