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persons of rank lay for whole years; or his oubliettes, dungeons made in the form of reversed cones, with concealed trap doors, down which dropped the unhappy victims of the tyrant, brought there by Tristam L'Hermite, his companion and executioner in ordinary; sometimes their sides were plain, sometimes set with knives, or sharp-edged wheels; but in either cases they were complete oubliettes; the devoted were certain to fall into the land where all things are forgotten.-(Pennant's London.)

When the Bastille of France was demolished, three iron cages were discovered, they were made of strong bars of iron, about eight feet high and six feet wide, and such have been used in other prisons in that country. The Bishop of Verdun, according to Mezeray, was the inventer, and was himself the first man confined in them, and remained a prisoner thus for eleven years, so that he could speak practically as to his own invention.

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FEMALE LEANDER.

THE Duchess of Chevereux, who was for the first time at the court of Eng land, in 1638, swam across the Thames, in a frolic, near Windsor. On this occasion some verses were composed by a Sir J. M. containing these lines:

But her chaste breast, cold as the cloyster'd nun,
Whose frost to chrystal might congeal the sun,
So glar'd the stream, that pilots, there afloat,
Thought they might safely land without a boat;
July had seen the Thames in ice involv'd,
Had it not been by her own beams dissolv'd.

BIRTHDAY PRAYER.

THE observance of a birthday by prayer is not altogether incurious in these days of license; and the following specimen, quoted from the Diary of that truly good man, JOHN EVELYN, may be entertained as the genuine effusion of piety, unmixed with any alloy of fanaticism, or religious enthusiasm :

Oct. 31, 1689.-My birthday, being now 69 years old. Blessed Father who hast prolonged my years to this great age, and given me to see so great and wonderful revolutions, and preserved me amidst them to this moment, accept, I beseech thee, the continuance of my prayers and thankful acknowledgements, and grant me grace to be working out my salvation and redeeming the time, that thou mayest be glorified by me here, and my soul immortal saved, whenever thou shalt call for it to perpetuate thy praises to all eternity, in that heavenly kingdom where there are no more changes or vicissitudes, but

rest and peace, and joy and consum mate felicity for ever. Grant this, O Heavenly Father, for the sake of Jesus thine only Son and our Saviour. Amen,

CURIOUS LETTER,

From a country squire, in the 18th cen tury, to a gentleman in London, who had written to him concerning the character of a Servant.

"SIR-Yours I receiv'd the 24th of this present instant, June, and, at your request, will give you an impartial account of my man, John Gray's character. He is a shoemaker, or cordwainer, which you please to call it, by trade, and now in our town; he is following the carding business for every one that wants him; he served his time at a town called Binstock, in Northamptonshire; and from thence the Great Addington jour neyman, to this occupation, as before mentioned, and used to come to my house, and found, by riding my horses to water, that he rode a horse pretty well; which was not at all mistaken, for he rides a horse well: and he looks after a kennel of hounds very well, and finds a hare very well: he hath no judgement in hunting a pack of hounds now, though he rides well, he don't with discretion, for he don't know how to make the most of a horse; but a very harey-starey fellow: will ride over a church if in his way, though he may prevent a leap by having a gap within ten yards of him; and if you are not in the field with himself, when you are hunting to tutor him about riding, he will kill all the horses you have in the stable in one month, for he hath killed downright, and lamed so that they will never be fit for use, no more than five horses since he has hunted my hounds, which is two years and upwards; he can talk no dog language to a hound; he hath no voice; speaks to a hound such as if his head were in a churn; nor neither does he know how to draw a hound when they are at a loss, no more than a child of seven years old. As to his honesty, I always found him honest till about a week ago. I sent my servant that I have now to fetch some sheep's feet from Mr. Stranjan, of Hig ham Ferrers, where Gray used to go for feet, and I always send my money by the man that brings the feet; and Stranjan told my man that I have now that I owed him money for feet; and when the man came home he told me, and I went to Stranjan, and then I found the truth of the matter. Gray had kept the money in his hands, and had never paid Stranjan: he had along with me once for a letter, in order for his character, to give

him one, but I told him I could not give him a good one, so I would not write at all. Gray is a very great drunkard, can't keep a penny in his pocket: a sad notorious lyar. If you send him upon a mile or two from Uphingham, he will get drunk, stay all day, and never come home while the middle of the night, or such time as he knows his master is in bed. He can nor will not keep any secret; neither has he so much wit as other people, for the fellow is half a fool, for if you would have business done with expedition, if he once gets out of the town, or sight of you, shall see him no more, while the next morning he serves me so and so: you must expect the same if you hire him. I use you just as I would be used myself; it I desired a character of you of a servant, that I had design'd to hire of yours, as to let you know the truth of every thing about him.

"

"I am, sir, your most humble servant to command.

"Great Addington, June 28, 1734.

"P.S. He takes good care of his horses, with good looking after as to the dressing of them; but if you don't take care, he will fill the manger full of corn, so that he will clog the horses, and ruin the whole stable of horses."

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* For softness of the sweet seasoun. And leavis of the branchis spreeds, And blomis bright, beside them, breeds

And Fieldis strawed are with flow'rs
Well savouring of seir † colours;
And all things wor this, blyth, and
gay."
P. T. W.
+ Their.

* Mingling.

2

POPULAR SCIENCE.

This Day is published, price 5s. ARCANA of SCIENCE, and ANNUAL RE GISTER of the USEFUL ARTS for 1831.

"This is the fourth annual volume of a most useful compilation of the various discoveries in science or inventions of art during the preceding year. The volume commences, very properly, with an abridgment of what may be termed the greatest work of art which has distinguished the present century-the Liverpool and Manchester Railway. Various other improvements in the different departments of the arts which have aj peared in the several scientific journals of the last year, are here presented in a condensed form, so as to render the volume, in reality, an excellent book of reference. The object of the editor seems to have been that of blending entertain ment with valuable information, the work being illustrated by many heat engravings relating to the popular branches of science. The volume, therefore, contains a very interesting compendium of information for young people."-New Monthly Magazine.

Printed for JOHN LIMBIRD, 143. Strand ;-of whoig may be had the Volumes for the three preceding years.

Printed and Published by J. LIMBİR D, 143, Strand, (near Somerset House,) London; sold by ERNEST FLEISCHER, 6267 Neto: Market, Leipsic; G. G. BENNIS, 55, Rue Neuve, St. Augustin, Paris, and by all Newsmen and Booksellers.

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ALL who enjoy the luxury of doing good (and who does not, in some way or other?) will be happy to learn that the above is the elevation of the new St. George's Hospital, at Hyde Park Corner. It is already a splendid monument of British benevolence; but is only a portion of the original plan, which is to complete another front towards Hyde Park; this will extend even further than the old hospital.

St. George's Hospital, we learn from a printed "Account," "was set on foot soon after Michaelmas, 1733, by some gentlemen who were before concerned in a charity of the like kind, in the lower part of Westminster. They judged this house convenient for their purpose, on account of its air, situation, and nearness to town; procured a lease of it, and opened a subscription for carrying on the charity here. The subscriptions increased so fast, that on the nineteenth of October they were formed into a regular society, and actually began to receive patients on the first of January following." The Establishment was, therefore, prosperous at its commencement, and the same good fortune has VOL. XVII.

Y

subsequently attended its progress. It is supported by Voluntary Contributions. The resources are considerable in property, and have been greatly enriched by legacies. Indeed, the legacies which fell to the Hospital during last year, exceeded 11,000.

The building of the new Hospital, in the Engraving, was first proposed at a meeting held in the year 1827, at which the open-hearted Duke of York was chairman; and at a subsequent meeting, the Archbishop of Canterbury presided.

A

"Building Fund" was raised, to which the late King munificently contributed £1,000. This Fund is entirely separate from the General Funds of the Hospital: the sums already subscribed" says the Report of 1830, "have been expended in erecting a part of the building which is now occupied by 140 patients, and the public are earnestly requested to keep in view the importance of continuing their benevolent contributions, until the great object of re-building the entire Hospital has been effected. It is well known that the closeness of the wards in the old building has long been a subject of the deepest regret to the

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physicians and surgeons, who have observed its effect in preventing or retarding the cure of their patients; and this evil must, in some degree, be increased by the new building partially obstructing the ventilation of the old.

From the Report of 1829, we also learn that the subscriptions were £3,439. the Dividends £3,798. and the Legacies £1,781. and the expenses of the year £9,731. including £709. for bedding, &c. for the new building.

The new building is from the designs of W. Wilkins, Esq. R. A. architect of the London University, &c. The Engraving represents the grand front which faces the Green Park, and consists of a centre and two wings, in all 200 feet in length. Part of the north wing, which we have referred to as facing Hyde Park, or stretching towards Knightsbridge, is also erected. The south wing is finished, and occupied by patients, as is also the south end of the east front. The theatre for lectures on surgery and medicine will accommodate 150 students. Immediately adjoining it is the museum of anatomical preparations. The entire edifice is faced with compost, coloured and checkered in imitation of stone. The hospital, when complete, will contain 29 wards, and 460 beds. The contracts for building the whole amount to about £41,000.

The grand front, seen from the Green Park, has a handsome appearance, and the architecture is simply-elegant. Viewed in association with the costly arch entrance to the Gardens of Buckingham Palace, and the classic screen and gates to Hyde Park-the New Hospital gives rise to a grateful recollection of national benevolence as well as cultivation of fine art-of soothing life's ills as well as embellishing its enjoyments in short, of nurturing the first and best feelings of our nature as well as encouraging taste and talent. May England never halt in raising such monuments of her real greatness!

SUNSET THOUGHTS.
(For the Mirror.)

I'VE stood to gaze on the sunset hill,
When the winds were hush'd and the waves
were still;

As the sun sank slowly down the west,

I thought of the good-man dropping to rest,
When his race is run-he yields his breath,
And softly sinks in the slumber of death.
When I gazed on the gorgeous western sky,
I thought of those blissful bowers on high,
Whose brightness-blessedness serene,
Ear hath not heard-eye hath not seen.

When I saw the golden glories die,
I thought on life's uncertainty.
And as night came on in her ebon gloom,
Oh! I thought of the dark and the dreamless
tomb,
How soon man's fairest prospects flee,
The curtain drops-“ And where is he?"

COLBOURNE.

The Novelist.

THE GOLDEN BODKIN.

An Illustration of Sayings and Doings. (For the Mirror.)

Ir was the vesper-hour when the lovely Lady Victorine entered the church of St. Genevieve with her liege lord the Marquess de Montespan, and proceeding slowly down a side aisle of that magnificent fane, prostrated herself upon the steps of an altar of black marble, upon which burned in silver cassolettes, two small glimmering fires, sparingly fed with frankincense, and serving rather to render visible, than to illumine the gloom of the niche in which the altar stood; whilst the tapers which twinkled like glow-worms here and there in the body of the spacious temple, indicated the presence of worshippers, who, in the uncertain and vasty darkness, were scarcely beheld. The Marquess de Montespan kneeled beside his fair lady, and a couple of domestics at a respectful distance from the noble pair, whilst the solemn pealing of the organ intermingled with the low murmurings of human voices, and the sweet, full-toned responses of the choir, aided and attested the devotion of those who now attended vespers in the church of St. Genevieve. The sacred service was nearly concluded, when the attention of the congregation was painfully diverted from the solemn duty in which they were engaged, by thrilling shrieks proceeding from one of the side aisles, and an uncommon stir and tumult about the dark oratory of the Montespans, to which, therefore, a crowd was presently attracted. Alas! for the brevity and vanity of human life! The marquess, who had but so short a time since entered the church in manly prime, health, and strength, and in the full flush of happiness and hope, now suddenly, ay, even as he knelt beside his beautiful wife, and even as their spirits mingled in the same acts of devotion, the marquess now, struck by the angel of death, laid cold, senseless, and motionless, in the arms of his servants, who were vainly endeavouring to recall that vital spark which was totally extinct. Victorine, the young and lovely marchioness, thus suddenly and awfully

reduced to widowhood, had fallen into such violent hysterics, as to render the task of supporting her almost dangerous to a noble youth who had voluntarily undertaken it. The consternation of the spectators at this tragical spectacle may be well imagined; but some two or three of them had, nevertheless, presence of mind sufficient to fetch a physician, and after medical aid had somewhat restored to composure the unhappy Victorine, she, with her deceased husband, upon whom, alas, all efforts of art had been bestowed in vain, was carefully conveyed to the Hotel de Montespan. Upon the breast of the Comte de Villeroi had the head of the afflicted marchioness rested, in the eventful hour of her sad bereavement, and in less than six months did he supply to her the place of her departed lord. This event occurred, it was then deemed, prematurely, and the precise and censorious blamed the indelicate haste with which Victorine had exchanged her weeds for bridal attire; but the kind-hearted observed, "Poor young creature, all Paris knows that Villeroi was the elected of her heart, long ere she was forced into a marriage with Montespan; no wonder therefore is it, that the first act of her recovered liberty should be, that of throwing herself into his arms;" so, "all Paris," after this appeal to its knowledge of private history, and best sympathies, could do no less than take the charitable side of the question, and "Madame la Comtesse de Villeroi was allowed, unmolested by the voice of public censure, to reign awhile as bride and belle in the high circles which her beauty and agreeable qualities so well fitted her to adorn. Ere long, however, it was surmised that Victorine found herself not quite so happy in her union with the object of her first affection as she had anticipated she should be; she was pale, spiritless, and absent; sometimes started when addressed, as if only accustomed to the accents of authority unmingled with kindness; her cheeks were hollow, her eyes sunken and rayless, and her smile was the very mockery of mirth; evidently she was not happy, and the apparently affectionate attentions lavished upon her by the comte, tended not to diminish suspicions that he was not altogether so amiable at home, as he took pains to appear in society. However, balls and fêtes followed the union of the young couple very gaily for some months, and everybody said that the Comtesse de Villeroi, rich, beautiful, and beloved, ought to be the happiest creature in existence.

Something more than a year after the demise of the Marquess de Montespan, Paris was thrown into considerable consternation by a report originating with some of the petty officers of the sacred establishment, that the church of St. Genevieve was haunted; old Albert Morel, the sexton, protesting upon the faith of a good Catholic, that he had heard, when occasionally in the church alone, a strange rattling noise proceed from the vaults beneath it. "What this could be," he remarked, was past comprehension, unless it were ghosts playing at skittles with their own dead bones." Some people laughed at this idea, and some sapiently shaking their heads, declared with ominous looks, that Morel was no fool, but knew what he knew, whilst every one agreed that some foundation, at least there must be, for the fearful tale. At length, in the church of St. Genevieve, it became necessary for the interment of some individual of rank, to open the very vault from whence seemed chiefly or entirely to proceed the strange and alarming sounds, and this happened to be that, in which were deposited the mortal remains of the Marquess de Montespan; from his coffin, (a mere wooden shell,) it was now ascertained that the rattling proceeded, and as upon inspection, a hole was observed to have been drilled in the wood, as if by the teeth of some animal, it was judged expedient to open and examine it further. The remains of the marquess were discovered in a state of dry decomposition, with his head as completely severed from his body as if by the stroke of the axe; but, horror of horrors that head, that skeleton skull, moved, as those who opened the coffin stood to gaze on its revolting contents, and rolled to and fro by itself! Dismay seized the spectators, who were about to rush in disorder from the spot, when one more courageous than the rest, laying hold of the skull, shook it violently for some moments, when, from one of the eye-sockets dangled the tail of a rat! The cause of the strange sounds heard by Morel and others, connected with the church of St. Genevieve, was now obvious; the voracious animal had entered when lean and small, into the head of the deceased marquess, by the eye, but after revelling upon the brain of the unfortunate defunct for some time, had increased to a size which rendered its exit by the same passage impossible, and its efforts at extrication from horrible thraldom, caused the rattling of the disjoined head in the coffin. It was proposed to saw asunder the skull, in

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