The Mirror of Literature, Amusement, and Instruction, Vol. 12, - Various
Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this
file which includes the original illustration.
See 10475-h.htm or 10475-h.zip:
(http://www.ibiblio.org/gutenberg/1/0/4/7/10475/10475-h/10475-h.htm)
or
(http://www.ibiblio.org/gutenberg/1/0/4/7/10475/10475-h.zip)
THE MIRROR OF LITERATURE, AMUSEMENT, AND INSTRUCTION.
VOL. 12, No. 326.] SATURDAY, AUGUST 9, 1828. [PRICE 2d.
* * * * *
[Illustration]
REGENT BRIDGE, EDINBURGH.
Edinburgh, "the Queen of the North," abounds in splendid specimens of
classical architecture. Since the year 1769, when the building of the
New Town commenced, its improvement has been prosecuted with
extraordinary zeal; consequently, the city has not only been extended on
all sides, but has received the addition of some magnificent public
edifices, while the access to it from every quarter has been greatly
facilitated and embellished. Of the last-mentioned improvement our
engraving is a mere vignette, but it deserves to rank among the most
superb of those additions.
The inconvenience of the access to Edinburgh by the great London road
was long a subject of general regret. In entering the city from this
quarter, the road lay through narrow and inconvenient streets, forming
an approach no way suited to the general elegance of the place. In 1814,
however, a magnificent entrance was commenced across the Calton Hill,
between which and Prince's street a deep ravine intervened, which was
formerly occupied with old and ill-built streets. In order to connect
the hill with Prince's-street, all these have been swept away, and an
elegant arch, called _Regent Bridge_, has been thrown over the hollow,
which makes the descent from the hill into this street easy and
agreeable. Thus, in place of being carried, as formerly, through long
and narrow streets, the great road from the east into Edinburgh sweeps
along the side of the steep and singular elevation of the Calton Hill;
whence the traveller has first a view of the Old Town, with its elevated
buildings crowning the summit of the adjacent ridges, and rising upon
the eye in imposing masses; and, afterwards, of the New Town finely
contrasted with the Old, in the regularity and elegance of its general
outline.
_Regent Bridge_ was begun in 1816, and finished in 1819. The arch is
semicircular, and fifty feet wide. At the north front it is forty-five
feet in height, and at the south front sixty-four feet two inches, the
difference being occasioned by the ground declining to the south. The
roadway is formed by a number of reverse arches on each side. The great
arch is ornamented on the south and north by two open arches, supported
by elegant columns of the Corinthian order. The whole property purchased
to open the communication to the city by this bridge cost 52,000l, and
the building areas sold for the immense sum of 35,000l. The street along
the bridge is called Waterloo-place, as it was founded in the year on
which that memorable battle was fought.
The engraving[1] is an interesting picture of classic beauty; and as the
"approaches" and proposed "dry arches" to the New London Bridge are now
becoming matters of speculative interest, we hope this entrance to our
metropolis will ultimately present a similar display of architectural
elegance. LONDON, with all her opulence, ought not to yield in
comparison with any city in the world; and it is high time that the
march of taste be quickened in this quarter.
[1] from an exquisite lithograph by J. Goldicutt.
* * * * *
ON THE DEATH OF CARL MARIA VON WEBER.
Weep, for the word is spoken--
Mourn, for the knell hath knoll'd--
The master chord is broken,
And the master's hand is cold!
Romance hath lost her minstrel,
No more his magic strain
Shall throw a sweeter spell around,
The legends of Almaine.
His fame had flown before him
To many a foreign land,
His lays are sung by every tongue,
And harp'd by every hand!
He came to cull fresh laurels,
But fate was in their breath,
And turn'd his march of triumph
Into a dirge of death.
O! all who knew him lov'd him,
For with his mighty mind,
He bore himself so meekly,
His heart it was so kind!
His wildly warbling melodies,
The storms that round them roll,
Are types of the simplicity
And grandeur of his soul.
Though years of ceaseless suffering
Had worn him to a shade,
So patient was his spirit,
No wayward plaint he made.
E'en death itself seem'd loath to scare
His victim pure and mild;
And stole upon him quietly
As slumber o'er a child.
Weep, for the word is spoken--
Mourn, for the knell hath knoll'd--
The master chord is broken,
And the master's hand is cold!
The master chord is broken,
And the master's hand is cold!
PLANCHE.
* * * * *
YOUNG NAPOLEON.
_(For the Mirror.)_
It is impossible at this time of day, to foretell how the future
destinies of Europe may be influenced by the subject of these lines. To
use the words of the talented author of the _Improvisatrice_, "Poetry
needs no preface." However in this instance, a few remarks may not be
uninteresting. Until I met with the following stanzas, I was not aware
that Napoleon had been a votary of the muses. He has certainly climbed
the Parnassian mount with considerable success, whether we take the
interest of the subject, or the correctness of the versification into
consideration. Memorials like these of such a man, are, in the highest
degree, interesting; they serve to display the _man_, divested of the
"pomp and circumstance" of royalty. That Napoleon had many faults cannot
be disputed, but it is equally clear that he possessed many virtues the
world never gave him credit for:--_"Posterity will do me justice."_
I subjoin two translations of the beautiful lines written by Napoleon at
St. Helena, on the portrait of his son. The love he bore to his son was
carried to enthusiasm. According to those persons who had access to his
society at St. Helena, his young heir was the continual object of his
solicitude during the period of seven years, "_For him alone,_" he said,
"_I returned from the Island of Elba, and if I still form some
expectations on earth, they are also for him._" He has declared to
several of his suite, that he every day suffered the greatest anxiety on
his account. Since I met with these lines however, I have found that
Napoleon had in his youth composed a poem on Corsica, some extracts of
which are to be found in "Les Annales de l'Europe" a German collection.
He was exceedingly anxious in after life to destroy the copies of this
poem which had been circulated, and bought and procured them by every
means in his power for the purpose of destroying them; it is probable
not a single copy is in existence at the present period. It has been
remarked, that, "it requires nothing short of the solitude of exile, and
the idolatry which he manifested for his son, to inspire him once more.
In neither of the original poems is it indicated which he preferred."
VYVYAN.
TO THE PORTRAIT OF MY SON.
Delightful image of my much loved boy!
Behold his eyes, his looks, his cherub smile!
No more, alas! will he enkindle joy,
Nor on some kindlier shore my woes beguile.
My son! my darling son! wert thou but here,
My bosom should receive thy lovely form:
Thou'dst soothe my gloomy hours with converse dear:
Serenely mild behold the lowering storm.
I'd be the partner of thy infant cares,
And pour instruction o'er thy expanding mind;
Whilst in thy heart, in my declining years,
My wearied soul should an asylum find.
My wrongs--my cares--should be forgot with thee,
My power--imperial dignities--renown--
This rock itself would be a heaven to me;
Thine arms more cherished than the victor's crown.
O! in thine arms, my son! I could forget that fame
Shall give me, through all time, a never dying name.
(Signed.) NAPOLEON.
Another version is subjoined of lines, "To the Portrait of My Son."
O! Cherished image of my infant heir!
Thy surface does his lineaments impart:--
But ah! thou liv'st not. On this rock so bare
His living form shall never glad my heart.
My second-self! how would'st thy presence cheer
The settled sadness of thy hapless sire!
Thine infancy with tenderness I'd rear,
And thou should'st warm my age with youthful fire.
In thee, a truly glorious crown I'd find;
With thee, upon this rock a heaven should own:
Thy kiss would chase past conquests from my mind,
Which raised me demi-god on Gallia's throne.
(Signed.) NAPOLEON.
* * * * *
THE COLOUR--BLUE.
_(To the Editor of the Mirror.)_
Observing in Number 323 of the MIRROR, an article respecting _blue_, as
the appointed colour for the clothes of certain descriptions of persons,
it may, perhaps, not be wholly irrelevant to observe that Bentley, in
his "Dissertation on Phalaris," page 258, mentions blue as the costume
of his guards, and quotes Cicero's "Tusculan Questions," lib. 5, for his
authority. I cannot at present turn to the passage in Cicero, but
Bentley's quotation may surely be accepted as evidence of the existence
of the passage.
_Twickenham._ H. H.
* * * * *
EXTRAORDINARY CRIMINALS.
_(For the Mirror.)_
On the trial of _Henry Marshall_, Dec. 4, 1723, for murder and
deer-stealing, a very remarkable circumstance took place. Sentence of
death had no sooner been pronounced on this offender, than he was
immediately deprived of the use of his tongue; nor did he recover his
speech till a few hours preceding his execution.
G. W. N.
* * * * *
_July, 1736_--Reynolds, condemned upon the Black Act, for going armed in
disguise, in pulling down Lothbury turn-pike, with one Baylis,
(reprieved, and transported for 14 years,) was carried to Tyburn, where,
having prayed and sung psalms, he was turned off, and being thought
dead, was cut down by the hangman as usual, who had procured a hole to
be dug at some distance from the gallows, to bury him in; but just as
they had put him into his coffin, and were about to fasten him up, he
thrust back the lid, and to the astonishment of the spectators, placed
his hands on the sides of the coffin in order to raise himself up. Some
of the people, in their first surprise, were for knocking him on the
head; but the executioner insisted upon hanging him up again; when the
mob, thinking otherwise, cried, "Save his life," and fell upon the poor
executioner, (who stickled hard for fulfilling the law,) and beat him in
a miserable manner; they then carried the prisoner to a public-house at
Bayswater, where he was put to bed; he vomited about three pints of
blood, and it was thought he would recover; but he died soon after. The
sheriffs' officers, believing the prisoner dead, had retired from the
place of execution before he was cut down.
_Sept. 3, 1736._--Venham and Harding, two malefactors, were executed
this day at Bristol. After they were cut down, Venham was perceived to
have life in him, when put in the coffin; and some lightermen and
others, having carried him to a house, a surgeon, whom they sent for,
immediately opened a vein, which so far recovered his senses, that he
had the use of speech, sat upright, rubbed his knees, shook hands with
divers persons he knew, and to all appearance a perfect recovery was
expected. But notwithstanding this, he died about eleven o'clock in
great agony, his bowels being very much convulsed, as appeared by his
rolling from one side to the other.
It is remarkable also, that Harding came to life again, and was carried
to Bridewell, and the next day to Newgate, where several people visited
him and gave him money, who were very inquisitive whether he remembered
the manner of his execution; to which he replied, he could only remember
his having been at the gallows, and knew nothing of Venham being with
him.
G. K.
* * * * *
LOVE AND JOY.
AN ALLEGORY.
In the happy period of the golden age when all the celestial inhabitants
descended upon the earth and conversed familiarly with mortals, among
the most cherished of the heavenly powers were twins, the offspring of
Jupiter, Love, and Joy. Wherever they appeared, flowers sprung up
beneath their feet, the sun shone with a brighter radiance, and all
nature seemed embellished by their presence; they were inseparable
companions, and their growing attachment was favoured by Jupiter, who
had decreed that a lasting union should be solemnized between them as
soon as they arrived at mature years. But in the meantime, the sons of
men deviated from their native innocence; vice and ruin over-ran the
earth with giant strides; and Astrea with her train of celestial
visitants, forsook their polluted abode; Love alone remained, having
been stolen away by Hope, who was his nurse, and conveyed by her to the
forest of Arcadia, where he was brought up amongst the shepherds. But
Jupiter assigned him a different partner, and commanded him to espouse
Sorrow, the daughter of Ate. He complied with reluctance, for her
features were harsh, her eyes sunken, her forehead contracted into
perpetual wrinkles, and her temples encircled with a wreath of cypress
and wormwood. From this union sprung a virgin, in whom might be traced a
strong resemblance to both her parents; but the sullen and unamiable
features of her mother were so blended with the sweetness of the father,
that her countenance, though mournful, was highly pleasing. The maids
and shepherds gathered round and called her Pity. A red-breast was
observed to build in the cabin where she was born; and while she was yet
an infant, a dove, pursued by a hawk, flew for refuge into her bosom.
She had a dejected appearance, but so soft and gentle a mien, that she
was beloved to enthusiasm. Her voice was low and plaintive, but
inexpressibly sweet; and she loved to lie for hours on the banks of some
wild and melancholy stream singing to her lute. She taught men to weep,
for she took a strange delight in tears; and often when the virgins of
the hamlet were assembled at their evening sports, she would steal in
among them and captivate their hearts by her tales of charming sadness.
She wore on her head a garland, composed of her father's myrtles twisted
with her mother's cypress. One day as she sat musing by the waters of
Helicon, her tears by chance fell into the spring; and ever since, the
muses' spring has tasted of the infusion. Pity was commanded by Jupiter
to follow the steps of her mother through the world, dropping balm into
the wounds she made, and binding up the hearts she had broken. She
follows with her hair loose, her bosom bare and throbbing, her garments
torn by the briars, and her feet bleeding with the roughness of the
path. The nymph is mortal, for so is her mother; and when she has
finished her destined course upon earth, they shall both expire
together, and Love be again united to Joy, his immortal and
long-betrothed bride.
* * * * *
THE CONTEMPORARY TRAVELLER.
ACCOUNT OF THE VOLCANIC FORMATIONS NEAR THE RHINE.
_(From a Correspondent.)_
There is a volcanic country on the left bank between Remagen and
Andernach, highly interesting to the naturalist, but I believe not
visited by the generality of travellers. The late accounts, however, of
the formations of a similar kind in Auvergne and Clermont, in the centre
of France, and the speculations to which these phenomena have given
rise, determined me to explore this district whilst I was in the
neighbourhood. Bidding adieu, therefore, to the green little island of
Nonnenworth, I made the journey to Brohl, a convenient day's walk of
sixteen miles, passing through Oberwinter, Remagen, and Breysig, and the
other white and slated villages that enliven the river. It is here the
valley of the Rhine narrows, and the succession of ridges and dales
which the road skirts, are sometimes entirely barren, at others thickly
covered with vines and fruit-trees. Though the former plant is pleasing
in the tints of its leaf, and in the idea of cultivation and plenty that
its thick plantations present, yet there is a stiffness in the
regularity in which it grows, propped up by sticks; and it is so short,
that one's fancy as to its luxuriance, (especially if formed from such
poetry as _Childe Harold_,) is certainly disappointed. I made a
digression from the road up the little river Aar, which falls into the
Rhine near Sinzig. A more striking picture you cannot imagine. The
stream is remarkably clear and rapid, the bottom rocky, and its banks,
for a considerable distance, are literally perpendicular rocks. The Aar
is a perfect specimen of the mountain torrent; it rises in the Eiffel
mountains; and, I am told, in the winter does much mischief by
inundations. It put me in mind of the Welsh rivulets, particularly some
parts of the Dee. This _detour_ having taken up more time than I
expected, I reached Brohl, late, but in time for the supper at the
rustic Gasthoff, which, with a flask of Rhenish wine, and the company of
an agreeable German tourist who was staying there, made ample amends for
the fatigues of the day.
In setting out from Brohl by the stream of the same name, which runs
down from the Lake of Laach, where I was struck with the pieces of
pumice-stone, and the charred remains of herbs and stalks of trees
scattered over the marshes. I soon came to the valley, the sides of
which are composed of what is called, in the language of geology,
_tufa_, and in that of the country, _dukstein_, or _trass_. It is a
stone, or a hard clay, of a dull blueish colour, and when dry, it
assumes a shade of light gray. An immense quantity is quarried
throughout the valley, and is sent down the Rhine to Holland, where it
is in great request for building. The village of Nippes owes its origin
to the trade in trass, having been founded by a Dutchman, who settled
there about a century ago for the convenience of exportation. The lower
part of the mass is the hardest and most compact, and is therefore
preferred by the quarrymen; as it rises, the upper part becomes loose
and sandy, and unfit for use. You must not suppose the stream to be
clear like the Aar, for it is as thick as pea-soup, and about the same
colour, being in fact a river of trass in solution. The banks, however,
are picturesque and well wooded, particularly at Schweppenbourg, an old
castle of peculiar architecture, built on an elevated rock, and formerly
belonging to the family of Metternich, (God save the mark!) The tower is
surrounded with caverns and halls, hollowed out of the trass stone, and
profusely ornamented with fine oaks, pines, and spreading beech trees.
You may almost fancy yourself on magic ground, and looking on a fairy
castle, so peculiar is the effect. I next reached Burgbrohl and
Wassenach, passing several of the trass mills, for the stone is in many
places hard enough for mill-stones, and there is a considerable trade in
them to Holland, and thence to England and other countries. Half an hour
next brought me to the summit of the Feitsberg, one of the hills forming
the circumference of the lake; here I enjoyed a magnificent prospect on
the one side of the lake, well clothed with wood, with the old
six-towered abbey on its bank, and the heights of the Eiffel chain
enclosing it; on the other side, the view was so extensive as to give me
a glimpse of Ehrenbreitstein, and of the line of hills from thence to
the Siebengebrige. Though my object in climbing the Feitsberg was very
different, my surprise and delight in unexpectedly catching
Ehrenbreitstein at the distance of twenty-four miles even served to
withdraw my attention some time from geologizing, or from the scene
close under me. I recollect the same sensation on descrying Gravelines
sometime ago from the heights of Dover Castle, not believing the
distance to be within the powers of the telescope. True indeed is it
that
"Tis distance lends enchantment to the view.
And robes the mountain in its azure hue."
I was now in a rude and barren country, presenting a strong contrast to
the soft scenery I had left, and consisting of an elevated mountain
plateau, or table land of slate of the Greywacke sort, the heights on
the eastern side of the Rhine being of the same level, and the channel
of the river appearing as a narrow valley, which the eye overlooks
entirely. This table land is studded with isolated hills of volcanic
formation, and of a conical form, some of them having central funnels or
craters, from which the ancient eruptions have issued. The most complete
are the Hirschenberg, near Burgbrohl, the Bousenberg, between that
village and Olburg, the Poter, Pellenberg, and the Camillenberg, which
last rises about one thousand feet above the level of the surrounding
surface. There are many others extending for some distance in the Eiffel
chain and in the vicinity, but those I have mentioned are sufficient to
guide the footsteps of the inquirer. The basin of the Lake of Laach is
nearly circular and crateriform; it is a mile and a half long, and about
a mile and a quarter in breadth. Its average depth is two hundred feet,
but it is full of holes, the measure of which is very uncertain. Its
water is blueish, very cold, and of a nasty brackish taste. It has been
examined by several geologists, British and foreign, among whom is the
famous Humboldt, and there is no doubt that this great reservoir is the
crater of an extinct volcano. The fragments and minerals thrown up on
the banks are analogous to those found in other volcanic countries; and
on one side (that towards Nieder-mennig) is a regular rock of continued
lava, which is supposed to have flowed from the crater during the last
eruption. Mr. Scrope, whose opinion is entitled to great weight, thinks
it not improbable that this may have been the eruption recorded by
Tacitus, (13 lib. Annal.,) as having ravaged the country of the
Initones, near Cologne, in the reign of Nero. I should not forget to
mention that there is a cavern within the basin of the lake, the air of
which is so stifling and noxious, that animals die if forced to remain
in it, and lights are extinguished by the gas--phenomena precisely
similar to those of the well-known Grotto del Cane, near Naples.
While I am on the subject of volcanic phenomena, I may as well add a
word on the origin of the trass or tufa, which is so thickly spread over
this country. It is similar to that found near Naples, at Mont d'Or,
Carbal, and other parts of Italy; and, indeed, all the products of the
latter district are pretty nearly the same as these, allowing for the
difference of a slate surface in the one case, and a sandy and alluvial
soil in the other. The idea of the trass having any connexion with a
deluge, is, I believe, now exploded; and geologists have agreed that it
is the actual substance ejected by the volcano, subsided into a firm
paste. The rain has always been observed to fall heavily after
eruptions, and the water running down the sides of the hills, has formed
this crust, which makes the bottom and sides of the Laach. The same
causes are in action now; and if ever the lake should rise so high as to
burst its banks, it would overflow the whole country, and carry terrible
destruction with it. Such an event was actually foreseen by the
sagacious monks who formerly inhabited the abbey, for they cut a canal
nearly a mile long, to give the water vent; and the discharge by it
continues to this day. The abbey is now untenanted, and is in a
deplorable state of ruin; it was once celebrated for its hospitality and
a fine gallery of pictures; all, however, have vanished, and the ruins
are now the property of M. Delius, a magistrate of Treves. The situation
is so beautiful, surrounded as it is with fine timber, that one would
suppose it worth his while to repair the place, particularly as stone is
so plentiful in the neighbourhood. It forms, however, as it is, a
picturesque addition to the interest of the excursion to the lake, I
returned by the mineral spring of Heilbrunn, well satisfied with my
inspection of the country. The distance from Brohl to the abbey is
little more than five miles, and it is one which I would advise all
tourists on the Rhine to make if they have time, whether they be
geologists or non-geologists. I fancied I had a clearer conception of.
Aetna and Vesuvius, and the living fires, from having witnessed the
funnels of the extinct ones. At all events, though little is known as to
the causes of volcanic phenomena, enough is ascertained to convince us
that subterranean fire exists under the whole of Europe, there not being
one country or district exempt from occasional earthquakes, or some such
signs of terror.
D.
* * * * *