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THE MIRROR OF LITERATURE, AMUSEMENT, AND INSTRUCTION.
VOL. 12, No. 322.] SATURDAY, JULY 12, 1828. [PRICE 2d.
* * * * *
CLARENCE TERRACE, REGENT'S PARK.
[Illustration: CLARENCE TERRACE, REGENT'S PARK.]
CLARENCE TERRACE,
REGENT'S PARK.
O mortal man, who livest here,
Do not complain of this thy hard estate.
_Thomson's Castle of Indolence._
The annexed continuation of our illustrated ramble in the Regent's Park
is named _Clarence Terrace_, in compliment to the illustrious Lord High
Admiral of England. It consists of a centre and two wings, of the
Corinthian order, connected by colonnades of the Ilyssus Ionic order,
and altogether presents a picturesque display of Grecian architecture.
The three stories are a rusticated entrance, or basement; and a
Corinthian drawing-room and chamber story; surmounted with an elegant
entablature and balustrade. In the details, the spectator cannot fail to
admire the boldness and richness of the columns supporting the pediment
in the centre, and the classic beauty of the pilasters which decorate
the wings.
_Clarence Terrace_ is from the designs of Mr. Decimus Burton, to whose
ingenious pencil we are indebted for some of the splendid architectural
combinations in this district. The present terrace is, we believe, the
smallest in the park, but yields to none in picturesque effect and
harmonious design; and the variety of its composition renders it one of
the most attractive illustrations of our series. It is likewise worthy
of remark, that this portion of the Regent's Park, from its natural
beauties, is entitled to the first-rate embellishment of art, inasmuch
as the basement of Clarence Terrace commands a "living picture" of
extraordinary luxuriance; and from the drawing-room windows the lake may
be seen studded with little islands, and environed with lawny slopes and
unusual park-like vegetation:
With Nature the creating pencil vies
With Nature joyous at the mimic strife.
We have already indulged our fancy in anticipations of the future
splendour of the Regent's Park. As yet, art triumphs, and here the
lordlings of wealth may enjoy _otium cum dignitate_: but in a few years
Nature may enable this domain to vie with Daphne of old, and become to
London what Daphne was to Antioch, whose voluptuousness and luxury are
perpetuated in history. But the beginnings of such triumphs furnish more
pleasing reflections than their decline.
Clarence Terrace is on the western side of the park, and adjoins Sussex
Place, whose cupola tops were the signals for critical censure and
ridicule among the first structures in this quarter. The artists have,
however, profited by the lesson, and the architecture of the Regent's
Park bids fair to rank among the proudest successes of art.
* * * * *
ORIGIN OF PARISHES.
(_For the Mirror._)
How ancient the division of parishes is, may at present be difficult
to ascertain. Mr. Camden says, England was divided into parishes by
Archbishop Honorius, about the year 630. Sir Henry Hobart lays it down,
that parishes were first erected by the council of Lateran, which was
held A.D. 1179. Each widely differs from the other, and both of them
perhaps from the truth, which will probably be found in the medium,
between the two extremes. We find the distinction of parishes, nay, even
of mother churches, so early as in the laws of King Edgar, about the
year 970. The civil division of England into counties, of counties into
hundreds, of hundreds into tithings, or towns, as it now stands, seems
to owe its original to King Alfred; who, to prevent the rapines and
disorders which formerly prevailed in the realm, instituted tithings;
so called, from the Saxon, because ten freeholders with their families
composed one. These all dwelt together, and were sureties, or
free-pledges to the king for the good behaviour of each other; and if
any offence were committed in their district, they were bound to have
the offender forthcoming. And therefore, anciently, no man was suffered
to abide in England above forty days, unless he were enrolled in some
tithing or decennary. As ten families of freeholders made up a tithing,
so ten tithings composed a superior division, called a hundred. In some
of the more northern counties these hundreds are called wapentakes. The
sub-division of hundreds into tithings seems to be most peculiarly the
invention of Alfred; the institution of hundreds themselves he rather
introduced than invented, for they seem to have obtained in Denmark; and
we find that in France a regulation of this sort was made above 200
years before; set on foot by Clotharicus and Childebert, with a view of
obliging each district to answer for the robberies committed in its own
division. In some counties there is an intermediate division between the
shire and the hundred, as lathes in Kent, and rapes in Sussex, each of
them containing about three or four hundreds a-piece. Where a county is
divided into three of these intermediate jurisdictions, they are called
trithings, which still subsist in the large county of York, where, by an
easy corruption, they are denominated ridings; the north, the east, and
the west.
J.M. C----D.
* * * * *
STANZAS,
(BEING AN INTRODUCTION TO AN INTENDED VERSIFICATION OF ONE OF THE TALES
OF BOCCACCIO.)
(_For the Mirror._)
The young, fair Spring, is tripping o'er the Earth,
With feet that ne'er can know the lag of age;
The Earth, her lover, conscious of her worth,
Flings down all his rich treasures to engage
That blushing wanderer: but she journeys forth
Heedless of all his offerings. The hot rage
Of love shall scorch his heart in tortures fell,
Till Winter comes with many an icicle.
That loved-one yet is here; and flowers, and songs,
And streams--to gush above her own free feet
Of stainless ivory,--and countless throngs
Of birds are living, her pure soul to greet.
And the lone spirit, thoughtfully that longs
For a dim view of Eden, from a seat
O'erhanging some green valley, now espies
Nought that might dread compare with Paradise!
There is a glory gone forth from on high!--
It quickens the heart's beat, whereon it flings
Its fervour;--the flushed cheek and glowing eye
Confess its influence;--and the many strings,
Voiceless too long in the young heart, reply
To the mute promptings of a thousand things
Which Spring has conjured up;--all, all is hers--
That Glory without name--she ministers.
Now--all the thoughts she wakens in the heart
Are glorious Music!--divine Poesy!--
Now--all the dreams on Fancy's eyes that start,
She will disown not, wayward though they be.
Sweet Dreams!--down Lethe's billow they depart--
Words are too weak to clothe them worthily.
Rich incense, burnt upon some altar stone
Censerless,--in a temple--desert--lone!
What shall we do in these delightful days,
When the full, bounding heart, will not be still;--
When the glad eye, absorbed in far-sent gaze,
Forgets Earth's plenitude of grief and ill;--
Shall we dream on, in a bewitching maze
Of sweet affections and bold hopes, until
Earth is not Earth--but Heaven? or shall we die
Hourly, to some "dissolving minstrelsy?"
Sometimes, when day is dying--when twilight
Brings its dim Vigil,--hour of quietness,--
'Tis sweet to listen, till the cheated sight
Pictures strange shadowings of awfulness,--
Some wild, old tale of goblin's ghastly spite,
Or antique strain of passionate distress;--
And one, which has been wept o'er many a time
I seek, to mar, perchance, with feeble rhyme
_May, 1828._
THOMAS M----s.
* * * * *
EXECUTION AND LAST MOMENTS OF LORD WILLIAM RUSSEL.
(_For the Mirror._)
This distinguished patriot and martyr to the cause of liberty was the
third son of William, the first Duke of Bedford, by a daughter of the
Earl of Somerset. He refused the generous offer of Lord Cavendish to
favour his escape, by changing clothes with him in prison; and he also
declined the Duke of Monmouth's proposal to surrender himself, should
Lord William Russel think it might contribute to his safety. "It will be
no advantage to me," he said, "to have my friends die with me." Conjugal
affection was the feeling that clung to his heart; and when he had taken
his last farewell of his wife, he said, "The bitterness of death is now
over." He suffered the sentences of his judges with resignation and
composure. Some of his expressions (says his biographer) imply much
good-humour in this last extremity. The day before his execution, he was
seized with a bleeding at the nose. "I shall not now let blood to divert
this distemper," said he to Burnet, who was present; "that will be done
to-morrow." A little before the sheriffs conducted him to the scaffold,
he wound up his watch. "Now I have done," said he, "with time, and
henceforth must think solely of eternity." The sad tragedy of the death
of the virtuous Lord Russel, (says Pennant,) who lost his head in the
middle of Lincoln's-Inn-Fields, took place on July 21st, 1683. Party
writers assert that he was brought here in preference to any other spot,
in order to mortify the citizens with the sight. In fact, it was the
nearest open space to Newgate, the place of his lordship's confinement.
Without the least change of countenance, he laid his head on the block,
and at two strokes it was severed from his body. He was, at the time of
his death, only forty-two years of age. To his character for probity,
sincerity, and private worth, even the enemies to his public principles
bear testimony. At Woburn Abbey is preserved, in gold letters, the
speech of Lord Russel to the sheriffs, together with the paper delivered
by his lordship to them at the place of execution.
P.T.W.
* * * * *
INDEPENDENCE OF PORTUGAL.
(_For the Mirror._)
Portugal was first created into a monarchy on the 27th of July, 1139;
on which day, Dom Alphonso I., son of Henry, Count of Burgundy, the
son of Robert, king of France, was proclaimed at Lisbon, after having
vanquished and slain five Moorish kings in the battle of Campo
d'Ourique, where he was unanimously chosen as sovereign of Portugal by
his army. This dignity was confirmed to him by the first assembly of the
states-general at Lamego. In commemoration of this event, the Portuguese
arms bear five standards and five escudets.[1] After the unfortunate
expedition of Dom Sebastian I. to Africa, where he was slain in the
battle of Alcazar, the crown devolved upon his great uncle, the Cardinal
Dom Henry, a man of 67 years of age, and who reigned but 17 months.
At his death there were several claimants for the succession, and the
kingdom in consequence became the theatre of civil war. Philip II. of
Spain, the most powerful of these, sent an army, under the Duke of Alba,
into Portugal, and completed the conquest of the country with little
opposition. This event took place in the year 1580, and the kingdom of
Portugal remained under the dominion of Spain until the 1st of December,
1649, the day on which the Duke of Braganza was proclaimed king with the
title of Dom Joao IV. Since that time Portugal has maintained its
independence. For a more detailed account, see L'Abbé Nertot's
"Revolutions of Portugal."
[Footnote 1: See Succession Chronologica de los Reyes de Portugal.]
C.V., A CONSTANT READER.
* * * * *
RECENT EARTHQUAKE IN COLOMBIA.
(_Communicated by a Correspondent to Brande's Journal._)
On the 16th of November, 1827, at a quarter past six o'clock in the
evening, the inhabitants of Bogota, in Colombia, were thrown into the
greatest consternation and alarm by the severest shock of an earthquake
which has ever been known to visit that city.
At the moment of its occurrence, a subterraneous noise was very
distinctly heard, resembling the noise of a carriage passing briskly
over the pavement, and a white, thin, transparent cloud was seen to hang
over the city; this cloud has been noticed in Italy, as generally, if
not always, present, near the volcanic commotions of that country,
previously, and at the time of these commotions. This cloud is entirely
unlike any other which I have ever noticed, and resembles a thin gauze
veil. I noticed it not only upon this occasion, but also in the
earthquake of June 17th, 1826, in this city.[2]
[Footnote 2: If I may be allowed to offer a conjecture on the cause
of this singular white veil, or cloud, I can only attribute it to the
vapour of water which escapes from the earth from the heated mass below,
and which is condensed on rising into the cold air, and thus rendered
visible. Bogota, according to my measurement, which corresponds very
nearly with that of Baron Humboldt, is 9,600 feet above the level of the
sea, and is distant at least one hundred miles from any known volcano.]
The earthquake took a direction from S.E. to N.W., in which it could
plainly be traced by the havoc which it made. Its effects on the city
were partial in the above direction, but every part was convulsed.
The confusion and affliction which such a calamity occasions,
particularly in a catholic country, can neither be imagined, nor
described. I was sitting reading in a small house of one story above the
ground-floor, when the trembling commenced; the table on which my book
lay, first shook, and almost at the same instant the chair on which
I sat; I immediately got on my legs, but found much difficulty in
sustaining myself without holding by some fixture; the house all this
time rocking to and fro as in a hurricane, but not a breath of air
stirred. After passing ten or more seconds in this way, I collected my
reason sufficiently to run down the steps into the street; all this time
the earth was in motion. When I arrived at the portal of the door, I
found it impossible to stand without holding very tight by the doorway,
and many persons fell on their faces. During these moments, part of the
house adjoining mine fell with a terrible crash, and the street was
filled with a cloud of dust, out of which emerged a man distorted with
horror, but who had almost miraculously escaped immolation, without any
other hurt than what his fright had occasioned. After continuing a
_minute or more_, the trembling ceased, and nothing could now be heard
but the cries of the people; with that exception all was still and
silent, and the stars appeared with all their brilliancy, as if smiling
at this scene of human distress. Some persons asserted, that there were
two distinct shocks, but I must confess I felt the earth in motion
during the whole period of a minute or more; and being situated over the
direction which the earthquake took, was therefore, better able to judge
of this than others who were more distant, and particularly as I
retained my presence of mind. Fortunately for me my house was well
built, for had it fallen I should inevitably have been buried in the
ruins. To describe the scene which ensued is difficult; the streets were
filled with despair; some entirely and others half naked were seen on
their knees imploring divine protection; no one knew what to do or where
to fly, for all were in the same consternation and distress. After this
had a little subsided, the city became soon deserted, and a fresh scene
presented itself; all those who had horses were seen scampering through
the streets towards the plain, to elude the terror of another shock;
others on foot with their beds on their backs; and the sick, wrapped
up in blankets, were conveyed in arm-chairs, with two sticks passed
underneath them to form sedan-chairs, and some were conveyed in
hammocks. This afflicting sight, accompanied by the cries of the
distressed and the melancholy chant of their progress, was painful in
the extreme; and hard, indeed, must be that heart who could view it
with indifference; yet such was the apathy occasioned by terror, that
scarcely any one offered assistance to his neighbour, and frequently
neglected his own safety. When all was quiet I went out to examine the
city. The first thing which attracted my notice was the turret of the
stately cathedral partly demolished, and the building split and cracked
in various places; the precious stones, consisting of diamonds,
emeralds, and topazes, which adorned the interior, were scattered in all
directions, and many of them broken, particularly a very large emerald
weighing some ounces. This edifice had but just been repaired from the
effects of the earthquake in the preceding year, and was, by this last,
reduced to a tattered ruin. In all the streets which ran in the
direction of N.W. and S.E., many houses were "levelled with the dust,"
and others "rent in twain;" and some of the unfortunate inhabitants
buried beneath their ruins. In all, fourteen persons have lost their
lives; and the damage done to the city is estimated to be at least six
millions of dollars, although it did not contain a larger population
than 30,000 souls. Deserted streets, heaps of ruins, and tottering
houses, threatening to crush the beholder, give but a faint idea of this
desolate picture. General Soublette and General Bolivar were both
present at the last fatal earthquake in Caraccas, and they both assert
that this, of which I have now given a description, was at least as
powerful, although the suffering in the town of Caraccas was much
greater; and they attribute the happy escape of thousands of lives to
the difference in the construction of houses in the two places. General
Bolivar, as well as myself and others, were affected with sickness at
the stomach after the shock. During the night of the earthquake in
Bogota, on the 16th of November, 1827, tremulous motions of the earth
were continually felt, and the following day, and every other since; and
even whilst I am now writing, slight undulating motions are perceptible.
Every person is still in the greatest alarm, dreading a second severe
shock, which happened last year at the distance of four days from the
first grand shock; should this happen now, scarcely one stone will
remain upon another in Bogota.
* * * * *
THE DRAUGHTSMAN;[3] OR, HINTS ON LANDSCAPE PAINTING.
[Footnote 3: Vide MIRROR, vol. iv. pp 2, 22, 61, 102.]
OBSERVATIONS ON, AND RULES FOR, SKETCHING.
The following hints, tending to further the tyro's progress in the
delightful art of drawing, will not I trust prove unacceptable to such
of your readers as are interested in the subject. For my own use I
epitomized various directions relative to sketching, when I met with
them in Gilpin's "Three Essays on Picturesque Beauty," and I shall feel
particularly happy should my attempt at condensing much artistical
matter from that interesting volume prove useful to the _amateur_: the
_professor_ undergoes a regular, severe, but _essential_ course of study
in that beautiful art, which is to purchase for him fame and emolument;
but he who takes up his pencil merely for pastime, will do well to
regulate its movements by a few _rules_, not cumbrous to the memory, and
of easy application.--It is my intention briefly to state the object of
Gilpin's first and second essays; from the third I have deduced those
_rules for sketching_ which appeared most obviously to result from the
tenour of his observations:--
Essay 1st discusses the difference between _actual_ and _picturesque_
beauty; _smoothness_ is usually allowed to enter into our ideas of the
former, but _roughness_, or _ruggedness_ is decidedly _essential_ to the
latter: for example--The smooth shaven lawn, the neatly turned walk, the
classic marble portico, &c. &c. are _beautiful_; but the ruined castle,
the chasmed mountain, the tempestuous ocean, &c. are _picturesque_,
i.e. with appropriate accompaniments; for, after remarking that the
sublime and beautiful are, with many persons, the divisions of the
_picturesque_, our acute observer of nature adds, "sublimity alone
cannot make an object picturesque," it must in form, colour, or
accompaniment, have some degree of _beauty_ to render the epithet just.
"Nothing can be more _sublime_ than the ocean, but wholly unaccompanied
it has little of the picturesque." It should also be remembered that
objects of rough and careless contour, as the worn cart-horse, and the
tattered beggar (neither of them laying claim to an iota of _sublimity_)
please better in a painting, than the sleekest racer, and the most
finished belle of the _Magazin des Modes_.[4]
[Footnote 4: It is singular, but almost true to an axiom, that objects
capable of exciting disgust in their _reality_, confer delight in their
pictorial _representation_; the interior of some wretched hovel, a sty
and its inmates, and a boorish revel, will exemplify this. Our pleasure
in that case arises _perhaps_ not from the objects represented, but from
the _truth of the representation_. I know not that this paradox has ever
been solved, and therefore with diffidence offer, that we are rather
pleased with the _artist_ than his _subject_.]
Essay 2nd treats of travelling, as far as it regards the _picturesque_,
which is to be sought in natural, and sometimes artificial, objects;
these will constantly present themselves to the observer under all the
varieties of light and shadow, and the different combinations of colour,
form, and accompaniment, sometimes producing whole landscapes, but
more frequently only beautiful parts of scenery. The _curious_ and
_fantastic_ forms of nature are not subjects for the pencil,--and the
draughtsman will endeavour to depict _animate_ as well as inanimate
objects. The utility and amusement of travelling, are also considered
in this essay, and hints thrown out for the improvement of barren and
disagreeable country, by the observation of lights and shadows, tints
of the season, distances, &c., with a recommendation to supply, if
possible, every hiatus of nature, by the _imagination_ of all that is
needed to render her perfectly picturesque. (An ingenious idea; but,
alas! mountains will not always rise in a marsh, forests wave over a
sterile heath, nor lakes and rivers adorn a wheat-field. This essay,
however, is worthy the perusal of travellers even, who never touched
a pencil.)
Essay 3rd treats of sketching from nature from whence are deduced the
following
_Rules._
1. Every landscape should have a _leading subject_; a rule too much
neglected even by superior artists.
2. Get the object, or subject you design to copy, into the _best_ point
of view.
3. Landscape consists of three general parts:--fore-ground, middle or
second-ground, and distance; in sketching foreground, it is a good rule
to have some part of it higher than the rest of the picture. (_Vide_
Rule the 7th.)
4. Mark the principal parts, (or points) of your landscape on paper,
that you may more readily ascertain the relative distances and
situations of the others.
5. Pay attention to the _character_ of your subject; mingle not
_trivial_ with _grand_ details.
6. One landscape must not be crowded with circumstances sufficient for
two or more.
7. It is sufficient to give the principal feature of what you essay to
represent; as a castle, abbey, bridge, &c.; but its accompaniments may
(and to _make a picture_, should) be often different. The _fore-ground_
of a drawing _must_ be the artist's own; and it should be ample, since
an extended distance, and a narrow fore-ground is always awkward and bad
in a picture--N.B. Taste and observation will direct the student to
select for his fore-ground, clusters of trees, pieces of rock, or the
fragments of ruined fabrics, &c., according to the nature of his
subject.
8. On the accurate observation of _distances_ the beauty of landscape
depends; be careful therefore to get them correct at your outset, and
to keep them so, by shading lightly with pen or brush your black-lead
sketch, (should the parts be complicated,) whilst the view is before
you, or fresh in your memory.
9. The hand should be accustomed to the touch of various kinds of trees,
though in a mere _sketch_, little variety is required; the distinction,
however, between full foliaged, and straggling, branchy trees must be
preserved, for both are necessary even in a sketch, and the artist
should therefore be prepared to represent them.
10. The artist must attend to the composition, and the disposition of
his subject. By the _composition_ may be understood the objects with
which he composes his view; by the _disposition_, their picturesque and
tasteful arrangement.
11. Figures, must be such as are appropriate to the scene; thus, history
in miniature is bad, because a landscape is in itself a subject
sufficient for the employment both of pencil and eye; therefore
historical figures in a view, are lost and out of place.
12. Birds may be introduced with good effect, if thrown into proper
distance; to represent them _near_ is absurd: ruins and sea views are
the best subjects in which they can appear.
13. _Effect_ is to be produced best, by strong contrasts of _light_ and
_shade_ both in earth and sky; but the student's taste must determine
where these shall fall, and though the contrasts should be strong, yet
_gradation_, in both, must be observed.
14. A predominancy of _shade_ has the best effect; and light, though it
should not be scattered, must not be drawn, as it were, into one focus.
15. The light, in a picture, is best disposed when the fore-ground is
in shadow, and it falls in the middle; but this rule is subject to many
variations. Light should rarely be spread on the distance.[5]
[Footnote 5: Extraordinary and beautiful effects, however, are, by
superior painters, frequently produced by violating this latter rule.
The writer would particularly notice the results of light thrown into
the distance, in stormy sea-views.]
16. It is useful to know, that the shadows of morning are darker than
those of evening; also, that when objects are in _shadow_, their light
(as it is then a reflected light,) falls on the opposite side to that on
which it would come if they were enlightened.
17. The _harmony_ of the whole should be studied; if the piece strikes
you as defective in this respect, place it at evening in some situation
where it will not be reached by a strong light, when the misplaced
lights and shadows will strike you more forcibly than in the glare of
day.
18. To stain your paper with a slight reddish or yellowish tint, adds to
the harmony of a sketch, yet it is a mere matter of taste; but, when it
is desired, it had better be done after the drawing is completed,
otherwise the colour risks looking patched from the rubber.[6]
[Footnote 6: Coffee has been recommended for this purpose, but delicate
and pleasing washes or glazings may be produced from burnt sienna,
yellow ochre, burnt umbre, and lake, in various combinations, and laid
on extremely attenuated by water.]
19. In _colouring_, the _sky_ gives the _ruling tint_ to the landscape;
it is absurd to unite a noonday sky, with a landscape of sunset glow.
20. From the three virgin colours, red, blue, and yellow, all the tints
of nature are composed.[7] There is not in nature a perfect white,
except snow, and the petals of some flowers.
[Footnote 7: The artist, however, cannot produce _his_ tints from those
simple colours _entirely_, but the advice once given to the writer, by a
painter, was:--"Never fancy that _many_ colours will effect your object;
a _few_ well chosen will better succeed, and be more easily managed;
half-a-dozen would, for _me_, answer every purpose." The student is
warned against _gaudy colouring_, which, if allowable in _caricatures_
seen _elsewhere_, reminds one of pedlar's pictures.]
21. Sketch nothing but what you can _adorn_, (for the purpose of showing
to friends, &c.) but do not adorn your first, or _rough_ sketch; _make
another_, and refer to your _original_ draught, as you would do to the
view itself, for it contains your _general ideas_--your first and
freshest, which may be lost by endeavouring to refine and improve upon
them in the original sketch.[8]
[Footnote 8: The old masters are well known to have made carefully _many_
sketches of the subjects they designed for pictures, ere they dreamt of
painting compositions that were to last for ever.]
22. In adorning your sketch, figures, both animate and inanimate, may
be introduced, but _sparingly_; touch them slightly, for an attempt at
_finish_ offends.
I shall take the liberty of adding--endeavour to get a free and flowing
outline; be not too minute either in detail or finishing; use pen or
brush for your _rough_ sketch in preference to pencil; you will gain
confidence, and _correctness_ will be your aim in your _adorned_ copy.
Finally, study nature, art, and good writers.
M.L.B.
* * * * *
FINE ARTS.
(_To the Editor of the Mirror._)
Sir,--I have made repeated visits this season to the exhibition of the
works of the old masters at the _British Institution_, for the express
purpose of presenting you with _a few remarks_ on some of the most
excellent paintings. As I have strictly adhered to the notes which I
made at the institution, the accuracy of the subjoined may be depended
upon:--
BRITISH INSTITUTION.
The present exhibition consists of the works of the Italian, Spanish,
Flemish, and Dutch masters. There are one hundred and ninety pictures,
which have chiefly been contributed to the institution by his Majesty
and the nobility.
No. 5, _Innocent the Tenth_, by Velasquez, is an uncommon fine portrait;
it is very boldly executed, combining at the same time a sufficient
degree of finish and great beauty of colour. His holiness is represented
in quite a plain habit. The beauties of Guido's pencil will be traced in
No. 6, _Hippomenes and Atalanta_. Claude, in his _Embarkation of St.
Paul; Sea Port, Evening, &c._, charms us with his exquisite effects,
which are so truly natural, that, while we view his representations, we
may almost fancy ourselves transported to the magnificent scenery of
Italy. In No. 42, _Titian's Daughter_, are seen the genuine tints
adopted by the Venetian school of painting. No. 56, _St. Appolonia_,
by Sebastian del Piombo, is a most admirable specimen of the master.
No. 74, _Landscape and Cattle_, by Paul Potter, contains all that beauty
of touch and delicacy of colour which render this famous artist so
difficult to imitate. There are several very capital pictures by the
younger Teniers; No. 77, _his own portrait_, and No. 95, _portrait of
the painter and his son_, are truly excellent; as is No. 94, _Figures
playing at Bowls_. A remarkable and very forcible effect is found in No.
93, _The outside of a House with Figures_--painted by De Hooge. Nos.
121 and 123, _Flowers and Fruit_, by the celebrated Van Huysum, are
extremely elaborate in their execution. No. 161, _The Battle between
Constantine and Maxentius_, is a sketch by Rubens, possessing wonderful
fire and spirit, as well as great mellowness of colour.
Besides the above pictures, there are many beautiful productions by Jan
Steen, Cuyp, Poussin, Salvator Rosa, Guercino, Domenichino, Murillo,
Albano, Vandyke, Ruysdael, Houdekoeter, Wouvermans, &c.
G.W.N.
* * * * *
ANCIENT ROMAN FESTIVALS.
* * * * *
JULY.
The _Caprotinia_, or feasts of Juno Caprotina, were celebrated on
the 9th of July, in favour of the female slaves. During this solemnity
they ran about, beating themselves with their fists and with rods.
None but women assisted in the sacrifices offered at this feast. Kennet
says, the origin of this feast, or the famous _Nonae Caprotinae_, or
_Poplifugium_, is doubly related by Plutarch, according to the two
common opinions. First, because Romulus disappeared on that day, when
an assembly being held in the _Palus Capreae_, or _Goats'-Marsh_, on
a sudden happened a most wonderful tempest, accompanied with terrible
thunder, and other unusual disorders in the air. The common people fled
all away to secure themselves; but, after the tempest was over, could
never find their king. Or, else, from _Caprificus_, a wild fig-tree,
because, in the Gallic war, a Roman virgin, who was prisoner in the
enemy's camp, got up into a wild fig-tree, and holding out a lighted
torch toward the city, gave the Romans a signal to fall on; which they
did with such good success, as to obtain a considerable victory.
The _Lucaria_ was an ancient feast, solemnized in the woods, where
the Romans, defeated and pursued by the Gauls, retired and concealed
themselves; it was held, on the 19th of July, in a wood, between the
Tyber and the road called Via Salaria.
The feast of _Neptunalia_ was held on the 23rd of July, in honour of
Neptune.
The _Furinalia_ were feasts instituted in honour of _Furina_, the
goddess of robbers among the Romans; they took place on the 25th of
July. This goddess had a temple at Rome, and was served by a particular
priest, who was one of the fifteen Flamens.[9] Near the temple there was
a sacred wood, in which Caius Gracchus was killed. Cicero takes her to
be the same as one of the Furies.
[Footnote 9: Flamen, among the ancient Romans, was a priest or minister
of sacrifice.]
P.T.W.
* * * * *
NOTES OF A READER.
* * * * *
CAPTAIN POPANILLA'S VOYAGE.
Who has not read _Vivian Grey_, in five broad-margined volumes, with
space enough between each line to allow the indulgence of a nap, when
the poppy of the author predominated? Affectation, foppery, and conceit,
have protracted the memoirs of this renowned personage to such an
extent; but in spite of all that unfashionable critics have said, Vivian
Grey has just produced a volume under the title of the Voyage of
_Captain Popanilla_, with as much of the aforesaid qualities as the most
listless drawing-room or boudoir reader could require. Nevertheless,
"the voyage" has many touches of wit, humour, and caustic satire, and
it has the soul and characteristic of wit--_brevity_; for we read the
volume in little more than an hour; and, although Vivian may regard our
analysis of his voyage like showing the sun with a lantern, we are
disposed to venture upon the task for the gratification of our readers.
To say that Popanilla resembles Swift's "Tale of a Tub," or Sir Thomas
More's "Utopia," would be an advantageous comparison for our modern
_voyager_, but it would not sufficiently illustrate the character of
his work, since the latter books are so much less read than talked of.
Swift wrote "for the universal improvement of mankind," but Popanilla
publishes for the benefit of the people of England, whom he represents
as living in a too artificial state. He tells his story as the native
of an Indian isle, whose men combine "the vivacity of a faun with the
strength of a Hercules, and the beauty of an Adonis," and whose women
"magically sprung from the brilliant foam of that ocean, which is
gradually subsiding before them." This favoured spot he calls the _Isle
of Fantaisie_, about the shores of which appears a remarkable fish, or
rather a ship, to the no small terror of the islanders. The ship is
wrecked, and Popanilla "having in his fright, during the storm, lost a
lock of hair which, in a moment of glorious favour, he had ravished from
his fair mistress' brow," is next introduced in search of this precious
_bijou_. "The favourite of all the women, the envy of all the men, &c.
&c, and--you know the rest,--Popanilla passed an extremely pleasant
life. No one was a better judge of wine--no one had a better taste for
fruit--no one danced with more elegant vivacity--and no one whispered
compliments in a more meaning tone. What a pity that such an amiable
fellow should have got into such a scrape!"
Instead of the dear lock, Popanilla finds a chest saved from the wreck,
and filled with "Useful Knowledge Tracts," books on "the Hamiltonian
system," &c. which our adventurer, like Faustus and his bible, turns to
bad account; he falls asleep, is swallowed by a whale, and spouted forth
again. "The dreamer awoke amidst real chattering, and scuffling, and
clamour. A troop of green monkeys had been aroused by his unusual
occupation, and had taken the opportunity of his slumber to become
acquainted with some of the first principles of science. What progress
they had made it is difficult to ascertain. It is said, however, that
some monkeys have been since seen skipping about the island, with their
tails cut off; and that they have even succeeded in passing themselves
for human beings among those people who do not read novels, and are
consequently unacquainted with mankind. As for Popanilla, he took up a
treatise on hydrostatics, and read it straight through on the spot. For
the rest of the day he was hydrostatically mad; nor could the commonest
incident connected with the action or conveyance of water take place,
without his speculating on its cause and consequence." So much for the
first steps of "intellect;" now for the "march." Popanilla soon becomes
a man of science: his wit flies off in tangents, and he tries to prove
his sovereign a lantern, and himself a sun,[10] by undertaking to
re-shape all the institutions of Fantaisie. Then follow a string of
dogmas about utility, &c.; and man being a _developing animal_, till he
decides that "there is no such thing as Nature; Nature is Art, or Art is
Nature; that which is most useful is most natural, because utility is
the test of Nature; therefore, a steam-engine is in fact a much more
natural production than a mountain." Here, observing a smile upon his
majesty's countenance, Popanilla tells the king that he is only a chief
magistrate, and he has no more right to laugh at him than a constable.
This is "too bad" for the royal mind; Popanilla is cut; rather
crest-fallen, he sneaks home, and consoles himself for having nobody
to speak to, by reading some very amusing "Conversations on Political
Economy." But he sinks to rise again. He obtains many pupils, who had
no sooner mastered the first principles of science, than they began to
throw off their retired habits and uncommunicative manners. "Being not
utterly ignorant of some of the rudiments of knowledge, and consequently
having completed their education, it was now their duty, as members of
society, to instruct and not to study; and on all occasions they seized
opportunities of assisting the spread of knowledge. The voices of boys
lecturing upon every lecturable topic, resounded in every part of the
island. Their tones were so shrill, their manners so presuming, their
knowledge so crude, and their general demeanour so completely unamiable,
that it was impossible to hear them without the greatest, delight,
advantage, and admiration." The king at last becomes impregnated with
the liberal spirit of the age; Popanilla is "sent for" to court; he is
overpowered with promotion, told that "with the aid of a treatise or
two," he will make "a consummate naval commander," although he has
"never been at sea in the whole course of his life," and at length
thrust into a canoe, with some fresh water, bread, fruit, dried fish,
and a basket of alligator pears. "Unhappy Popanilla! and all from that
unlucky lock of hair!" His fright is ludicrously sketched. "Poor fellow!
how could he know better? He certainly had enjoyed a seat at the
Admiralty Board of Fantaisie, but then he was a lay-lord." Among his
discoveries, on the second day, at 25 m. past 3 p.m., though at a
considerable distance, he saw a mountain and an island: he called the
first Alligator Mountain, in gratitude to the pears; and christened the
second after his mistress; but the happy discoverer further found the
mountain to be a mist, and the island a sea-weed. At length, on the
third day, after being in a valley formed by two waves, each 3,000 feet
high, and in as tremendous a tempest as ever raged in Chelsea or
Battersea-reach, "great, square and solid, black clouds drew off like
curtains, and revealed to him a magnificent city rising out of the sea.
Tower and dome, arch, and column, and spire, and obelisk, and lofty
terraces, and many-windowed palaces, rose in all directions from a mass
of building, which appeared each instant to grow more huge, till at
length it seemed to occupy the whole horizon." On his landing he is
pestered with questions from the natives; but, thanks to the Hamiltonian
system, "Popanilla, under these circumstances, was more loquacious than
could have been Capt. Parry." He announces himself as the "most injured
of human beings;" the women weep, the men shake hands with him, and all
the boys huzza: he then narrates his ill-fortunes at Fantaisie, not
forgetting the never-enough-to-be-lamented lock of hair. Other danger
awaits him, for "to be strangled was not much better than to be starved;
and certainly with half a dozen highly respectable females clinging
round his neck, he was not reminded, for the first time in his life,
what a domestic bowstring is an affectionate woman." He is next joined
by an "influential personage," who informs him that he is in _Hubbabub_
(London)--the largest city, not only that exists, but that ever did
exist, and the capital of the Island of _Vraibleusia_, the most famous
island, not only that is known, but that ever was known. "He provides
himself with a purse, and exchanges his money with a banker, who offers
him during his stay in Vraibleusia, the use of a couple of equipages, a
villa, an opera box; insists upon sending to his hotel some pineapples
and very rare wine; and gives him a perpetual ticket to his
picture-gallery." Popanilla leaves his gold and takes the banker's pink
shells, for "no genteel person has ever anything else in his pocket."
Then follow some quips on the shell question (currency), and Mr.
Secretary Perriwinkle, the most eminent conchologist, and the "debt" of
the richest nation in the world; although, "a golden pyramid, with a
base as big as the whole earth and an apex touching the heavens, would
not supply sufficient metal to satisfy the creditors." "The annual
interest upon our debt exceeds the whole wealth of the rest of the
world; therefore we must be the richest nation in the world."
[Footnote 10: "What boots it thee to call thyself a sun."]
Our traveller being now settled at a splendid hotel in Hubbabub,
Skindeep, his "gentleman in black," drives him about the city in an
elegant equipage. The western migrations of fashion are humorously
sketched, and the architecture of our metropolis comes in for a share
of the author's banter. "In general, the massy Egyptian appropriately
graced the attic stories; while the finer and more elaborate
architecture of Corinth was placed on a level with the eye, so that its
beauties might be more easily discovered. Spacious colonnades were
flanked by porticoes, surmounted by domes; nor was the number of columns
at all limited, for you occasionally met with porticoes of two tiers,
the lower one of which consisted of three, the higher one of thirty
columns. Pedestals of the purest Ionic Gothic, were ingeniously mixed
with Palladian pediments; and the surging spire exquisitely harmonized
with the horizontal architecture of the ancients. But, perhaps, after
all, the most charming effect was produced by the pyramids, surmounted
by weathercocks."
A lively sketch of "the aboriginal inhabitant" introduces some smart
satire on the agriculturists, and proves that, "between force, and fear,
and flattery, the Vraibleusians paid for their corn nearly its weight in
gold; but what did it signify to a nation with so many pink shells."
Popanilla is next introduced to an eminent bookseller, who craves
the honour of publishing a narrative of his voyage: he informs the
"mercantile Mecaenas" that he does not know how to write; who replies
that "he never had for a moment supposed that so sublime a savage could
possess such a vulgar accomplishment, and that it was by no means
difficult for a man to publish his travels without writing a line." This
is a stale affair; but Popanilla's drinking a dozen of the bookseller's
wine smacks more of novelty. His voyage is published, and contains a
detailed account of every thing which took place during the whole of the
three days, forming a quarto volume! Then we have a shower of squibs on
_converzazioni_--as dukes imbibing a new theory of gas, a prime-minister
studying pinmaking, a bishop the escapements of watches, a field-marshal
intent on essence of hellebore. "But what most delighted Popanilla was
hearing a lecture from the most eminent lawyer and statesman in
Vraibleusia, on his first and favourite study of hydrostatics. His
associations quite overcame him; all Fantaisie rushed upon his memory,
and he was obliged to retire to a less frequented part of the room,
to relieve his too excited feelings." The hostess too declares it
"impossible for mankind ever to be happy and great, until, like
herself and her friends," her company are "all soul!"
Popanilla is now constituted ambassador from Fantaisie, and goes through
all the courtly scenes of diplomacy, for which we have not room; but
their gist will be readily understood among the stars of St. James's,
especially the authors allusions to Navarino and the late ministry,
which are in good set terms. The "Aboriginal," too, tells Popanilla
"some long stories about a person who was chief manager, about five
hundred years ago, to whom he said he was indebted for all his political
principles."
During Popanilla's sight-seeing career, he, of course, visits our
theatres, and a tolerably broad caricature he gives of them. "To sit in
a huge room hotter than a glass-house, in a posture emulating the most
sanctified Faquir, with a throbbing head-ache, a breaking back, and
twisted legs, with a heavy tube held over one eye, and the other
covered with the unemployed hand, is, in Vraibleusia, called a public
amusement." In one morning's lionizing, too, he acquires "a general
knowledge of the chief arts and sciences, eats three hundred sandwiches,
and tastes as many bottles of sherry."
The frauds and fooleries of the joint stock company mania are, perhaps,
among the least successful portion of the volume. The "literature" is
somewhat better, as the establishment of a "Society for the Diffusion of
Fashionable Knowledge"--its first treatise, Nonchalance--dissertations
"on leaving cards," "cutting friends," "on bores," &c.--and a new novel
called "Burlington"--the last a scratch at Popanilla's publisher. The
"Clubs" are next recommended for those fond of solitude, and their satin
luxuries humorously quizzed; but "the Colonial System," which follows,
has more causticity. Popanilla, like all other great foreigners who
visit England, falls ill; his disorder is "unquestionably nervous;" he
is to count five between each word he utters, never ask questions, and
avoid society, and only dine out once a day. This regimen brings on a
slow fever; but his disorder is neither "liver," nor "nervous," but
"mind." He next falls in with an Essay on Fruit, from which he learns
that thousands of the Vraibleusians are dying with dyspepsia from eating
pine-apples, which are denounced as "stupid, sour, and vulgar."