The Mirror of Literature, Amusement, and Instruction, Vol. 17, written by Various
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THE MIRROR OF LITERATURE, AMUSEMENT, AND INSTRUCTION.
VOL. 17, No. 495.] SATURDAY, JUNE 25, 1831. [PRICE 2d.
* * * * *
HERMITAGE AT FROGMORE.
[Illustration]
Frogmore is one of the most delightful of the still retreats of
Royalty. It was formerly the seat of the Hon. Mrs. Egerton, of whom it
was purchased by Queen Charlotte, in 1792, who made considerable
additions to the house and gardens. The grounds were laid out by Uvedale
Price, Esq. a celebrated person in the annals of picturesque gardening.
The ornamental improvements were made by the direction of the Princess
Elizabeth, (now Landgravine of Hesse Homburg,) whose taste for rural
quiet we noticed in connexion with an Engraving of Her Royal Highness'
Cottage, adjoining Old Windsor churchyard. [1]
[1]: See _Mirror_, No 475.
Frogmore occupies part of a fertile valley, which divides the Little
Park from Windsor Forest, and comprises about thirteen acres. Mr.
Hakewill describes it as "diversified with great skill and taste, and a
piece of water winds throughout it with a pleasing variety of turn and
shape. The trees and shrubs, both native and exotic, which spread their
shade and diffuse their fragrance, are disposed with the best effect;
while buildings are so placed as to enliven and give character to the
general scene. The Ruin was designed by Mr. James Wyatt, and being
seated on the bank of the water, as well as in part in the wood, it
presents, with its creeping ivy and fractured buttresses, a most
pleasing object from various points of the garden. The _Hermitage (see
the Engraving)_ is a small circular thatched building, completely
embowered in lofty trees, and was constructed from a drawing of the
Princess Elizabeth. There is also a Gothic Temple, sacred to solitude,
and a well-imagined and picturesque barn, which heighten the appropriate
scenery. Too much cannot be said of the secluded beauty of this charming
spot, and nothing further need be said of the taste and judgment of
Major Price, to whom its arrangements have been entrusted."
The _Hermitage_ contains a tablet spread with fruit, eggs, and bread,
and a figure of a hermit reading the Scriptures; at the entrance are
the following lines, written on the marriage of the Princess Royal:--
Ye whom variety delights,
Descend awhile from Windsor's heights,
And in this hovel deign to tread,
Quitting the castle for the shed;
Such were the muse's favourite haunts,
From care secluded and from wants.
What nature needs this but can give,
Could we as nature dictates live;
For see, on this plain board at noon
Are placed a platter and a spoon,
Which, though they mark no gorgeous treat,
Suggest 'tis reasonable to eat.
What though the sun's meridian light
Beams not on our hovel bright,
Though others need, we need him not,
Coolness and gloom befit a cot.
Our hours we count without the sun.
These sands proclaim them as they run,
Sands within a glass confined,
Glass which ribs of iron bind;
For Time, still partial to this glass,
Made it durable as brass,
That, placed secure upon a shelf,
None might crush it but himself.
Let us here the day prolong
With loyal and with nuptial song,
Such as, with duteous strains addrest,
May gratify each royal guest;
Thrice happy, should our rural toils
Be requited by their smiles.
There are other affectionate testimonials in the grounds. The Gothic
ruin contains an apartment fitted up as an oratory, ornamented with a
copy of the Descent from the Cross, modelled in chalk, after the
celebrated painting by Rembrandt; busts of George III. and the Duke of
Kent; a posthumous marble figure of an infant child of his present
Majesty; and an alto-relievo representing an ascending spirit attended
by a guardian angel with the inscription--
Monumental Tablet
To the Memory
of
Her Royal Highness the Princess Charlotte.
* * * * *
ANCIENT WAGES TO MEMBERS OF PARLIAMENT.
(_For the Mirror._)
Chamberlayne, in his _Angliae Notitia_, says, "Although the lords of
parliament are to bear their own charges, because they represent there
only themselves; yet all the commons, both lay and clergy, that is,
_Procuratores Cleri_, are to have _rationales expensus_, (as the words
of the writ are) that is, such allowance as the king considering the
prices of all things, shall judge meet to impose upon the people to pay.
In the 17th of Edward II. it was ten groats for knights, and five groats
for burgesses; but not long after it was four shillings for all others,
which in those days, as appears by the prices of all things, was a
considerable sum, above ten times more than it is now, (1688) for not
only then expenses were considered, though that was great by reason of
the suitable attendance that then every parliament-man had, but also
their pains, their loss of time, and necessary neglect of their own
private affairs for the service of their country; and when the counties,
cities, and boroughs paid so dear for their expenses, they were wont to
take care to chuse such men as were best able, and most diligent in the
speedy despatch of affairs; by which means, with some others, more
business in those times was despatched in parliament in a week, than is
now perhaps in ten; so that the protections for parliament-men and their
servants from arrests were not then grievous, when scarce any parliament
or sessions lasted so long as one of the four terms at Westminster.
"The aforementioned expenses duly paid, did cause all the petty decayed
boroughs of England to become humble suitors to the king, that they
might not be obliged to send burgesses to parliament; whereby it came to
pass, that divers were unburgessed, as it was in particular granted to
_Chipping_, or _Market-Morriton_, upon their petition; and then the
number of the _Commons House_ being scarce half so many as at present,
then debates and bills were sooner expedited." page 156, 21st. edit.
Halsted, in his _History of Kent_, tells us, "The pay of the burgesses
of Canterbury was fixed (anno 1411) at two shillings a-day for each,
while such burgess was absent from his family attending his duty. In
1445 the wages were no more than twelve pence a-day; two years
afterwards they were increased to sixteenpence, and in 1503 had again
been raised to two shillings. In Queen Mary's reign, the corporation
refused to continue this payment any longer, and the wages of the
members were then levied by assessment on the inhabitants at large, and
continued to be so raised till these kinds of payments were altogether
discontinued."
P.T.W.
* * * * *
THE WORD "EI."
(_For the Mirror._)
This word, which was engraven on the temple of Apollo, at Delphi, has
occasioned much controversy among the literati. The learned and
admirable Plutarch tells us that it means "thou art" as if "thou art
one." The Langhornes, in their life of this philosopher, [2] attack his
opinion as inconsistent with "the whole tenour of the Heathen
Mythology." It in to be observed, that the Greek word for priests is
"[Greek: iereis]" (iereis). But I infer nothing from this; yet at the
same time it is a remarkable circumstance. The objection of the
Langhornes is frivolous; for the sun (Apollo) in most nations, was
considered chief of the gods, and this inscription was placed to prove
his _superiority and unity_.
[2] Langhorne's Plutarch, vol. i. p. xv.--Limbird's edition.
It is a very remarkable circumstance, that when the Pythia refused to
enter the temple, at the application of Alexander, "Philip's godlike
son," and he attempting to force her in, she exclaimed--"[Greek:
Anikaetos ei o pai]" (My son, you are invincible.) Now, probably, she
had some other intention in using that word; but, however, that does not
affect the argument. I cannot but consider that Plutarch is right.
B.K.
* * * * *
A FAREWELL TO SPAIN.
FOR MUSIC.
(_For the Mirror._)
Land of the myrtle and the vine,
The sunny citron-tree,
With heart upon the waves I give
My latest look to thee.
Thy glorious scenes of vale and hill
With joy I now resign,
And seek a more congenial land,
Where Freedom will be mine.
Farewell! thou hast the iron sway
Of bigots and of slaves,
But mine shall be a chainless heart
Upon the dark blue waves.
For thee our sires have fought and died,
For thee their blood have given,
When tyrants o'er the trampled field
Like thunder-clouds were driven.
And has the purple tide in vain,
From hill and vale been poured,
Or do the hopes of Freedom sleep
With mighty Mina's sword?
Oh! no--the trumpet-voice of war,
Shall proudly sound again,
And millions shall obey its call,
And break their chartered chain!
Till then, my native hearth and home
I'll joyfully resign;
Farewell! thou song-enchanted land
Of myrtle and of vine.
_Deal_. G.K.C.
* * * * *
THE DEATH-BEDS OF GREAT MEN.
(_For the Mirror._)
If there are any remarks which deserve to be recorded for the benefit of
mankind, they are those which have been expressed on a dying bed, when,
unfettered by prejudice or passion, Truth shines forth in her real
colours. Sir John Hawkins has recorded of Dr. Johnson, that when
suffering under that disease which ended in his dissolution, he
addressed his friends in the following words:--"You see the state I am
in, conflicting with bodily pain and mental distraction. While you are
in health and strength, labour to do good, and avoid evil, if ever you
wish to escape the distress that oppresses me."
When Lord Lyttleton was on his death-bed, his daughter, Lady Valentia,
and her husband, came to see him. He gave them his solemn benediction,
adding--"Be good, be virtuous, my lord; you must come to this."
The triumphant death of Addison will be remembered with feelings of
pleasure by all. Having sent for the young Earl of Warwick, he
affectionately pressed his hand, saying--"See in what peace a Christian
can die!"
The father of William Penn was opposed to his son's religious
principles; but finding that he acted with sincerity, was at last
reconciled. When dying, he adjured him to do nothing contrary to his
conscience--"So," said he, "you will keep peace within, which will be a
comfort in the day of trouble."
Locke, the day before his death, addressed Lady Masham, who was sitting
by his bedside, exhorting her to regard this world only as a state of
preparation for a better. He added, that he had lived long enough, and
expressed his gratitude to God for the happiness that had fallen to his
lot.
Tillotson, when dying, thanked his Maker that he felt his conscience at
ease, and that he had nothing further to do but to await the will of
Heaven.
Sir Walter Raleigh behaved on the scaffold with the greatest composure.
Having vindicated his conduct in an eloquent speech, he felt the edge of
the axe, observing with a smile--"It is a sharp medicine, but a sure
remedy, for all woes." Being asked which way he would lay himself on the
block, he replied--"So the heart be right, it is no matter which way the
head lies."
Latimer, when he beheld a fagot ready kindled laid at Ridley's feet,
exclaimed--"Be of good cheer, master Ridley, and play the man; we shall
this day light such a candle in England, as I hope, by God's grace,
shall never be put out."
The author of Hervey's Meditations, when on his sick bed, observed that
his time had been too much occupied in reading the historians, orators,
and poets of ancient and modern times; and that were he to renew his
studies, he would devote his attention to the Scriptures.
The last words which the eminent physician Haller addressed to his
medical attendant expressed the calm serenity of his mind. "My friend,"
said he, laying his hand on his pulse, "the artery no longer beats."
M. De La Harpe, one of the first literary characters of the last
century, who for many years laboured to spread the principles of the
French philosophy, but afterwards became a most strenuous defender of
Christianity, on the evening preceding his death was visited by a
friend. He was listening to the Prayers for the Sick; as soon as they
were concluded, he stretched forth his hand and said--"I am grateful to
Divine mercy, for having left me sufficient recollection to feel how
consoling these prayers are to the dying."
Cardinal Wolsey, when dying, by slow progress and short journeys,
reached Leicester Abbey. He was received with the greatest respect. His
only observation was, "Father Abbot, I am come to lay my bones among
you." He died three days after, with, great composure and fortitude. He
said, shortly before his death--"Had I but served my God as diligently
as I have served the king, he would not have forsaken me in my grey
hairs; but this is the just reward I must receive for my pains and
study, in not regarding my service to God, but only to my prince."
Melancthon, a few days before his death, although extremely debilitated,
delivered his usual lecture. At the termination of it, he said,
impressively--"I am a dying man, and these are the three subjects for
intercession with God, which I leave to my children and their little
ones--that they may form part of his church, and worship him
aright--that they may be one in him, and live in harmony with each
other--and that they may be fellow-heirs of eternal life." The day
before his death, he addressed some present--"God bestows talents on our
youth, do you see that they use them aright." While dying, his friends
discerned a slight motion of the countenance, which was peculiar to him
when deeply affected by religious joy.
W.
* * * * *
THE NOVELIST.
OSMYN AND ZAMBRI.
_A Persian Tale. From the French._
(_From a Correspondent._)
A worthy old Persian having arrived at the end of an irreproachable
life, experienced in his last moments the greatest uneasiness for the
fate of his two sons, whom he was about to leave without fortune,
without a livelihood, and without a prospect. The elder called Osmyn,
was twenty years of age, and the younger, eighteen, bore the name of
Zambri.
As the old man drew near his last hour, he thought much less of his own
sufferings than of the fate of his children, when his ear was agreeably
struck with a soft and melodious voice, which said to him, "Fear
nothing, old man, I will watch over your children; die in peace as thou
hast lived. I bring a present for each of your sons; let them make good
use of it, and one day perhaps they may be re-united, and live in
happiness."
At these words a balsamic odour spread itself in the cottage, and a
bright light discovered to the view of the astonished Persian, the
features of a young man, whose expressive countenance had in it
something celestial. It was a beneficent genius, who after having
deposited his presents on the bed of the old man, vanished like
lightning. The old man called his two sons, they ran eagerly towards him
with a light, and approached the bed of their father, who related to
them the visit he had been honoured with, and showed them the presents
of the genius. On one side was a small box covered with brilliant
spangles; on the other a sheet of paper carefully sealed. "Come Osmyn,"
said the old man, "you are the eldest, it is for you to choose."
Osmyn attracted by the richness of the box, chose it with eagerness, and
poor Zambri was obliged to be contented with the humble envelope. The
old man embraced them, blessed them, and died as one resigning himself
to the arms of hope. After having wept sincerely the death of so good a
father, and having rendered the last offices to his remains, the two
brothers were anxious to know what aid they should find in the presents
of the genius. Osmyn opened his little box and found it filled with
pastilles of divers forms and colours. He was almost tempted to laugh at
the meanness of such a gift, when he perceived these words written on
the lid of the box--"_Each time that thou eatest one of these pastilles,
thine imagination will bring forth a poem perfect in all its parts,
sublime and delicate in its details, such in short as will surpass the
ablest works of the best Persian poets._"
Osmyn did not want vanity; the possession of so fine a secret failed not
to turn his young brain, and a hundred illusions of fortune and glory
presented themselves at once to his imagination.
From the value of the present given by the genius to his brother, Zambri
doubted not that his paper contained also some marvellous secret. He
opened it and read with as much surprise as sorrow--"_A new Receipt for
preparing Sherbet._" Some lines pointed out the method of composing a
liquor, of which one drop only being infused in a bowl of Sherbet, would
give it a taste and perfume hitherto unknown to the most voluptuous
Asiatics.
Osmyn was overjoyed, and Zambri was in despair; Osmyn wished not to quit
his brother, but the orders of the genius were imperative. The two
brothers embraced each other tenderly, shed tears, and separated. The
eldest took the road to Bagdad, where all the learned, and all the poets
of Asia were assembled to attend the court of the Caliph. As to poor
Zambri, he quitted the cottage of his father, carrying nothing with him
but _the humble receipt for preparing Sherbet_, and leaving to chance
the direction of his course.
Before his arrival at Bagdad, Osmyn had already eaten half-a-dozen of
the pastilles, and consequently carried with him half-a-dozen poems,
beside which were to fade the productions of the greatest Eastern poets.
But he soon found that pretenders to talent often succeed better than
those who really possess it. He felt the necessity of connecting himself
with literary men, and men of the world; but he only found them occupied
with their business, their pleasures, or their own pretensions. Under
what title could he present himself? Under that of a poet? The court and
the city overflowed with them; they had already filled every avenue. To
consult his fellows would be to consult his rivals; to ask their praises
would be to ask a miser for his treasures. Besides, so many books
appeared, that people did not care to read. However, Osmyn's works were
published, but they were not even noticed in the multitude of similar
productions.
After having vegetated four or five years at Bagdad, without obtaining
anything but weak encouragement given by wise men, (who are without
influence because they are wise,) poor Osmyn began to lose the brilliant
hopes that formerly had dazzled him. However, by dint of eating the
pastilles, he at last attracted some notice. If it requires time for
genius to emerge from obscurity, no sooner is it known than recompense
is made for slow injustice. It is sought after not for itself, but for
the sake of vanity. Envy often avails itself of it as a fit instrument
subservient to its own purposes. Soon, in fact, the works of Osmyn only
were spoken of, and after languishing a long time unnoticed, he saw
himself at once raised to the pinnacle, without having passed the steps
which lead from misery to fortune, from obscurity to glory.
The Caliph desired to see so great a genius, and to possess him at his
court. Osmyn was overwhelmed with favours; he sung the praises of the
Caliph with a delicacy that other poets were far from being able to
imitate. The Caliph admired delicate praise the more because it is rare
at court.
So much merit and favour besides, soon created the jealousy of other
poets, and likewise of the courtiers. Even those, who had showed
themselves the most enthusiastic admirers of Osmyn's talents, feared to
see themselves eclipsed by this new comer, and resolved to destroy the
idol they had raised so much higher than they wished.
One of the poets, Osmyn's enemy, was employed to compose a satire
against the Caliph, and it was agreed that this should be circulated
under the favourite's name. From that time the avenger of the common
cause never quitted Osmyn, nor ceased to load him with praises and
caresses.
One day when Osmyn delivered an extempore poem before the Caliph, his
rival, after having warmly applauded him, cast down his eyes by
accident, and saw shining on the floor one of the pastilles that Osmyn,
who was led away by the vivacity of his declamation, had let fall by
mistake. The traitor snatched it up, and put it mechanically in his
mouth.
The pastille produced its effect; the poet felt a sudden inspiration,
left the hall and flew to compose the projected satire. He was surprised
at his own aptitude; the verses cost him no trouble, but flowed of
themselves. The bitterest expressions escaped from his pen without his
seeking for them. In short, in an instant, he brought forth a true
_chef-d'oeuvre_ of malice.
He continued some moments in ecstacy with his work, and carried it in
triumph to his friends--or rather to his accomplices. The satire was
received with the liveliest applause: it was the pure and vigorous style
of Osmyn. The writer had imitated his handwriting; and soon the libel
was spread about in his name.
Murmurs arose on all sides against the ingratitude of Osmyn. The satire
fell into the hands of the Caliph, who in his rage ordered the
unfortunate Osmyn to be stript of all his property, and driven from
Bagdad. Osmyn, overpowered by the blow, could not defend himself;
besides, how could he make his innocence heard amidst the cries of his
calumniators.
After having wandered a long time, every where imploring pity--sometimes
meeting with kindness, but oftener repulsed with selfishness--he
arrived, at nightfall, before a superb country house, magnificently
illuminated. He heard the accents of joy mingled with the sounds of a
brilliant concert of music, and saw all the signs of a splendid fete.
However, the thunder began to roll, the sky was obscured by heavy
clouds, and Osmyn's miserable clothing was soon drenched by the rain.
He approached this beautiful house, in hopes to find there, if not
hospitality for the night, at least an asylum for some minutes. The
slaves perceived him, and said to him harshly--"What do you ask,
beggar?"
"A humble shelter from the storm, a morsel of bread to appease my
hunger, and a little straw to rest my body on, borne down by fatigue."
"Thou shalt have none of these."
"For pity--"
"Begone!"
"See how it rains!--Hear how it thunders!"
"Go elsewhere, and come not to disturb by thy presence the pleasures of
our master."
Osmyn was on the point of obeying this order, when the master of the
house, who had witnessed this scene from a window, came down, called his
slaves, and ordered them to receive the unfortunate man, to procure him
clothes, a bed, and all he was in need of. "Misery," said he, "misery is
for him who revels in the presence of the poor, and suffers them to
plead for assistance in vain; and misfortune for the rich who, cloyed
with luxuries, refuse a morsel of bread to a famishing stranger. Poor
traveller, go and repose thyself, and may the Prophet send thee
refreshing slumbers, that thou mayst for a time forget thy sufferings."
"Oh Heaven!" cried Osmyn, "what voice strikes my ear? It is the
voice--the voice of Zambri!"
"Zambri! what! do you know him?"
"Heavens! do I know him?--Do I know my brother?"
"You my brother!" cried Zambri in his turn. "Can it be? That voice--those
features, disfigured by poverty and misery. Ah! I recognise you, my dear
Osmyn!"
No more need be said: he flew to embrace his brother; but Osmyn,
overcome by the excess of his joy, fell senseless at his feet.
He was conveyed into the finest apartment of the villa, every assistance
was afforded him, and he was soon restored. Zambri ordered him
magnificent apparel, and taking him by the hand, conducted him to the
banquet, and presented him to his friends. After the repast, Osmyn
related all the vicissitudes of his fortune, his long suffering, his
rapid glory, the jealousy and perfidy of his enemies, "But thou," added
he, "my dear Zambri, by what good fortune do I find you in such an
enviable situation? What! this beautiful house, this crowd of slaves,
these sumptuous ornaments!--to what dost thou owe them?"
"_To the receipt for preparing Sherbet,_" said Zambri, smiling. "Listen
to my story, it is very simple. Soon after we parted, I directed my
steps towards Teflis, where I sought only to gain a livelihood. On my
arrival, I went into the public places where the opulent people
assemble, to refresh themselves with ices and sherbet. I solicited
employment there, but was refused, and harshly sent away. Not knowing
what to do, and not having money to procure a subsistence, I went at
length to one of the obscure cafes, frequented by the lowest people. The
master of this wretched place, who was named Mehdad, agreed to accept my
services. I prepared a bottle of the liquor for which the good genius
had given me the receipt, but the ingredients of which, although cheap,
I had not before been able to purchase, and soon I found an immense
company crowding to Mehdad's cafe. The rich people also would take no
other; and Mehdad soon had before him the prospect of becoming opulent.