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Produced by Jonathan Ingram, The Mirror of Literature, Amusement, and
Instruction, Elaine Walker and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team.


VOL 10. No. 283. SATURDAY, NOVEMBER 17, 1827. [PRICE 2d.]


The locomotive facility with which the aid of our graphic department
enables us to _transport_ our readers, (for we have already sent them to
_Sydney_,) is somewhat singular, not to say ludicrous; and would baffle the
wand of Trismegistus, or the cap of Fortunatus himself. Thus, during the
last six weeks we have journeyed from the _Palace at Stockholm_ (No. 277)
to that of _Buckingham, in St. James's Park_, (278;) thence to
_Brambletye_, in the wilds of _Sussex_, (279;) to _Hamlet's Garden at
Elsineur_, (280;) then to the deserts of _Africa_, and _Canterbury_, (281;)
in our last, (282,) we introduced our readers to the palatial splendour of
the _Regent's Park;_ and our present visit is to _Haddon Hall_, in
_Derbyshire_, one of the palaces of olden time, whose stupendous towers
present a strong contrast with the puny palace-building of later days, and
the picturesque beauty of whose domain pleasingly alternates with the
verdant pride of the Regent's Park.

Haddon is situate about one mile south-east of Bakewell, and is one of the
most curious and perfect of the old castellated mansions of this country.
It stands on a gentle hill, in the midst of thick woods overhanging the
Wye, which winds along the valley at a great depth beneath. The house
consists of two courts; in the centre building behind which is the great
hall, with its butteries and cellars. Over the door of the great porch,
leading to the hall, are two coats of arms cut in stone; the one is those
of Vernon, the other of Fulco de Pembridge, lord of Tong, in Shropshire,
whose daughter and heir married Sir Richard Vernon, and brought him a great
estate. In one corner of the hall is a staircase, formed of large blocks of
stone, leading to the gallery, about 110 feet in length and 17 in width,
the floor of which is said to have been laid with boards cut out of one
oak, which grew in the park. In different windows are the arms of England
in the garter, surmounted with a crown; and those of Rutland impaling
Vernon with its quarterings in the garter; and these of Shrewsbury. In the
east window of the Chanel adjoining were portraits of many of the Vernon
family, but a few years ago the heads were stolen from them. A date of _Mi
esimo_ ccccxxvii. is legible. In the north window the name _Edwardus
Vernon_ and his arms remain; and in a south window is _Willmus Trussel_.
In the chapel also stands a Roman altar, dug up near Bakewell.

All the rooms (except the gallery) were hung with loose arras, a great part
of which still remains; and the doors were concealed every where behind the
hangings, so that the tapestry was to be lifted up to pass in or out. The
doors being thus concealed, are of ill-fashioned workmanship; and wooden
bolts, rude bars, &c. are their only fastenings. Indeed, most of the rooms
are dark and uncomfortable; yet this place was for ages the seat of
magnificence and hospitality. It was at length quitted by its owners, the
Dukes of Rutland, for the more splendid castle of Belvoir, in Lincolnshire.

For many generations Haddon was the seat of the Vernons, of whom Sir
George, the last heir male, who lived in the time of queen Elizabeth,
gained the title of king of the Peak, by his generosity and noble manner of
living. His second daughter and heir married John Manners, second son of
the first Earl of Rutland, which title descended to their posterity in
1641. For upwards of one hundred years after the marriage, this was the
principal residence of the family; and so lately as the time of the first
Duke of Rutland, (so created by queen Anne,) _seven score_ servants were
maintained, and during twelve days after Christmas, the house was "kept

A few years before the death of Mrs. Radcliffe, the writer of "The
Mysteries of Udolpho," and several other romances, a tourist, in noticing
Haddon Hall, (and probably supposing that Mrs. R. had killed heroes enough
in her time,) asserted that it was there that Mrs. R. acquired her taste
for castle and romance, and proceeded to lament that she had, for many
years, fallen into a state of insanity, and was under confinement in
Derbyshire. Nor was the above traveller unsupported in her statement, and
some sympathizing poet apostrophized Mrs. R. in an "Ode to Terror." But the
fair romance-writer smiled at their pity, and had good sense enough to
refrain from writing in the newspapers that she was not insane. The whole
was a fiction, (no new trick for a fireside tourist,) for Mrs. Radcliffe
had never _seen_ Haddon Hall.

In the "Bijou" for 1828, an elegant _annual_, on the plan of the German
pocket-books, (to which we are indebted for the present engraving,) are a
few stanzas to Haddon Hall, which merit a place in a future number of the

* * * * *


_(For the Mirror.)_

The sweeper of New Haven College, in New England, lately becoming a
widower, conceived a violent passion for the relict of his deceased
Cambridge brother, which he expressed in the following strain: -

Mistress A - y.
To you I fly,
You only can relieve me;
To you I turn,
For you I burn,
If you will but believe me.

Then, gentle dame,
Admit my flame,
And grant me my petition:
If you deny,
Alas! I die
In pitiful condition.

Before the news
Of your poor spouse
Had reached our _New Haven_,
My dear wife died,
Who was my bride,
In _anno_ eighty-seven.

Then being free,
Let's both agree
To join our hands - for I do
Boldly aver
A widower
Is fittest for a widow.

You may be sure
'Tis not your dow'r
I make this flowing version;
In those smooth lays
I only praise
The glories of your person.

For the whole that
Was left to _Mat_,
Fortune to me has granted
In equal store,
Nay, I have more.
What Mathew always wanted.

No teeth, 'tis true,
You have to shew;
The young think teeth inviting -
But, silly youths,
I love those mouths
Where there's no fear of biting.

A leaky eye,
That's never dry,
These woeful times is fitting;
A wrinkled face
Adds solemn grace
To folks devout at meeting.

A furrow'd brow,
Where corn might grow,
Such fertile soil is seen in't,
A long hook nose,
Though scorn'd by foes,
For spectacles convenient.

Thus to go on,
I could pen down
Your charms from head to foot -
Set all your glory
In verse before you,
But I've no mind to do't.

Then haste away,
And make no stay,
For soon as you come hither
We'll eat and sleep,
Make beds and sweep,
And talk and smoke together.

But if, my dear,
I must come there,
Tow'rd _Cambridge_ strait I'll set me,
To touze the hay
On which you lay,
If, madam, you will let me.


* * * * *


_(For the Mirror.)_

"Whose morning, like the spirit of a youth,
That means to be of note, begins betimes."

SHAKSPEARE'S _Ant. and Cleop._

It is asserted by a tragic poet, "est nemo miser nisi comparatus;" which,
by substituting one single word, is exactly applicable to our present
subject; "est nemo serus nisi comparatus." All early rising is relative;
what is early to one, is late to another, and vice versâ. "The hours of the
day and night," says Steele, (Spec. No. 454.) "are taken up in the Cities
of London and Westminster, by people as different from each other as those
who are born in different countries. Men of six o'clock give way to those
of nine, they of nine to the generation of twelve; and they of twelve
disappear, and make room for the fashionable world, who have made two
o'clock the noon of the day." Now since, of these people, they who rise at
six pique themselves on their early rising, in reference to those who rise
at nine; and they, in their turn, on theirs, in reference to those who rise
at twelve; since, like Homer's generations, they "successive rise," and
early rising is, therefore, as I said, a phrase only intelligible by
comparison, we must (as theologians and politicians ought oftener to do)
set out by a definition of terms. What is early rising? Is it to rise

"What time the shepherd, blowing of his nails,
Can neither call it perfect day nor night?"

"Patience!" I think I hear some of my fair readers exclaim, "Is this the
early rising this new correspondent of the MIRROR means to enforce? Drag us
from our beds at peep of day! The visionary barbarian! Why, ferocious as
our Innovator is, he would just as soon drag a tigress from her's! We will
not obey this self-appointed Dictator!" Stay, gentle ladies; in the first
place I am not going to enforce this or any other hour; in the second
place, I am not going to enforce early rising at all. - Convinced you feel,
with me, the importance of time, and your responsibility for its right
improvement, I leave it to your consciences whether any part of it should
be uselessly squandered in your beds. The moral culpability of late rising
is when it interferes with the necessary duties of the day; and though, my
fair readers, you may in a great measure claim exemption from these, I
would still, simply in reference to your health and complexions, advise you
not to exceed seven o'clock. But, to effect this, a sine quâ non is,
retiring early, say at eleven - (though really I am too liberal.) - When
people were compelled to retire at the sound of the curfew, when

"The curfew toll'd the parting knell of day,"

early rising was a necessary consequence, as they were earlier tired of
their beds; and this may account for the singular difference between
ancient and modern times in this respect; so that late rising, though a
modern refinement, is by no means exclusively attributable to modern luxury
and indolence, but partly to a change of political enactments, (you see,
ladies, I am giving you every chance.)

In the man of business, late rising is perfectly detestable; but to him,
instead of the arguments of health and moral responsibility for time, (or
rather in addition to these arguments,) I would urge the argumentum ad
crumenam; which is so pithily, however homelily, expressed in these two
proverbs, which he cannot be reminded of once too often:

"Early to bed, and early to rise,
Will make a man healthy, wealthy, and wise."

"There are no gains without pains;
Then plough deep, while sluggards sleep."

And a third proverb is a compendium of my advice to both classes of

"He who will thrive must rise at five;
He who has thriven may sleep till seven."

So then we have defined what early rising is; seven, to those who have
nothing to do, - as soon as ever business calls, to those who have. Was ever
bed of sloth more eloquently reprobated than in the following lines from
the _Seasons_?

"Falsely luxurious will not man awake,
And, springing from the bed of sloth, enjoy
The cool, the fragrant, and the silent hour,
To meditation due and sacred song?
For is there aught in sleep can charm the wise?
To lie in dead oblivion, losing half
The fleeting moments of too short a life,
Total extinction of th' enlighten'd soul!
Or else, to feverish vanity alive,
Wilder'd and tossing through distemper'd dreams?
Who would in such a gloomy state remain
Longer than nature craves, when every Muse
And every blooming pleasure wait without,
To bless the wildly devious morning walk?"

Exquisite indeed! But this too is a proof how nearly the sublime and
ridiculous are associated, - "how thin partitions do their bounds divide;"
for this fine poetry is associated, in most reader's minds, with Thomson's
own odd indulgence in the "dead oblivion." He was a late riser, sleeping
often till noon; and when once reproached for his sluggishness, observed,
that "he felt so comfortable he really saw no motive for rising." As if,
according to the popular version of the story, "I am convinced, in theory,
of the advantage of early rising. Who knows it not, but what can Cato do?"
"Ay, he's a good divine, you say, who follows his own teaching; don't talk
to us of early rising after this." Why not, unless like Thomson, you're
kept up till a very late hour by business? The fact is he did not

- "In that gloomy state remain
Longer than nature craves,"

after all. He had a strong apology for not rising early, in the late hours
of his lying down. The deep silence of the night was the time he commonly
chose for study; and he would often be heard walking in his library, at
Richmond, till near morning, humming over what he was to write out and
correct the next day, and so, good reader, this is no argument against my
position; but observe, retiring late is no excuse for late rising, unless
business have detained you: balls and suppers are no apology for habitual
late rising. And now, my dearest readers, do you spend the night precisely
as Thomson did, and I'll grant you my "letters patent, license, and
protection," to sleep till noon every day of your life. You have only to
apply to me for it through "our well-beloved" editor of the MIRROR.

W. P - - N.

* * * * *


This extensive burial-place is part of the manor of Finsbury, or
_Fensbury_, which is of great antiquity, as appears by its being a prebend
of St. Paul's Cathedral in 1104. In the year 1315, it was granted by Robert
de Baldock to the mayor and commonalty of London. Part of it was, in 1498,
converted into a large field for the use of archers and other military
citizens to exercise in. This is now called _The Artillery Ground_.

In the year 1665, that part of the ground now called _Bunhill_ (originally
_Bonhill_) _Field_, was set apart as a common cemetery, for the interment
of such bodies as could not have room in their parochial burial-grounds in
that dreadful year of pestilence. However, not being made use of on that
occasion, a Mr. Tindal took a lease thereof, and converted it into a
burial-place for the use of Dissenters. It was long called _Tindal's
Burial-place_. Over the west gate of it was the following
inscription: - "This church-yard was inclosed with a brick wall at the sole
charges of the city of London, in the mayoralty of Sir John Lawrence, Knt.,
Anno Domini 1665; and afterwards the gates thereof were built and finished
in the mayoralty of Sir Thomas Bloudworth, Knt., Anno Domini, 1666."

The fen or moor (in this neighbourhood), from whence the name Moorfields,
reached from London-wall to Hoxton; the southern part of it, denominated
_Windmill Hill_, began to be raised by above one-thousand cart-loads of
human bones, brought from St. Paul's charnel-house in 1549, which being
soon after covered with street dirt from the city, the ground became so
elevated, that three windmills were erected on it; and the ground on the
south side being also much raised, it obtained the name of _The Upper

The first monumental inscription in Bunhill-fields is, _Grace, daughter of
T. Cloudesly, of Leeds. Feb. 1666. - Maitland's Hist. of London_, p. 775.

Dr. Goodwin was buried there in 1679; Dr. Owen in 1683; and John Bunyan in

_Park-place, Highbury Vale._

J. H. B.

* * * * *


Mezzo-tinto is said to have been first invented by Prince Rupert, about the
year 1649: going out early one morning, during his retirement at Brussels,
he observed the sentinel, at some distance from his post, very busy doing
something to his piece. The prince asked the soldier what he was about? He
replied, the dew had fallen in the night, had made his fusil rusty, and
that he was scraping and cleaning it. The prince, looking at it, was struck
with something like a figure eaten into the barrel, with innumerable little
holes, closed together, like friezed work on gold or silver, part of which
the fellow had scraped away. The _genie second en experiences_ (says Lord
Orford), from so trifling an accident, conceived mezzo-tinto. The prince
concluded, that some contrivance might be found to cover a brass plate with
such a ground of fine pressed holes, which would undoubtedly give an
impression all black, and that, by scraping away proper parts, the smooth
superfices would leave the rest of the paper white. Communicating his idea
to Wallerant Vaillant, a painter, they made several experiments, and at
last invented a steel roller with projecting points, or teeth, like a file,
which effectually produced the black ground; and which, being scraped away
or diminished at pleasure, left the gradations of light. Such was the
invention of mezzo-tinto, according to Lord Orford, Mr. Evelyn, and Mr.

[1] The word mezzo-tinto is derived from the Italian, meaning half

P. T. W.

* * * * *


* * * * *

[For the following succinct account of the Gunpowder Conspiracy,
our acknowledgments are due to the proprietors of an elegant and
interesting _Annual_, entitled "THE AMULET" for 1828.]


_(Compiled from original and unpublished documents.)_

Of all the plots and conspiracies that ever entered into the mind of man,
the Gunpowder plot stands pre-eminent in horror and wickedness.

The singular perseverance of the conspirators is shown by the fact, that so
early as in Lent of the year 1603, Robert Catesby, who appears to have been
the prime mover of the plot, in a conversation with Thomas Wintour and John
Wright, first broke with them about a design for delivering England from
her bondage, and to replant the Catholic religion. Wintour expressed
himself doubtful whether so grand a scheme could be accomplished, when
Catesby informed him that he had projected a plan for that purpose, which
was no less than to blow up the Parliament House with gunpowder.

Wintour consented to join in the scheme, and, at the suggestion of Catesby,
went over to Flanders to arrange some preliminary affairs there, and to
communicate the design to Mr. Fawkes, who was personally known to Catesby.
At Ostend, Wintour was introduced to Mr. Fawkes by Sir Wm. Stanley. Guy
Fawkes was a man of desperate character. In his person he was tall and
athletic, his countenance was manly, and the determined expression of his
features was not a little heightened by a profusion of brown hair, and an
auburn-coloured beard. He was descended from a respectable family in
Yorkshire, and having soon squandered the property he inherited at the
decease of his father, his restless spirit associated itself with the
discontented and factious of his age. Wintour and Fawkes came over to
England together, and shortly after met Catesby, Thomas Percy, and John
Wright, in a house behind St. Clement's; where, in a chamber with no other
person present, each administered an oath of secresy to the other, and then
went into another room to hear mass, and to receive the sacrament. Percy
was then sent to hire a house fit for their purpose, and found one
belonging to Mr. Whinniard, Yeoman to the King's Wardrobe of the Beds, then
in the occupation of one Henry Ferrers; of which, after some negociation,
he succeeded in obtaining possession, at the rent of twelve pounds per
annum, and the key was delivered to Guy Fawkes, who acted as Mr. Percy's
man, and assumed the name of John Johnson. Their object in hiring this
house was to obtain an easy communication with the upper Parliament House,
and by digging through the wall that separated them, to form an extensive
mine under the foundations. A house was also hired in Lambeth, to serve as
a depository for the powder, and Mr. Keys, who was then admitted as one of
the number, was placed in charge. The whole party then dispersed, and
agreed to meet again at Michaelmas. At Michaelmas it was resolved that the
time was arrived when they should commence working at their mine; but
various causes hindered them from beginning, till within a fortnight of
Christmas. The party, at that time, consisting of five, then entered upon
their work; and, having first provided themselves with baked meat that they
might not have occasion to leave the house, they worked incessantly till
Christmas Eve, underpropping the walls, as they proceeded, with wood. A
little before Christmas, Christopher Wright was added to the number; and,
finding their work to be extremely laborious, the walls being upwards of
three yards in thickness, they afterwards admitted Robert Wintour to assist
them. Taking advantage of the long and dreary nights between Christmas and
Candlemas, they then brought their powder over from Lambeth in a boat and
lodged it in Percy's house, and afterwards continued to labour at the mine.
In the Easter following (1605) as they were at their work, the whole party
were dreadfully alarmed on hearing a rushing noise near them; but on
inquiry they found no danger menaced them, but that it proceeded from the
removal of some coals in an adjoining vault, under the Parliament House.
Nothing could be more propitious for the conspirators; and, ascertaining
that it belonged to the same parties of whom they held the house, but in
the possession of a man of the name of Skinner, they lost no time in
purchasing the good-will of Skinner, and eventually hired the vault of
Whinniard, at the rate of four pounds per annum. Abandoning their original
intention of forming a mine under the walls, they placed the powder in this
vault, and afterwards gradually conveyed into it three thousand billets of
wood, and five hundred fagots; Guy Fawkes arranging them in order, making
the place clean and neat, in order that if any strangers, by accident or
otherwise, entered the house, no suspicion might be excited. Fawkes then
went into Flanders to inform Sir W. Stanley and Mr. Owen of their progress,
and returned in the following August. Catesby, meeting Percy at Bath,
proposed that himself should have authority to call in whom he pleased, as
at that time they were but few in number, and were very short of money.
This being acceded to, he imparted the design to Sir Everard Digby, Francis
Tresam, Ambrose Rookewood, and John Grant. Digby promised to subscribe one
thousand five hundred pounds, and Tresam two thousand pounds. Percy engaged
to procure all he could of the Duke of Northumberland's rents, which would
amount to about four thousand pounds, and to furnish ten good horses.

Thus far, every thing had prospered with the conspirators; success had
followed every effort they had made.

On Thursday evening, the 24th of October, eleven days before the intended
meeting of Parliament, an anonymous letter was put into the hands of the
servant of Lord Monteagle, warning his Lordship not to attend the
Parliament that season, for that God and man had concurred to punish the
wickedness of the times. It is a most extraordinary fact, that the
conspirators knew of the delivery of this letter to the Lord Monteagle, and
that it was in the possession of the Earl of Salisbury, Secretary of State,
for eight days before the disclosure took place, as developed in Thomas
Wintour's confession, taken before the Lord's Commissioners on the 23rd of
November, 1605; yet so strong was their infatuation, and so desperately had
they set their fortunes on the event, that they unanimously resolved "to
abyde the uttermost tryall."

The generally received opinion has been, that it was to the sagacity and
penetration of King James that the detection of the conspiracy must be
ascribed, and that it was his Majesty who first suggested the agency of
gunpowder: but the Earl of Salisbury, in a letter to Sir Charles
Cornwallis, ambassador at Madrid, asserts, that in a conversation between
the Earl of Suffolk (Lord Chamberlain) and himself, on perusal of the
anonymous letter, the employment of gunpowder first occurred to them, and
that the King subsequently concurred in _their_ opinion. The letter, after
having been communicated to several of the Privy Council, was shewn to the
King three or four days before the opening of Parliament, who, with great
prudence, gave orders that no notice whatever should be taken of it, but
that every thing should go on as usual, until the very day appointed. On

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Online LibraryVariousThe Mirror of Literature, Amusement, and Instruction Volume 10, No. 283, November 17, 1827 → online text (page 1 of 3)