Читать книгу: «The Mirror of Literature, Amusement, and Instruction. Volume 14, No. 379, July 4, 1829», страница 5
Retrospective Gleanings
JOHN LOCKE
Lord King has just done the state of literature some service, by the publication of the Life of John Locke: with Extracts from his Journals, &c. In this task his lordship has drawn largely on some valuable papers of Locke, preserved by their having gone into the possession of Sir Peter King, the ancestor of Lord King, his near relation and sole executor. Among these treasures are Locke's correspondence, a journal of his travels in France and Holland, his common-place book, and many miscellaneous papers; all of which have been preserved in the same scrutoire in which they had been deposited by their author, and which was probably removed to Oakham, (Lord King's seat,) in 1710. From the latter portion of Lord King's valuable work, we select a few notes, illustrative of Manners and Customs in
ENGLAND, 1679
The sports of England, which, perhaps, a curious stranger would be glad to see, are horse-racing, hawking, and hunting; bowling,—at Marebone and Putney he may see several persons of quality bowling, two or three times a week all the summer; wrestling, in Lincoln's Inne Field every evening all the summer; bear and bull-baiting, and sometimes prizes, at the Bear-Garden; shooting in the long-bow and stob-ball, in Tothil Fields; cudgel-playing, in several places in the country; and hurling, in Cornwall. London.—See the East India House, and their magazines; the Custom House; the Thames, by water, from London Bridge to Deptford; and the King's Yard at Deptford; the sawing-windmill; Tradescant's garden and closet; Sir James Morland's closet and water-works; the iron mills at Wandsworth, four miles above London, upon the Thames; or rather those in Sussex; Paradise by Hatton Garden; the glass-house at the Savoy, and at Vauxhall. Eat fish in Fish Street, especially lobsters, Colchester oysters, and a fresh cod's head. The veal and beef are excellent good in London; the mutton better in several counties in England. A venison pasty and a chine of beef are good every where; and so are crammed capons and fat chickens. Railes and heathpolts, ruffs, and reeves, are excellent meat wherever they can be met with. Puddings of several sorts, and creams of several fashions, both excellent; but they are seldom to be found, at least in their perfection, at common eating-houses. Mango and saio are two sorts of sauces brought from the East Indies. Bermuda oranges and potatoes, both exceeding good in their kind. Chedder and Cheshire cheese. Men excellent in their arts. Mr. Cox, in Long Acre, for all sorts of dioptical glasses. Mr. Opheel, near the Savoy, for all sorts of machines. Mr. –, for a new invention he has, and teaches to copy all sorts of pictures, plans, or to take prospects of places. The King's gunsmith, at the Yard by Whitehall. Mr. Not, in the Pall Mall, for binding of books. The Fire-eater. At an iron-monger's, near the May-pole, in the Strand, is to be found a great variety of iron instruments, and utensils of all kinds. At Bristol see the Hot-well; St. George's Cave, where the Bristol diamonds are found; Ratcliff Church; and at Kingwood, the coal-pits. Taste there Milford oysters, marrow-puddings, cock-ale, metheglin, white and red-muggets, elvers, sherry, sack (which, with sugar, is called Bristol milk,) and some other wines, which, perhaps you will not drink so good at London. At Gloucester observe the whispering place in the cathedral. At Oxford see all the colleges, and their libraries; the schools and public library, and the physic-garden. Buy there knives and gloves, especially white kid-skin; and the cuts of all the colleges graved by Loggins. If you go into the North, see the Peak in Derbyshire, described by Hobbes, in a Latin poem, called "Mirabilia Pecci." Home-made drinks of England are beer and ale, strong and small; those of most note, that are to be sold, are Lambeth ale, Margaret ale, and Derby ale; Herefordshire cider, perry, mede. There are also several sorts of compounded ales, as cock-ale, wormwood-ale, lemon-ale, scurvygrass-ale, college-ale, &c. These are to be had at Hercules Pillars, near the Temple; at the Trumpet, and other houses in Sheer Lane, Bell Alley, and, as I remember, at the English Tavern, near Charing Cross. Foreign drinks to be found in England are all sorts of Spanish, Greek, Italian, Rhenish, and other wines, which are to be got up and down at several taverns. Coffé, thé, and chocolate, at coffeehouses. Mum at the mum houses and other places; and molly, a drink of Barbadoes, by chance at some Barbadoes merchants'. Punch, a compounded drink, on board some West India ships; and Turkish sherbet amongst the merchants. Manufactures of cloth that will keep out rain; flanel, knives, locks and keys; scabbards for swords; several things wrought in steel, as little boxes, heads for canes, boots, riding-whips, Rippon spurs, saddles, &c. At Nottingham dwells a man who makes fans, hatbands, necklaces, and other things of glass, drawn out into very small threads."
SPIRIT OF THE PUBLIC JOURNALS
NEW MAGAZINE
Mr. Sharpe, the proprietor of the "Anniversary," has just published the first number of "The Three Chapters," which is one of the most splendid Magazines ever produced in this or any other country. It has a charming print by H. Rolls, from Wilkie's Hymn of the Calabrian Shepherds to the Virgin, which alone is worth the price charged for the number. Southey, A. Cunningham, L.E.L. and Hook, shine in the poetry and romance, one of the "Three Chapters," from which we have just room to give the following:—
EPITAPH IN BUTLEIGH CHURCH
BY ROBERT SOUTHEY
Divided far by death were they, whose names,
In honour here united, as in birth,
This monumental verse records. They drew
In Dorset's healthy vales their natal breath,
And from these shores beheld the ocean first,
Whereon, in early youth, with one accord
They chose their way of fortune; to that course
By Hood and Bridport's bright example drawn,
Their kinsmen, children of this place, and sons
Of one, who in his faithful ministry
Inculcated, within these hallowed walls,
The truths, in mercy to mankind revealed.
Worthy were these three brethren each to add
New honours to the already honour'd name;
But Arthur, in the morning of his day,
Perished amid the Caribbean sea,
When the Pomona, by a hurricane
Whirl'd, riven and overwhelmed, with all her crew
Into the deep went down. A longer date
To Alexander was assign'd, for hope
For fair ambition, and for fond regret,
Alas, how short! for duty, for desert,
Sufficing; and, while Time preserves the roll
Of Britain's naval feats, for good report.
A boy, with Cook he rounded the great globe;
A youth, in many a celebrated fight
With Rodney had his part; and having reach'd
Life's middle stage, engaging ship to ship,
When the French Hercules, a gallant foe,
Struck to the British Mars his three-striped flag,
He fell, in the moment of his victory.
Here his remains in sure and certain hope
Are laid, until the hour when earth and sea
Shall render up their dead. One brother yet
Survived, with Keppel and with Rodney train'd
In battles, with the Lord of Nile approved,
Ere in command he worthily upheld
Old England's high prerogative. In the east,
The west, the Baltic, and the midland seas,
Yea, wheresoever hostile fleets have plough'd
The ensanguined deep, his thunders have been heard,
His flag in brave defiance hath been seen,
And bravest enemies at Sir Samuel's name
Felt fatal presage in their inmost heart,
Of unavertable defeat foredoom'd.
Thus in the path of glory he rode on,
Victorious alway, adding praise to praise;
Till full of honours, not of years, beneath
The venom of the infected clime he sunk,
On Coromandel's coast, completing there
His service, only when his life was spent.
To the three brethren, Alexander's son
(Sole scion he in whom their line survived,)
With English feeling, and the deeper sense
Of filial duty, consecrates this tomb.
LOVE
A BALLAD, BY THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD
O, Love's a bitter thing to bide,
The lad that drees it's to be pitied;
It blinds to a' the warld beside,
And makes a body dilde and ditied;
It lies sae sair at my breast bane,
My heart is melting saft an' safter;
To dee outright I wad be fain,
Wer't no for fear what may be after.
I dinna ken what course to steer,
I'm sae to dool an' daftness driven,
For are so lovely, sweet, and dear,
Sure never breath'd the breeze o' heaven;
O there's a soul beams in her ee,
Ae blink o't maks are's spirit gladder,
And ay the mair she geeks at me,
It pits me aye in love the madder.
Love winna heal, it winna thole,
You canna shun't even when you fear it;
An' O, this sickness o' the soul,
'Tis past the power of man to bear it!
And yet to mak o' her a wife,
I couldna square it wi' my duty,
I'd like to see her a' her life
Remain a virgin in her beauty;
As pure as bonny as she's now,
The walks of human life adorning;
As blithe as bird upon the bough,
As sweet as breeze of summer morning.
Love paints the earth, it paints the sky,
An' tints each lovely hue of Nature,
And makes to the enchanted eye
An angel of a mortal creature.
Blackwood's Magazine.
