Kitobni o'qish: «The Mirror of Literature, Amusement, and Instruction. Volume 13, No. 376, June 20, 1829»

EXETER 'CHANGE, STRAND

Who has not heard of Exeter 'Change? celebrated all over England for its menagerie and merchandize—wild beasts and cutlery—kangaroos and fleecy hosiery—elephants and minikin pins—a strange assemblage of nature and art—and savage and polished life.

At page 69 of the present volume we have given a brief sketch of the "Ancient Site of the Exeter 'Change," &c.; showing how the magnificent house of Burleigh, where Queen Elizabeth deigned to visit her favourite treasurer—at length became a receptable for uncourtly beasts, birds, and reptiles, whilst the lower part became a little nation of shopkeepers, among whom shine conspicuous the parsimony and good fortune of Mr. Clarke, the cutler, who amassed here a princely fortune. But the march of improvement having condemned the whole of the building, "Exeter 'Change is removed to Charing Cross." Mr. Cross's occupation's gone, and the wild beasts have progressed nearer the Court by removing to the King's Mews.

Surely such a place is worthy of preservation in a graphic sketch for THE MIRROR. Perhaps its wonders were once the goal of our wishes—to receive a long bill from the jolly yeoman at the door, to see the living wonders of the upper story, and be treated with a pocket knife or whistle-whip from the counters of the lower apartments, have probably at one period or other been grand treats. Yes, gentle reader, and two doors east of this world of wonders appeared the early numbers of the present Miscellany.

Among the improvement projects, we hear that a building for the meetings of public societies is to occupy the above site.

RECENT BALLOON ASCENT

(To the Editor of the Mirror.)

June 10, 1829.

Sir,—With your permission, I will attempt to describe the magnificent scene I witnessed on my ascent with Mr. G. Green, in his balloon, on Wednesday, June 10th, 1829; but I really want the power of language to depict its grandeur; for no poetic taste, or pencil of man, can unfold the splendid scene we enjoyed while traversing the ethereal regions.

Having implicit confidence in the skill of Mr. Green I ascended with him from the Jamaica, Tea-gardens, Rotherhithe, amidst the acclamations of the multitude, whose forms and voices soon passed away; the busy hum of men (with us) ceased in a few seconds, and a solemn stillness reigned over the metropolis. The serenity of the evening threw a degree of solemnity over the scene, which had the effect of enchantment. We never lost sight of the earth, for our voyage was perfectly cloudless. The fields and buildings were all in miniature proportions, though most exquisitely depicted; and as Greenwich Hospital, the Tower of London, St. Paul's, &c. apparently receded from our view, the country succeeded, resembling one continued garden. The fields of wheat, &c. were beautifully defined, and the clearness of the atmosphere threw a sort of varnish (if I may use the term) over the whole face of nature. We had the Thames in view the whole of the time, which appeared like a rivulet of silver; but below Kingston Bridge, about half an hour after our ascent, the setting sun gilded its surface with magnificent effect. The boats appeared like little pieces of cork. The Penitentiary, at Millbank, had the resemblance of a twelfth cake cut into quarters; St. Paul's and the Tower of London could be distinctly seen, the light falling happily upon their proportions. Old and New London Bridges, were like two feeble efforts of the works of man; and here we saw the triumph of nature over art, and the littleness of the great works of man. At one time, on nearing Battersea Bridge, we observed a small, black streak ascending from the surface of the Thames, which we concluded to be the smoke from a Richmond steam packet. At that time the course of the balloon was south-east, although the smoke above alluded to was driven towards the west. The air being so serene we felt no motion in the car, and we could only know we were quietly moving, from seeing the grappling irons (which hung from the car) pass over the earth rapidly from field to field; whilst the scene seemed to recede from our view like a moving panorama. At our greatest altitude a solemn stillness prevailed, and I cannot describe its awful grandeur and my excitement. We then let loose a pigeon, and having a favourable country below, we prepared to descend, and Mr. Green hailed some men with the cry of "we are coming down." I saw them run (though very small,) and we fell in a field of wheat, near Kingston, with scarcely any rebound; in fact a child might have alighted with safety.

Thus, Mr. Editor, ended this short and rapid, but splendid voyage. On our alighting, Mr. Green wrote on a piece of paper our safe arrival, which he tied to the neck of a pigeon, and sent him off.

Our greatest altitude did not exceed one mile and a quarter, in consequence, as Mr. Green informed me, of the density of the atmosphere, which would, at a greater elevation, have dimmed the splendour of the scene beneath us.

P.T.W

[We thank our ingenious Correspondent for the previous description of his recent aerial voyage, as we are fully aware of the difficulty of describing such a magnificent scene as he must have witnessed in his ascent. During the whole voyage, he experienced nothing but sensations of delight; the atmosphere being only disturbed by very light wind, just sufficient to waft the aeronauts without any laborious management, and the time—evening—being beautifully serene. We thought ourselves richly rewarded by the view of the Colosseum Panorama, but what must have been their sensations at a distance of 6,600 feet high, when with the huge machine they appeared little more than a speck. The varnish, or glare, which our Correspondent describes, was that charming effect which we are wont to admire here, on earth, in evening scenes, especially when they are lit up by the splendour of the setting sun; but which must be doubly enchanting when viewed from so great an altitude. He likewise tells us that the landscape appeared to recede like a moving panorama, whilst the balloon seemed to be stationary; so that the scenic attempt at Covent Garden Theatre, a few years since, to illustrate a balloon ascent, by moving scenery, was in accordance with the real effect, though, we think, the theatrical attempt was not so appreciated at the time it was made. In conclusion, we congratulate our friend upon his splendid recreation, for such his ascent must have been.]

PITY.—A FRAGMENT

(For the Mirror.)

 
What is pity?
'Tis virtue's essence,—'tis benevolence
Itself;—'tis mercy, justice, charity;
It is the rarest boon that man doth give to man;
It is the first perfection of our nature;
It is the brightest attribute of heav'n:
Without it man should rank beneath the brute;
And with it—he is little lower than angel.
The generous mite of penury is pity;
Nay, ev'n a look.—
Not so the heartless pittance of the affluent,
That is hypocrisy. If you pity,
Your heart is liberal to forgive,
Your memory to forget—
Your purse is open, and your hands are free
To help the penniless.
 

CYMBELINE

THE PENDRILS

(To the Editor of the Mirror.)

Sir,—From a note which I have just seen at the foot of the interesting account of the escape of Charles the Second, in vol. v. of the MIRROR, the reader is led to conclude, that the pension granted to Richard Pendril, expired at his death. No such thing. Old Dr. Pendril lived, practised, and died at Alfriston, a little town in the east of Sussex, some forty or fifty years since. His son, John Pendril, died at Eastbourn, four or five years ago. His son, Mr. John Pendril, kept a public house at Lewes, a few years since, to which he added the appropriate sign of the "Royal Oak." All these in succession enjoyed the pension of – marks, granted by Charles the Second, together with something of a sporting character called "free warren." The last Mr. John Pendril was lately living at or near Brighton.

W.W

EATING "MUTTON COLD."

(For the Mirror.)

Be good enough to insert the solution of Hen. B.'s difficulty in your last MIRROR, which I send at foot, and thereby oblige a constant

SUBSCRIBER AND FRIEND

The solution, or attempt at solution, of Hen. B.'s difficulty as to what Goldsmith means in his poem "Retaliation" when he concludes his ironical eulogium on Edmund Burke, thus:—

 
"In short 'twas his fate, unemployed, or in place, sir,
To eat mutton cold, and cut blocks with a razor."
 

By being "unemployed" it is presumed that he was not engaged in the ordinary avocations of life, or in other words was not engaged in those legitimate avocations which have for their object the procuring the means of subsistence for the masticator; but if it is meant to have a name of extensive meaning, the solution is unanswerable.

Assuming the former to be Goldsmith's meaning, the answer to be given to the solution might be that eating mutton cold, is eating cold mutton in its cold state, cooked or uncooked; but if the more general meaning is insisted upon, I cannot see how the masticator is unemployed, as his jaws which form a most material part of himself—are set in full motion by the operation of eating—hence full employment is given them—and as much to the "he" who is the owner of such jaws.