The Mirror of Literature, Amusement, and Instruction. Volume 14, No. 381, July 18, 1829

We did not wait long for the order, and the jailer announced it to us, on the eve of its being put into execution; and I had the night before me to fortify Moiselet in his resolutions. He persisted in them more strongly than ever, and acceded with rapture to the proposition I made him of effecting an escape from our escort as soon as it was feasible.

So anxious was he to commence his journey, that he could not sleep. At daybreak, I gave him to understand that I took him for a thief as well as myself.

"Ah, ah, grip also," said I to him, "deep, deep François, you not spoken, but tief all as von."

He made me no answer; but when, with my fingers squeezed together à la Normande, he saw me make a gesture of grasping something, he could not prevent himself from smiling, with that bashful expression of Yes, which he had not courage to utter. The hypocrite had some shame about him, the shame of a devotee. I was understood.

At length the wished-for moment of departure came, which was to enable us to accomplish our designs. Moiselet was ready three whole hours beforehand, and to give him courage, I had not neglected to push about the wine and brandy, and he did not leave the prison until after having received all his sacraments.

We were tied with a very thin cord, and on our way he made me a signal that there would be no difficulty in breaking it. He did not think that he should break the charm which had till then preserved him. The further we went the more he testified that he placed his hopes of safety in me; at each minute he reiterated a prayer that I would not abandon him; and I as often replied, "Ya, François, ya, I not leave you." At length the decisive moment came, the cord was broken. I leaped a ditch, which separated us from a thicket. Moiselet, who seemed young again, jumped after me: one of the gendarmes alighted to follow us, but to run and jump in jack-boots and with a heavy sword was difficult; and whilst he made a circuit to join us, we disappeared in a hollow, and were soon lost to view.

A path into which we struck led us to the wood of Vaujours. There Moiselet stopped, and having looked carefully about him, went towards some bushes. I saw him then stoop, plunge his arm into a thick tuft, whence he took out a spade: arising quickly, he went on some paces without saying a word; and when we reached a birch tree, several of the boughs of which I observed were broken, he took off his hat and coat, and began to dig. He went to work with so much good-will, that his labour rapidly advanced. Suddenly he stooped down, and then escaped from him that ha! which betokens satisfaction, and which informed me, without the use of a conjuror's rod, that he had found his treasure. I thought the cooper would have fainted; but recovering himself, he made two or three more strokes with his spade, and the box was exposed to view. I seized on the instrument of his toil, and suddenly changing my language, declared, in very good French, that he was my prisoner.

"No resistance," I said, "or I will cleave your skull in two."

At this threat he seemed in a dream; but when he knew that he was gripped by that iron hand which had subdued the most vigorous malefactors, he was convinced that it was no vision. Moiselet was as quiet as a lamb. I had sworn not to leave him, and kept my word. During the journey to the station of the brigade of gendarmerie, where I deposited him, he frequently cried out,

"I am done—who could have thought it? and he had such a simple look too!"

At the assizes of Versailles, Moiselet was sentenced to six months' solitary confinement.

M. Senard was overpowered with joy at having recovered his hundred thousand crowns worth of diamonds. Faithful to his system of abatement, he reduced the reward one-half; and still there was difficulty in getting five thousand francs from him, out of which I had been compelled to expend more than two thousand: in fact, at one moment I really thought I should have been compelled to bear the expenses myself.

SPIRIT OF THE PUBLIC JOURNALS

THE TOYMAN IS ABROAD

"En fait d'inutilités, il ne faut que le nécessaire."CHAMPFORT.

There is no term in political philosophy more ambiguous and lax in its meaning than Luxury. In Ireland, salt with a potato is, by the peasant, placed in this category. Among the Cossacks, a clean shirt is more than a luxury—it is an effeminacy; and a Scotch nobleman is reported to have declared, that the act of scratching one's self is a luxury too great for any thing under royalty. The Russians (there is no disputing on tastes) hold train-oil to be a prime luxury; and I remember seeing a group of them following an exciseman on the quays at Dover to plunder the oil casks, as they were successively opened for his operations. A poor Finland woman, who for her sins had married an Englishman and followed him to this country, was very glad to avail herself of her husband's death to leave a land where the people were so unhappy as to be without a regular supply of seal's flesh for their dinner. While the good man lived, her affection for him somewhat balanced her hankering after this native luxury; but no sooner was the husband dead, than her lawyer-like propensity re-assumed its full force, and, like Proteus released from his chains, she abandoned civilized life to get back to her favourite shores, to liberty, and the animals of her predilection. "If I were rich," said a poor farmer's boy, "I would eat fat pudding, and ride all day on a gate;" which was evidently his highest idea of human luxury. But it is less with the quality of our indulgences, than their extent, that I have now to treat. Diogenes, who prided himself on cutting his coat according to his cloth, and thought himself a greater man, in proportion as he diminished his wants, placed his luxuries in idleness and sunshine, and seems to have relished these enjoyments with as much sensuality as Plato did his fine house and delicate fare. Even he was more reasonable than those sectarians, who have prevailed in almost all religions, and who, believing that the Deity created man for the express purpose of inflicting upon him every species of torture, have inveighed against the most innocent gratifications, and have erected luxury into a deadly sin. These theologians will not allow a man to eat his breakfast with a relish; and impute it as a vice if he smacks his lips, though it be but after a draught of water. Nay, there have been some who have thought good roots and Adam's ale too great luxuries for a Christian lawfully to indulge in; and they have purposely ill-cooked their vegetables, and mixed them with ashes, and even more disgusting things, to mortify the flesh, as they called it—i.e. to offer a sacrifice of their natural feelings to the demon of which they have made a god.

Of late years, more especially, our ideas on this subject have much enlarged; and all ranks of Englishmen hold an infinity of objects as prime necessaries, which their more modest ancestors ranked as luxuries, fit only for their betters to enjoy. This should be a matter of sincere rejoicing to all true patriots; because it affords indubitable evidence of the progress of civilization. A civilized gentleman differs from a savage, principally in the multiplicity of his wants; and Mandeville, in his fable of the bees, has proved to demonstration that extravagance is the mother of commerce. What, indeed, are steam-engines, macadamized roads, man-traps that break no bones, patent cork-screws, and detonating fowling-pieces, safety coaches and cork legs, but luxuries, at which a cynic would scoff; yet how could a modern Englishman get on without them? It is perfectly true that our Henries and Edwards contrived to beat their enemies unassisted by these inventions. Books, likewise, which were a luxury scarcely known to the wisdom of our ancestors, are a luxury now so indispensable, that there is hardly a mechanic who has not his little library: while a piano forte also has become as necessary to a farm-house as a mangle or a frying-pan; and there are actually more copies printed of "Cherry ripe," than of Tull's husbandry. Is not a silver fork, moreover, an acknowledged necessary in every decent establishment? while the barbarous Mussulman dispenses with knives and forks altogether, and eats his meal, like a savage as he is, with his fingers. Nor can it be deemed an objection to this hypothesis, that the Turk, who rejects all the refinements of European civilization, excepting only gunpowder, esteems four wives to be necessary to a decent establishment; while the most clear-sighted Englishmen think one more than enough for enjoyment. The difference is more formal than real.

Henry the fourth of France had but one coach between himself and his queen; whereas no respectable person can now dispense at the least with a travelling chariot, a barouche, a cab, and a dennet. Civilization, which received a temporary check during the revolutionary war, has resumed its march in double-quick time since the Continent has been opened. Champaigne and ices have now become absolute necessaries at tables where a bottle of humble port and a supernumerary pudding were esteemed luxuries, fit only for honouring the more solemn rites of hospitality. I say nothing of heads of hair, and false (I beg pardon—artificial) teeth; without which, at a certain age, there is no appearing. A bald head, at the present day, is as great an indecency as Humphrey Clinker's unmentionables; and a dismantled mouth is an outrage on well-bred society. Then, again, how necessary is a cigar and a meerschaum to a well-appointed man of fashion, and how can a gentleman possibly show at Melton without at least a dozen hunters, and two or three hacks, to ride to cover! Yet no one in his senses would tax these things as luxuries; or would blame his friend for getting into the King's Bench for their indulgence. Even the most austere judges of the land, and the most jealous juries of tradesmen, have borne ample testimony to the reasonableness of this modern extension of the wants of life, by the liberal allowance of necessaries which they have sanctioned in the tailors' bills of litigating minors. This liberality, indeed, follows, as consequence follows cause. Some one has found, or invented, a story of a shipwrecked traveller's hailing the gallows as the sure token of a civilized community. But the jest is by no means a ben trovato; the member of gibbets being inversely as the perfection of social institutions; and if any one object, that England, while it is the best-governed country in Europe—its envy and admiration—is also a hanging community par excellence, I must beg to remind him of the intense interest which an English public feels in the victims of capital punishment, in the Thurtells and the Fauntleroys; as also of the universal conviction prevailing in England, that the gallows is a short and sure cut to everlasting happiness. From all this, if there is any force in logic, we must conclude, that hanging, in this country, is only applied honoris causâ, as an ovation, in consideration of the great and magnanimous daring of the Alexanders and Caesars on a small scale, to whom the law adjudges the "palmam qui meruit ferat." The real and true test of a refined polity is not the gallows; but is to be found rather in such well-imagined insolvent laws, as discharge a maximum of debt with a minimum of assets; and rid a gentleman annually of his duns, with the smallest possible quantity of corporeal inconvenience. When luxuries become necessaries, insolvency is the best safety-valve to discharge the surplus dishonesty of the people, which, if pent up, would explode in dangerous overt acts of crime and violence; and it should be encouraged accordingly.

(To be concluded in our next.)

Notes of a Reader

THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS

The only notice which occurs of "The Last of the Plantagenets" is, says the author of a Romance with the above name, in Peck's "Desiderata Curiosa," where a letter is inserted from Dr. Brett to Dr. Warren, the president of Trinity Hall, in which he says that, calling on Lord Winchilsea in 1720, his lordship pointed out to him this entry in the register of Eastwell—"Anno 1550, Rycharde Plantagenet was buryed the 22nd daye of December;" beyond this, not a word is known of him excepting what tradition affords, which, with some slight variations, for there are two versions of his history, is as follows:—When Sir Thomas Moyle built Eastwell, he observed that his principal bricklayer, whenever he quitted his work, retired with a book, a circumstance which attracted his attention, and on inquiry he found he was reading Latin: he then told Sir Thomas his secret, which was, that he was boarded with a Latin schoolmaster, without knowing who were his relations, until he was fifteen or sixteen; that he was occasionally visited by a gentleman who provided for his expenses; that this person one day took him to a fine house where he was presented to a gentleman handsomely drest, wearing a "star and garter," who gave him money, and conducted him back to school; that some time afterwards the same gentleman came to him, and took him into Leicestershire and to Bosworth Field, when he was carried to king Richard's tent; that the king embraced him, told him he was his son; adding, "Child, to-morrow, I must fight for my crown; and assure yourself, if I lose that, I will lose my life too, but I hope to preserve both, do you stand in such a place (pointing to the spot) where you may see the battle, out of danger, and when I have gained the victory come to me. I will then own you to be mine, and take care of you: but if I should lose the battle, then shift as well as you can, and take care to let nobody know that I am your father, for no mercy will be shown to any one so nearly related to me;" that the king gave him a purse of gold and dismissed him; that he followed those directions, and when he saw the battle was lost and the king slain, he hastened to London, sold his horse and his fine clothes, and the better to conceal himself from all suspicion of being the son of a king, and that he might gain a livelihood, he put himself apprentice to a bricklayer, and generally spent his spare time in reading. Sir Thomas, finding him very old, is said to have offered him the run of his kitchen, which he declined, on the ground of his patron having a large family; but asked his permission to build a small house in one of his fields, and this being granted, he built a cottage, and continued in it till his death.

ANTIQUITIES BURLESQUED

We have often been amused with the different wonders of ancient Rome, but seldom more than with the following piece of antiquarianism burlesqued:—

M. Simond, in his Tour in Italy and Sicily, tells us that the Coliseum is too ruinous—that the Egyptian Museum in the Vatican puts him in mind of the five wigs in the barber Figaro's shop-window—that the Apollo Belvidere looks like a broken-backed young gentleman shooting at a target for the amusement of young ladies. Speaking of the Etruscan vases, he says, "As to the alleged elegance of form, I should be inclined to appeal from the present to succeeding generations, when the transformation of every pitcher, milk-pot and butter-pan, into an antique shape, has completely burlesqued away the classical feeling, and restored impartiality to taste."

About six or seven-and-twenty years ago, an effort was made to revive the fashion of ladies visiting the House of Commons. The late Queen Caroline, then Princess of Wales, upon one or two occasions made her appearance, with a female attendant, in the side-gallery. The royal visit soon became generally known, and several other females were tempted to follow the example. Among these was Mrs. Sheridan, the wife of the late Right Honourable Richard Brinsley Sheridan; but this lady, considering herself an intruder, to whose presence, if known, exception might be taken, thought fit to disguise her person in male attire. Her fine dark hair was combed smooth on her forehead, and made to sit close, in good puritanical trim, while a long, loose, brown coat concealed her feminine proportions. Thus prepared, she took her seat in the Strangers' Gallery, anxious to witness a display of her husband's eloquence; but he did not speak, and the debate proved without any interest. The female aspirants whose taste was thus excited, were, however, confined to a few blue-stocking belles, without influence to set the fashion; and the attempt did not succeed.

MOCHA

The buildings of Mocha are so white, that it seems as if excavated from a quarry of marble; and this whiteness of the town forms a curious contrast with the blueness of the sea. The materials, however, of which Mocha is constructed, are nothing better than unburnt bricks, plastered over, and whitewashed. The coffee bean is cultivated in the interior, and is thence brought to Mocha for exportation. The Arabs themselves use the husks, which make but an inferior infusion. Vegetables are grown round the town, and fruits are brought from Senna; while grain, horses, asses, and sheep, are imported from Abyssinia. There are twelve schools in the town; and, inland, near Senna, there are colleges, in which the twelve branches of Mohomedan sciences are taught, as is usual in Turkey and India. Arab women marry about the age of sixteen; they are allowed great liberty in visiting one another, and can divorce their husbands on very slight grounds. Every lady who pays a visit, carries a small bag of coffee with her, which enables "her to enjoy society without putting her friends to expense."—Lushington's Journey from Calcutta to Europe.

ENGLISH AND FOREIGN NEWSPAPERS

Every one acquainted with the public press of Europe, must have observed the contrast which a London Newspaper forms with the journals of every other capital in Europe. The foreign journals never break in upon the privacy of domestic life. There the fame of parties and dinners is confined to the rooms which constitute their scene, and the names of the individuals who partake of them never travel out of their own circle. How widely different is the practice of the London Journals! A lady of fashion can find no place so secret where she can hide herself from their search. They follow her from town to country, from the country to the town. They trace her from the breakfast-table to the Park, from the Park to the dinner-table, from thence to the Opera or the ball, and from her boudoir to her bed. They trace her every where. She may make as many doubles as a hare, but they are all in vain; it is impossible to escape pursuit; and yet the introduction of female names into the daily newspapers, now so common, is only of modern date.

The late Sir Henry Dudley Bate, editor of The Morning Herald, was the first person who introduced females into the columns of a newspaper. He was at the time editor of The Morning Post.– New Monthly Magazine.

The Gatherer

A snapper up of unconsidered trifles.SHAKSPEARE.

REFLECTION IN A FLOWER GARDEN

I hate the flower whose wanton breast9Awaits the sun at morn and noon,And when he's hid behind the west,As gaily flaunteth with the moon.Mine be the flower of virgin leaf,That when its sire has left the plain,Wraps up its charms in silent grief,Nor ope's them till he comes again.E.K

A "THIN NIGHT" AT VAUXHALL

There were fewer audience than performers, and those made up of fellows evidently not in the habit of shirt-wearing; of women there were very few— of ladies none; the fireworks were bad and brief, and the waterworks the most absurd affair I ever beheld; the thing was overdone. To the people who would like to go to Vauxhall in fine weather, second-rate Italian singing and broken down English prima donnas are no inducement, a bad ballet in a booth has no attraction, and an attempt at variety mars the whole affair. Vauxhall is a delightful place to go to in fine weather with a pleasant party; give us space to walk, light up that space, and shelter us from the elements, set the military bands to play popular airs, and we ask no more for our four or five shillings, or whatever it is; but the moment tumbling is established in various parts of the garden, and the whole thing is made a sort of Bartholomew Fair, the object of breathing a little fresher air, and hearing ourselves talk is ended; crowds of raffs in boots and white neckcloths attended by their dowdy damsels and waddling wives, rush from one place to another, helter skelter, knocking over the few quiet people to whom the "sights" are a novelty; turning what in the days of the late Lady Castlereagh, the present Duchess of Bedford, the first Duchess of Devonshire, and the last Duchess of Gordon (but one) was a delightful reunion of fashion, into a tea-garden (without tea) or a bear-garden—not without bears.—Sharpe's Magazine.

NAPOLEON BONAPARTE AND LORD NOEL BYRON

It is a singular coincidence, not unworthy of remark, that the initials of two of the most singular men of their own, and perhaps of any age, the Emperor Napoleon of France, and Lord Noel Byron of England, used the same letters as an abbreviation of their name, N.B. which likewise denotes Nota Bene. It was not the habit of either to affix his name to letters, but merely N.B.—R.W.

LIMBIRD'S EDITION

of the following novels is already published:

1

Probably a corruption of Benones Bridge, as it is within four miles of the Roman station, Benones, now High Cross.

2

Vitellius had great weight and influence in the reign of Claudius; Vespasian at that time paid his court to the favourite, and also to Narcissus, the emperor's freedman.

3

Now in the possession of the Rev. P. Homer, of Rugby.

4

In the possession of Mr. Matthew Bloxam, of the same place.

5

Edited by that distinguished and learned antiquary, Wm. Hamper, of Birmingham, Esq., in his Life of Dugdale.

6

Another correspondent, Amicus, states that the grant of the Pension was in the possession of the Rector of Cheriton, in Hampshire, and was "lost by him to Government, a short time before his death, in the year 1825."

7

Cobbold, in mining countries, especially Cornwall, is the legendary guardian spirit of the mine, and severe master of its treasures. In Germany, Sweden, &c. the Cobbold may be traced under various modifications and titles.

8

Magazine of Natural History, No.1.

9

There be some flowers that do remain quite unclosed, during not only the day, but during also the night. There be others which do likewise open during the day, albeit when night cometh, they close themselves up until the sun do appear, when they again ope their beautifulness.—Old Botanist.