Kitabı oku: «The Mirror of Literature, Amusement, and Instruction. Volume 17, No. 490, May 21, 1831», sayfa 3
THE EQUESTRIAN STATUE OF PETER THE GREAT
(To the Editor.)
This stands upon a rock, which was found in a morass near Lachta, in Karelin, at a distance of eleven versts, or about 41,250 English feet. The dimensions of this stone were found to be 21 feet by 42 in length, and 34 in breadth; its weight is calculated at 3,200,000 lbs. or 1,600 tons. The mechanism for its conveyance was invented by Count Carbury, who went by the name of Chevalier Lascuri. A solid road was first made from the stone to the shore; then brass slips were inserted under the stone to go upon cannon balls of five inches diameter, in metal grooves, by windlasses worked by 400 men every day, 200 fathoms towards the place of destination. The water transport was performed by what are called camels in the dockyards of Petersburgh and Amsterdam.
E.A.B
SONNET TO HOPE
(For The Mirror.)
As some lone pilgrim through Night's dreary scene,
With cautious steps scarce venturing on his way,
Views the chaste orb of Evening's soft-eyed Queen
Gild the blue east, and scare those mists away
Which from his sight each faithful light obscur'd,
And led him wildering, sinking pale with fear!
Not he more bless'd by Cynthia's light allur'd,
Onward his course with happier thoughts doth steer,
Than I, O Hope! blest cheerer of the soul!
Who, long in Sorrow's darkening clouds involv'd,
When black despair usurp'd mild Joy's control,
Saw thee, bright angel, fram'd of heavenly mould,
Dip thy gay pallet in the rainbow's hue,
And call each scene of Peace and Mirth to view.
The Author of "A Tradesman's Lays."
The income of a Russian metropolitan does not exceed 800l. a-year; that of an archbishop, 600l.; and of a bishop, 500l.; sums apparently as small as persons of their rank can possibly subsist on, even in Russia. They are, however, allowed a considerable sum annually for purposes of charity.
THE SKETCH-BOOK
A SCENE FROM LIFE
(For the Mirror.)
Truth is strange—stranger than fiction.
LORD BYRON.
"And so the Fernlands is to be sold at last," I said, casually meeting Mr. Nibble, our under-sheriff—"Poor N–, I am grieved for him, he has struggled hard against oppression."
"It is quite true, sir," replied the man of the law, "a horning came down last night, but it will answer no end—for Messrs. Sharke and Scrapepen, have advertised the whole of the property for public roup on Tuesday next."
The Fernlands estate had been the family property of the N–s since the conquest for aught I know. The present representative, after having sent his sons out into the world, as all Scotchmen do, to fight their way, (one of whom by the by was accumulating a snug fortune in India) got involved in some commercial speculation, for which he was wholly unfitted, being anything but a business man. He was a worthy unsuspecting fellow, but at last saw his way clearer, and as he thought got out, though a very heavy loser. In consequence of this scrape he wrote to his son in India, to say, that unless he could remit him a large sum, which he named, it would be impossible to keep his ground at Fernlands.
Very soon afterwards his late partner, who was a good sort of fellow too, failed, and N– was paralyzed on receiving a letter from the attorney to the assignees to say, that not having regularly gazetted his retirement from the concern, he had rendered himself legally liable to the creditors of the late firm of – and Co., and unless N– paid the balance which remained due after the assets of the bankrupt's estate had been ascertained, that immediate steps would be resorted to, to compel him. The matter soon got abroad, and all N–'s other creditors also pressed forward to crush him—well, to make a disagreeable story short, the end is as I have previously related. Poor N– is to be ruined to pay another man's debts, after a vast deal to do with law and lawyers, and much heat on both sides.
I had taken great interest in the matter from the first, and it was with deep feelings of sorrow that I saw this excellent family likely to be driven from the home of their forefathers, by the merciless and often unjust hand of the law. N– was, I believe, generally liked, and no person in need, in the district where he resided, looked up to the Laird for advice or assistance in vain. You may judge therefore of the public sensation. While these matters were pending, N– looked with the deepest anxiety for the arrival of a letter from his son in India; and every day did he send his servant express to the little post-office at –, but in vain.
At last the fatal day of sale arrived. N–, in the depth of his distress had early sent for me to consult whether even at the eleventh hour something could not be done to avert the calamity. A sinking man catches at a straw. It wanted less than three hours of the time of sale when I entered the grounds of Fernlands. The gate was half off its hinges, the posts plastered with advertisements of the sale; and people, as always happens in such cases, were already pouring towards the house more from a motive of curiosity than from an intention of purchasing anything. As I advanced towards the scene of action, I could observe that the shrubberies were injured, and the rare plants and flowers which both N– and his wife had valued so much—for they were fond of the study of nature—exhibited evident tokens of the mischief of the careless multitude thronging to the show. The day was clear and beautiful, the breeze played through the leafy wilderness with a joyous effect; the contrast between the peace and harmony of nature, and the discord and tumult of man and his deeds, was affecting. But such thoughts were soon chased away from my mind, as I advanced over a portion of the lawn towards the stables, I saw N–'s favourite mare, and the old pony, Jack, (whom I recollected as the companion of N–'s boys, and as tractable as a dog,) in the hands of a rascally sheriff's officer, who was showing them to a horse-dealer from a neighbouring town. The lawn in the front of the house was covered with straggling groups of people, either discussing the event of the day, or examining some of the furniture which was strewed there.
"Eh, sirs!" said an old man, brushing a tear from his eye, "I never thoucht to ha' seen the like o' this day's wark—and my forbears have had a bit o' farm under the laird's a hundred an' saxteen year, and better nor kinder folk to the puir man never lived."
Mr. Nibble, who was Messrs. Sharke's agent, was bustling about, and I found him engaged with a fat, pompous little fellow, the auctioneer, from a neighbouring town.
"Sad business this, Mr. –," said he, "Fernlands is in a sad taking about it, I believe, but things of this kind will occur, you know; and I always say what can't be cured must be endured, eh."
I turned with an ill-concealed expression of disgust from this man, and entered the house in search of my friend, for N– would not quit the old place to the last. There is something melancholy in viewing a sale at any time—the disarrangement of the furniture—the cheerless and chilling aspect of the rooms—the dirt, the bustle, and the heartless indifference one witnesses to the misfortunes of others—all come home forcibly to the feelings. After stumbling and striking my shins amongst piles of chairs, and furniture, and carpets, disposed in lots over the now comfortless apartments, I at last reached the study door where I had spent many a happy hour with N–. I entered; the room was stripped of part of its furniture, the books lying dispersed in heaps over the floor or on the massive table, at the side of which N– was seated on the only chair left in the apartment. He was at first unconscious of my entrance.
"My dear sir, this is kind indeed," he said as I advanced, struggling with his feelings, "but take a chair," and he glanced round the room with a bitter smile, as he observed there was none, "my friends are kind you see, they think chairs are useless things...."
The loss of his land affected him more than I can describe. He had been brought up upon it, and it had become as it were part and parcel of himself; it was not an ordinary loss. The noise and bustle in the house and sundry interruptions from inquisitive eyes, warned us, as N– said, that "we must jog." As we were rising, I accidentally inquired whether he had received his letters that morning. "Good God!" he exclaimed, "I totally forgot, and poor Andrew I fancy is too much occupied in bemoaning the fate of the horses, to have thought of it; but we can get them when I return with you this afternoon."
"Delays are dangerous," I replied, "we will not throw a chance away."
We hastened to the stable, and I despatched the servant on my own horse, with the utmost expedition to the post-office at –.
N– sauntered through a private path in the shrubbery towards the entrance of the grounds, and I made my way through the careless throng, who had no thought what their own fate might be perhaps to-morrow—to Mr. Nibble, and urged him to delay the sale for an hour, but he said it was impossible, he would not hurry it for half an hour or so, but that they were already pressed for time. The landed property was first to be brought to the hammer. I mechanically followed the steps of N–, and when I overtook him, we saw through a break in the wood, from the increased density of the mob and the elevation of the auctioneer, that the sale was commencing.
We gave up all for lost. At this moment I fancied I heard the noise of a horse urged to full gallop. The blood rushed to our hearts; we sprung through the trees towards the road; in another moment Andrew was in sight, urging his horse to his utmost speed. The instant he saw us he waved his hat, "A packet from abroad, sir," he sung out as he approached, "from our young master, I'm sure."
"God be praised, you are saved," was all I could utter; poor N– was faint with sudden joy and hope. We tore open the envelope, which contained bills from his son in India to a large amount. I saw N– was unable to think, and without more ado, I squeezed his hand, seized the letter, and put spurs to my horse. The bidding had commenced when I reached the wondering crowd, who rapidly fell back as they saw me approach. But why should I tire you any longer; in a couple of hours Fernlands remained unpolluted by one of the mob, or legal harpies who had invaded it. You may guess the rest....
A friend related the preceding incident to me; the reader may suppose him to be addressing myself. The leading circumstances are strictly true, the names and some trifling matters alone being altered. The story is invested with interest from its great similarity to a portion of the plot of the "Antiquary;" I have the strongest reason to believe, from the intimate acquaintance the great novelist possessed with the country, that he drew Sir Arthur Wardour's similar escape from ruin, from a recollection of the event briefly related above.
