The Mirror of Literature, Amusement, and Instruction. Volume 12, No. 327, August 16, 1828
TextCHANGES OF SOCIETY
The circumstances which have most influence on the happiness of mankind, the changes of manners and morals, the transition of communities from poverty to wealth, from knowledge to ignorance, from ferocity to humanity—these are, for the most part, noiseless revolutions. Their progress is rarely indicated by what historians are pleased to call important events. They are not achieved by armies, or enacted by senates. They are sanctioned by no treaties, and recorded in no archives. They are carried on in every school, in every church, behind 10,000 counters, at 10,000 fire-sides. The upper current of society presents no certain criterion by which we can judge of the direction in which the under current flows.—Edinburgh Review.
BATTLE OF THE HEADS
Phrenologists—Anti-Phrenologists.
Phrenologists. The bantling which but a few years since we ushered into the world, is now become a giant; and as well might you attempt to smother him as to entangle a lion in the gossamer, or drown him in the morning dew.
Anti-Phrenologists. Your giant is a butterfly; to-day he roams on gilded wings, to-morrow he will show his hideousness and be forgotten.
Apf, a Norwegian prince, is stated to have had sixty guards, each of whom, previous to being enrolled, was obliged to lift a stone which lay in the royal courtyard, and required the united strength of ten men to raise. They were forbidden to seek shelter during the most tremendous storms, nor were they allowed to dress their wounds before the conclusion of a combat. What would some of our "Guards" say to such an ordeal?
PORTRAIT PAINTING
No picture is exactly like the original; nor is a picture good in proportion as it is like the original. When Sir Thomas Lawrence paints a handsome peeress, he does not contemplate her through a powerful microscope, and transfer to the canvass the pores of the skin, the bloodvessels of the eye, and all the other beauties which Gulliver discovered in the Brobdignagian maids of honour. If he were to do this, the effect would not merely be unpleasant, but unless the scale of the picture were proportionably enlarged, would be absolutely false. And, after all, a microscope of greater power than that which he had employed, would convict him of innumerable omissions.
It is calculated that Rome has derived from Spain, for matrimonial briefs, and other machinery of the Papal court, since the year 1500—no less than 76,800,000l. or about three millions and a half per Pope! This is preachee and payee too!
SPIRIT OF THE PUBLIC JOURNALS
THE BACHELOR'S VADE-MECUM
To obviate the difficulties and remove the perplexing doubts of cautious men, myself and a party of friends, who have a large acquaintance in London and its vicinity, propose publishing a work in monthly parts, which we mean to entitle "The Bachelor's Vade-mecum, or a sure guide to a good match." It will contain a list of all genuine and undoubted heiresses in the metropolis, and within ten miles around it, and of those ladies whose fortune depends on contingencies: as our correspondence and information increase, we shall hope to extend the circle of our inquiries, and we solicit those communications and assistances which the extent and utility of our plan require and deserve. Notices will be given of all who drop off by death and marriage, and of those whose value may be unexpectedly increased by a legacy, or a sister or brother's decease. Particular attention will be paid to rich widows.—The first part of this truly useful work is nearly ready for the press; and we flatter ourselves that its arrangement and execution will excite universal applause. The particulars concerning each lady will be distributed under four heads; the first will be devoted to her fortune and expectations; the second to a description of her person; the third to non-essentials; and under the fourth will be found hints as to the readiest means of approach, cautions against offending peculiar tastes or prejudices, and much interesting and valuable information.—A more clear idea, however, of our scheme will be conveyed by subjoining a few specimens taken at random from our first number, which will contain about seventy-five articles.
No. 14.
Fortune.—10,000l. certain, left by a grandfather; two brothers have the same, one of whom is likely to die before he is of age, which would produce 5,000l. more. The father in business, supposed to live up to his income. A rich, single aunt, but not on terms, on account of No. 14's love of waltzing. A prudent husband might easily effect a reconciliation.
Person.—Fair, with red hair, and freckled, nose depressed, brow contracted, figure good, two false teeth.
Non-essentials.—Bad-tempered, economical almost to parsimony. Sings a great deal, but has no voice. Dances well; a Roman Catholic.
Miscellaneous Information.—Fond of winning at cards. A particular dislike to large whiskers; disapproves of hunting; makes her own gowns, and likes to have them admired.
No. 26.
Fortune.—16,000l. from her father, who is dead, and 10,000l. more certain on the death of her mother, who is at present ill. It is hoped that her complaint is dropsy, but more information on this point shall be given in our next Number.
Person.—Fair, with fine blue eyes, good teeth, beautiful light hair. Tall and well made. Hands and feet bad.
Non-essentials.—Weak in understanding, and rather ungovernable in temper. Has been taught all fashionable accomplishments; plays well on the harp; sings Italian. Bites her nails, cannot pronounce her h's, and misplaces her v's and w's. Her father was a butcher.
Miscellaneous Information.—Keeps a recipe-book, and is fond of prescribing for colds and tooth-aches. Has a great dislike to lawyers. Eats onions. Fond of bull-finches and canary-birds. Collects seals. Attends lectures on chemistry. Sits with her mouth open.
No. 43.
Fortune.—60,000l. in her own disposal.
Person.—Aquiline nose, large dark eyes, tall and thin. Fine teeth and hair, supposed false; but the lady's-maid has high wages, and has not yet been brought to confess.
Non-essentials.—Plays well on the piano. Good-tempered. Aged sixty-three. Evangelical, and a blue-stocking.
Miscellaneous Information.—Dislikes military and naval men. Fond of hares and trout. Has a great objection to waltzing. Aunt to No. 14. A prudent man might easily widen the breach between them. Attends Bible-meetings and charity-schools. Lame of one leg.
No. 61.
Fortune.—An only child; father a widower, with landed property to the amount of 1,500l. per annum, and 40,000l. in the Three per Cents. It is possible he may marry again, but it is hoped that this may not occur. The daughter lives with a maternal aunt.
Person.—A decidedly handsome brunette. Tall, and well made.
Non-essentials.—Charitable almost beyond her means; from which, and her wishing her father to marry, she is supposed to be extremely weak. Temper excellent; said to be well educated, but of too retiring a disposition to allow of our discovering the fact without more trouble than the matter is worth.
Miscellaneous Information.—Fond of the country. Goes twice to church on Sundays; but this affords no opportunity to a lover, as she never looks about her. Has an uncle a bishop, which may recommend her to a clergyman.
Every person who has directed his attention to the subject, must perceive at a glance the immense utility of a work of this nature, conducted, as it will be, by men who pledge their characters on the correctness of the information they convey. When a bachelor decides on marriage, by running over a few pages of our work, he will, in half an hour, be able to select a desirable match; by applying at our office, and giving testimonials of his respectability, he will receive the lady's name and address; and he may then pursue his object with a calm tranquillity of mind, a settled determination of purpose, which are in themselves the heralds and pledges of success. Or, should he meet in society a lady who pleases his taste, before resigning himself to his admiration, he will make inquiries at our office as to the number under which we have placed her in our list; and should she be of too little value to deserve a place in it, he will vigorously root her from his imagination, and suffer himself no longer to hover round her perilous charms, "come al lume farfalla."—New Monthly Magazine.
LONDON LYRICS.—TABLE TALK
To weave a culinary clue,
Whom to eschew, and what to chew,
Where shun, and where take rations,
I sing. Attend, ye diners-out,
And, if my numbers please you, shout
"Hear, hear!" in acclamations.
There are who treat you, once a year,
To the same stupid set; Good cheer
Such hardship cannot soften.
To listen to the self-same dunce,
At the same leaden table, once
Per annum's once too often.
Rather than that, mix on my plate
With men I like the meat I hate—
Colman with pig and treacle;
Luttrell with ven'son-pasty join,
Lord Normanby with orange-wine,
And rabbit-pie with Jekyll.
Add to George Lambe a sable snipe,
Conjoin with Captain Morris tripe,
By parsley roots made denser;
Mix Macintosh with mack'rel, with
Calves-head and bacon Sydney Smith,
And mutton-broth with Spencer.
Shun sitting next the wight, whose drone
Bores, sotto voce, you alone
With flat colloquial pressure:
Debarr'd from general talk, you droop
Beneath his buzz, from orient soup,
To occidental Cheshire.
He who can only talk with one,
Should stay at home, and talk with none—
At all events, to strangers,
Like village epitaphs of yore,
He ought to cry, "Long time I bore,"
To warn them of their dangers.
There are whose kind inquiries scan
Your total kindred, man by man,
Son, brother, cousin joining.
They ask about your wife, who's dead,
And eulogize your uncle Ned,
Who died last week for coining.
When join'd to such a son of prate,
His queries I anticipate,
And thus my lee-way fetch up—
"Sir, all my relatives, I vow,
Are perfectly in health—and now
I'd thank you for the ketchup!"
Others there are who but retail
Their breakfast journal, now grown stale,
In print ere day was dawning;
When folks like these sit next to me,
They send me dinnerless to tea;
One cannot chew while yawning.
Seat not good talkers one next one,
As Jacquier beards the Clarendon;
Thus shrouded you undo 'em;
Rather confront them, face to face,
Like Holles-street and Harewood-place,
And let the town run through 'em.
Poets are dangerous to sit nigh—
You waft their praises to the sky,
And when you think you're stirring
Their gratitude, they bite you. (That's
The reason I object to cats—
They scratch amid their purring.)
For those who ask you if you "malt,"
Who "beg your pardon" for the salt,
And ape our upper grandees,
By wondering folks can touch Port-wine;
That, reader's your affair, not mine—
I never mess with dandies.
Relations mix not kindly; shun
Inviting brothers; sire and son
Is not a wise selection:
Too intimate, they either jar
In converse, or the evening mar
By mutual circumspection.
Lawyers are apt to think the view
That interests them must interest you;
Hence they appear at table
Or supereloquent, or dumb,
Fluent as nightingales, or mum
As horses in a stable.
When men amuse their fellow guests
With Crank and Jones, or Justice Best's
Harangue in Dobbs and Ryal—
The host, beneath whose roof they sit,
Must be a puny judge of wit,
Who grants them a new trial.
Shun technicals in each extreme,
Exclusive talk, whate'er the theme,
The proper boundary passes:
Nobles as much offend, whose clack's
For ever running on Almack's,
As brokers on molasses.
I knew a man, from glass to delf,
Who talk'd of nothing but himself,
'Till check'd by a vertigo;
The party who beheld him "fluor'd,"
Bent o'er the liberated board,
And cried, "Hic jacet ego."
Some aim to tell a thing that hit
Where last they dined; what there was wit
Here meets rebuffs and crosses.
Jokes are like trees; their place of birth
Best suits them; stuck in foreign earth,
They perish in the process.
Ah! Merriment! when men entrap
Thy bells, and women steal thy cap,
They think they have trepann'd thee.
Delusive thought! aloof and dumb,
Thou wilt not at a bidding come,
Though Royalty command thee.
The rich, who sigh for thee—the great,
Who court thy smiles with gilded plate,
But clasp thy cloudy follies:
I've known thee turn, in Portman-square,
From Burgundy and Hock, to share
A pint of Port at Dolly's.
Races at Ascot, tours in Wales,
White-bait at Greenwich ofttimes fail,
To wake thee from thy slumbers.
E'en now, so prone art thou to fly,
Ungrateful nymph! thou'rt fighting shy
Of these narcotic numbers.