Kitabı oku: «The Mirror of Literature, Amusement, and Instruction. Volume 14, No. 398, November 14, 1829», sayfa 2

CATS

(To the Editor of the Mirror.)

Having read an interesting account of the "Veneration of Cats in ancient days," in a recent number of your entertaining and useful publication, I am induced to send you the following respecting the part they formed in the religious worship of the middle ages:—

In Mills's "History of the Crusades", we meet with the following:—"At Aix in Provence, on the festival of Corpus Christi, the finest tom cat of the country, wrapped in swaddling clothes like a child, was exhibited in a magnificent shrine to public admiration. Every knee was bent, every hand strewed flowers or poured incense, and grimalkin was treated in all respects as the god of the day. But on the festival of St. John, poor tom's fate was reversed. A number of the tabby tribe were put into a wicker basket, and thrown alive into the midst of an immense fire kindled in the public square by the bishop and his clergy. Hymns and anthems were sung, and processions were made by the priests and people in honour of the sacrifice."

It is well known that cats formed a conspicuous part in the old religion of the Egyptians, who under the form of a cat, symbolized the moon or Isis, and placed it upon their Systrum, an instrument of religious worship and divination.

Cats are supposed to have been first brought to England by some merchants from the Island of Cyprus, who came hither for fur.

The prices and value of cats and kittens, mentioned by your correspondent, P.T.W. were fixed by that excellent prince, Hoel dda, or Howel the Good. Vide Leges Wallicae, p. 427 and 428.

[Greek: S.G.]

TO MISS MITFORD,

On reading her "Lines to a Friend, who spent some days at a country inn, in order to be near the writer."

IN NO. 386, OF THE MIRROR

(For the Mirror.)

 
"My noble friend! was this a place for thee? No fitting place"
"No fitting place" to meet thy "noble friend,"
Where "heart with heart" and "mind with mind" might blend?
"No fitting place?" now, lady, dost thou wrong
The magic might that appertains to song,
And humbly I refute thee—though it seem
Uncourtly bold; for at Castalian stream
I never drank; but oft my spirit bows
Before that altar where thy genius glows:
And who can fail to worship who have seen
Foscari's frenzy in thy tragic scene?
Beheld Rienzi light the latent fire
Of swelling liberty in son and sire;
Or left the seven-hilled city's Roman pride—
With Caesar's pump, and Tiber's classic tide;
And wander'd with thy muse to homely bowers,
Of verdant foliage wreathed with varied flowers.
But pardon, lady, scarcely need I tell,
That song delights in Nature's haunts to dwell;
Eschews the regal robe and stately throne,
To walk, enraptured, in a world its own.
O'er sylvan scenes the muse her radiance flings;
And hallows wheresoe'er she rests her wings.
And thou, all joyous in her blessed smile,
(Soft as the moonbeam on a monkish pile,)
Art gifted with the godlike power to give
A speechless charm to meanest things that live;
And lifeless nature where thy voice is heard,
Like midnight music of the summer bird,
Receives new lustre. E'en the "taper's" light,
Which in the lowly inn illumed the night,
The "wood-fire" warm, and "casement swinging free,"
Were stamp'd with teeming interest by thee.
What higher bliss than listening by thy side
Within that cot thy genius sanctified?
Though on thy "noble friend" the diamond shone,
Thy words were richer than the precious stone;
Though on that head there bent the rarest plume,
Thy looks could well a loftier air assume;
Though theirs the pride of coronet and crest,
Thyself wert clad in Inspiration's vest:
And all these baubles, beauteous in the sight,
Might veil their lustre in thy glorious light.
 
 
Then, lady, call it not a "selfish strain,"
Thy supplicating wish to "come again."
Deem not the "village inn" "no fitting place"
To greet congenial feeling face to face;
To learn that genius no distinction knows.
But doats upon the meanest flower that blows;
Where e'en thy friends might drop their title's claim,
Forgetting honoured race and ancient name;
Where round your souls the flowers of song might twine,
Lost in the rapture of the bard's design.
 

* * H

RETROSPECTIVE GLEANINGS

TOUCHING FOR THE CURE OF THE KING'S EVIL

(For the Mirror.)

The author of a treatise on this subject, tells the following anecdote, which may in some degree account for the numbers registered at Whitehall, (who were touched) which were from the year 1660 to 1664 inclusive, a period of five years, 23,601; and from May 1667 to May 1684, 68,506; viz. an old man who was witness in a cause, had by his residence fixed the time of a fact, by Queen Anne having been at Oxford, and touched him while a child, for the cure of the evil. When he had finished his evidence, the relater had an opportunity of asking him whether he was really cured. Upon which he answered with a significant smile, "that he believed himself never to have had a complaint, that deserved to be considered as the evil, but that his parents were poor, and had no objection to the bit of gold."

When King Charles II. touched at Whitehall, he usually sat in a chair of state, and put about each of their necks a white ribbon, with an angel of gold on it. Query.—Was not this the original golden or angelic ointment?

Edward the Confessor is generally mentioned as the first possessor of this art; although the historians of France are disposed to maintain, that it was originally inherent in their kings.

Dr. Johnson's mother is said to have been instigated by the advice of a celebrated physician, Sir John Floyer, to bring her son to London for the purpose of receiving the remedy, and it is recorded that he was touched by Queen Anne.

P.T.W.

ADMINISTRATION OF JUSTICE AMONG THE EGYPTIANS

(For the Mirror.)

The Egyptians were exceedingly exact about the administration of justice, believing that the support or dissolution of society altogether depended upon that. Their highest tribunal was composed of thirty judges. They placed at the head of this tribunal the person who at once possessed the greatest share of wisdom, knowledge, and love of the laws, and public esteem. The king furnished the judges with every thing necessary for their support, so that the people had justice rendered them without expense. No advocates were allowed in this tribunal. The parties were not even allowed to plead their own causes. All trials were carried on in writing, and the parties themselves drew up their own cases. Those who had settled this manner of proceeding well knew that the eloquence of advocates very often darkened the truth, and misled the judge. They were unwilling to expose the ministers of justice to the deceitful charms of pathetic, affecting orations. The Egyptians avoided this by making each party draw up the statement of his own case in writing, and they allowed a competent time for that purpose.⁸ But to prevent the protracting of suits too long, each party was only allowed one reply. When all the evidence necessary for their information was given to the judges, they began their consultation. When the affair was thoroughly canvassed, the president gave the signal for proceeding to a sentence, by taking in his hand a little image adorned with precious stones, which hung to a chain of gold about his neck. This image had no eyes, and was the symbol with which the Egyptians used to represent Truth. Judgment being given, the president touched the party who had gained the cause with this image. This was the form of pronouncing sentence. According to an ancient law, the kings of Egypt administered an oath to the judges at their installation, that if the king should command them to give an unjust sentence, they would not obey him.

THE TOPOGRAPHER

CLIFTON HOT WELLS

(For the Mirror.)

 
Glide, Avon, gently glide....
More prodigal in beauty than the dreams
Of fantasy,… beneath the chain
Of mingled wood and precipice, that seems
To buttress up the wave, whose silvery gleams
Stretch far beyond, where Severn leads the train.
 

Gilpin says, and says truly, that "the west is the region of fine landscape;" it also follows as a natural consequence that it predominates in the number of its artists. The beautiful vignette of Clifton in a recent number of the MIRROR,⁹ has recalled a multitude of interesting recollections to my mind. I have passed a good deal of time there at several periods, and as the writer of the description accompanying the vignette has been led into an error or two, perhaps a few desultory notes by way of pendant to his paper, may not be entirely devoid of interest to the reader.

The old Tower on the Downs no longer exists. A Tower designed for an observatory has been erected near its former site, which is fitted up with several large telescopes, and a camera obscura, to which the public are admitted. This Tower which is seen in the engraving, stands, as stated, on an extensive Roman camp, or fortification. It would have been difficult to have selected a more appropriate situation for such a building; for the combination of picturesque and sublime scenery, united with the beauties of art, is no where more enthrilling to the mind than at Clifton.

Clifton Hot Wells has long been celebrated as a watering-place. Smollett, in his "Humphry Clinker," has given a very interesting picture of its society in the middle of the last century. Clifton is now, however, considerably neglected. Omnipotent fashion has migrated to Cheltenham, though no comparison can be made with Clifton on any other score. The natives of the Emerald Isle, indeed, since the introduction of steam navigation, come in crowds to the Hot Wells. Though the "music of the waters" cannot be heard there, yet you may in a few hours be transported to scenes where Ocean revels in his wildest grandeur. Few places are more favourably situated for the tourist. There is a regular communication by steam with the romantic and interesting coasts of North Devon and South Wales; while the sylvan Wye, Piercefield, Ragland, and above all, Tintern, are within the compass of a day's excursion. Clifton can boast of much architectural magnificence: its buildings rising from the base to the summit of a crescent-shaped eminence remind me, in a distant view, of an ancient Greek city; while the tiers of crescents have a singularly fine effect, and seem to fill a sort of gap in the landscape.

The rise of the tide in the Avon, in common with most of the ports on the Bristol Channel, is a very extraordinary phenomenon. The whole strength of the mighty Atlantic seems to rush up the Channel with impetuous force. At Rownham Ferry, five miles inland, near the entrance to Cumberland-Basin, the spring-tides frequently rise thirty-seven feet. The tide rises at Chepstow, farther up the Severn, more than sixty feet, and a mark on the rocks below the bridge there, denotes that it has risen to the height of seventy feet, which is perhaps the greatest altitude of the tides in the world.

The views on the Downs, above the Hot Wells, are infinitely varied and delightful, and glimpses constantly occur of the Avon

 
"Winding like cragged Peneus, through his foliaged vale,"
 

while "ocean fragrance" is wafted around. The scenery on the Avon is said strikingly to resemble the vale of Tempe in Greece. The student of nature may there enjoy "communion sweet," with all that his heart holds dear as life's blood. How often have I wandered through that valley of cliffs by the light of the "cold, pale moon," watching their dark and gigantic masses and silvery foliage, thrown into bold outline on the sky above, with not an echo, save the solitary cry of the bittern; and perhaps only aroused by an impetuous steamer, like some unearthly thing, rushing rapidly past me. Parties of musicians sometimes place themselves amongst the rocks at night when the effect is extremely fine. Perhaps autumn is the fittest season for enjoying these scenes. At that season the many coloured liveries of the foliage, the lonely woodland wilderness and rocky paths, and the mists which in the earlier part of the day linger on the tops of the cliffs and woods, when partially dispersed by the suns rays, give a character of vastness and sublimity to the scenery which it would be difficult to describe. I would particularly point out on these occasions the view from the hill near the new church at Clifton, towards Long Ashton, and Dundry Tower.

I visited the latter place during the last summer. It was a glorious sunset in July, when after climbing a long and mazy turret-stair, we stood at the summit of Dundry Tower. A magnificent landscape of vast extent, stretching around on every point of the compass, burst almost simultaneously on the sight, embracing views of the Bristol Channel, the mountains of South Wales and Monmouthshire, the Severn, Gloucestershire and the Malvern Hills, Bath, the Vale of White Horse in Berkshire, and the Mendip Range; while at the foot of the rich champagne valley below you, which gradually descends for about five miles, lies the city of Bristol with its numerous fine churches; and a splendid view of Clifton completed the scene. This may be said to be a succession of truly English landscapes.