Read Ebook: The Mirror of Literature Amusement and Instruction. Volume 20 No. 581 December 15 1832 by Various

Font size: 10 px 15 px 20 px 25 px 30 px 35 px

Background color: BlackWhiteGrayLight GrayDark GrayDim Gray

Text color: BlackWhiteGrayLight GrayDark GrayDim Gray

Apply/Save settings

Ebook has 110 lines and 19287 words, and 3 pages

Then in close and narrow keep, Pent, with scorned and faded toys, Mourn we for the glassy deep, Sigh we for our early joys! What has earth like ocean's treasures? More than craving avarice measures, More than Fancy's dream enchants, Deck the booming caves below, Where green waters ever flow Under groves of pearl, that grow In the mermaid's glimmering haunts.

Under spar-enchased bowers, Bending on their twisted stems, Glow the myriad ocean-flowers, Fadeless--rich as orient gems. Hung with seaweed's tasselled fringes, Dyed with all the rainbow's tinges, Rise the Triton's palace walls. Pallid silver's wandering veins Stream, like frostwork, o'er the stains; Pavements thick, with golden grains, Twinkle through their crystal halls.

And a music wild and low Ever, o'er the curved shells, Wanders with a fitful flow As the billow sinks or swells. Now, to faintest whispers hushing, Now, in louder cadence gushing, Wakens from their pleasant sleep All the tuneful Nereid-throng, Till their notes of wreathed song Float in magic streams along, Chanting joyaunce through the deep.

Chance or change,--the clouds of time-- Sorrow,--winter storm, or blight, Comes not near our peaceful clime; Nor the strife of day with night. Death, who walks the earth in riot, Stirs not our primeval quiet: Scarce his distant rage we know From the dreary things of clay, Slain, alas! in ocean's play, Whom the sea-maids shroud and lay In the silent caves below.

Fond! to deem we count it pride Thus to deck the fair of earth! We, whose beauty-peopled tide Gave the foam-born goddess birth! Her, whose glory's radiant fulness. All too bright for mortal dulness, Sparkles in a lovelier star! Are not Ocean's shady places Rich in kindred forms and faces, Choral bands of sister-Graces Circling Amphitrite's car?

Toiling o'er the shallow page, Vainly pedants seek the lore Taught us by that prophet sage, Whom our azure Thetis bore. Wiser Eld his solemn numbers, Listening, stole from Ocean's slumbers, Signs of coming doom to learn. Poor were all your labours reap, To the gifted seers that keep Mysteries of the ancient deep, Drawn from Nereus' sacred urn.

Let us find our old retreat, Yield us to the kissing wave, From the daylight's parching heat In its cool profound to lave. If ye needs must rob for beauty, Earth's abysses teem with booty. Gems, that love the blaze of day:-- We are tired of glittering shows, And the strife of man's display; Let us sink to sweet repose Where the lulling water flows; Give us to our native bay!

SHELLEY.

That Shelley gave freely, when the needy scholar asked, or in silent, hopeless poverty seemed to ask, his aid, will he demonstrated most clearly by relating shortly one example of his generosity, where the applicant had no pretensions to literary renown, and no claim whatever, except perhaps honest penury. It is delightful to attempt to delineate from various points of view a creature of infinite moral beauty,--but one instance must suffice; an ample volume might be composed of such tales, but one may be selected, because it contains a large admixture of that ingredient which is essential to the conversion of alms-giving into the genuine virtue of charity--self-denial. On returning to town after the long vacation, at the end of October, I found Shelley at one of the hotels in Covent Garden. Having some business in hand he was passing a few days there alone. We had taken some mutton chops hastily at a dark place in one of the minute courts of the city, at an early hour, and we went forth to walk; for to walk at all times, and especially in the evening, was his supreme delight. The aspect of the fields to the north of Somers-Town, between that beggarly suburb and Kentish-Town, has been totally changed of late. Although this district could never be accounted pretty, nor deserving a high place even amongst suburban scenes, yet the air, or often the wind, seemed pure and fresh to captives emerging from the smoke of London; there were certain old elms, much very green grass, quiet cattle feeding, and groups of noisy children playing with something of the freedom of the village green. There was, oh, blessed thing! an entire absence of carriages and of blood-horses; of the dust and dress and affectation and fashion of the parks: there were, moreover, old and quaint edifices and objects which gave character to the scene. Whenever Shelley was imprisoned in London,--for to a poet a close and crowded city must be a dreary gaol,--his steps would take that direction, unless his residence was too remote, or he was accompanied by one who chose to guide his walk. On this occasion I was led thither, as indeed I had anticipated: the weather was fine, but the autumn was already advanced; we had not sauntered long in these fields when the dusky evening closed in, and the darkness gradually thickened. "How black those trees are," said Shelley, stopping short, and pointing to a row of elms; "it is so dark the trees might well be houses, and the turf, pavement,--the eye would sustain no loss; it is useless therefore to remain here, let us return." He proposed tea at his hotel, I assented; and hastily buttoning his coat, he seized my arm, and set off at his great pace, striding with bent knees over the fields and through the narrow streets. We were crossing the New Road, when he said shortly, "I must call for a moment, but it will not be out of the way at all," and then dragged me suddenly towards the left. I inquired whither we were bound, and, I believe, I suggested the postponement of the intended call till the morrow. He answered, it was not at all out of our way. I was hurried along rapidly towards the left; we soon fell into an animated discussion respecting the nature of the virtue of the Romans, which in some measure beguiled the weary way. Whilst he was talking with much vehemence and a total disregard of the people who thronged the streets, he suddenly wheeled about and pushed me through a narrow door; to my infinite surprise I found myself in a pawnbroker's shop! It was in the neighbourhood of Newgate Street; for he had no idea whatever in practice either of time or space, nor did he in any degree regard method in the conduct of business. There were several women in the shop in brown and grey cloaks with squalling children: some of them were attempting to persuade the children to be quiet, or at least, to scream with moderation; the others were enlarging upon and pointing out the beauties of certain coarse and dirty sheets that lay before them to a man on the other side of the counter. I bore this substitute for our proposed tea some minutes with tolerable patience, but as the call did not promise to terminate speedily, I said to Shelley, in a whisper, "Is not this almost as bad as the Roman virtue?" Upon this he approached the pawnbroker: it was long before he could obtain a hearing, and he did not find civility. The man was unwilling to part with a valuable pledge so soon, or perhaps he hoped to retain it eventually; or it might be, that the obliquity of his nature disqualified him for respectful behaviour. A pawnbroker is frequently an important witness in criminal proceedings: it has happened to me, therefore, afterwards to see many specimens of this kind of banker; they sometimes appeared not less respectable than other tradesmen, and sometimes I have been forcibly reminded of the first I ever met with, by an equally ill conditioned fellow. I was so little pleased with the introduction, that I stood aloof in the shop, and did not hear what passed between him and Shelley. On our way to Covent-Garden, I expressed my surprise and dissatisfaction at our strange visit, and I learned that when he came to London before, in the course of the summer, some old man had related to him a tale of distress,--of a calamity which could only be alleviated by the timely application of ten pounds; five of them he drew at once from his pocket, and to raise the other five he had pawned his beautiful solar microscope! He related this act of beneficence simply and briefly, as if it were a matter of course, and such indeed it was to him. I was ashamed of my impatience, and we strode along in silence.

It was past ten when we reached the hotel; some excellent tea and a liberal supply of hot muffins in the coffee-room, now quiet and solitary, were the more grateful after the wearisome delay and vast deviation. Shelley often turned his head, and cast eager glances towards the door; and whenever the waiter replenished our teapot, or approached our box, he was interrogated whether any one had yet called. At last the desired summons was brought: Shelley drew forth some bank notes, hurried to the bar, and returned as hastily, bearing in triumph under his arm a mahogany box, followed by the officious waiter, with whose assistance he placed it upon the bench by his side. He viewed it often with evident satisfaction, and sometimes patted it affectionately in the course of calm conversation. The solar microscope was always a favourite plaything or instrument of scientific inquiry; whenever he entered a house his first care was to choose some window of a southern aspect, and, if permission could be obtained by prayer or by purchase, strightway to cut a hole through the shutter to receive it. His regard for his solar microscope was as lasting as it was strong; for he retained it several years after this adventure, and long after he had parted with all the rest of his philosophical apparatus.

Such is the story of the microscope, and no rightly judging person who hears it will require the further accumulation of proofs of a benevolent heart; nor can I, perhaps, better close these sketches than with that impression of the pure and genial beauty of Shelley's nature which this simple anecdote will bequeath.

THE NATURALIST.

NEW SPECIES OF BAT.--

Of this numerous family only three genera, of modern authors, inhabit the United States, viz. RHINOPOMA, VESPERTILIO, and TAPHOZOUS. Seven species, exclusive of the present, are all that have been hitherto discovered in North America.

We propose to dedicate this new species, to our valuable friend the justly celebrated naturalist J.J. AUDUBON, as a small tribute of respect to his eminent talents, and the highly important services he has rendered science. The drawing which accompanies this paper, is from his inimitable pencil.

This species was first observed, during the summer of 1829, when an individual female flew into the apartment of the late Dr. Hammersly, then one of the resident physicians of the Pennsylvania hospital: on the subsequent evening a male individual, of the same species, was also taken in the same manner. In August 1830, a very fine specimen was brought to the Academy of Natural Sciences, and Mr. Audubon informs me that the species has very recently been observed in New York.

The natural characters of the species are--General colour black, sprinkled with gray above and beneath; ears black and naked; auriculum, short and broad or obtusely triangular; interfemoral membrane, sparsely hairy; last joint of the tail free: two incisors, with notched crowns, on each side of the canine teeth of the upper jaw, with a broad intervening space without teeth.

FINE ARTS.

MOSAIC PAVEMENT.

The chief object of curiosity at Palestrina, is the castle or palace of the prince, in the highest part of the city, to which there is an ascent by an excellent coach-road to the right, by the Capucin Convent, without entering the narrow street. Before it is a level space of considerable length; which formed the highest platform of the Temple of Fortune. Two flights of steps lead to an amphitheatre, or semicular staircase, in excellent preservation, which is the same that led to the sanctuary of the temple, on the foundation of which the palace is built: in the middle of the semicircle is a well; each step is about a foot and a half high, like the ancient steps of the capitol which led to the church of Ara Coeli, at Rome. Another short flight conducts to the hall of entrance, where there is a double staircase, and a recess closed by iron grates, which contains the celebrated antique pavement, of which Pliny speaks in the following terms, "The fine mosaic of small stones, placed by Sylla as a pavement in the Temple of Fortune at Praeneste, was the first thing of the kind seen in Italy." There does not seem to be the smallest room to doubt of this being the genuine mosaic he mentions; it is in excellent preservation, and appears to be about twenty feet by sixteen. It was found in the same cellar of the seminary, where is still the altar of Fortune, and may be considered as one of the most interesting relics of antiquity. Towards the upper part of it are mountains, with negro savages hunting wild beasts; animals of different sorts, with their names in Greek written below them, such as the rhinoceros, crocodile, and lynx. Lower down are seen houses of various forms, temples, vessels of different constructions, particularly a galley of 32 oars, manned with armed blacks, and commanded by a white man; a tent with soldiers, a palm tree, flowers, a collation in an arbour, an altar of Anubis; in short, almost every circumstance imaginable in life. The scene apparently lies in Egypt. The figures are well drawn, the light and shadows happily disposed, and the colouring harmonious. The stones which compose this very curious pavement are remarkably small which renders the effect peculiarly pleasing, from the neatness of its appearance.

W.G.C.

PANORAMA OF STIRLING.

Stirling, or Strivelin, and its storied environs have furnished Mr. Burford with a new Panorama, of more than usual interest in its details. The town is fraught with historical association, and the surrounding country is of picturesque and poetical character. A Scottish poet describes its attractions in these enthusiastic lines:

O! grander far than Windsor's brow! And sweeter to the vale below! Whar Forth's unrivalled windings flow Through varied grain, Brightening, I ween wi' glittering glow, Strevlina's plain! There, raptured trace, The landscape stretching on the ee, Frae Grampian hills down to the sea-- A dazzling view-- Corn, meadow, mansion, water, tree, In varying hue. There, seated, mark, wi' ardour keen, The Skellock bright 'mang corn sae green, The purple pea, and speckled bean, A fragrant store-- And vessels sailing, morn and een, To Stirling's shore. And Shaw park, gilt wi' e'ening's ray: And Embro castle, distant grey; Wi' Alva screened near Aichil brae, 'Mang grove and bower! And rich Clackmannan rising gay Wi' woods and tower.

And thou O sad and fatal mound! That oft hast heard the death-axe sound, As on the noblest of the land, Fell the stern headsman's bloody hand.

It is time to speak of the Panorama as a work of art; for hitherto we have rather considered its intellectual interest. The Castle and Palace we take to be finely painted, with admirable picturesque effect: the huge gateway, flanked with two towers, the battlemented walls, and battery, are in fine bold relief, as is the clinging vegetation about the building; nor must we omit the grotesque figures or corbelled pedestals, and the identical window bars, the work of the wily Scot of Craig Forth; the latter especially, are clever. A portion of the esplanade otherwise devoid of interest, is peopled with a meeting of the Highland Society celebrating the feats of the ancient Caledonians, the object of the Society being to preserve their language, costume, music, gymnastic sports, and martial games. This introduction happily fills up what would otherwise have been the only void in the scene, so thickly is it studed and storied with objects and recollections. Altogether, we have rarely seen a topographical panorama of such diversified character: it has reminiscences of history and poetry to lead us through the retrospect of chivalrous ages, princely contests for crowns that rarely sat lightly on their wearers, and the last flickering hopes of defeated ambition and ill-starred fortune. Yet, how powerfully, not to say painfully, are these pages in the chronicles of human actions, when contrasted with the broad volume of nature, as spread before us in this picture. Alas! what is the majesty of the mightiest of the kings that dwelt in its palace in comparison with the sublimities of Tinto, Ben Lomond, Venue, or Ledy; or what the peace of their halls amidst the smiling expanse of the Carse of Stirling in all its quiet luxuriance. They and their houses have become dust or crumbling ruin, and death has with a little pin bored through their castle walls--while Nature has been flourishing from year to year, and reading man an epitome of existence in the succession of her changes.

It has been stated that Mr. Burford, the successful painter of Stirling, is engaged on a Panorama of the Falls of Niagara. All admirers of this style of painting must be anxious for his success.

SIR WALTER SCOTT.

NEW BOOKS.

No articles of ancient manufacture are more common than lamps. They are found in every variety of form and size, in clay and in metal, from the most cheap to the most costly description. We have the testimony of the celebrated antiquary Winkelmann to the interest of this subject: "I place among the most curious utensils, found at Herculaneum, the lamps, in which the ancients sought to display elegance, and even magnificence. Lamps of every sort will be found in the museum at Portici, both in clay and bronze, but especially the latter; and as the ornaments of the ancients have generally some reference to some particular things, we often meet with rather remarkable subjects." A considerable number of these articles will be found in the British Museum, but they are chiefly of the commoner sort. All the works, however, descriptive of Herculaneum and Pompeii, present us with specimens of the richer and more remarkable class, which attract admiration both by the beauty of the workmanship, and the whimsical variety of their designs. We may enumerate a few which occur in a work now before us, "Antiquit?s d'Herculanum," in which we find a Silenus, with the usual peculiarities of figure ascribed to the jolly god rather exaggerated, and an owl sitting upon his head between two huge horns, which support stands for lamps. Another represents a flower-stalk, growing out of a circular plinth, with snail-shells hanging from it by small chains, which held the oil and wick. The trunk of a tree, with lamps suspended between the branches. Another, a naked boy, beautifully wrought, with a lamp hanging from one hand, and an instrument for trimming it from the other, the lamp itself representing a theatrical mask. Beside him is a twisted column, surmounted by the head of a Faun, or Bacchanal, which has a lid in its crown, and seems intended as a reservoir of oil. The boy and pillar are both placed on a square plateau, raised upon lions' claws. But, beautiful as those lamps are, the light which they gave must have been weak and unsteady, and little superior to that of common street-lamps, with which indeed they are identical in principle. The wick was merely a few twisted threads, drawn through a hole in the upper surface of the oil-vessel; and there was no glass to steady the light, and prevent its varying with every breeze that blew.

Still, though the Romans had not advanced so far in art as to apply glass-chimneys and hollow circular wicks to their lamps, they had experienced the inconvenience of going home at night through a city ill-paved, ill-watched, and ill-lighted, and, accordingly, soon invented lanterns to meet the want. These we learn from Martial, who has several epigrams upon this subject, were made of horn or bladder;--no mention, we believe, occurs, of glass being thus employed. The rich were preceded by a slave bearing their lantern. This, Cicero mentions, as being the habit of Catiline upon his midnight expeditions; and when M. Antony was accused of a disgraceful intrigue, his lantern-bearer was tortured, to extort a confession whither he had conducted his master. One of these machines, of considerable ingenuity and beauty of workmanship, was found in Herculaneum in 1760, and another, almost exactly the same, at Pompeii, a few years after.

One of the most elegant articles of furniture in ancient use was the candelabrum, by which we mean those tall and slender stands which served to support a lamp, but were independent of and unconnected with it. These, in their original and simple form, were probably mere reeds, or straight sticks, fixed upon a foot by peasants, to raise their light to a convenient height; at least, such a theory of their origin is agreeable to what we are told of the rustic manners of the early Romans, and it is in some degree countenanced by the fashion in which many of the ancient candelabra are made. Sometimes the stem is represented as throwing out buds; sometimes it is a stick, the side branches of which have been roughly lopped, leaving projections where they grew; sometimes it is in the likeness of a reed or cane, the stalk being divided into joints. Most of those which have been found in the buried cities are of bronze; some few of iron. In their general plan and appearance there is a great resemblance, though the details of the ornaments admit of infinite variety. All stand on three feet, usually griffins', or lions' claws, which support a light shaft, plain or fluted according to the fancy of the maker. The whole supports either a plinth large enough for a lamp to stand on, or a socket to receive a wax-candle, which the Romans used sometimes instead of oil in lighting their rooms. Some of them have a sliding shaft, like that of a music-stand, by which the light might be raised or lowered at pleasure.

Val. Max. vi. 8.

THE WONDERS OF THE LANE.

Strong climber of the mountain's side, Though thou the vale disdain, Yet walk with me where hawthorns hide The wonders of the lane. High o'er the rushy springs of Don The stormy gloom is rolled; The moorland hath not yet put on His purple, green, and gold. But here the titling spreads his wing, Where dewy daisies gleam; And here the sunflower of the spring Burns bright in morning's beam. To mountain winds the famish'd fox Complains that Sol is slow, O'er headlong steeps and gushing rocks His royal robe to throw. But here the lizard seeks the sun Here coils, in light, the snake; And here the fire-tuft hath begun Its beauteous nest to make. Oh! then, while hums the earliest bee Where verdure fires the plain, Walk thou with me, and stoop to see The glories of the lane! For, oh! I love these banks of rock, This roof of sky and tree, These tufts, where sleeps the gloaming clock, And wakes the earliest bee! As spirits from eternal day Look down on earth, secure, Look here, and wonder, and survey A world in miniature: A world not scorned by Him who made E'en weakness by his might; But solemn in his depth of shade, And splendid in his light. Light!--not alone on clouds afar, O'er storm-loved mountains spread, Or widely teaching sun and star, Thy glorious thoughts are read; Oh, no I thou art a wondrous book To sky, and sea, and land-- A page on which the angels look-- Which insects understand! And here, O light! minutely fair, Divinely plain and clear, Like splinters of a crystal hair, Thy bright small hand is here! Yon drop-fed lake, six inches wide Is Huron, girt with wood; This driplet feeds Missouri's tide-- And that Niagara's flood. What tidings from the Andes brings Yon line of liquid light, That down from heaven in madness flings The blind foam of its might? Do I not hear his thunder roll-- The roar that ne'er is still? 'Tis mute as death!--but in my soul It roars, and ever will. What forests tall of tiniest moss Clothe every little stone!-- What pigmy oaks their foliage toss O'er pigmy valleys lone! With shade o'er shade, from ledge to ledge, Ambitious of the sky, They feather o'er the steepest edge Of mountains mushroom-high. Oh, God of marvels! who can tell What myriad living things On these gray stones unseen may dwell! What nations, with their kings! I feel no shock, I hear no groan, While fate, perchance, o'erwhelms Empires on this subverted stone-- A hundred ruined realms! Lo! in that dot, some mite, like me, Impelled by woe or whim, May crawl, some atom's cliffs to see-- A tiny world to him! Lo! while he pauses, and admires The works of nature's might, Spurned by my foot, his world expires, And all to him is night! Oh, God of terrors! what are we?-- Poor insects sparked with thought! Thy whisper, Lord, a word from thee, Could smite us into naught! But should'st thou wreck our father-land, And mix it with the deep, Safe in the hollow of thy hand Thy little one will sleep.

The hedge-sparrow.

The dandelion.

The golden-crested wren.

RETROSPECTIVE GLEANINGS.

POVERTY.

Owen Feltham says--"The poverty of a poor man is the least part of his misery. In all the storms of fortune, he is the first that must stand the shock of extremity. Poor men are perpetual sentinels, watching in the depth of night against the incessant assaults of want; while the rich lie strowd in secure reposes, and compassed with a large abundance. If the land be ruffetted with a bloodless famine, are not the poor the first that sacrifice their lives to hunger? If war thunders in the trembling country's lap, are not the poor those that are exposed to the enemy's sword and outrage? If the plague, like a loaded sponge, flies, sprinkling poison through a populous kingdom, the poor are the fruit that are shaken from the burdened tree; while the rich, furnished with the helps of fortune, have means to wind out themselves, and turn these sad indurances on the poor, that cannot avoid them. Like salt-marshes, that lie low, they are sure, whenever the sea of this world rages, to be first under, and embarrened with a fretting care. Who like the poor are harrowed with oppression, ever subject to the imperious taxes, and the gripes of mightiness? Continual care checks the spirit; continual labour checks the body; and continual insultation both. He is like one rolled in a vessel full of pikes--which way soever he turns, he something finds that pricks him. Yet, besides all these, there is another transcendent misery--and this is, that maketh men contemptible. As if the poor man were but fortune's dwarf, made lower than the rest of men, to be laughed at. The philosopher , in his squalid rags, could not find admission, when better robes procured both an open door and reverence. Though outward things can add nothing to our essential worth, yet, when we are judged on, by the help of others' outward senses, they much conduce to our value or disesteem. A diamond set in brass would be taken for a crystal, though it be not so; whereas a crystal set in gold will by many be thought a diamond. A poor man wise shall be thought a fool, though he have nothing to condemn him but his being poor. Poverty is a gulf, wherein all good parts are swallowed;--it is a reproach, which clouds the lustre of the purest virtue. Certainly, extreme poverty is worse than abundance. We may be good in plenty, if we will; in biting penury we cannot, though we would. In one, the danger is casual; in the other, it is necessitating. The best is that which partakes of both, and consists of neither. He that hath too little wants feathers to fly withal; he that hath too much, is but cumbered with too large a tail. If a flood of wealth could profit us, it would be good to swim in such a sea; but it can neither lengthen our lives, nor inrich us after the end. There is not in the world such another object of pity as the pinched state; which no man being secured from, I wonder at the tyrant's braves and contempt. Questionless, I will rather with charity help him that is miserable, as I may be, than despise him that is poor, as I would not be. They have flinty and steeled hearts that can add calamities to him that is already but one entire mass."

W.G.C.

ACCOUNT OF THE IRISH MANTLE.

P.T.W.

DOMESTIC HINTS.

CONSUMPTION OF FISH.

This inconsiderable consumption of fish will be a matter of surprise, when we see that the supply of fish in the seas round Britain is most abundant, or rather quite inexhaustible. "The coasts of Great Britain," says Sir John Boroughs, "doe yield such a continued harvest of gain and benefit to all those that with diligence doe labour in the same, that no time or season of the yeare passeth away without some apparent meanes of profitable employment, especially to such as apply themselves to fishing; which, from the beginning of the year unto the latter end, continueth upon some part or other of our coastes; and there in such infinite shoals and multitudes of fishes are offered to the takers as may justly cause admiration, not only to strangers, but to those that daily are employed amongst them."--"That this harvest," says Mr. Barrow, "ripe for gathering at all seasons of the year,--without the labour of tillage--without expense of seed or manure--without the payment of rent or taxes--is inexhaustible, the extraordinary fecundity of the most valuable kinds of fish would alone afford abundant proof. To enumerate the thousands, and even millions of eggs which are impregnated in the herring, the cod, the ling, and, indeed, in almost the whole of the esculent fish, would give but an inadequate idea of the prodigious multitudes in which they flock to our shores. The shoals themselves must be seen, in order to convey to the mind any just notice of their aggregate mass." Mr. Macculloch, however, observes, that "notwithstanding this immense abundance of fish, and notwithstanding the bounties that have been given by the legislature to the individuals engaged in the fishery, it has not been profitable to those by whom it has been carried on, nor has it made that progress which might have been expected."

NANKEEN.

Nankeen, or Nanking, takes its name from Nanking in China, where the reddish-yellow thread of which the stuff is made was originally spun. In England, we erroneously apply the term Nankeen to one colour; though, in the East Indies, vast quantities of white, pink, and yellow nankeens are made.

WHITE PEPPER.

From the Singapore Chronicle we learn, that the average annual quantity of pepper obtained from different countries is 46,066,666 lbs, avoirdupois.

Share on: WhatsApp @Hash Facebook Tweet