ENGLAND IN 827, 1827, 2827
(For the Mirror.)One thousand years have now elapsed since Egbert laid the foundation of England's glory, by uniting the kingdoms of the heptarchy. What was England then? what is it now? what will it be in 2827?
In 827, how confined her empire, how narrow her limits, how few her resources; the lord and his vassals the only classes of society. In 1827, she may exclaim with the Spanish Philip, "The sun never sets upon my dominions." How difficult to mention the bounds of her empire, or to calculate the vastness of her resources! and still more difficult task to enumerate the gradations of society which modern refinement has produced. Where will this extended sway, this power, these resources, and these refinements be in 2827?
"Oh! for the glance of prophet's eye,
To scan thy depths, futurity."
Judging by the fate of nations, they will have passed away like a morning cloud. Look at the fame of Nineveh levelled in the dust. Search for the site of Babylon, with its walls and gates, its hanging gardens and terraces! Contemplate the ghost of the enlightened Athens, stalking through the ruins of her Parthenon, her Athenaeum, or Acropolis. Examine the shadow of power which now remains to the mighty Rome, the empress of the world. Even so will it be with England; ere ten centuries have rolled away, her sun-like splendour will illume a western world. Our stately palaces and venerable cathedrals, our public edifices and manufactories, our paintings and sculpture, will be fruitful subjects of conjecture and controversy to the then learned. And a fragment of a pillar from St. Paul's, or a mutilated statue from Westminster, will be as valuable to them as a column from the Temple of Belus, or a broken cornice from the Temple of Theseus, is now to us!
D.A.H.THE ROBIN
(For the Mirror.)Hark to the robinwhistling clear
The requiem of the dying year
Amidst the garden bower.
He quits his native forest shade,
Ere ruin stern hath there display'd
Its desolating power.
He singsbut not the song of love
No,that is for the quick'ning grove
The brightly budding tree.
And tho' we listen and rejoice;
In melody that sweet-ton'd voice
Implores our charity.
The birds of passage take their flight
To other landsof warmth and light
Where orient breezes blow.
While here the little red-breast stays,
And sweetly warbles out his lays,
Amidst the chilling snow.
When the keen North congeals the stream
That sparkled in the summer-beam
Chinkchinkthe Robin comes.
His near approach proclaims a dearth
Of food upon the ice-bound earth;
He whistles for our crumbs.
But, like the child of want, he hails
Too oft where avarice prevails
Devoid of charity;
Where hearts 'neath rich-clad bosoms glow,
Yet never feel the inspiring throe
Of tender sympathy.
Tho' pleas'd with wildly-warbled song,
The minstrel's life will they prolong
With food and shelter warm?
No,see, to shun the cruel snare,
Again he wings the frozen air,
And dies amidst the storm.
How sweeter far it were to see
The bird familiar, fond, and free,
With confidence intrude;
To see him to the table come,
And hear him sing o'er ev'ry crumb
A song of gratitude.
BUYING AND SELLING THE DEVIL
(For the Mirror.3)"Every thing may be had for money," is an old remark, and perhaps no less true.
There have been also proverbial sayings of buying and selling the devil; but that such a traffic was actually ever negociated will appear incredible. Blount's "Law Dictionary," under Conventio, gives an instance of a sale; it is extracted from the court rolls of the manor of Hatfield, near the isle of Axholme, county of York, where a curious gentleman searched for it and found it regularly entered. There then followeth an English translation for the benefit of those who do not understand the original language.
"Curia tenta apud Hatfield die Mercurii Prov post Festum. Anno II Edw. III."
Robert de Roderham appeared against John de Ithon, for that he had not kept the agreement made between them, and therefore complains, that on a certain day and year, at Thorne, there was an agreement between the aforesaid Robert and John, whereby the said John sold to the said Robert the devil, bound in a certain bond, for threepence farthing; and thereupon the said Robert delivered to the said John one farthing as earnest-money, by which the property of the said devil rested in the person of the said Robert, to have livery of the said devil on the fourth day next following, at which day the said Robert came to the aforementioned John, and asked livery of the said devil, according to the agreement between them made. But the said John refused to deliver the said devil, nor has he yet done it, &c. to the grievous damage of the said Robert to the amount of sixty shillings; and he has therefore brought his suit, &c.
The said John came, &c., and did not deny the said agreement; and because it appeared to the court that such a suit ought not to subsist among Christians, the aforesaid parties are therefore adjourned to the infernal regions, there to hear their judgment; and both parties were amerced, &c.by William de Scargell Snesclal.
The above is an exact translation of the original Latin; and if this is inserted in your entertaining work, I will make inquiries respecting the proceedings.
W.H.H.PREVENTION OF EFFLUVIUM
(To the Editor of the Mirror.)Sir,The choruret of lime is recommended for preventing bad smells from water-closets, &c. Can any of your correspondents oblige me and the public by communicating the least expensive method of preparing it ready for use, and also to state the proper quantity to be used?
C.C.C.C.NANCY LEWIS,
(A CASTLE BAYNARD LYRIC.)(For the Mirror.)My peace is fledI cannot rest,
The tale I tell most true is;
My heart's been stolen from my breast,
By lovely Nancy Lewis.
Fair is the blossom of the thorn,
And bright the morning dew is;
But sweeter than the dewy morn
The smiles of Nancy Lewis.
The eye that's sparkling black I love,
Ay, more than that which blue is;
And thine are like two stars above,
And sloe blackNancy Lewis.
Alas! alas! their power I feel;
My bosom pierced right through is:
In pity, then, my bosom heal,
My charming Nancy Lewis.
Oh! bless me with thy heaven of charms,
And take a heart that true is,
While circling life my bosom warms
In thine dear Nancy Lewis.
THE NOVELIST No. CXII
A MOUNTAIN STORY
In one of the most picturesque parts of the western Highlands of Scotland stands an inn, which is much frequented by travellers. This inn itself adds considerably to the beauty of the landscape. It was formerly a manor-house; and the sedate grandeur of its appearance is in such good keeping with the scenes in its neighbourhood, and so little in accordance with its present appropriation, that travellers more commonly stop at the gate to inquire the way to the inn, than drive up at once through the green field which is spread before its windows, and its fine flight of stone steps. Very few dwellings are to be seen from it; and those few are mere cottages, chiefly inhabited by the fishermen of the loch. One of these cottages is my dwelling. It stands so near to the inn, that I can observe all that goes forward there; but it is so over-shadowed and hidden by trees, that I doubt not the greater proportion of the visiters to the inn are quite unaware that such a cottage is in existence; and of the thousand sketches which artists and amateurs have carried away with them, perhaps not one bears any trace of the lowly chimneys, or the humble porch of my dwelling.