Why on thy pinions, swift as thought See these, and more-then own 'tis clear, Then let us hail the coming year, INSCRIPTION ON A SMALL PAPER TABLET ERECTED TO THE MEMORY OF TOP-KNOT, A FAVOURITE BIRD. (For the Mirror. IF modest worth can dim thy pensive eye, BILLS of Mortality took rise (says PenInant) in 1592; in which year began a great pestilence, which continued till the 18th of December, 1595. During this Sweet bird indeed! as Shakspeare says, 'tis ten period they were kept in order to ascer To one, we e'er shall see his like again." Stern foe to vice, to virtue ever fast, He flattered none where truth the damage pays, tain the number of persons who died; but when the plague ceased, the bills were discontinued. They were resumed again in 1603. At the original institu tion there were only a hundred and nine parishes; others were gradually added, and, by the year 1681, the number was a hundred and thirty-two. Since that time fourteen more have been added, so that the whole amounts to one hundred and forty-six; viz. 97 within the walls. 23 out-parishes in Middlesex and Sur Arts and Sciences. CHURCH AND TURRET CLOCKS. An improvement has lately been made in church and turret clocks, for which the Society of Arts, &c. has bestowed one of its most liberal rewards to Mr. W. Wynn, an ingenious watch and clock maker in London. We beg to call the attention of churchwardens, gentlemen of committees for building new churches, and architects both in London and the country, to the subject, as we think great service would be rendered to the public in adopting Mr. Wynn's plan. The feeble tones produced from the bells of our church-clocks arise from the great resistance which the hammers suffer in their fall by the spring called the counter spring, which is placed under the shank of the hammer to prevent it from shattering the bell. It has been proved by an experiment made on the hammers of the turret-clock at the Royal Military College, that this spring opposes a force of forty-two pounds out of fifty, leaving only the force of eight pounds to put the bell in vibration. The only means of obtaining a blow from the hammer to produce the weak tones which are made by our present church-clocks have been to make use of machinery of very large dimensions, and to suspend very heavy weights as maintaining powers; and even with the assistance of these, there is scarcely a church-clock in London that is heard out of its immediate vicinity; consequently the great bulk of the population derives no benefit from these useful machines. In fact, the increasing the size of the machinery and weights in a great measure defeats its own object, for it creates almost as much resistance as it increases power, from the additional friction suffered by the increased weight of the moving objects, the large sizes of the pivots, and the strong inflexible ropes necessarily used, which have to pass round the barrels, and in most cases numerous pulleys. On the present system, the power of the movement is exerted in vain, as it is obviously an absurdity to be at the expense of creating an immense mechanical power, and suffer the greater part of it to be neutralized before it takes effect. It is like attaching eight horses to the shafts of a waggon, and placing seven others on behind to resist the progress of the former. Mr. Wynn has by his invention removed the whole of the resistance to the fall of the hammer, by dispensing with the counter spring and causing the haminer to fall without any obstruction whatever; and has taken advantage of the reaction which takes place on the collinon sof elastic bodies to catch the hammer at the extreme height to which it rebounds from the bell, by which he is enabled to produce a perpendicular fall of the hammer of twelve inches, at the expense of raising it only six. It will be practicable in almost all cases to increase the fall of the hammer three or four times greater than they now fall, and those who are acquainted with the accelerated force of falling bodies, will be able to appreciate the great increase of power that will be acquired by this principle. It is easy to demonstrate that the force of the new hammer can be increased twenty or thirty times greater than it is on the system hitherto adopted without increasing the maintaining power. By means of this invention it will be easy to create a force that will be able to put the largest sized bell in as great vibration as it is capable of, or to make it sound so as to be heard at as great a distance as when rung with the rope, which has hitherto been impracticable, for the larger the church-bells are, the more difficult it is to create a power to get a tone cut of thein. Besides the valuable principles before described, Mr. Wynn has effected several improvements in the striking part, which in themselves will be of great importance, by applying a toothed sector to raise the hammer instead of the common lever, which removes fifteen-sixteenths of the friction. The oil will adhere inuch more tenaciously to the sector than to the lever, on which there is a great difficulty to make it remain, on account of its plane surface, inclined position, and the jerk it suffers at each fall of the hammer; and unless it is frequently attended to, it puts the clock out of order. A contrivance is also made on the principle of the airtight carriage axles to prevent the pivots of the hammer from rust, which, from their necessary exposure to the atmosphere, they always contract, and which creates a very great friction both in the raising and falling of the hammer. The new hammer may be fixed to church-clocks now in use for a very trifling expense, without altering any of the machinery; and if they were generally applied to the public clocks in London, there is not a habitation whose inmates would not derive the benefit of hearing the hour, a thing of obvious importance to the public, as it would afford the means to every individual to correct his time without trouble to himself, and enable the man of business to be precise in his appointments. One of them has recently been applied to a church-clock in a vil STICS. e account of Captain , that at Port Bowen, ept up a conversation - a distance of 6,696 statute mile and two XIMETER. r this name has been ch surgeon, for the ng (which it is said curacy) the existence other effusion in the It consists of a plate of a snuff-box, which to be examined, in ender the sound procussion very distinct. small a quantity as has been ascertained It likewise enables er if the liver or the or if the peritoneum F THE A little older, and the cnula begins to shew its nature; evincing a power of discrimination in distinguishing its parents from anybody else, which is brought forward as an evidence of very extraordinary sagacity. Then we begin to talk -when we are really interesting, and can be clever sometimes, if we are not asked to be so. And from this age let us at one step be "weaned from the nursery"-booted and breeched-master of our A B C and familiar with " Reading made Easy;" "And then the wbining school-boy, with his And shining morning face, creeping like snail It is only, however, while we go to the A boarding-school is the first step towards that state of life where pleasures and pains are rendered more vivid and acute by their contrast. Grief at leaving a parental home, thence to be severed by distance and time, is a feeling which most of us have experienced, and acknowledged as poignant. We shall not readily forget the sorrows of "Black ⇒eze which geutly blew, Monday," with all its paraphernalia of ournals. E SEASONS. echoes as it past, s, fresh, and fair, and corded trunks, plum-cakes, and postchaises; nor how willingly we would have forfeited the favours bestowed upon us at parting, to be allowed a week's respite from school. Ere long, however, these grievances die away! and the same tongue which but a few days back was choked in its attempt to utter a "fare. owned, what well it well," may be now heard in the school -ob, how spring-time bursting from a boy, e in flowery joy, ·latile hawling for 66 fail play," as if home had never had an existence. At fifteen or sixteen he leaves school, and is now enjoying, perhaps, the happiest period of his life. Still even this age has its drawbacks; it is for a time extremely awkward and undefined. The homunculus stands, as it were, rocking on a pivot of perplexity between man and boy-rejected by each estate, and claimed by neither. He wears a long coat, and assumes the neckcloth; but boys in the street cry "a-hem !" or stroke their chins as he passes along. Some people call him 'Mister;" others, "Master;" the former appellation does not sit well yet; and the latter is insulting. The elderly ladies tell him "he's quite a man;" the vulgar married women begin to quiz him about his sweetheart; and the younger ladies are not so familiar with him as they were wont to be. He maintains his dignity when in the company of a schoolboy, but is somewhat in doubt as to whether he ought not to quit the room with the ladies after dinner. But he has now "discontinued school above a twelvemonth." He has lost his shamefacedness (we hope not his sense of shame) is reckoned gentlemanly in his manners, and is invited out. He feels his heart opened-ceases to be shy before ladies in general and begins to feel something like a tenderness for ladies in particular. "And then the lover! Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad Made to his mistress' eye-brow." What a sensation is that created by the first impression of love upon the young and feeling heart! He is reproved by parental wisdom-laughed at by his companions and scorned by the object of his adoration! And with a heart" already stabbed by a white wench's black eye," he goes to the field of battle, and encloses his lacerated bosom in a breastplate of steel. "And then a soldier; of war's alarms," and perhaps favoured by the inducement of a seasonable legacy, he sells his commission, and retires to his country-seat. From the whining lover, he is changed to the gallant captain; and instead of singing (as he was wont to do,) "Believe me, if all those endearing young charms,' ," he now chants in lusty heartiness, "With my glass in one hand, and my jug in the other," &c. &c. She He has not, however, lost every sensibility in the wars, and there is yet a little corner of his heart unhardened by scenes of blood-uncontaminated by glory. He at first denies this; but when, to his great surprise, he meets with the first object of his youthful love, his tenderness is revived in spite of himself. evinces so much solicitude for his wound, and expresses so much admiration for his bravery, that he strikes the flag of celibacy-capitulates with the forces of his insinuating charmer-and at length yields up his heart for her disposal. His bride is yet a virgin; and her nymph-like sparkling qualities have vanished, and left her sober and substantial-fair, fat, and forty. Like a glass of still champagne, her effervescence has subsided; but the captain, like a good connoisseur, thinks her all the better for that. People say at the time, that he does not marry her because he particularly loves her now but because he did love her once. He likes her better than any other woman, and makes her a good husband. And we now see him become age " and calling. The chins of the young, the middling, and the aged, are now alike subjected to the razor-blade; Jealous in honour, sudden and quick in quarrel, for, save and except an occasional pair of Seeking the bubble reputation, Even in the cannon's mouth." He finds steel lozenges a cure for loveor, at least, Glory is now his mistress. He no longer now supplicates through tears "a return of affection;" but, "with an eye like Mars to threaten and command," he summons the surrender of a foreign fort. His movements are too rapid for reminiscence to keep pace with them, and in the revelries of a messtable he drowns his sorrows. The drum and fife accompany him through many a year of servitude; till at length, "tired mustachios upon the lip of a LifeGuardsman or Bond-street swindler, we are all smooth as our mothers. The part of the justice is monotonous, compared with former enactments. He reads an orthodox paper at breakfast, and very likely takes a little ginger in his tea. During the remainder of the morning he presides in his justice-room, to the terror of poachers and orchard-robbers, and so maintains his official dignity till the ponderous sirloin smokes before him, when his rigidity relaxes, and he sets (together with the parson) an example of earnest application, which all hungry people will be ever willing to follow. The clergyman and he divide the reverence of the parish; they are the "two great ones" of the village, equally honoured by its inhabitants, who always summon up their best bow or curtsey, either for the guardian of their souls or the supporter of their personal rights; "and so he plays his part." In due time the exertions of office fall into younger hands, and he gradually enters the sixth age, shifting << Into the lean and slippered pantaloon; With spectacles on nose, and pouch at side; His youthful hose well saved, a world too wide For his shrunk shank; and his big, manly Turning again towards childish treble, pipes Little more can be added to this. He now lives upon a prescribed diet, and finds a stick really necessary, where it was before merely ornamental. As he walks through the village, he always stops the little children (particularly if the nursery-maid be pretty)-gives them a piece of gingerbread, or a few carawaycomfits-and tells them to "be good boys and girls!" He begins to grow garrulous now in the relation of his juvenile freaks; and rather tries the patience of his hearers by the frequent introduction of episodes, which are no way material to the story. He is likewise abominably particular about the “ where," the "when," and the "who." What wonders he could have done! "But, O vain boast! Who can control his fate ?-'tis not sc now He has a favourite daughter, who leads him to church on Sunday- reads the paper to him every morning, and the Bible every evening. The crape he wears is for a son who was killed at Waterloo ; but he is comforted in thinking that his remaining child will not be without a protector-for she is engaged to the son of the same who "presented him with his gold spectacles and his walkingstick." The loss of his son assisted to silver his hairs; but the marriage of his daughter has brightened him up. He is now tolerably cheerful, and can laugh at a joke (when he hears it,) though at the risk of breaking a blood-vessel. "Last scene of all, That ends this strange, eventful history, (hing." He retains his faculties just long enough to see his grandson make a hobby-horse of his cane. His bed-room is on the ground-floor, and the utmost he can do is to move with quiet caution, supported by his son and daughter, from one room into the other. He has made his will, and lost his memory. The neighbours go through the ceremonious routine of daily inquiry after his health. A few "to-morrows "" creep over us,-and on once more asking after the poor invalid, we find that yesterday has lighted him to dusty death." "Out, out, brief candle! Monthly Magazine. WHAT IS LIFE? BY HENRY NEELE, ESQ. Now, dull as March, now blithe as May; Yet, what is life, I pray thee tell? Yet, tell, I prithee, what is Life? Friendship's Offering. |