Read Ebook: The Mirror of Literature Amusement and Instruction. Volume 19 No. 554 June 30 1832 by Various

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The annexed cut represents the mausoleum of the Marquess of Cornwallis, whose distinguished connexion with the success of British arms in India will be recollected by the reader. It stands at Ghazepoor, a large town or city, in the province of Benares, on the river Ganges, about 450 miles from Calcutta. His lordship died on the river in the year 1805, while proceeding to make the requisite arrangements for some ceded prisoners. He was, at the time, governor-general of India, having been appointed to succeed the Marquess Wellesley, in 1804. The last act of his life accords with his general activity and vigilance, for he always gave his instructions in person, and attended to the performance of them. His personal character was amiable and unassuming, and if his talents were not brilliant, his sound sense, aided by his laudable ambition and perseverance, effected much good.

Bishop Heber, in his interesting Journey through India, objects to the architectural taste of the monument in these critical observations:

"During our drive this evening I had a nearer view of Lord Cornwallis's monument, which certainly does not improve on close inspection; it has been evidently a very costly building; its materials are excellent, being some of the finest free-stone I ever saw, and it is an imitation of the celebrated Sibyl's temple, of large proportions, solid masonry, and raised above the ground on a lofty and striking basement. But its pillars, instead of beautiful Corinthian well-fluted, are of the meanest Doric. They are quite too slender for their height, and for the heavy entablature and cornice which rest on them. The dome instead of springing from nearly the same level with the roof of the surrounding portico, is raised ten feet higher on a most ugly and unmeaning attic story, and the windows are the most extraordinary embrasures that I ever saw, out of a fortress. Above all, the building is utterly unmeaning, it is neither a temple nor a tomb, neither has altar, statue, nor inscription. It is, in fact, a 'folly' of the same sort, but far more ambitious and costly, than that which is built at Barrackpoor, and it is vexatious to think that a very handsome church might have been built, and a handsome marble monument to Lord Cornwallis placed in its interior, for little more money than has been employed on a thing, which, if any foreigner saw it, would afford subject for mockery to all who read his travels, at the expense of Anglo-Indian ideas of architecture. Ugly as it is, however, by itself, it may yet be made a good use of, by making it serve the purpose of a detached 'torre campanile' to the new church which is required for the station; to this last it would save the necessity of a steeple or cupola, and would much lessen the expense of the building."

THE NATURALIST.

When we cannot find a satisfactory solution for any puzzling occurrence which we are desirous of investigating, perhaps the best way is to endeavour to accumulate a series of facts of the same kind. Some years ago, I was riding from Edinburgh: it was on the 12th of November, and in the evening. There had been, since past midday, a succession of those stormy clouds, driven by a westerly wind, which are common at that season. Perhaps the wind was a point or two to the north of west, if it makes any difference, and during the intervals there was always a comparative calm or slackening of the wind. I was once taken by one of these storm-clouds about Nether Libberton, on the Dalkeith road. I used the spur a little; and, having been a yeoman for many years, I was unconsciously holding a small rattan cane somewhat after the mode of "carry swords." Roused by the velocity of the wind, and the darkness of the passing cloud, I naturally turned my eyes to the right, and was not a little surprised to observe a pale clear flame, in form like that of a small candle, playing upon the point of the cane. Taking it for granted, forthwith, that a stream of electricity, attracted by the cane, was passing from the cloud through my body, and through the horse, into the ground, I instantly turned it downwards. At the time I did not wait to consider that I was in the hollow of the valley between one of the highest of the Pentlands and Arthur's Seat, and that there were higher objects than myself, and scattered trees in the neighbourhood far more likely to act upon the cloud, or be exposed to its influence. A short time after this happened, I mentioned the circumstance of the flame to a friend. He told me, in return, that once, when riding between Hawick and Jedburgh, during a dark and stormy night, he was greatly annoyed, for most part of the way, by two flames, like candles, that appeared to issue from his horse's ears. He certainly is as little likely to be affected by superstition as most men; but never before having heard of such a circumstance, and the idea of electricity not then occurring to his mind, he could not help thinking that Will o' the wisp and he, hoping it was nothing worse, had got into rather too close intimacy.

Another Correspondent says this luminous "phenomenon may be often seen on a gravel walk upon a moist autumnal evening. It arises from something of a slimy nature emitted by the Scolop?ndra el?ctrica , which is luminous. As the animal crawls, it leaves a long train of phosphoric light behind it on the ground, which is often mistaken for the presence of a glow-worm. In all probability, one of these animals had recently crawled over the head of the horse, or rather, might be still crawling there, and the person who saw it unconsciously watched its progress."

The char is found in several of the deep and rocky lakes of England: viz. Coniston in Lancashire, Windermere in Westmoreland, Buttermere and Cromackwater in Cumberland, and, I believe, in Ulswater. My observations are confined to Windermere. Windermere is fed by two streams, which unite at the head of the lake, named the Brathy and the Rothay: the bottom of the former is rocky, and that of the latter sandy. On the first sharp weather that occurs in November, the char makes up the Brathy, in large shoals, for the purpose of spawning, preferring that river to the Rothay, probably owing to the bottom being rocky, and resembling more the bottom of the lake; and it is singular that those fish which ascend the Rothay invariably return and spawn in the Brathy; they remain in this stream, and in the shallow parts of the lake, until the end of March. While spawning, their colour and spots are much darker than when in season; the mouth and fins being of a deep yellow colour; and they are covered with a thick slime at this time. In the water before Brathy Hall, at Clappersgate, hundreds may be seen rubbing and rooting at the bottom, endeavouring to free themselves from the slime, and probably insects that annoy them. Great quantities are caught during the spawning time, by the netters, for potting, and some are sent up fresh for the London market; but those only who have eaten char in summer, on the spot, when they are in season, can tell how superior they are to those eaten in London in the winter. About the beginning of April, when the warm weather comes in, they retire into the deep parts of the lake; where their principal food is the minnow , of which they are very fond. At this time, they are angled for by spinning a minnow; but, in a general way, the sport is indifferent, and the persevering angler is well rewarded if he succeed in killing two brace a day. A more successful mode of taking them is by fastening a long and heavily leaded line, and hook baited with a minnow, to the stern of a boat, which is slowly and silently rowed along: in this way they are taken during the early summer months; but when the hot weather comes in, they are seldom seen. They feed, probably, at night; and although they never leave the lake, except during the period of spawning, nothing is more uncommon than taking a char in July and August. When in season, they are strong and vigorous fish, and afford the angler excellent sport. They differ little in size, three fish generally weighing about 2lbs.: occasionally, one is caught larger, but they seldom vary more than an ounce. The char, as it is well known, is a singularly beautiful fish, and is accurately described by Pennant. The fishermen about the lakes speak of two sorts, the case char and the gilt char; the latter being a fish that has not spawned in the preceding season, and on that account said to be of a more delicate flavour, but in other respects there is no difference.

DUTCH RUSHES.

WOLF-DOG.

DUCKS.

"While our voiturier," says Mr. Bakewell, "was resting his horses at Villeneuve, I observed a singular instance of sagacity in some ducks that were collected under the carriage. On our throwing out pieces of hard biscuit, which were too large for them to swallow whole, they made many efforts to break them with their beaks; failing in this, the younger ones gave up the spoil, but some of the older ducks carried parts of the biscuit to a pool of standing water, and held them to soak, till sufficiently soft to be broken and swallowed with great facility. I must leave it to metaphysicians to determine whether this process was the result of induction or instinct."

POISON OF TOADS.

"The opinions of the vulgar are generally founded upon something. That the toad spits poison has been treated as ridiculous; but though it may be untrue that what the creature spits affects man, yet I am of opinion that it does spit venom. A circumstance related to me by a friend of mine, has tended to strengthen my opinion. He was a timber merchant, and had a favourite cat who was accustomed to stand by him while he was removing the timber; when, a mouse was found concealed among it, the cat used to kill it. One day the gentleman was at his usual employment, and the cat standing by him, when she jumped on what he supposed to be a mouse, and immediately uttered aloud cry of agony; she then stole away into a corner of the yard, and died in a few minutes. It turned out that she had jumped on a toad."

SCRIPTURAL ANTIQUITIES.

"Jove's wondrous bow of three celestial dies, Plac'd, as a sign to man, amidst the skies."

We have marked many more extracts than we can insert, and find that we must content ourselves, and we hope the author, with again directing attention to his very interesting production.

NOTES OF A READER.

PICTURE OF VENICE.

An hour before sunset, I arrived at Fusina, and beheld, four or five miles out at sea, the towers and cupolas of Venice suffused with a rich golden light, and rising out of the bright blue waters. Not an exclamation escaped me. I felt like a man, who has achieved a great object. I was full of calm exultation, but the strange incident of the morning made me serious and pensive.

As our gondolas glided over the great Lagune, the excitement of the spectacle reanimated me. The buildings, that I had so fondly studied in books and pictures, rose up before me. I knew them all; I required no Cicerone. One by one, I caught the hooded Cupolas of St. Mark, the tall Campanile red in the sun, the Moresco Palace of the Doges, the deadly Bridge of Sighs, and the dark structure to which it leads. Here my gondola quitted the Lagune, and, turning up a small canal, and passing under a bridge which connected the quays, stopped at the steps of a palace.

I ascended a staircase of marble, I passed through a gallery crowded with statues, I was ushered into spacious apartments, the floors of which were marble, and the hangings satin. The ceilings were painted by Tintoretto and his scholars, and were full of Turkish trophies and triumphs over the Ottomite. The furniture was of the same rich material as the hangings, and the gilding, although of two hundred years' duration, as bright and burnished, as the costly equipment of a modern palace. From my balcony of blinds, I looked upon the great Lagune. It was one of those glorious sunsets which render Venice, in spite of her degradation, still famous. The sky and sea vied in the brilliant multiplicity of their blended tints. The tall shadows of her Palladian churches flung themselves over the glowing and transparent wave out of which they sprang. The quays were crowded with joyous groups, and the black gondolas flitted, like sea serpents, over the red and rippling waters.

I hastened to the Place of St. Mark. It was crowded and illuminated. Three gorgeous flags waved on the mighty staffs, which are opposite the church in all the old drawings, and which once bore the standards of Candia and Cyprus, and the Morea. The coffee-houses were full, and gay parties, seated on chairs in the open air, listened to the music of military bands, while they refreshed themselves with confectionary so rich and fanciful, that it excites the admiration, and the wonder of all travellers, but which I have since discovered in Turkey to be Oriental. The variety of costume was also great. The dress of the lower orders in Venice is still unchanged: many of the middle classes yet wear the cap and cloak. The Hungarian and the German military, and the bearded Jew, with his black velvet cap and flowing robes, are observed with curiosity. A few days also before my arrival, the Austrian squadron had carried into Venice a Turkish ship and two Greek vessels which had violated the neutrality. Their crews now mingled with the crowd. I beheld, for the first time, the haughty and turbaned Ottoman, sitting cross-legged on his carpet under a colonnade, sipping his coffee and smoking a long chiboque, and the Greeks, with their small red caps, their high foreheads, and arched eyebrows.

Can this be modern Venice, I thought? Can this be the silent, and gloomy, and decaying city, over whose dishonourable misery I have so often wept? Could it ever have been more enchanting? Are not these indeed still subjects of a Doge, and still the bridegroom of the ocean? Alas! the brilliant scene was as unusual as unexpected, and was accounted for by its being the feast day of a favourite saint. Nevertheless, I rejoiced at the unaccustomed appearance of the city at my entrance, and still I recall with pleasure the delusive moments, when strolling about the place of St. Mark the first evening that I was in Venice, I for a moment mingled in a scene that reminded me of her lost light-heartedness, and of that unrivalled gaiety that so long captivated polished Europe.

SWISS LEGEND OF WILLIAM TELL.

GREAT PLAGUE IN THE FOURTEENTH CENTURY.

WATERING PLACES IN THE FIFTEENTH CENTURY.

THE GATHERER.

"O, lady gay, in glittering garments drest, Enrich'd with pearl, and many a costly stone, Thy slender throat, and soft and snowy breast Circled with gold and sapphires many a one. Thy fingers small, white as the ivory bone, Arrayed with rings, and many a ruby red; Soon shall thy fresh and rose-like bloom be gone, And naught of thee remain, but grim and hollow head. O, woeful pride! dark root of all distress! With contrite heart, our fleshless scalps behold! O wretched man, to God, meek prayers address. Thy lusty strength, thy wit, thy daring bold, All shall lie low with us in charnel cold: Proud king, 'tis thus thy pamper'd corpse shall rot; Thus, in the dust thy purple pomp be roll'd, Mark then, in peeled skull, thy miserable lot."

EARL GREY.

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