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VOL. 12, No. 322.] SATURDAY, JULY 12, 1828. [PRICE 2d.

* * * * *





O mortal man, who livest here,
Do not complain of this thy hard estate.

_Thomson's Castle of Indolence._

The annexed continuation of our illustrated ramble in the Regent's Park
is named _Clarence Terrace_, in compliment to the illustrious Lord High
Admiral of England. It consists of a centre and two wings, of the
Corinthian order, connected by colonnades of the Ilyssus Ionic order,
and altogether presents a picturesque display of Grecian architecture.
The three stories are a rusticated entrance, or basement; and a
Corinthian drawing-room and chamber story; surmounted with an elegant
entablature and balustrade. In the details, the spectator cannot fail to
admire the boldness and richness of the columns supporting the pediment
in the centre, and the classic beauty of the pilasters which decorate
the wings.

_Clarence Terrace_ is from the designs of Mr. Decimus Burton, to whose
ingenious pencil we are indebted for some of the splendid architectural
combinations in this district. The present terrace is, we believe, the
smallest in the park, but yields to none in picturesque effect and
harmonious design; and the variety of its composition renders it one of
the most attractive illustrations of our series. It is likewise worthy
of remark, that this portion of the Regent's Park, from its natural
beauties, is entitled to the first-rate embellishment of art, inasmuch
as the basement of Clarence Terrace commands a "living picture" of
extraordinary luxuriance; and from the drawing-room windows the lake may
be seen studded with little islands, and environed with lawny slopes and
unusual park-like vegetation:

With Nature the creating pencil vies
With Nature joyous at the mimic strife.

We have already indulged our fancy in anticipations of the future
splendour of the Regent's Park. As yet, art triumphs, and here the
lordlings of wealth may enjoy _otium cum dignitate_: but in a few years
Nature may enable this domain to vie with Daphne of old, and become to
London what Daphne was to Antioch, whose voluptuousness and luxury are
perpetuated in history. But the beginnings of such triumphs furnish more
pleasing reflections than their decline.

Clarence Terrace is on the western side of the park, and adjoins Sussex
Place, whose cupola tops were the signals for critical censure and
ridicule among the first structures in this quarter. The artists have,
however, profited by the lesson, and the architecture of the Regent's
Park bids fair to rank among the proudest successes of art.

* * * * *


(_For the Mirror._)

How ancient the division of parishes is, may at present be difficult
to ascertain. Mr. Camden says, England was divided into parishes by
Archbishop Honorius, about the year 630. Sir Henry Hobart lays it down,
that parishes were first erected by the council of Lateran, which was
held A.D. 1179. Each widely differs from the other, and both of them
perhaps from the truth, which will probably be found in the medium,
between the two extremes. We find the distinction of parishes, nay, even
of mother churches, so early as in the laws of King Edgar, about the
year 970. The civil division of England into counties, of counties into
hundreds, of hundreds into tithings, or towns, as it now stands, seems
to owe its original to King Alfred; who, to prevent the rapines and
disorders which formerly prevailed in the realm, instituted tithings;
so called, from the Saxon, because ten freeholders with their families
composed one. These all dwelt together, and were sureties, or
free-pledges to the king for the good behaviour of each other; and if
any offence were committed in their district, they were bound to have
the offender forthcoming. And therefore, anciently, no man was suffered
to abide in England above forty days, unless he were enrolled in some
tithing or decennary. As ten families of freeholders made up a tithing,
so ten tithings composed a superior division, called a hundred. In some
of the more northern counties these hundreds are called wapentakes. The
sub-division of hundreds into tithings seems to be most peculiarly the
invention of Alfred; the institution of hundreds themselves he rather
introduced than invented, for they seem to have obtained in Denmark; and
we find that in France a regulation of this sort was made above 200
years before; set on foot by Clotharicus and Childebert, with a view of
obliging each district to answer for the robberies committed in its own
division. In some counties there is an intermediate division between the
shire and the hundred, as lathes in Kent, and rapes in Sussex, each of
them containing about three or four hundreds a-piece. Where a county is
divided into three of these intermediate jurisdictions, they are called
trithings, which still subsist in the large county of York, where, by an
easy corruption, they are denominated ridings; the north, the east, and
the west.

J.M. C - - D.

* * * * *



(_For the Mirror._)

The young, fair Spring, is tripping o'er the Earth,
With feet that ne'er can know the lag of age;
The Earth, her lover, conscious of her worth,
Flings down all his rich treasures to engage
That blushing wanderer: but she journeys forth
Heedless of all his offerings. The hot rage
Of love shall scorch his heart in tortures fell,
Till Winter comes with many an icicle.

That loved-one yet is here; and flowers, and songs,
And streams - to gush above her own free feet
Of stainless ivory, - and countless throngs
Of birds are living, her pure soul to greet.
And the lone spirit, thoughtfully that longs
For a dim view of Eden, from a seat
O'erhanging some green valley, now espies
Nought that might dread compare with Paradise!

There is a glory gone forth from on high! -
It quickens the heart's beat, whereon it flings
Its fervour; - the flushed cheek and glowing eye
Confess its influence; - and the many strings,
Voiceless too long in the young heart, reply
To the mute promptings of a thousand things
Which Spring has conjured up; - all, all is hers -
That Glory without name - she ministers.

Now - all the thoughts she wakens in the heart
Are glorious Music! - divine Poesy! -
Now - all the dreams on Fancy's eyes that start,
She will disown not, wayward though they be.
Sweet Dreams! - down Lethe's billow they depart -
Words are too weak to clothe them worthily.
Rich incense, burnt upon some altar stone
Censerless, - in a temple - desert - lone!

What shall we do in these delightful days,
When the full, bounding heart, will not be still; -
When the glad eye, absorbed in far-sent gaze,
Forgets Earth's plenitude of grief and ill; -
Shall we dream on, in a bewitching maze
Of sweet affections and bold hopes, until
Earth is not Earth - but Heaven? or shall we die
Hourly, to some "dissolving minstrelsy?"

Sometimes, when day is dying - when twilight
Brings its dim Vigil, - hour of quietness, -
'Tis sweet to listen, till the cheated sight
Pictures strange shadowings of awfulness, -
Some wild, old tale of goblin's ghastly spite,
Or antique strain of passionate distress; -
And one, which has been wept o'er many a time
I seek, to mar, perchance, with feeble rhyme

_May, 1828._

THOMAS M - - s.

* * * * *


(_For the Mirror._)

This distinguished patriot and martyr to the cause of liberty was the
third son of William, the first Duke of Bedford, by a daughter of the
Earl of Somerset. He refused the generous offer of Lord Cavendish to
favour his escape, by changing clothes with him in prison; and he also
declined the Duke of Monmouth's proposal to surrender himself, should
Lord William Russel think it might contribute to his safety. "It will be
no advantage to me," he said, "to have my friends die with me." Conjugal
affection was the feeling that clung to his heart; and when he had taken
his last farewell of his wife, he said, "The bitterness of death is now
over." He suffered the sentences of his judges with resignation and
composure. Some of his expressions (says his biographer) imply much
good-humour in this last extremity. The day before his execution, he was
seized with a bleeding at the nose. "I shall not now let blood to divert
this distemper," said he to Burnet, who was present; "that will be done
to-morrow." A little before the sheriffs conducted him to the scaffold,
he wound up his watch. "Now I have done," said he, "with time, and
henceforth must think solely of eternity." The sad tragedy of the death
of the virtuous Lord Russel, (says Pennant,) who lost his head in the
middle of Lincoln's-Inn-Fields, took place on July 21st, 1683. Party
writers assert that he was brought here in preference to any other spot,
in order to mortify the citizens with the sight. In fact, it was the
nearest open space to Newgate, the place of his lordship's confinement.
Without the least change of countenance, he laid his head on the block,
and at two strokes it was severed from his body. He was, at the time of
his death, only forty-two years of age. To his character for probity,
sincerity, and private worth, even the enemies to his public principles
bear testimony. At Woburn Abbey is preserved, in gold letters, the
speech of Lord Russel to the sheriffs, together with the paper delivered
by his lordship to them at the place of execution.


* * * * *


(_For the Mirror._)

Portugal was first created into a monarchy on the 27th of July, 1139;
on which day, Dom Alphonso I., son of Henry, Count of Burgundy, the
son of Robert, king of France, was proclaimed at Lisbon, after having
vanquished and slain five Moorish kings in the battle of Campo
d'Ourique, where he was unanimously chosen as sovereign of Portugal by
his army. This dignity was confirmed to him by the first assembly of the
states-general at Lamego. In commemoration of this event, the Portuguese
arms bear five standards and five escudets.[1] After the unfortunate
expedition of Dom Sebastian I. to Africa, where he was slain in the
battle of Alcazar, the crown devolved upon his great uncle, the Cardinal
Dom Henry, a man of 67 years of age, and who reigned but 17 months.
At his death there were several claimants for the succession, and the
kingdom in consequence became the theatre of civil war. Philip II. of
Spain, the most powerful of these, sent an army, under the Duke of Alba,
into Portugal, and completed the conquest of the country with little
opposition. This event took place in the year 1580, and the kingdom of
Portugal remained under the dominion of Spain until the 1st of December,
1649, the day on which the Duke of Braganza was proclaimed king with the
title of Dom Joao IV. Since that time Portugal has maintained its
independence. For a more detailed account, see L'Abbé Nertot's
"Revolutions of Portugal."

[Footnote 1: See Succession Chronologica de los Reyes de Portugal.]


* * * * *


(_Communicated by a Correspondent to Brande's Journal._)

On the 16th of November, 1827, at a quarter past six o'clock in the
evening, the inhabitants of Bogota, in Colombia, were thrown into the
greatest consternation and alarm by the severest shock of an earthquake
which has ever been known to visit that city.

At the moment of its occurrence, a subterraneous noise was very
distinctly heard, resembling the noise of a carriage passing briskly
over the pavement, and a white, thin, transparent cloud was seen to hang
over the city; this cloud has been noticed in Italy, as generally, if
not always, present, near the volcanic commotions of that country,
previously, and at the time of these commotions. This cloud is entirely
unlike any other which I have ever noticed, and resembles a thin gauze
veil. I noticed it not only upon this occasion, but also in the
earthquake of June 17th, 1826, in this city.[2]

[Footnote 2: If I may be allowed to offer a conjecture on the cause
of this singular white veil, or cloud, I can only attribute it to the
vapour of water which escapes from the earth from the heated mass below,
and which is condensed on rising into the cold air, and thus rendered
visible. Bogota, according to my measurement, which corresponds very
nearly with that of Baron Humboldt, is 9,600 feet above the level of the
sea, and is distant at least one hundred miles from any known volcano.]

The earthquake took a direction from S.E. to N.W., in which it could
plainly be traced by the havoc which it made. Its effects on the city
were partial in the above direction, but every part was convulsed.

The confusion and affliction which such a calamity occasions,
particularly in a catholic country, can neither be imagined, nor
described. I was sitting reading in a small house of one story above the
ground-floor, when the trembling commenced; the table on which my book
lay, first shook, and almost at the same instant the chair on which
I sat; I immediately got on my legs, but found much difficulty in
sustaining myself without holding by some fixture; the house all this
time rocking to and fro as in a hurricane, but not a breath of air
stirred. After passing ten or more seconds in this way, I collected my
reason sufficiently to run down the steps into the street; all this time
the earth was in motion. When I arrived at the portal of the door, I
found it impossible to stand without holding very tight by the doorway,
and many persons fell on their faces. During these moments, part of the
house adjoining mine fell with a terrible crash, and the street was
filled with a cloud of dust, out of which emerged a man distorted with
horror, but who had almost miraculously escaped immolation, without any
other hurt than what his fright had occasioned. After continuing a
_minute or more_, the trembling ceased, and nothing could now be heard
but the cries of the people; with that exception all was still and
silent, and the stars appeared with all their brilliancy, as if smiling
at this scene of human distress. Some persons asserted, that there were
two distinct shocks, but I must confess I felt the earth in motion
during the whole period of a minute or more; and being situated over the
direction which the earthquake took, was therefore, better able to judge
of this than others who were more distant, and particularly as I
retained my presence of mind. Fortunately for me my house was well
built, for had it fallen I should inevitably have been buried in the
ruins. To describe the scene which ensued is difficult; the streets were
filled with despair; some entirely and others half naked were seen on
their knees imploring divine protection; no one knew what to do or where
to fly, for all were in the same consternation and distress. After this
had a little subsided, the city became soon deserted, and a fresh scene
presented itself; all those who had horses were seen scampering through
the streets towards the plain, to elude the terror of another shock;
others on foot with their beds on their backs; and the sick, wrapped
up in blankets, were conveyed in arm-chairs, with two sticks passed
underneath them to form sedan-chairs, and some were conveyed in
hammocks. This afflicting sight, accompanied by the cries of the
distressed and the melancholy chant of their progress, was painful in
the extreme; and hard, indeed, must be that heart who could view it
with indifference; yet such was the apathy occasioned by terror, that
scarcely any one offered assistance to his neighbour, and frequently
neglected his own safety. When all was quiet I went out to examine the
city. The first thing which attracted my notice was the turret of the
stately cathedral partly demolished, and the building split and cracked
in various places; the precious stones, consisting of diamonds,
emeralds, and topazes, which adorned the interior, were scattered in all
directions, and many of them broken, particularly a very large emerald
weighing some ounces. This edifice had but just been repaired from the
effects of the earthquake in the preceding year, and was, by this last,
reduced to a tattered ruin. In all the streets which ran in the
direction of N.W. and S.E., many houses were "levelled with the dust,"
and others "rent in twain;" and some of the unfortunate inhabitants
buried beneath their ruins. In all, fourteen persons have lost their
lives; and the damage done to the city is estimated to be at least six
millions of dollars, although it did not contain a larger population
than 30,000 souls. Deserted streets, heaps of ruins, and tottering
houses, threatening to crush the beholder, give but a faint idea of this
desolate picture. General Soublette and General Bolivar were both
present at the last fatal earthquake in Caraccas, and they both assert
that this, of which I have now given a description, was at least as
powerful, although the suffering in the town of Caraccas was much
greater; and they attribute the happy escape of thousands of lives to
the difference in the construction of houses in the two places. General
Bolivar, as well as myself and others, were affected with sickness at
the stomach after the shock. During the night of the earthquake in
Bogota, on the 16th of November, 1827, tremulous motions of the earth
were continually felt, and the following day, and every other since; and
even whilst I am now writing, slight undulating motions are perceptible.

Every person is still in the greatest alarm, dreading a second severe
shock, which happened last year at the distance of four days from the
first grand shock; should this happen now, scarcely one stone will
remain upon another in Bogota.

* * * * *


[Footnote 3: Vide MIRROR, vol. iv. pp 2, 22, 61, 102.]


The following hints, tending to further the tyro's progress in the
delightful art of drawing, will not I trust prove unacceptable to such
of your readers as are interested in the subject. For my own use I
epitomized various directions relative to sketching, when I met with
them in Gilpin's "Three Essays on Picturesque Beauty," and I shall feel
particularly happy should my attempt at condensing much artistical
matter from that interesting volume prove useful to the _amateur_: the
_professor_ undergoes a regular, severe, but _essential_ course of study
in that beautiful art, which is to purchase for him fame and emolument;
but he who takes up his pencil merely for pastime, will do well to
regulate its movements by a few _rules_, not cumbrous to the memory, and
of easy application. - It is my intention briefly to state the object of
Gilpin's first and second essays; from the third I have deduced those
_rules for sketching_ which appeared most obviously to result from the
tenour of his observations: -

Essay 1st discusses the difference between _actual_ and _picturesque_
beauty; _smoothness_ is usually allowed to enter into our ideas of the
former, but _roughness_, or _ruggedness_ is decidedly _essential_ to the
latter: for example - The smooth shaven lawn, the neatly turned walk, the
classic marble portico, &c. &c. are _beautiful_; but the ruined castle,
the chasmed mountain, the tempestuous ocean, &c. are _picturesque_,
i.e. with appropriate accompaniments; for, after remarking that the
sublime and beautiful are, with many persons, the divisions of the
_picturesque_, our acute observer of nature adds, "sublimity alone
cannot make an object picturesque," it must in form, colour, or
accompaniment, have some degree of _beauty_ to render the epithet just.
"Nothing can be more _sublime_ than the ocean, but wholly unaccompanied
it has little of the picturesque." It should also be remembered that
objects of rough and careless contour, as the worn cart-horse, and the
tattered beggar (neither of them laying claim to an iota of _sublimity_)
please better in a painting, than the sleekest racer, and the most
finished belle of the _Magazin des Modes_.[4]

[Footnote 4: It is singular, but almost true to an axiom, that objects
capable of exciting disgust in their _reality_, confer delight in their
pictorial _representation_; the interior of some wretched hovel, a sty
and its inmates, and a boorish revel, will exemplify this. Our pleasure
in that case arises _perhaps_ not from the objects represented, but from
the _truth of the representation_. I know not that this paradox has ever
been solved, and therefore with diffidence offer, that we are rather
pleased with the _artist_ than his _subject_.]

Essay 2nd treats of travelling, as far as it regards the _picturesque_,
which is to be sought in natural, and sometimes artificial, objects;
these will constantly present themselves to the observer under all the
varieties of light and shadow, and the different combinations of colour,
form, and accompaniment, sometimes producing whole landscapes, but
more frequently only beautiful parts of scenery. The _curious_ and
_fantastic_ forms of nature are not subjects for the pencil, - and the
draughtsman will endeavour to depict _animate_ as well as inanimate
objects. The utility and amusement of travelling, are also considered
in this essay, and hints thrown out for the improvement of barren and
disagreeable country, by the observation of lights and shadows, tints
of the season, distances, &c., with a recommendation to supply, if
possible, every hiatus of nature, by the _imagination_ of all that is
needed to render her perfectly picturesque. (An ingenious idea; but,
alas! mountains will not always rise in a marsh, forests wave over a
sterile heath, nor lakes and rivers adorn a wheat-field. This essay,
however, is worthy the perusal of travellers even, who never touched
a pencil.)

Essay 3rd treats of sketching from nature from whence are deduced the


1. Every landscape should have a _leading subject_; a rule too much
neglected even by superior artists.

2. Get the object, or subject you design to copy, into the _best_ point
of view.

3. Landscape consists of three general parts: - fore-ground, middle or
second-ground, and distance; in sketching foreground, it is a good rule
to have some part of it higher than the rest of the picture. (_Vide_
Rule the 7th.)

4. Mark the principal parts, (or points) of your landscape on paper,
that you may more readily ascertain the relative distances and
situations of the others.

5. Pay attention to the _character_ of your subject; mingle not
_trivial_ with _grand_ details.

6. One landscape must not be crowded with circumstances sufficient for
two or more.

7. It is sufficient to give the principal feature of what you essay to
represent; as a castle, abbey, bridge, &c.; but its accompaniments may
(and to _make a picture_, should) be often different. The _fore-ground_
of a drawing _must_ be the artist's own; and it should be ample, since
an extended distance, and a narrow fore-ground is always awkward and bad
in a picture - N.B. Taste and observation will direct the student to
select for his fore-ground, clusters of trees, pieces of rock, or the
fragments of ruined fabrics, &c., according to the nature of his

8. On the accurate observation of _distances_ the beauty of landscape
depends; be careful therefore to get them correct at your outset, and
to keep them so, by shading lightly with pen or brush your black-lead
sketch, (should the parts be complicated,) whilst the view is before
you, or fresh in your memory.

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