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light what he saw in the dark chamber. Sometimes he did portraits in that manner, and came to England with that view, but found the business too much engrossed by Kneller and others. Yet he once drew King William; but as the piece was to be by candle-light, he gave his majesty the candle to hold, till the tallow ran down his fingers. As if to justify this ill breeding, he drew his own picture in the same situation. Delicacy was no part of his character. Having drawn a lady who was marked with the small pox, but had handsome hands, she asked him, when the face was finished, if she must not sit for her hands? "No," replied the boor, "I always draw them from my housemaid's."

P. T. W.

TITLES OF THE SOVEREIGN OF PERSIA.

IN the preamble of a treaty concluded with Col. Malcolm, we find the sovereign thus designating himself "The High King, whose court is like that of Solomon's, the asylum of the world, the sign of the power of God, the jewel in the ring of kings, the ornament on the cheek of eternal empire, the grace of the beauty of sovereignty and royalty, the king of the universe like Caherman, the mansion of mercy and justice, the phoenix of good fortune, the eminence of neverfading prosperity, the king powerful as Alexander, who has no equal among the princes, exalted to majesty by the heavens in this globe, a shade from the shade of the most high, a prince before whom the sun is concealed," &c.

ASHANTEE JUBILEE.

THE Ashantee yam custom is annual, just at the maturity of that vegetable, which is planted in December, and not eaten until the conclusion of the custom, the early part of September. The yam custom is like the Saturnalia. Neither theft, intrigue, nor assault are punishable during the continuance; but the grossest liberty prevails, and each sex abandons itself to its passions. It continues for a week, at the end of which time it is considered the height of rudeness for any black lady to taunt another by alluding to circumstance that any have passed during this tropical carni

val.-Bowdich.

OATHS.

may

THE best and most emphatic oath upon record is the following: Sometime after the massacre of St. Bartholomew, the deputies of the reformed were treating with the king, the queen-mother, and some of the council for a peace. The articles were mutually agreed on; the

question was upon the security of the performance. After some particulars propounded and rejected, the queenmother said "Is not the word of a king sufficient security?" One of the deputies said-" No, by St. Bartholomew, madam!"'

TRIFLING MISTAKE.

A GENTLEMAN staying at the Black Swan at Y-being seized with lunacy, the late Dr. B. physician to the Asylum, was sent for in the night to visit him, and, by mistake of the chambermaid, was shown into a wrong lodging-room, in which there happened to be a very passionate gentleman, who, jumping out of bed in a rage, asked the doctor who he was, and what the devil he wanted. The doctor desired him to compose himself, and he would not hurt him. "Compose the devil! what do you mean?" "I mean, my good man," said the doctor, taking him by the shoulder, "that you must get into bed again, and compose yourself, while I consider your un happy case." At which the gentleman, losing all patience, had just prepared to punish the doctor's unlucky head, when the chamber-maid returned to say —"O laws, sir, I've shown you into the wrong room!"

AUTHENTIC RECORDS OF OLDEN TIMES.

THE most ancient geographical chart which now remains as a monument of the state of science in the middle ages, is founded on a manuscript of the Chronique de St. Denys. There the three parts of the earth then known are so represented, that Jerusalem is placed in the centre of the globe, and Alexandria near to it as Nazareth.

COGENT REASON.

On the evening of St. Bartholomew, during the massacre, a citizen of Paris, reputed to be very rich, was closely pursued by an assassin, sword in hand, to whom the citizen kept crying--" Sir, sir, you are mistaken, I am really a true Catholic!" "Very possibly," replied the other, at the same time piercing him with his sword, "but your money is heretic."

ANNUALS FOR 1831. With the present Number, A SUPPLEMENT CONTAINING

UNIQUE EXTRACTS, VERSE AND PROSE, From the Annuals for 1831; With a Picturesque Engraving of Benares.

Printed and Published by J. LIMBIRD, 143, Strand (near Somerset House,) London; sold Leipsic; and by all Newsmen and Booksellers. by ERNEST FLEISCHER, 626, New Market,

No. 462.]

OF

LITERATURE, AMUSEMENT, AND INSTRUCTION. SATURDAY, NOVEMBER 27, 1830.

[PRICE 2d.

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(To the Editor of the Mirror.) SHOULD this view of two of the TEMPLES OF PESTUM, which I have drawn on stone, from an original sketch taken on the spot, in the spring of 1829, with the accompanying historical notice, prove worthy of insertion in your interesting miscellany, it will afford me much pleasure.

In that part of Italy which Pliny, the elder, calls the third region, and on the borders of one of those delightful plains, which extend in imperceptible descent from the Apennines to the Mediterranean, stood the city of Posidonia or Pæstum, built according to Julius Solinus, by a colony of Dorians. We find in other authors, particularly in the fifth book of Strabo, a more detailed account of its origin. It appears that a colony of Sybarites driven out of Thurium by the ancient Greeks, laid the foundation of this celebrated city, 440 years before the Christian era. The Sybarites were the most refined and luxurious of the Greeks, who colonized Italy; and these vast ruins are sufficiently indicative that Posidonia was a rich and magnificent VOL. XVI. 2 D

city. It was first conquered by the Lucanians, who changed its name to Pæstum. In 920 it was burnt by the Saracens ; happily however, these barbarians did not so entirely destroy it, but that there still remain a few noble monuments of its ancient grandeur, which are, and probably will continue for many centu

ries to be the admiration of the classic traveller.

The remains of three temples are now to be seen--two of which, namely, the temple of Neptune, and the Basilica, are represented in the sketch. It is right to state that the appropriation of the latter, which is seen in the distance, has not been exactly determined by antiquarians. That it was a temple or an edifice dedicated to religious purposes, however, appears pretty certain. There is something particularly sublime in the fact, that among the ancient monuments of architecture which we meet with, as described by travellers, or alluded to by historians, by far the greater part have been once appropriated to the service of religion.

The façade of the temple of Neptune consists of a peristyle of six fluted co462

lumns of the Hexastyle Hypæethral or ancient Doric order, without pedestals, and supported on three rows of steps; the sides are formed of twenty columns; each column, according to a recent measurement, is 47 feet in height and 8 in diameter at the base; the entablature, notwithstanding the ravages of time and the Goths, is very complete; the architrave is perfect, and the triglyphs and gutta on the frieze are still quite dis

tinct.

The Basilica is not so well preserved, and differs from the former in the circumstance of being longer and divided by a row of columns into two equal parts. These temples are formed of a species of Travertino, of which likewise all the ancient monuments of Rome are constructed. It is an exceedingly hard limestone of fresh water deposition, and continues to be formed to this hour in the neighbourhood of Tivoli. After having been exposed some centuries it assumes a reddish tint (probably from the oxydation of a portion of iron), and thus adds to the picturesque beauty of the ruin.

Extraordinary as it may appear, these remains though within fifty miles of Naples, and but a few leagues from Salerno, remained undiscovered for a period of nearly 1400 years; and we are indebted for the knowledge of their existence to a young Neapolitan artist, who, about seventy years since, in rambling over some of the mountains near the sea-coast, made this interesting dis

covery.

Nothing perhaps is more calculated to lessen our pride of modern skill, and excite our admiration of remote antiquity, than a view of these colossal ruins:

Cypress and ivy, weed and wallflower grown Matted and inassed together, hillocks heaped On what were chambers, arch crush'd, columns

strown

In fragments, choked up vaults, and frescoes steep'd

In subterranean damps, where the owl peep'd, Deeming it midnight. BYRON.

It is true that the ancients have regarded more the strength of fabric, than its elegance and symmetry; but there must have been some rules of harmony, and some taste of ornament, otherwise the eye of the traveller could not at this distance of time, trace the skilful hand of the artificer, and the sublime genius of the designer, in the ruins of so many stupendous structures.

As the traveller approaches the wild and barren plain on which these majestic ruins are situated, his feelings become forcibly in unison with the scene of surrounding devastation, when he re

flects upon the origin of this once venerated, hallowed spot; the seat and proof of the perfection of arts now no longer in existence, and the type and emblem of a religion no longer acknowledged. Nowhere perhaps will be found more laborious or more finished specimens of human labour, and of the refined taste of ages long since forgotten, than stand on this little spot; and though there may exist some remains of antiquity in other parts of the globe more worthy the eye of the traveller, or the pencil of the artist, yet these relics which have witnessed the rise, the progress, and the downfall of the Roman Empire, will ever rank foremost in the attractions of curiosity, and of antiquarian research.

Nothing can exceed the air of melancholy, desolation, and ruin, which this spot presents: the only sounds which break upon the ear of the traveller, as he wanders through the desert avenues of broken columns, are the echoes of his own steps, or the flittings of the bat, which seem to reproach him for violating this unbroken solitude of ages. How awful is the reflection that on the very spot on which he treads; Neptune and Ceres once were worshipped; and kneeling thousands assisted at the offering of sacrifices on those altars, and amid those columns which are now the haunts of the beast of the forest.

Here, in solitude, and in the still hour of night, let the votary of pleasure or the victim of dissipation be taught, that the life of man is but as the breath of the wind, which howls around these gigantic relics of desolation; and that the works of his hands may remain for the admiration of succeeding ages, when he himself has long since passed into the eternity of oblivion. A. S. T.

The Topographer.

THE DERWENTWATER.

(For the Mirror.)

THIS most beautiful of our English lakes possesses so many points of interest, that a

series of graphic illustrations could alone do it justice. It is about three miles long, and one mile and a half broad, nearly inclosed by mountains; and its waters, more transparent than those of any of the neighbouring lakes, are studded with numerous well-wooded and romantic little islands. Of these, the largest, and nearest to the shore, is Lord's Island, formerly the residence of the family of Derwentwater; but of their mansion, only the foundations now

remain. It contains about six acres of land, which are entirely covered with wood. Derwent Isle is called also the Vicar's; and Pocklington Island, which is within half an acre as large as the former, contains a house, situated in its centre, and is laid out in pleasuregrounds, well planted with shrubs and trees. St. Herbert's Isle, near the middle of the lake-containing some remnants of an ancient building, and a small fishing cottage, built about six or seven and twenty years since, by the late Sir Wilfred Lawson-was formerly the residence of St. Herbert, a holy man, of whom some particulars are recorded by the venerable Bede. He lived in the seventh century; and for several ages after his demise, the island was resorted to, and the Saint's memory kept alive by religious observances.

There are other, and smaller islands also. Rampsholen belongs, with Lord's Island, to Greenwich Hospital, being parts of the sequestrated estate of the late Lord Derwentwater. From Otter Island, situated in a bay at the head of the lake, the views are delightful. There is one piece of rock called Tripotholm, and two others called Lingholms. The Floating Island and the Bottom Wind are phenomena peculiar to the Derwentwater, and have given rise to various hypotheses relative to their cause. Otley treats largely upon the former in his "Guide to the Lakes;" and of the latter says "It has been described as an agitation of the water, occuring when no wind can be felt on any part of the lake," and "has been supposed to originate at the bottom of the water. Some have associated this phenomenon with that of the Floating Island, and ascribed both to those subterranean convulsions by which earthquakes are produced. Admitting that the waves are sometimes greater than could be reasonably expected from any wind which can be perceived at the time, yet I doubt whether they are ever formed when no wind is stirring; and if such a term as Bottom Wind must be retained, I think it ought to be referred to the bottom of the atmosphere, rather than the bottom of the lake." The Floating Island, " situated in the southeast corner of the lake, not far from Lodore, about one hundred and fifty yards from shore, and where the depth of the water does not exceed six feet, in a mean state of the lake," never changes its situation, but rises at uncertain intervals to the surface, there remaining for longer or shorter periods, and sinking again.

The utmost depth of the Derwentwater does not exceed fourteen fathoms: its greatest portion is not one-fourth of that measure, but, swelled by rains and the mountain torrents, it has been known to rise eight feet above its lowest watermark, and overflow the lands between itself and Bassenthwaite. Trout, pike, perch, and eels, afford good fishing in this lake trout are angled for during April and May, pike and perch through the whole of summer.

It was one bright, joyous April morning when we first beheld-surveying it from a high hill-the beautiful, the fairy Derwentwater. It was a thing of light, and poetry; and the unutterably blessed emotions which flashed through us then, like thrilling streams of pure, ethereal fire-indescribable, inexpressible as we feel them to be--can never by us be forgotten: they were, in fact, one of those epochs in the spring of the soul, from which it dates its progress in improvement and happiness, and which, as sacred periods, should be kept in mind. We were travelling, returning to our special England after a residence of some years out of it; and above four years had intervened since, "first and last," we beheld the romantic, crystal, sparkling Derwentwater; but the long and blessed day, lingered out beside the Beautiful Lake, is fresh in our memory, as if a few brief hours only had elapsed, and marked the interval between the past and present. That day!- it is a red-letter day in the calends of highest mental enjoyment; it was a holiday of the holiest kind; a day, dedicated to warm affections, glowing devotion, grateful retrospection, and hopes, which were of themselves assured happiness. That day!-it was not lost to us: its green and refreshing memory remains; the puny efforts of our pencil to delineate some points of the lake-scenery are in being yet, and lo! we have just discovered in our sketch-book, scrawled on the back of a couple of these mementos, the following attempt at another mode of illustrating the Keswick Lake-the following unworthy stanzas

TO THE DERWENTWATER.
Beautiful lake! I saw, thy crystal breast
Scarce heaving 'neath Spring's renovating gale;

Thy young romantic isles in pleasant rest;
And all the shadowy barks which o'er thee sail
Bearing-ay, many a marv'lling, happy band,
As fondly we might dream, to Fairy Laud.
I saw thee in the holy, matin hour,
When thou wert loveliest perchance; a shroud
Hung o'er thy distant brightness-like a bow'r
Kissing thy radiant bosom, cast a spell
It shadow'd thee: yea, many a curling cloud,

Of beauty o'er thee-soft, ineffable.

Clouds vested too thy giant guards, which stand
Gauntly above the world, in rugged form-
As barring access to thy holy strand-
As, with wild summits veil'd in mist and storm,
Repelling the undaunted-who would take
From eagle-crags their gaze on thee, sweet lake!
I saw thee from a mount but fairy hours
Beside thee pass'd, of love, and hope, and rest;
Rapt in loug ecstasy by gales, and flowers-
By wooded islets-by thy half-veil'd breast
And dreams of that cloud-curtain, which when
furl'd,

13

looked at a hen's nest; saw half a dozen horses' tails sticking out of their stalls in the stables; squashed about the brown sugar walks in the dripping shrubberies; sat on the bridge; looked at the water; saw how sticks swim; admired a calf; proposed sparrowshooting-no gun at hand; thought of a walk in the kitchen garden — gate locked; wanted to look at the graperyM. L. B. gardener gone to buy pea-sticks. I know-well, poor deluded creturs, and what after that?"

Shall to the soul reveal an Eden world.

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The Selector;

AND

LITERARY NOTICES OF NEW WORKS.

MAXWELL.

By Theodore Hook.

FEW books abound with so many detachable scenes as Mr.Theodore Hook's Tales and Novels of real life. They are well adapted for the "specimen" system of the criticism of the present day-nay, they even appear to be written for the very purpose, and they succeed even better than any of the Library compilations of either variety of Knowledge. Their caricature may be broad; it is, however, dramatic, though somewhat stagy --we mean in trick and humour; but it has none of the bombast and stiltwalking sins of mimic life. It is real life with a high varnish to bring out the features, and to keep out of the common-place. It is pleasant to all ranks of readers, and may be equally relished in May Fair or the Borough.

The present story is one of middle life, and is abundantly stored with points of humour. It is our intention to scrap some of these in our next sheet. Meanwhile we take an extract from the Spectator notice of the work:

6

The following passage may introduce Godfrey Moss, alias Mousetrap, to our readers, and will permit Master Neddums, otherwise Edward Maxwell, Esq. student at law, to describe an adventure upon which subsequently much incident turns: the comments of the company at least render it amusing:'

"Well, Master Ned," said Moss, beginning his attack the moment the family party were ranged at dinner"what did you do down at Dullham House-hard work to get through the day, eh?"

"No," said Ned; "I didn't find it very bad-after breakfast we did as we liked till half-past one."

"Ah, that is, did nothing," said Moss, "went and washed a dog in a pond;

"Why, after that," said Ned (if you mean after what never occurred) "came luncheon; after luncheon our horses and the carriages were ordered-Miss Epsworth and her aunt used to drive in the phaeton, and I and Overall, and one or two others, used to ride."

"What have you done with the Major?" said Maxwell.

"He is there, sir," said Edward.
"What, at Dullham?"
"Yes," said Ned.

"To be sure he is," said Moss.

"I think," said Apperton, "he has an eye to the freehold and the copyhold and the leasehold; the India stock, and the three per cent. consols."

"As sure as a gun," said Moss," that lying little cretur will snap up your Jenny, Master Ned; he'll carry off your little ricketty vinegar bottle, if you don't look sharp."

"I cannot help it," said Edward; "and if he do, I don't much care."

"What!" exclaimed Kate, "a lover, and speak so of your beloved?"

"I am no lover, Kate," replied her brother-" at least not of hers." "Hallo!" said his father, "what, is your heart going another way?" "Going, sir?" said Edward. "Gone, I think," said Kitty.

"That is nonsense,' "" said Edward; "but I honestly confess I never did see such a lovely creature in the whole course of my existence, as one I saw today, and whose life I saved."

"Oh! a romantic affair," said Moss. "Where did 'um happen, Master Neddums ?"

"In-Long Acre-" said Edward, after a little hesitation.

"What a scene for a romance!" said Kate.

"Was she very pretty, Ned?" asked his father; "tell us your story." "Why, sir," said the son, "at the corner of Long Acre, a carriage driving furiously along, and unseen by her, was within an inch of running over this beautiful girl. I, luckily, and most luckily, as I hadn't been in town half an hour,

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