66

Nos. 74 & 75.]

PARTICULAR

PEOPLE.

"Man

Reader! did'st ever live with a particular lady? one possessed, not simply with the spirit, but the demon of tidiness? who will give you a good two hours' lecture upon the sin of an untied shoe-string, and raise a hurricane about your ears on the enormity of a fractured glove?-who will be struck speechless at the sight of a pin, instead of a string; or set a whole house in an uproar, on finding a book on the table instead of in the book-case? Those who have had the misfortune to meet with such a person, will know how to sympathise with me. Gentle Reader! I have passed two whole months with a particular lady.-I had often received very pressing invitations to visit an old schoolfellow, who is settled in a snug parsonage about fifty miles from town; but something or other was continually occurring to prevent me from availing myself of them. never is, but always to be 'cursed.'" Accordingly, (I shall never forget, if I live to the age of old Parr,) having a few spare weeks at my disposal, I set out for my chum's residence. He received me with his wonted cordiality; but I fancied he looked a little more careworn than a man of thirty might have been expected to look, married as he is to the woman of his choice, and in the possession of an easy fortune. Poor fellow ! I did not know that his wife was a precisian-I do not employ the term in a religious sense. The first hint I received of the fact was from Mr. S., who, removing my hat from the first peg in the hall to the fourth, observed, "My wife is a little particular in those matters; the first peg is for my hat, the second is for William's, the third for Tom's, and you can reserve the fourth if you please for your own; ladies, you know, do not like to have their arrangements interfered with." I promised to do my best to recollect the order of precedence with respect to the hats, and walked up stairs, impressed with an awful veneration for a lady who had contrived to impose so rigid a discipline on a man, formerly the VOL. II-No. 19.

[PRICE TWO PENCE.

most disorderly of mortals, mentally resolving to obtain her favor by the most studious observance of her wishes. I might as well have determined to be Emperor of China! Before the week was at an end, I was a lost man. I always reckon myself tolerably tidy; never leaving more than half my clothes on the floor of my dressing-room, nor more than a dozen books about any apartment I may happen to occupy for an hour. I do not lose more than a dozen handkerchiefs in a month; nor have more than a quarter of an hour's hunt for my hat or gloves whenever I am going out in a hurry. I found all this was but as dust in the balance. I might as well have expected to be admitted a contributor to Blackwood because I could write "joining hand." The first time I sat down to dinner I made a horrible blunder; for, in my haste to help my friend to some asparagus, I pulled the dish a little out of its place, thereby deranging the exact hexagonal order in which the said dishes were arranged-I discovered my mishap on hearing Mr. sharply rebuked for a similar offence: secondly, I sat half the evening with the cushion a full finger's-breadth beyond the cane-work of my chair-and what is worse, I do not know that I should have been aware of my delinquency, if the agony of the lady's feelings had not, at length, overpowered every other consideration, and at last burst forth with, "Excuse me, Mr., but do pray put your cushion straight; it annoys me beyond measure to see it otherwise." My third offence was displacing the snufferstand from its central position between the candlesticks; my fourth, leaving a pamphlet I had been perusing on the piano forte, its proper place being a table in the middle of the room, on which all books in present use were ordered to repose; my fifth,-but in short I should never have done, were I to enumerate every separate enormity of which I was guilty. My friend

's drawing-room had as good a right to exhibit a placard of "Steel Traps and Spring Guns," as any park I am acquainted with. In one place you were in danger of having your legs snapt off, and in another your nose. There never was a house so atrociously neat; every

chair and table knew its duty; the very chimney ornaments have been "trained up in the way they should go, ," and woe to the unlucky wight who should make them "depart from it." Even those "charitable libertines," the children and dogs, were taught to be as demure and hypocritical as the matronly tabby-cat herself; who sat with her fore feet together and her tail curled round her as exactly as if she had been worked in an urn-rug, instead of being a living mouser. It was the utmost stretch of my friend's martial authority to get his favorite spaniel admitted to the honors of the parlor; and even this privilege is only granted in his master's presence. If Carlo happens to pop his unlucky brown nose into the room when -- is from home, he sets off directly with as much consciousness in his ears and tail as if he had been convicted of a larceny in the kitchen, and anticipated the application of the broomstick. As to the children, Heaven help them! I believe that they look forward to their evening visit to the drawing-room with much the same sort of feeling. Not that Mrs. is an unkind mother, or, I should rather say, not that she means to be so; but she has taken it into her head, that "preachee and floggee too" is the way to bring up children; and that as young people have sometimes short memories, it is necessary to put them verbally in mind of their duties,

From night till morn, from morn to dewy eve.

So it is with her servants; if one of them leaves a broom or a duster out of its place for a second, she hears of it for a month afterwards.-I wonder how they endure it! I have sometimes thought that from long practice they do not heed it-as a friend of mine, who lives in a bustling street in the City, tells me he does not hear the infernal noise of the coaches and carts in the front of his house, nor of a confounded brazier, who hammers away in his rear from morning till night. The worst of it is, that while Mrs. -- never allows a moment's peace to husband, children, or servants, she thinks herself a jewel of a wife; but such jewels are too costly for every day wear. I am sure poor thinks so in his heart, and would be content to exchange half a dozen of his wife's tormenting good qualities, for the sake of being allowed a little common-place repose.

I never shall forget the delight I felt on entering my own house, after enduring her thraldom for two months. I absolutely revelled in disorder, and gloried in my litters. I tossed my hat one way, my gloves another; pushed all the chairs into the middle of the room, and narrowly escaped kicking my faithful Christopher, for offering to put it "in order" again. That cursed "spirit of order!" I am sure it is a spirit of evil omen to. For my own part, I do so execrate the phrase, that if I were a member of the House of Commons, and the order of the day were called for, I should make it a rule to walk out. Since my return home, I have positively prohibited the use of the word in my house; and nearly quarrelled with an honest tradesman, who has served me for the last ten years, because he has a rascally shopman, who will persist in snuffling at my door (I hear him now from my parlor window), Any order this morning?" Confound the fellow ! that is his knock. I will offer him half-a-crown to change his phrase!

SWIFTNESS OF BIRDS.-A German paper, speaking of the various birds, says, "A vulture can fly at the rate of 150 miles an hour. Observations made on the coast of Labrador, convinced Major Cartwright that wild geese could travel at the rate of 90 miles per hour. The common crow can fly at the rate of 25 miles, and swallows, according to Spallangain, 92 miles an hour. It is said that a falcon was discovered at Malta 24 hours after the departure of Henry IV. from Fontainbleau. If true, this bird must have flown for 24 hours at the rate of 57 miles an hour, not allowing him to rest a moment during the whole time."

The London Universal Advertiser, and Literary and Scientific Journal. No. 1. Mudie. This is a new and spirited periodical, which promises to be extensively useful. Its circulation, which is gratuitous, is guaranteed at 70,000 copies weekly; by which it will be readily understood, that it must be supported by Advertisements. These, however, will never form more than half the paper, the second half being devoted to the purposes of Literature, Fine Arts, and the Drama. As a channel for advertisers, it possesses unusual advantages; and if it be not well supported by the various Trades

men, Merchants, and others, residing in the metropolis and its vicinity, we shall say the spirit of enterprise is indeed at a low ebb. The proprietors pledge themselves that a copy of the paper shall be forwarded, gratuitously, to every person whose name is inserted in Robson's Directory!! The notoriety that it must, of necessity, obtain by this mode of delivery, is such, that the advantages of advertising in its pages becomes self-evident. The speculation has our best wishes for its success.

BORES OF VARIOUS SORTS.-After the punster comes the man of points and epigrams, not a single tone or syllable of whose saying can be lost without ruining the whole meaning; this bore forces you to keep your attention painfully and constantly on the stretch, in order that you may reply correctly to his puerilities.

Mercy on us! of what is composed the mighty cohort next bearing down upon us? It is formed of the talkers and visitors who laudably exert themselves to inflict as much pain as possible on all their friends and acquaintances. They remind you of your faults, follies, errors, and misfortunes; condole with you over ruined hopes and vanished prospects-extolling the greatness at which you might have arrived had you followed their good counsel or example.

Then there is the angry, or argumentative bore, who fastens an argument upon you at every word; cannot listen to your replies, and answers in wrath before he can possibly know what you were going to say. In the same line is the clever bore, who takes up every idle speech to shew his wisdom at a cheap rate. If you say, "Hang the weather" before such a man, he immediately proves, by logical demonstration, that the weather has no neck by which it can be suspended.

The grave expounder of truisms, also, belongs to this class. He cannot allow the most ordinary conversation to go on without entering into proofs and details familiar to every child nine years of age; and the tenor of his discourse, however courteous in terms and manner, pays you the compliment of supposing that you have just fallen from some other planet, in total and absolute ignorance of every thing connected with this little world of ours. All foreigners are particularly great at this style of boring.

But we shall never have done. Banquo's glass was nothing to this; for here we have the man who, week after week, and year after year, constantly talks on the same subject: be it summer or winter, noon, night, or morning; be you gay or sad, in health or in suffering, you must still hear the hammering of the one ceaseless topic, till your head and heart are crushed beneath the blows of the wooden-tongued mallet.

Though last, not least, there is the silent bore, who disdains to take any interest in what is going on around him, answers only in surly monosyllables, but keeps his automaton post, firmly fixed both at table and in the ball-room. When a man goes to parties, he should not only put on his best clothes, but his best spirits also; and, if he has neither good spirits nor good clothes, he should make himself scarce, and leave the world to console itself the best way it can.

REFUSALS.-Refusals never put me out of humor : indeed, I rather think I like the pretty dears the better for it; as a refusal is, after all, a great relief to the mind; it is like a heavy burden taken off the breast,you breathe at once more deeply and more freely.

And, then, what an opening for fine speeches! how you can talk of your attachment and admiration,-your crushed affections,-the happiness of your life blighted! What disinterested compliments you can pay! how you

can dwell on every feature of that lovely face,-for months and years the sole object of your thoughts;-of that melodious and silver-toned voice which had made your very heart thrill again, and of those soul-beaming eyes so long the guiding stars of your hopes and wishes! All such things answer admirably well, after having experienced a refusal, or what may be construed into one. Before such a repulse, a different and more diffident tone is necessary; and if you are accepted you may dispense with compliments, taking care, however, to preserve the tender tone, and not to display the cloven foot till after the ceremony, particularly if there is any cash in the question. As to all these fine speeches, after refusal, the lady will no doubt say that she can really no longer listen to such language; you must therefore take care how you introduce them: it must always be in a light, easy, graceful, and playful manner, -never in an impassioned manner, as if you were again pleading your cause; get a friendly reproof for talking nonsense, and nothing more. If well managed, a refusal is a very pleasant sort of thing; it establishes you a privileged person-one who is no longer dangerous, having tried his best, and failed. With tact, skill, and delicacy, such a calamity may be turned to excellent account; but it requires great management.

It is not unusual for gentlemen to say that no one posal may easily be foreseen. But this is "all my eye, need be exposed to a refusal, as the result of every proBetty;" for it is to suppose that there are no clever jilts and coquettes in the world-that passion never blinds us weak mortals-and that we are never induced, even with our eyes open, to try a last desperate effort to obtain life, bliss, happiness, and all that earth holds worth existing for. Or, if you are only running a tilt at money, is not a hundred thousand pounds' worth the chance of a proposal? I have known men crawl, year after year in the dust, for a twentieth part of the sum. To suppose that you need not expose yourself to a refusal, is also to suppose that girls never mean yes, though they say no, out of mere gentle, genuine, lovely female timidity. I recollect a very pretty young girl, who intended to take me from the first, and who, though I had got her mother's consent, owing to some mistake the good lady made about my rent-roll, required ten days of laughing, blushing, and evading, before she could say yes. I forget what broke off the match, but can never forget the 'yes.' A hundred refusals may be given to the winds; but one single acceptance should be cherished in the heart for ever and ever.

Where love has not paved the way for the gentle swain, he must of course trust to his wealth, rank, station to some great éclat or advantage the marriage will confer on the lady elect: for I am not speaking exactly of the shoals of pretty dears, who say yes,' merely because they are asked. If a man of fair pretensions is refused under such circumstances, he must just conclude that he has not offered high enough, or that the lady is, as the world says, a romantic girl, and will not give her hand without her heart: and when you can neither win nor buy a heart, sound a retreat in good time, and say as little about the matter as possible.

The offer of a moderately wealthy man, who is not beloved, but who is of the kind that may be loved, will often be accepted, where greater wealth, with fewer personal advantages, would be refused. Interest is still the object; but it is not the sort of interest that will go the whole hog for rank and distinction. Most matches in the higher and middling ranks are of this half and half sort; the lady takes her chance of the husband-for a consideration.

A little tact and observation will always tell you whether the girl who refused you would have been worth having, had she accepted. I am speaking of verbal communications only; as nobody ever writes who can speak. It is usual in all cases of refusal, for the lady to say that she is deeply grateful for the honor you have done her; but, feeling only friendship for you, she regrets that she cannot accept your proposal, &c. &c. I have heard the words so often, that I know them by heart. The words, however varied, signify little; it is the tone and manner in which they are pronounced that must guide you in forming your estimate of the cruel one. If they are pronounced with evident marks of sorrow, instead of triumph, shewing unfeigned regret for having caused pain which she could not alleviate-if her voice is soft, broken and tremulous-her eye dimmed

with a half-formed tear, which it requires even an effort to subdue,-then, I say, you may share in her sorrow, for you have probably lost a prize worth gaining; but though you grieve, you may also hope, if you are a man of any pretension, for there is evidently good feeling to build upon. Do not, therefore, fly out, and make an idiot of yourself, on receiving your refusal ; submit with a good grace; solicit a continuance of friendship, to support you under the heart-crushing affliction you have sustained. Take her hand at parting; kiss it fervently, but quietly; no outre conduct of any kind-jest a little at the expense of your own failure, without, however, attempting to deprive her of the honor of the victory. Rise in her estimation by the manner in which you receive your sentence; let her sorrow be mingled with admiration, and there is no knowing how soon things will change. These instructions, you will perceive, are not intended for every one, as they require skill, tact, quickness, and feeling, in order to be appreciated and acted upon. If you want these qualities, just make love purse in hand: it is a safe mode of proceeding, and will answer admirably with all ranks, from Almack's to the Borough. There is only one class with whom it will not answer,-and that is the very class worth having.

PUBLIC AMUSEMENTS.

presented to Sir J. Soane by Dr. Moore, which was discovered while searching for some strayed goats in a cave in the Canadas del Chasma, at the peak of Teneriffe. In the cave were thirteen mummies of the Guanches, aborigines of the island, twelve males, and one female, arranged in a row on a bier of stones, at one side of which was placed the Patina, which is of great antiquity. In the picture-room are the celebrated series of eight pictures of the Rake's Progress, by Hogarth, formerly in the possession of Alderman Beckford, and the equally valuable four pictures, the Election, by the same master. Amongst the inferior objects are a series illustrative of the progress of sculpture and architecture for a long series, the whole arranged with great taste. The Museum is only open on Thursday and Friday; and, to obtain admission, it is requisite to apply on either of these days in the preceding week, when tickets of admission are sent to the party's address.

THE SOANE MUSEUM.

The collection of curiosities, sculptures, casts, marbles, and paintings, which the late Sir John Soane was so many years in bringing together, and on which he expended a princely fortune, is now open to the public. The house in Lincoln's Inn-Fields, in which it is deposited, is known to every body from its style of construction. It resembles, in the interior, in some degree, an ancient Greek or Roman villa, being crowded with works of art. The most interesting and prominent specimen is the Sarcophagus, found by Belzoni in the valley of Beban el Malook, near Gournou, which is supposed to be at least three thousand years old. It is of one piece of oriental alabaster, between nine and ten feet in length, and of great interest, not only as a work of human skill and labor, but as illustrative of the customs, arts, religion, and government of ancient Egypt, and is covered internally and externally with hieroglyphics. Although of great thickness, when a light is placed in it, it is quite transparent. It was first offered to the trustees of the British Museum for £2000, but on their declining the purchase, it became the property of Sir John Soane. In an apartment of the Museum called the crypt, are placed four models in oak, of ancient sepulchres found at Capua and various parts of Sicily. The walls of the models are decorated with painting and sculpture, and in the body of the chamber are deposited the skeleton, Etruscan vases, and implements of sacrifice. Another record of sepulture in the crypt is a "Patina,"

The TOWER OF LONDON.

As these will, doubtless, be a vast number of persons visiting the Tower, now the fine weather has commenced, we insert the following, from a correspondent, which will act a caution to the unwary. The insolence and extortion of the fellows who "exhibit" at the Tower, have long been proverbial:

TO THE EDITOR.

SIR, I was induced last week to visit the Tower, accompanied by three ladies, for the purpose of viewing the armoury and crown jewels, under the expectation that the longtalked-of reduction of admission had been adopted. But, to my surprise, the first thing we were informed by the warder in attendance was, that the fee for admission to the four departments containing the armoury, modelling, and ordnance, would be 2s. each person, and Is. each person for the warders, making together 12s.; which being complied with, we were next asked if we wished to see the crown jewels, and upon answering in the affirmative, we were told the charge would be 2s. each person, and 1s. for the warder, making together 9s.; which was also comp'ied with. Having enjoyed the sight, I was then required to write my name and address in a book at the warder's lodge, when, thinking our eyes gratified, and my pocket sufficiently punished, we prepared for our departure; but, to my still greater surprise, the warder applied for "a compliment," as he stated, agreeably to custom; and, on demurring to the same, his reply was, that the fees paid for the warder (being 5s.) were divisible among his fellow-warders. Not wishing to be considered mean, I was induced to give the further sum of 2s., which I now regret, for the gratuity was received under evident dissatisfaction. I am Sir, Yours respectfully,

A CONSTANT READER, AND ADMIRER.

SCOTT AND SHAKSPEARE.

It is a sign of the low state of criticism in this country, that Scott has been compared to Shakspeare. No two writers can be more entirely opposed to each other, in the qualities of their genius, or the sources to which they applied. Shakspeare ever aiming at the development of the secret man, and half disdaining the mechanism of external incidents; Scott painting the ruffles and the dress, and the features and the gestures-avoiding the movements of the heart, elaborate in the progress of the incident. Scott never caught the mantle of Shakspeare, but he improved on the dresses of his wardrobe, and threw artificial effects into the scenes of his theatres. Let us take an example: we will select one of the finest passages in Sir Walter Scott: a passage unsurpassed for its mastery over the Picturesque. It is that chapter in "Kenilworth," where Elizabeth has discovered Amy, and formed her first suspicions of Leicester Leicester was, at this moment, the centre of a splendid group of lords and ladies, assembled together under an arcade or portico, which closed the alley. The company had drawn together in that place, to attend the commands of her Majesty when the hunting party should go forward, and their astonishment may be imagined, when, instead of seeing Elizabeth advance towards them, with her usual measured dignity of motion, they beheld her walking so rapidly, that she was in the midst of them ere they were aware; and then observed, with fear and surprise, that her features were flushed, betwixt anger and agitation, that her hair was loosened by her haste of motion, and her eyes sparkled, as they were wont, when the spirit of Henry VIII. mounted highest in his daughter.-Nor were they less astonished at the appearance of the pale, attenuated, half-dead, yet still lovely female, whom the Queen upheld, by main strength, with one hand, while, with the other, she waved aside the ladies and nobles who pressed towards her, under the idea that she was taken suddenly ill. 'Where is my Lord of Leicester?' she said, in a tone that thrilled with astonishment all the courtiers who stood around-'Stand forth my Lord of Leicester' If, in the midst of the most serene day of summer, when all is light and laughing around, a thunderbolt were to fall from the clear blue vault of heaven, and rend the earth, at the very feet of some careless traveller, he could not gaze upon the smouldering chasm, which so unexpectedly yawned before him, with half the astonishment and fear which Leicester felt, at the sight that so suddenly presented itself. He had, that instant, been receiving, with a political affectation of disavowing and misunderstanding their meaning, the half-uttered, half-intimated congratulations of the courtiers upon the favor of the Queen, carried, apparently, to its highest pitch, during the interview of that morning; from which most of

them seemed to augur that he might soon rise, from their equal in rank, to become their master. And now, while the subdued, yet proud smile, with which he disclaimed those inferences, was yet curling his cheek, the Queen shot into the circle, her passions excited to the uttermost; and, supporting with one hand, and apparently without an effort, the pale and sinking form of his almost expiring wife, and pointing with the finger of the other to her half-dead features, demanded, in a voice that sounded to the ears of the astounded statesman like the last dread trumpet call that is to summon body and spirit to the judgment-seat, 'Knowest thou this woman?" The reader will observe, that the whole of this splendid passage is devoted to external effects; the loosened hair and sparkling eyes of Elizabeth-the grouping of the courtiers-the proud smile yet on the cheek of Leicester-the pale and sinking form of the wife. Only by external effects do we guess at the emotion of the agents. Scott is thinking of the costume and postures of the actors, not the passions they represent. Let us take a parallel passage in Shakspeare; parallel, for in each a mind disturbed with jealousy is the real object placed before the reader. It is thus that Iago describes Othello, after the latter has conceived his first suspicions:—

"Iago.-Look where he comes! Not poppy nor mandragora,

Nor all the drowsy syrups of the world, Shall ever medicine thee to that sweet sleep Which thou own'dst yesterday.

Here the reader will observe, that there is no attempt at the picturesque-no sketch of the outward man. It is only by a reference to the wo that kills sleep, that we can form any notion of the haggard aspect of the Moor. So, if we compare the ensuing dialogue in the romance, with that in the tragedy, we shall remark, that Elizabeth utters only bursts of shallow passion, which convey none of the deep effects of the philosophy of jealousy; none of the sentiments that "inform us what we are." But every sentence uttered by Othello penetrates to the very root of the passion described: the farewell to fame and pomp, which comes from a heart, that, finding falsehood in the prop it leaned on, sees the world itself, and all its quality and circumstance, crumbled away; the burst of vehement incredulity; the sudden return to doubt; the intense revenge proportioned to the intense love; the human weakness that must seek faith somewhere, and, with the loss of Desdemona, casts itself upon her denouncer; the mighty knowledge of the heart exhibited in those simple words to Iago, "I greet thy love;-compare all this with the mere words of Elizabeth, which have no force in themselves, but are made effective by the picturesque grouping of the scene, and you will detect, at once, the astonishing distinction between Shakspeare and Scott.Shakspeare could have composed the most won