THE MIRROR OF LITERATURE, AMUSEMENT, AND INSTRUCTION.
VOL. 10, No. 264.] SATURDAY, JULY 14, 1827. [PRICE 2d.
* * * * *
ARCHITECTURAL ILLUSTRATIONS.
NEW CHURCH, REGENT'S PARK.
[Illustration]
The architectural splendour which has lately developed itself in and
about the precincts of the parish of St. Mary-le-Bonne, exhibits a most
surprising and curious contrast with the former state of this part of
London; and more particularly when compared with accounts extracted from
newspapers of an early date.
Mary-le-Bonne parish is estimated to contain more than ten thousand
houses, and one hundred thousand inhabitants. In the plans of London, in
1707, it was a small village one mile distant from the Metropolis,
separated by fields - the scenes of robbery and murder. The following
from a newspaper of 1716: - "On Wednesday last, four gentlemen were
robbed and stripped in the fields between Mary-le-Bonne and London." The
"Weekly Medley," of 1718, says, "Round about the New Square which is
building near Tyburn road, there are so many other edifices, that a
whole magnificent city seems to be risen out of the ground in a way
which makes one wonder how it should find a new set of inhabitants. It
is said it is to be called by the name of _Hanover Square!_ On the other
side is to be built another square, called Oxford Square." From the same
article I have also extracted the dates of many of the different
erections, which may prove of benefit to your architectural readers, as
tending to show the progressive improvement made in the private
buildings of London, and showing also the style of building adopted at
later periods. Indeed, I would wish that some of your correspondents -
_F.R.Y._, or _P.T.W._, for instance, would favour us with a _list of
dates_ answering this purpose. Rathbone-place and John-street (from
Captain Rathbone) began 1729. Oxford market opened 1732. Newman-street
and Berners-street, named from the builders, between 1723 and 1775.
Portland-place and street, 1770. Portman-square, 1764. Portman-place,
1770. Stratford-place, five years later, on the site of Conduit Mead,
built by Robert Stratford, Esq. This had been the place whereon stood
the banquetting house for the lord mayor and aldermen, when they visited
the neighbouring nine conduits which then supplied the city with water.
Cumberland-place, 1769. Manchester-square the year after.
Previous to entering upon an architectural description of the superb
buildings recently erected in the vicinity of Regency Park, I shall
confine myself at present to that object that first arrests the
attention at the entrance, which is the church; it has been erected
under the commissioners for building new churches. The architect is J.
Soane, Esq. There is a pleasing originality in this gentleman's
productions; the result of extensive research among the architectural
beauties of the ancients, together with a peculiar happy mode of
distributing his lights and shadows; producing in the greatest degree
picturesque effect: these are peculiarities essentially his own, and
forming in no part a copy of the works of any other architect in the
present day. The church in question by no means detracts from his merit
in these particulars. The principal front consists of a portico of four
columns of the Ionic order, approached by a small flight of steps; on
each side is a long window, divided into two heights by a stone transum
(panelled). Under the lower window is a raised panel also; and in the
flank of the building the plinth is furnished with openings; each of the
windows is filled with ornamental iron-work, for the purpose of
ventilating the vaults or catacombs. The flank of the church has a
central projection, occupied by antae, and six insulated Ionic columns;
the windows in the inter-columns are in the same style as those in
front; the whole is surmounted by a balustrade. The tower is in two
heights; the lower part has eight columns of the Corinthian order.
Example taken from the temple of Vesta, at Tivoli; these columns, with
their stylobatae and entablature, project, and give a very extraordinary
relief in the perspective view of the building. The upper part consists
of a circular peristyle of six columns; the example apparently taken
from the portico of the octagon tower of Andronicus Cyrrhestes, or tower
of the winds, from the summit of which rises a conical dome, surmounted
by the Vane. The more minute detail may be seen by the annexed drawing.
The prevailing ornament is the Grecian fret.
Mr. Soane, during his long practice in the profession, has erected very
few churches, and it appears that he is endeavouring to rectify failings
that seem insurmountable in the present style of architecture, - that of
preventing the tower from having the appearance of rising out of the
roof, by designing his porticos without pediments; if this is the case,
he certainly is indebted to a great share of praise, as a pediment will
always conceal (particularly at a near view) the major part of a tower.
But again, we find ourselves in another difficulty, and it makes the
remedy as bad as the disease, - that of taking away the principal
characteristic of a portico, (namely, the pediment), and destroying at
once the august appearance which it gives to the building; we find in
all the churches of Sir Christopher Wren the campanile to form a
distinct projection from the ground upwards; thus assimilating nearer to
the ancient form of building them entirely apart from the main body of
the church. I should conceive, that if this idea was followed by
introducing the beautiful detail of Grecian architecture, according to
Wren's _models_ it would raise our church architecture to a very
superior pitch of excellence.
In my next I shall notice the interior, and also the elevation towards
the altar.
C. DAVY.
_Furnivals' Inn_,
_July 1, 1827._
* * * * *
THE MONTHS
* * * * *
THE SEASON.
The heat is greatest in this month on account of its previous duration.
The reason why it is less so in August is, that the days are then much
shorter, and the influence of the sun has been gradually diminishing.
The farmer is still occupied in getting the productions of the earth
into his garners; but those who can avoid labour enjoy as much rest and
shade as possible. There is a sense of heat and quiet all over nature.
The birds are silent. The little brooks are dried up. The earth is
chapped with parching. The shadows of the trees are particularly
grateful, heavy, and still. The oaks, which are freshest because latest
in leaf, form noble clumpy canopies; looking, as you lie under them, of
a strong and emulous green against the blue sky. The traveller delights
to cut across the country through the fields and the leafy lanes, where,
nevertheless, the flints sparkle with heat. The cattle get into the
shade or stand in the water. The active and air-cutting-swallows, now
beginning to assemble for migration, seek their prey about the shady
places; where the insects, though of differently compounded natures,
"fleshless and bloodless," seem to get for coolness, as they do at other
times for warmth. The sound of insects is also the only audible thing
now, increasing rather than lessening the sense of quiet by its gentle
contrast. The bee now and then sweeps across the ear with his gravest
tone. The gnats
"Their murmuring small trumpets sounden wide:" - SPENSER.
and here and there the little musician of the grass touches forth his
tricksy note.
The poetry of earth is never dead;
When all the birds are faint with the hot sun,
And hide in cooling trees, a voice will run
From hedge to hedge about the new-mown mead:
That is the grasshopper's.[1]
[1] _Poems_, by John Keats, p. 93.
The strong rains, which sometimes come down in summer-time, are a noble
interruption to the drought and indolence of hot weather. They seem as
if they had been collecting a supply of moisture equal to the want of
it, and come drenching the earth with a mighty draught of freshness. The
rushing and tree-bowing winds that precede them, the dignity with which
they rise in the west, the gathering darkness of their approach, the
silence before their descent, the washing amplitude of their
out-pouring, the suddenness with which they appear to leave off, taking
up, as it were, their watery feet to sail onward, and then the sunny
smile again of nature, accompanied by the "sparkling noise" of the
birds, and those dripping diamonds the rain-drops; - there is a grandeur
and a beauty in all this, which lend a glorious effect to each other;
for though the sunshine appears more beautiful than grand, there is a
power, not even to be looked upon, in the orb from which it flows; and
though the storm is more grand than beautiful, there is always beauty
where there is so much beneficence. - _The Months_.
BATHING
It is now the weather for bathing, a refreshment too little taken in
this country, either summer or winter. We say in winter, because with
very little care in placing it near a cistern, and having a leathern
pipe for it, a bath may be easily filled once or twice a week with warm
water; and it is a vulgar error that the warm bath relaxes. An excess,
either warm or cold, will relax, and so will any other excess; but the
sole effect of the warm bath moderately taken is, that it throws off the
bad humours of the body by opening and clearing the pores. As to summer
bathing, a father may soon teach his children to swim, and thus perhaps
may be the means of saving their lives some day or other, as well as
health. Ladies also, though they cannot bathe in the open air, as they
do in some of the West Indian islands and other countries, by means of
natural basins among the rocks, might oftener make a substitute for it
at home in tepid baths. The most beautiful aspects under which Venus has
been painted or sculptured have been connected with bathing; and indeed
there is perhaps no one thing that so equally contributes to the three
graces of health, beauty, and good temper; to health, in putting the
body into its best state; to beauty, in clearing and tinting the skin;
and to good temper, in rescuing the spirits from the irritability
occasioned by those formidable personages, "the nerves," which nothing
else allays in so quick and entire a manner. See a lovely passage on the
subject of bathing in Sir Philip Sydney's "Arcadia," where "Philoclea,
blushing, and withal smiling, makeing shamefastnesse pleasant, and
pleasure shamefast, tenderly moved her feet, unwonted to feel the naked
ground, until the touch of the cold water made a pretty kind of
shrugging come over her body; like the twinkling of the fairest among
the fixed stars." - _Ibid_.
INSECTS
Insects now take the place of the feathered tribe, and, being for the
most part hatched in the spring, they are now in full vigour. It is a
very amusing sight in some of our rural rambles, in a bright evening
after a drizzling summer shower, to see the air filled throughout all
its space with sportive organized creatures, the leaf, the branch, the
bark of the tree, every mossy bank, the bare earth, the pool, the ditch,
all teeming with animal life; and the mind that is ever framed for
contemplation, must awaken now in viewing such a profusion and variety
of existence. One of those poor little beings, the fragile _gnat_,
becomes our object of attention, whether we regard its form or peculiar
designation in the insect world; we must admire the first, and
innocently, perhaps, conjecture the latter. We know that Infinite
Wisdom, which formed, declared it "to be very good;" that it has its
destination and settled course of action, admitting of no deviation or
substitution: beyond this, perhaps, we can rarely proceed, or, if we
sometimes advance a few steps more, we are then lost in the mystery with
which the incomprehensible Architect has thought proper to surround it.
So little is human nature permitted to see, (nor perhaps is it capable
of comprehending much more than permitted,) that it is blind beyond
thought as to secondary causes; and admiration, that pure fountain of
intellectual pleasure, is almost the only power permitted to us. We see
a wonderfully fabricated creature, decorated with a vest of glorious art
and splendour, occupying almost its whole life in seeking for the most
fitting station for its own necessities, exerting wiles and stratagems,
and constructing a peculiar material to preserve its offspring against
natural or occasional injury, with a forethought equivalent to
reason - in a moment, perhaps, with all its splendour and instinct, it
becomes the prey of some wandering bird! and human wisdom and conjecture
are humbled to the dust. We can "see but in part," and the wisest of us
is only, perhaps, something less ignorant than another. This sense of a
perfection so infinitely above us, is the _natural_ intimation of a
Supreme Being; and as science improves, and inquiry is augmented, our
imperfections and ignorance will become more manifest, and all our
aspirations after knowledge only increase in us the conviction of
knowing nothing. Every deep investigator of nature can hardly be
possessed of any other than a humble mind.
* * * * *
THE PEACOCK.
(_For the Mirror._)
Of this bird, there are several species, distinguished by their
different colours. The male of the common kind is, perhaps, the most
gaudy of all the bird-kind; the length and beauty of whose tail, and the
various forms in which the creature carries it, are sufficiently known
and admired among us. India is, however, his native country; and there
he enjoys himself with a sprightliness and gaiety unknown to him in
Europe. The translators of Hindoo poetry concur in their description of
his manners; and is frequently alluded to by the Hindoo poets.
"Dark with her varying clouds, and peacocks gay."
It is affirmed, among the delightful phenomena which are observable at
the commencement of the rainy season, (immediately following that of the
withering hot winds,) the joy displayed by the peacocks is one of the
most pleasing. These birds assemble in groups upon some retired spot of
verdant grass; jump about in the most animated manner, and make the air
re-echo with their cheerful notes.
"Or can the peacock's animated hail."
The wild peacock is also exceedingly abundant in many parts of
Hindoostan, and is especially found in marshy places. The habits of this
bird are in a great measure aquatic; and the setting in of the rains is
the season in which they pair; the peacock is, therefore, always
introduced in the description of cloudy or rainy weather. Thus, in a
little poem, descriptive of the rainy season, &c., the author says,
addressing his mistress, -
"Oh, thou, whose teeth enamelled vie
With smiling _Cunda's_ pearly ray,
Hear how the peacock's amorous cry
Salutes the dark and cloudy day."
And again, where he is describing the same season: -
"When smiling forests, whence the tuneful cries
Of clustering pea-fowls shrill and frequent rise,
Teach tender feelings to each human breast,
And please alike the happy or distressed."
The peacock flies to the highest station he can reach, to enjoy himself;
and rises to the topmost boughs of trees, though the female makes her
nest on the ground.
F.R.Y.
* * * * *
A WARNING TO FRUIT EATERS.
(_For the Mirror_.)
The mischiefs arising from the bad custom of many people swallowing the
stones of plums and other fruit are very great. In the _Philosophical
Transactions_, No. 282, there is an account of a woman who suffered
violent pains in her bowels for thirty years, returning once in a month,
or less, owing to a plum-stone which had lodged; which, after various
operations, was extracted. There is likewise an account of a man, who
dying of an incurable colic, which had tormented him many years, and
baffled the effects of medicine, was opened after his death, and in his
bowels was found the cause of his distemper, which was a ball, composed
of tough and hard matter, resembling a stone, being six inches in
circumference, when measured, and weighing an ounce and a half; in the
centre of this there was found the stone of a common plum. These
instances sufficiently prove the folly of that common opinion, that the
stones of fruits are wholesome. Cherry-stones, swallowed in great
quantities, have occasioned the death of many people; and there have
been instances even of the seeds of strawberries, and kernels of nuts,
collected into a lump in the bowels, and causing violent disorders,
which could never be cured till they were carried off.
P.T.W.
* * * * *
THE NIGHTINGALE,
BY THE AUTHOR OF "AHAB."
(_For the Mirror_.)
In the low dingle sings the nightingale.
And echo answers; all beside is still.
The breeze is gone to fill some distant sail,
And on the sand to sleep has sunk the rill.
The blackbird and the thrush have sought the vale.
And the lark soars no more above the hill,
For the broad sun is up all hotly pale,
And in my reins I feel his parching thrill.
Hark! how each note, so beautifully clear,
So soft, so sweetly mellow, rings around.
Then faintly dies away upon the ear,
That fondly vibrates to the fading sound.
Poor bird, thou sing'st, the thorn within thy heart,
And I from sorrows, that will not depart.
S.P.J.
* * * * *
SPIRIT OF THE PUBLIC JOURNALS
* * * * *
A NIGHT ATTACK.
Charlton and I were in the act of smoking our cigars, the men having
laid themselves down about the blaze, when word was passed from sentry
to sentry, and intelligence communicated to us, that all was not right
towards the river. We started instantly to our feet. The fire was
hastily smothered up, and the men snatching their arms, stood in line,
ready to act as circumstances might require. So dense, however, was the
darkness, and so dazzling the effect of the glare from the bivouac, that
it was not possible, standing where we stood, to form any reasonable
guess, as to the cause of this alarm. That an alarm had been excited,
was indeed perceptible enough. Instead of the deep silence which five
minutes ago had prevailed in the bivouac, a strange hubbub of shouts,
and questions, and as many cries, rose up the night air; nor did many
minutes elapse, ere first one musket, then three or four, then a whole
platoon, were discharged. The reader will _easily_ believe that the
latter circumstance startled us prodigiously, ignorant as we were of the
cause which produced it; but it required no very painful exertion of
patience to set us right on this head; flash, flash, flash, came from
the river; the roar of cannon followed, and the light of her own
broadside displayed to us an enemy's vessel at anchor near the opposite
bank, and pouring a perfect shower of grape and round shot into
the camp.
For one instant, and only for an instant, a scene of alarm and
consternation overcame us; and we almost instinctively addressed to each
other the question, "What can all this mean?" But the meaning was too
palpable not to be understood at once. "The thing cannot end here," said
we - "a night attack is commencing;" and we made no delay in preparing to
meet it. Whilst Charlton remained with the picquet, in readiness to act
as the events might demand, I came forward to the sentries, for the
purpose of cautioning them against paying attention to what might pass
in their rear, and keeping them steadily engaged in watching their
front. The men were fully alive to the peril of their situation. They
strained with their hearing and eyesight to the utmost limits; but
neither sound nor sight of an advancing column could be perceived. At
last, however, an alarm was given. One of the rifles challenged - it was
the sentinel on the high road; the sentinel who communicated with him
challenged also; and the cry was taken up from man to man, till our own
most remote sentry caught it. I flew to his station; and sure enough the
tramp of many feet was most distinctly audible. Having taken the
precaution to carry an orderly forward with me, I caused him to hurry
back to Charlton with intelligence of what was coming, and my earnest
recommendation that he would lose no time in occupying the ditch. I had
hardly done so, when the noise of a column deploying was distinctly
heard. The tramp of horses, too, came mingled with the tread of men; in
a word, it was quite evident that a large force, both of infantry and
cavalry, was before us.
There was a pause at this period of several moments, as if the enemy's
line, having effected its formation, had halted till some other
arrangement should be completed; but it was quickly broke. On they came,
as far as we could judge from the sound, in steady array, till at length
their line could be indistinctly seen rising through the gloom. The
sentinels with one consent gave their fire. They gave it regularly and
effectively, beginning with the rifles on their left, and going off
towards the 85th on their right, and then, in obedience to their orders,
fell back. But they retired not unmolested. This straggling discharge on
our part seemed to be the signal to the Americans to begin the battle,
and they poured in such a volley, as must have proved, had any
determinate object been opposed to it, absolutely murderous. But our
scattered videttes almost wholly escaped it; whilst over the main body
of the picquet, sheltered as it was by the ditch, and considerably
removed from its line, it passed entirely harmless.
Having fired this volley, the enemy loaded again, and advanced. We saw
them coming, and having waited till we judged that they were within
excellent range, we opened our fire. It was returned in tenfold force,
and now went on, for a full half hour, as heavy and close a discharge of
musketry as troops have perhaps ever faced. Confident in their numbers,
and led on, as it would appear, by brave officers, the Americans dashed
forward till scarcely ten yards divided us; but our position was an
admirable one, our men were steady and cool, and they penetrated no
farther. On the contrary, we drove them back, more than once, with a
loss which their own inordinate multitude tended only to render the
more severe.
The action might have continued in this state about two hours, when, to
our horror and dismay, the approaching fire upon our right flank and
rear gave testimony that the picquet of the 85th, which had been in
communication with us, was forced. Unwilling to abandon our ground,
which we had hitherto held with such success, we clung for awhile to the
idea that the reverse in that quarter might be only temporary, and that
the arrival of fresh troops might yet enable us to continue the battle
in a position so eminently favourable to us. But we were speedily taught
that our hopes were without foundation. The American war-cry was behind
us. We rose from our lairs, and endeavoured, as we best could, to retire
upon the right, but the effort was fruitless. There too the enemy had
established themselves, and we were surrounded. "Let us cut our way
through," cried we to the men. The brave fellows answered only with a
shout; and collecting into a small compact line, prepared to use their
bayonets. In a moment we had penetrated the centre of an American
division; but the numbers opposed to us were overwhelming; our close
order was lost; and the contest became that of man to man. I have no
language adequate to describe what followed. For myself, I did what I
could, cutting and thrusting at the multitudes about me, till at last I
found myself fairly hemmed in by a crowd, and my sword-arm mastered. One
American had grasped me round the waist, another, seizing me by the
wrist, attempted to disarm me, whilst a third was prevented from
plunging his bayonet into my body, only from the fear of stabbing one or
other of his countrymen. I struggled hard, but they fairly bore me to
the ground. The reader will well believe, that at this juncture I
expected nothing else than instant death; but at the moment when I fell,
a blow upon the head with the butt-end of a musket dashed out the brains
of the man who kept his hold upon my sword-arm, and it was freed. I saw
a bayonet pointed to my breast, and I intuitively made a thrust at the
man who wielded it. The thrust took effect, and he dropped dead beside
me. Delivered now from two of my enemies, I recovered my feet, and found
that the hand which dealt the blow to which my preservation was owing,
was that of Charlton. There were about ten men about him. The enemy in
our front were broken, and we dashed through. But we were again hemmed
in, and again it was fought hand to hand, with that degree of
determination, which the assurance that life and death were on the
issue, could alone produce. There cannot be a doubt that we should have
fallen to a man, had not the arrival of fresh troops at this critical
juncture turned the tide of affairs. As it was, little more than a third
part of our picquet survived, the remainder being either killed or
taken; and both Charlton and myself, though not dangerously, were
wounded. Charlton had received a heavy blow upon the shoulder, which
almost disabled him; whilst my neck bled freely from a thrust, which the
intervention of a stout leathern stock alone hindered from being fatal.
But the reinforcement gave us all, in spite of wounds and weariness,
fresh courage, and we renewed the battle with alacrity.
In the course of the struggle in which we had been engaged, we had been
borne considerably out of the line of our first position, and now found
that the main-road and the picquet of the rifles, were close in our
rear. We were still giving way - for the troops opposed to us could not
amount to less than fifteen hundred men, whilst the whole force on our
part came not up to one hundred - when Captain Harris, major of brigade
to Colonel Thornton, came up with an additional company to our support.
Making way for them to fall in between us and the rifles, we took ground
once more to the right, and driving back a body of the enemy, which
occupied it, soon recovered the position from which we had been
expelled. But we did so with the loss of many brave men, and, among
others, of Captain Harris. He was shot in the lower part of the belly at
the same instant that a musket-ball struck the hilt of his sword, and
forced it into his side. Once more established in our ditch, we paused,
and from that moment till the battle ceased to rage we never changed
our attitude.
It might be about one o'clock in the morning, - the American force in our
front having fallen back, and we having been left, for a full half hour
to breathe, when suddenly the head of a small column showed itself in
full advance towards us. We were at this time amply supported by other
troops, as well in communication as in reserve; and willing to
annihilate the corps now approaching, we forbade the men to fire till it
should be mingled with us. We did even more than this. Opening a passage
for them through our centre, we permitted some hundred and twenty men to
march across our ditch, and then wheeling up, with a loud shout, we
completely enclosed them. Never have I witnessed a panic more perfect or
more sudden than that which seized them. They no sooner beheld the snare
into which they had fallen, than with one voice they cried aloud for
quarter; and they were to a man made prisoners on the spot. The reader
will smile when he is informed that the little corps thus captured
consisted entirely of members of the legal profession. The barristers,
attorneys, and notaries of New Orleans having formed themselves into a
volunteer corps, accompanied General Jackson in his operations this
night; and they were all, without a solitary exception, made prisoners.
It is probably needless to add, that the circumstance was productive of
no trifling degree of mirth amongst us; and to do them justice, the poor
lawyers, as soon as they recovered from their first alarm, joined
heartily in our laughter.
This was the last operation in which we were engaged to-night. The
enemy, repulsed on all sides, retreated with the utmost disorder, and
the whole of the advance, collecting at the sound of the bugle, drew up,
for the first time since the commencement of the affair, in a continuous
line. We took our ground in front of the bivouac, having our right
supported by the river, and our left covered by the chateau and village
of huts. Among these latter the cannon were planted; whilst the other
divisions, as they came rapidly up, took post beyond them. In this
position we remained, eagerly desiring a renewal of the attack, till
dawn began to appear, when, to avoid the fire of the vessel, the advance
once more took shelter behind the bank. The first brigade, on the
contrary, and such portion of the second as had arrived, encamped upon
the plain, so as to rest their right upon the wood; and a chain of
picquets being planted along the entire pathway, the day was passed in a
state of inaction.
I hardly recollect to have spent fourteen or fifteen hours with less
comfort to myself than these. In the hurry and bustle of last night's
engagement, my servant, to whose care I had intrusted my cloak and
haversack, disappeared; he returned not during the whole morning; and as
no provisions were issued out to us, nor any opportunity given to light
fires, I was compelled to endure, all that time, the extremes of hunger,
weariness, and cold. As ill luck would have it, too, the day chanced to
be remarkably severe. There was no rain, it is true, but the sky was
covered with gray clouds; the sun never once pierced them, and a frost,
or rather a vile blight, hung upon the atmosphere from morning till
night. Nor were the objects which occupied our senses of sight and
hearing quite such as we should have desired to occupy them. In other
parts of the field, the troops, not shut up as we were by the enemy's
guns, employed themselves in burying the dead, and otherwise effacing
the traces of warfare. The site of our encampment continued to be
strewed with carcases to the last; and so watchful were the crew of the
schooner, that every effort to convey them out of sight brought a heavy
fire upon the party engaged in it. I must say, that the enemy's
behaviour on the present occasion was not such as did them honour. The
house which General Kean had originally occupied as head-quarters, being
converted into an hospital, was filled at this time with wounded, both
from the British and American armies. To mark its uses, a yellow flag,
the usual signal in such cases, was hoisted on the roof - yet did the
Americans continue to fire at it, as often as a group of six or eight
persons happened to show themselves at the door. Nay, so utterly
regardless were they of the dictates of humanity, that even the parties
who were in the act of conveying the wounded from place to place,
escaped not without molestation. More than one such party was dispersed
by grape-shot, and more than one poor maimed soldier was in consequence
hurled out of the blanket in which he was borne.
The reader will not doubt me when I say, that seldom has the departure
of day-light been more anxiously looked for by me, than we looked for it
now. It is true, that the arrival of a little rum towards evening served
in some slight degree to elevate our spirits; but we could not help
feeling, not vexation only, but positive indignation, at the state of
miserable inaction to which we were condemned.
There was not a man amongst us who would have hesitated one moment, had
the choice been submitted to him, whether he would advance or lie still.
True, we might have suffered a little, because the guns of the schooner
entirely commanded us; and in rushing out from our place of concealment
some casualties would have occurred; but so irksome was our situation,
that we would have readily run all risks to change it. It suited not the
plans of our general, however, to indulge these wishes. To the bank we
were enjoined to cling; and we did cling to it, from the coming in of
the first gray twilight of the morning, till the last twilight of
evening had departed.
As soon as it was well dark, the corps to which Charlton and myself were
attached received orders to file off to the right. We obeyed, and
passing along the front of the hospital, we skirted to the rear of the
village, and established ourselves in the field beyond. It was a
positive blessing this restoration to something like personal freedom.
The men set busily to work, lighting fires and cooking provisions; - the
officers strolled about, with no other apparent design than to give
employment to their limbs, which had become stiff with so protracted a
state of inaction. For ourselves we visited the wounded, said a few kind
words to such as we recognised, and pitied, as they deserved to be
pitied, the rest. Then retiring to our fire, we addressed ourselves with
hearty good will to a frugal supper, and gladly composed ourselves to
sleep. - _A Subaltern in America. - Blackwood's Magazine._
* * * * *
SONNET - NOCHE SERENA.
How tranquil is the night! The torrent's roar
Dies off far distant; through the lattice streams
The pure, white, silvery moonshine, mantling o'er
The couch and curtains with its fairy gleams.
Sweet is the prospect; sweeter are the dreams
From which my loathful eyelid now unclosed: -
Methought beside a forest we reposed,
Marking the summer sun's far western beams,
A dear-loved friend and I. The nightingale
To silence and to us her pensive tale
Sang forth; the very tone of vanish'd years
Came o'er me, feelings warm, and visions bright;
Alas! how quick such vision disappears,
To leave the spectral moon and silent night!
_Delta of Blackwood's Magazine._
* * * * *
ARTS AND SCIENCES.
* * * * *
THE BEECH TREE. - A NONCONDUCTOR OF LIGHTNING.
Dr. Beeton, in a letter to Dr. Mitchill of New York, dated 19th of July,
1824, states, that the beech tree (that is, the broad leaved or American
variety of _Fagus sylvatiea_,) is never known to be assailed by
atmospheric electricity. So notorious, he says, is this fact, that in
Tenessee, it is considered almost an impossibility to be struck by
lightning, if protection be sought under the branches of a beech tree.
Whenever the sky puts on a threatening aspect, and the thunder begins to
roll, the Indians leave their pursuit, and betake themselves to the
shelter of the nearest beech tree, till the storm pass over; observation
having taught these sagacious children of nature, that, while other
trees are often shivered to splinters, the electric fluid is not
attracted by the beech. Should farther observation establish the fact of
the non-conducting quality of the American beech, great advantage may
evidently be derived from planting hedge rows of such trees around the
extensive barn yards in which cattle are kept, and also in disposing
groups and single trees in ornamental plantations in the neighbourhood
of the dwelling houses of the owners. - _New Monthly Magazine._
ANTIQUITIES.
A valuable discovery was made the other day in Westminster Abbey. It had
become necessary to make repairs near the tomb of Edward the Confessor,
when, by removing a portion of the pavement, an exquisitely beautiful
piece of carved work, which had originally formed part of the shrine of
Edward's tomb, was discovered. This fine relic, the work of the eleventh
or twelfth century, appears to have been studded with precious stones;
and the presumption is, that during the late civil wars it was taken
down for the purpose of plunder, and after the gems were taken out,
buried under the ground (very near the surface of the earth) to avoid
detection. - _Ibid._
* * * * *
ARCHERY
[Illustration]
Previous to introducing the communication of a much respected
correspondent, who has well described, by drawing and observation, a
Royal Archer of Scotland, we shall offer a few general remarks on the
subject of the above engraving, which relates to an amusement which we
are happy to find is patronized in many counties in England by
respectable classes of society at this day. No instrument of warfare is
more ancient than that of the bow and arrow, and the skill of the
English bowmen is celebrated. It seems, that in ancient times the
English had the advantage over enemies chiefly by their archers and
light-armed troops.
The _archers_ were armed with a long-bow, a sheaf of arrows, a sword,
and a small shield.
The _cross-bowmen_, as their name implies, were armed with the
cross-bow, and arrows called _quarrels_.
Even after the invention of guns, the English archers are spoken of as
excelling those of all other nations; and an ancient writer affirms that
an English arrow, with a little wax upon its point, would pass through
any ordinary corselet or cuirass. It is uncertain how far the archers
with the long-bow could send an arrow; but the cross-bowmen could shoot
their quarrels to the distance of forty rods, or the eighth part of a
mile. For a more general and extended notice of the history of archery,
however, we refer our readers to a recent volume,[2] and here we have
the correspondence alluded to a few lines above.
[2] MIRROR, Vol. viii., p. 324.
A ROYAL ARCHER OF SCOTLAND.
(_For the Mirror._)
"Good-morrowe, good fellow, -
Methinks, by this bowe thou beares in thy hand
A good archere thou shouldst bee."
_Old Ballad_.
[Illustration]
I feel happy that it is in my power to present a drawing, made expressly
for the purpose, of the picturesque costume worn by the Royal Company of
Archers, or King's Body Guard of Scotland. This is described in Stark's
"Picture of Edinburgh" thus: - "Their uniform is 42nd tartan, with green
velvet collar and cuffs, and a Highland bonnet, with feathers; on the
front of the bonnet is the cross of St. Andrew, and a gold arrow on the
collar of the jacket." There is a something in the very idea of an
archer, and in the name of _Robin Hood_, particularly charming to most
bosoms, coming as they do to us fraught with all delicious associations;
the wild, free forest life, the sweet pastime, the adventures of bold
outlaws amid the heaven of sylvan scenery, and the national renown of
British bowmen which mingles with the records of our chivalry in history
and romance; while the revival of _archery_ in England of late years, as
an elegant amusement, sufficiently proves that the high feeling which
seems mysteriously to blend a present age with one long since gone by,
is not totally extinct. Shall I venture to assert, that for this we are
indebted to the charmed light cast around a noble and ancient pastime by
the antiquary, poet, and romance-writer of modern times? But to return,
the Scottish archers were first formed into a company and obtained a