The Mirror of Literature, Amusement, and Instruction. Volume 13, No. 375, June 13, 1829

ROAD-BOOK OF FRANCE

People who are bound for the Continent should provide themselves with the new edition of Mr. Leigh's descriptive Road Book of France—even before they get their passports at the French ambassador's, or if they only intend to visit Calais, Boulogne, or Dieppe—and the chances are that they will be induced to travel beyond these places, which, in truth, give an Englishman no more idea of France than Dovor would afford a foreigner of England. A few years since, comparatively speaking, people only knew their way from York to London, much less the objects on the road—now, by the economy of guide books they may know every good inn in France, and carry the ichnography of the kingdom in their coat pocket. In the present edition of the "Road Book of France," attention has been paid to the description of the delightful South, especially of Bordeaux, the mineral springs and bathing-places of the Pyrenees, the navigation of the Rhone from Lyons to Avignon, as well as of Marseilles, Toulouse, &c., and some of the principal towns have been illustrated with plans. Dipping into the Itinerary from Calais to Paris, we were reminded of a curious coincidence: Julius Caesar is supposed to have sailed from Boulogne on his expedition against the Britons; and in later times, Napoleon Bonaparte there prepared to carry into execution the invasion of Great Britain. But how different have been the results!

JOURNEY FROM THE BANK TO BARNES

A lively volume with many shreds of wit and humour, and occasional patches of "righte merrie conceite," has just fallen into our hands, and has afforded us some very pleasant reading. There is fun in the very title, "Personal Narrative of a Journey overland from the Bank to Barnes, &c. with some account of the Regions east of Kensington. By an Inside Passenger. With a Model for a Magazine, being the product of the Author's sojourn at the village of Barnes, during five rainy days." The author is a shrewd, clever fellow, who loves a little raillery on the follies of the day, and joins with our friend, Popanilla in deploring the present artificial state of society; therefore, suppose we give a few flying extracts from his tour, premising that the good people of the little villages through which he passed, are not aware of what good things he has said of them; for his little book would suit every parlour window from Hyde Park Corner to Barnes.

Brentford

The ancient and nearly deserted barony of Brentford still contains, in its monuments and antiquities, vestiges of former splendour. The horse-trough opposite the "Bell and Feathers" is to the antiquarian a most particularly interesting morceau; the verdure of age has defaced it in part, but enough still remains to prove that our ancestors had made no mean proficiency in the rustic style of architecture. The reservoir, which contains the sparkling element so grateful to that noble animal, is modelled from the celebrated sarcophagus in the British Museum; and the posts which support it are evidently Doric. On the outside of it are several nearly obliterated specimens of carving, as well as drawings in chalk.

Nearly parallel with the horse-trough, as you go down "Maud's Rents," is that useful, and indeed indispensible, triumph of hydraulics, the pump. The taste and science displayed in its execution do credit to the engineer; and the soil in which it is imbedded, being argillaceous, partially encrusted with strontian, reflects equal honour on his geological attainments. This pump, which you approach by three steps, is perpendicular, and of an elegant appearance; and forms the chief ornament of the "Rents." The handle is of wrought iron, highly polished; the snout copper, studded with hobnails. It is neatly coated with white paint, and bears on its front the following inscription, which I have copied for the gratification of the curious in antiquarian research.

This Pump was erected,

and Well sunk,

A.D. 1824,

from the proceeds of a Charity Sermon,

preached

in the Parish Church

of this Parish,

by his Grace the Bishop

of Bath and Wells.

Peter Broddupp,

Overseer,

Slingsby Stygle, and John Moles,

Churchwardens.

N.B. Whoever washes Fish at this Pump

will be prosecuted.

I cannot take leave of this interesting town without noticing the church. It is surmounted by a neat steeple, cut in wood, in the pointed style of architecture; on the top of which is a goodly key, to indicate the wind,—which, the inhabitants remark, has blown due south for the last ten years. The porch, which is a curious specimen of the Maeso-Gothic, is rather hurt by the simplicity of the scrapers, which, being merely segments of iron hoops, do not harmonize with the otherwise elaborate approach.

Tossbury

The demesne of Tossbury (by Camden written Tossbery) was anciently a grant in feoffment to the College of Physicians by King John. On the spot now occupied by the burial grounds formerly stood their college; and here they flourished until the population, originally abundant, diminished so alarmingly, as to induce them to remove to Warwick Lane.

Mr. P. (the landlord of the inn,) ever ready to shew his guests what at that village are esteemed great curiosities, was indefatigable in explaining the various instances in which he has made science subservient to utility. The staircase, as far as the great dining-room, he has, at considerable expense, macadamized; which, provided it is kept well watered, and scrapers attached to the chamber-doors, our worthy host assured us, was infinitely preferable to marble. He begged us to be under no apprehension as to the dampness of our beds, as they were warmed by a steam-apparatus of his own contrivance. He always keeps a Leyden jar, about the size of a boiler, ready charged, wherewith he kills geese, turkeys, and even lamb; which, he affirms, is a much less shocking method of neutralizing the vital spark than the vulgar butchery of twisting and sticking. He has lost three of his fingers, through incautiously handling a self-acting rat-trap of his own construction; and had his left eye blown out, while investigating the exact interval between combustion and explosion.

I found a difference of about half an hour between the dial of Putney Church and my watch, which a young gentleman "intended for one of the universities" accounted for from difference of latitude. He likewise explained a phenomenon, which rather startled us, near Kew. We saw about half-a-dozen cows galloping furiously towards the river's brink; flirting their tails, and, indeed, conducting themselves with a vivacity perfectly inconsistent with the acknowledged sobriety of that useful animal. He calmed our apprehensions, by informing us they were intended for the East Indies. Every other day they are fed with best rock-salt, instead of green-meat; which, by chemical agency, renders them fat and fit to be killed, and sent on ship-board at a moment's notice; the trouble and delay of salting down being totally unnecessary. These cows, he assured us, had just finished their thirst-inducing meal.

Near Hill's boat-shed is the patent Philanthropical Hay-tosser, a stupendous machine, invented expressly to prevent the degradation and slavery to which thousands of our fellow men are subjected during hay-harvest. It must gratify every friend to the amelioration of his species to learn, that the humane intention of the inventer is likely to be realized, as there are already three thousand Irishmen out of employ.

Here we must halt with our tourist. The result of his lucubrations at Barnes—a Model for a Magazine will be found very serviceable to all prospectus writers, and furnish skeleton articles for a whole volume. We have been amused with the pleasantries of the author, and in return we thank him, and recommend his little book to our readers.

SPIRIT OF THE PUBLIC JOURNALS

CLASSICAL CORRECTIONS

In a neat little cottage, some five miles from town,Lived a pretty young maiden, by name Daphne Brown,Like a butterfly, pretty and airy:In a village hard by lived a medical prig,With a rubicund nose, and a full-bottomed wig,Apollo, the apothecary.He, being crop sick of his bachelor life,Resolved, in his old days, to look for a wife—(Nota bene—Thank Heaven, I'm not married):He envied his neighbours their curly-poled brats,(All swarming, as if in a village of Pats,)And sighed that so long he had tarried.Having heard of fair Daphne, the village coquette,As women to splendour were never blind yet,He resolved with his grandeur to strike her;So he bought a new buggy, where, girt in a wreath,Were his arms, pills, and pestle—this motto beneath—"Ego opifer per orbem dicor."To the village he drove, sought young Daphne's old sire,Counted gold by rouleaus, and bank notes by the quire,And promised the old buck a share in't,If his daughter he'd give—for the amorous foolThought of young ladies' hearts and affections the ruleApparently rests with a parent.Alas! his old mouth may long water in vain,Who tries by this method a mistress to gain—A miss is the sure termination:For a maiden's delight is to plague the old boy,And to think sixty-five not the period for joy;Alas! all the sex are vexation.Daphne Brown had two eyes with the tenderest glances!Her brain had been tickled by reading romances,And those compounds of nonsense called novels,Where Augustus and Ellen, or fair Isabel,With Romeo, in sweet little cottages dwell:Sed meo periclo, read hovels.She had toiled through Clarissa; Camilla could quote;Knew the raptures of Werter and Charlotte by rote;Thought Smith and Sir Walter ecstatic;And as for the novels of Miss Lefanu,She dog's-eared them till the whole twenty looked blue;And studied 'The Monk' in the attic.When her sire introduced our Apollo, he foundThe maiden in torrents of sympathy drowned—"Floods of tears" is too trite and too common:Her eyes were quite swelled—her lips pouting and pale;For she just had been reading that heartbreaking tale,"Annabelle, or the Sufferings of Woman."Apollo, I'll swear, had more courage than I,To accost a young maid with a drop in her eye;I'd as soon catch a snake or a viper:She, while wiping her tears, gives Apollo some wipes;And when a young lady has set up her pipes,Her lover will soon pay the piper.Papa locked her up—but the very next night,With a cornet of horse, the young lady took flight;To Apollo she left this apology—"That, were she to spend with an old man her life,She would gain, by the penance she'd bear as a wife,A place in the next martyrology."Apollo gave chase, but was destined to fail;The female had safely been lodged in the mail,Now flying full speed to the borders;So the doctor, compelled his sad fate to endure,Came back to his shop, commissioned to cureAll disorders but Cupid's disorders.

Monthly Magazine.

BAMBOROUGH CASTLE

The origin of this princely establishment may be new to our readers:—One of the owners of the castle, John Forster, member for Northumberland, having joined in the rebellion, and being general of the English part of the rebel army, of course his estates, then valued at 1,314 l. per annum, were forfeited; Crewe, bishop of Durham, purchased them from the government commissioners, and settled the whole, by his will, on charitable uses. Under a clause which left the residue of the rents to such charitable uses as his trustees might appoint, the "princely establishment of Bamborough" has arisen—where

"Charity hath fixed her chosen seat;And Pity, at the dark and stormy hourOf midnight, when the moon is hid on high,Keeps her love watch upon the topmost tower,And turns her ear to each expiring cry,Blest if her aid some fainting wretch might save,And snatch him, cold and speechless, from the grave."BOWLES

The charitable intentions of a testator have never, in any instance, been better fulfilled than this; the residuary rents, owing to the great increase of rental in the Forster estates, became considerably the most important part of the bequest; and the trustees, who are restricted to five in number, all clergymen, and of whom the rector of Lincoln College is always one, being unfettered by any positive regulations, have so discharged their trust as to render Bamborough Castle the most extensively useful, as well as the most munificent, of all our eleemosynary institutions. There are two free-schools there, both on the Madras system, one for boys, the other for girls; and thirty of the poorest girls are clothed, lodged, and boarded, till, at the age of sixteen, they are put out to service, with a good stock of clothing, and a present of 2l. 12s. 6d. each; and at the end of the first year, if the girl has behaved well, another guinea is given her, with a Bible, a Prayer-book, the Whole Duty of Man, and Secker's Lectures on the Catechism. There is a library in the castle, to which Dr. Sharp, one of the trustees, bequeathed, in 1792, the whole of his own collection, valued at more than 800l.; the books are lent gratuitously to any householder, of good report, residing within twenty miles of Bamborough, and to any clergyman, Roman Catholic priest, or dissenting minister within the said distance. There is an infirmary also in the castle, of which the average annual number of in-patients is about thirty-five—of out-patients above one thousand. There is an ample granary, from whence, in time of scarcity, the poor are supplied on low terms. Twice a week the poor are supplied with meal, at reduced prices, and with groceries at prime cost; and the average number of persons who partake this benefit is about one thousand three hundred in ordinary times, in years of scarcity very many more. To sailors on that perilous coast Bamborough Castle is what the Convent of St. Bernard is to travellers in the Alps. Thirty beds are kept for shipwrecked sailors; a patrol for above eight miles (being the length of the manor) is kept along the coast every stormy night; signals are made; a life-boat is in readiness at Holy Island, and apparatus of every kind is ready for assisting seamen in distress;—wrecked goods are secured and stored, the survivors are relieved, the bodies that are cast on shore are decently interred.

Quarterly Review.

FINE ARTS

THE DIORAMA

On the day of the unfortunate destruction of the Oxford Street Diorama and Bazaar, by fire, two new views were opened at the Diorama in the Regent's Park. These are the Interior of St. Peter's at Rome, and the Village of Thiers.

We have so often spoken in terms of the highest commendation of the Regent's Park Diorama, that we hardly know in what set of words to point out the beauties of these new views, the merits of which must not alter our meed of praise, however the subjects may its details. The Interior of St. Peter's is by M. Bouton. The point of view is at the east entry, opposite to the choir; the reader, perhaps, not being aware that the choir in this cathedral is situated differently from all others, being at the west end. So beautiful are the proportions of the cathedral itself, that its vastness does not strike at first sight, and this effect is admirably preserved in the Diorama. We think we could point out a few inaccuracies in the drawing; but the projections, capitals of the columns, and some of the medallion portraits which ornament them, are so well painted, that we can scarcely believe ourselves looking on a flat surface. Again, the emmet-like figures of the distant congregation are admirable illustrations of the vastness of the building; and above all, the flood of light shed from the lantern of the dome is a perfect triumph of art.

The other view is the French Village of Thiers in the department of the Puy de Doue, on the bank of the little River Durolle, which is actually made to flow, or rather trickle over large stones; whilst smoke ascends from the chimney of an adjoining cottage. As a romantic picture of still life, its merits can scarcely be too highly spoken of, and when we say it is quite equal to Unterseen, by the same artist, and engraved in our last volume, we hope our readers will not be long ere they judge for themselves. We could have lingered for an hour in the contemplation of this peaceful picture, with the devotional interior of St. Peter's—and in contrasting them with the turmoil of the Great Town out of which we had just stepped to view this little Creation of art.

THE GATHERER

A snapper up of unconsidered trifles.SHAKSPEARE.

LINES

Written impromptu, by Sir Lumley Skeffington, Bart. in the Theatre Royal, Drury Lane, at the Benefit of Miss Foote, on Wednesday, May 10, 1826, the last night of her engagement.

Maria departs!—'tis a sentence of dread,For the Graces turn pale, and the Fates droop their head!In mercy to breasts that tumultuously burn,Dwell no more on departure—but speak of return.Since she goes, when the buds are just ready to burst,In expanding its leaves, let the Willow be first.We here shall no longer find beauties in May;It cannot be Spring, when Maria's away:If vernal at all, 'tis an April appears,For the Blossom flies off, in the midst of our tears.

THE KING'S SPEECH IN 993

Sharon Turner, in his "History of the Anglo-Saxons," vol. iv. says, "The King presided at the witena-gemots, and sometimes, perhaps, always addressed them." In 993, we have this account of a royal speech. The King says, in a charter which recites what had passed at one of their meetings, "I benignantly addressed to them salutary and pacific words. I admonished all—that those things which were worthy of the Creator, and serviceable to the health of my soul, or to my royal dignity, and which should prevail as proper for the English people, they might, with the Lord's assistance, discuss in common." P.T.W.

A very common excuse set up by economists for being too late for dinner is, "There was not a coach to be found."—Uncalculating and improvident selfish idiot, not to send for one till the very last moment; you save nothing by it, and spoil your friend's dinner, in order to save yourself sixpence. Suppose you have a mile and a half to go, the fare is one shilling and sixpence; you will be about eighteen minutes going that distance, and for that sum you may detain the coach forty-four minutes. Always call a coach a quarter of an hour before you want it—i.e. if you do not wish to be too late.

1

The scenes and events in tins sketch are drawn from nature, and real occurrences on the southern coast.