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ed mice, certainly not from a other meat, but as a matter of -Goëthe's Rifleman's Com

O-CHOOAN'S BUMPER.

e chief's having remarked on whenever the king's health whether of England or of the cups were always fairly ok advantage of this loyalty of and gave The king of Inh" three or four times over, to -urse, the officers were obliged giving "The king of Looten. Finding this manœuvre well, he carried it rather farcustomary with us on similar or, observing the company ackward in discussing a mess e-meal porridge, which had before each of them, he stood bowl in his hand, and, callKing of Injeree's health!" e whole, and invited the rest any to follow his loyal exl's Loo-Choo.

e Gatherer.

Gatherer and disposer of other a's stuff."- Wootton

in the country went for a dles, when to her astonishrtification, she was informed a penny in the pound since ase of them. "Why," says Can be the cause of such an e as a penny." "I can't e man, but I believe it is wing to the war." "Why, cried she, "do they fight

different sentiments excited by diff modes of building, expressed himse these quaint words:-"When I go St. Paul's, I look round and admire a magnificent building; but when into Westminster Abbey, I'll be ha if I'm not all devotion."

TO CORRESPONDENTS. J. G. E. is received and accepted. We beg to offer our sincere acknowledgi to Jacobus for his late favour.

T. R-d is requested to accept our best tha We must decline giving an engraving the engraving offered us by F. A. Y.

The following are under consideration Engelbert; M. H. S.; H; Mr. Wilmot; H. H.; and Senex.

C. F. will probably appear in our colum We heartily thank our well-wishers Gui and Utopia. If we, consistently with our d could publish their poetry, we would-but cannot.

E. A.'s coarse narrative is of course reject
C. W. R.-try again.
Sam's joke is no joke.
W. D. is declined.

The engraving inquired after by M. H. is no with many others, in the hands of our engrav and will very early appear in our columns.

Hubert Yonge; Lines on the Death of Infant; and Lines suggested by the loss of Wife, &c. &c. do not suit us.

A. S. T.'s claim shall be taken into consid ation.

The communication signed F. B. W. is n sufficiently correct for publication.

A correspondent informs us that the subje of the painting in the New Church, Chelsea, the Entombing of Our Saviour, by West, a not the Ascension, as stated by the writer the article at page 106 of the MIRROR.

ERRATUM. In No 239 of the MIRROR, p. 12 eol. 2, line 9, from the bottom, for "abundant) tired" read" abundantly taxed.*

Printed and Punished by J. LIMBIRD, 143 Strand. (near Somerset-House. ) and sold by a

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e our plan of preh correct views of >irth to our most above engraving a mansion at the les from ShrewsWycherley, Esq. porn in 1640. The e structure, but to decay, and the a clumsy inconarm-house. The n in the view, is nted by the poet; its authenticity. of Sansaw, whose near Wycherley's e erected an urn, a rocky recess in which was called through the negin Shrewsbury it owing inscription on the pedestal :

ERLEY, Esq. matic Poet,

is

When Wycherley was fifteen years or age, he was sent over to France for the improvement of his education. Here he continued some time, during which he was often admitted to the conversation of the most accomplished ladies of that court. A little before the restoration of Charles the Second, he returned to England, and became a gentleman commoner of Queen's College, in Oxford; and was entered in the public library in July, 1660. After some time he quitted the university, and entered himself a student in the Middle Temple; but, being much addicted to pleasure, he forsook the study of the law before he was called to the bar, and engaged himself in pursuits more agreeable to his own genius and the gallant spirit of the times.

Upon writing his first play, entitled, "Love in a Wood, or St. James's Park," acted at the Theatre Royal in 1672, he became acquainted with several of the most celebrated wits, both of the court and town, and likewise with the Duchess of Cleveland.

In 1673, Mr. Wycherley wrote a comedy, called "The Gentleman Dancing

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Theatre, and received with universal applause. In 1678, he wrote his "Plain Dealer ;" and in 1683, the comedy of "The Country Wife." These plays raised him high in the esteem of the world, and recommended him to the favour of the nobility, among whom his greatest friend was the Duke of Buckingham. King Charles likewise showed him more respect, perhaps, than was ever known to take place from a sovereign to a private gentleman. Mr. Wycherley happened to be very ill at his lodgings for some time, during which the king did him the honour of a visit, when, finding his body weak and his spirits depressed, he commanded him to take a journey to the south of France, and to remain there during the winter season; at the same time the king assured him, that when he was able to undertake the journey, he would order 500l. to be paid him to defray the expenses. Mr. Wycherley accordingly went to France, and returned to England the latter end of the following spring, with his health perfectly restored. The king received him with the utmost marks of esteem, and soon after told him he had a son whom he would deliver to his care for education, and that for this service he should have 1,500l. a year allotted him; the king also added, that when the time came his office should cease, he would take care to make such provision for him as would place him above the malice or contempt of the world.

These were golden prospects for Mr. Wycherley; but they were soon, by a singular accident, rendered abortive. Soon after his majesty's promise, Mr. Wycherley went to Tunbridge, to take either the benefit of the waters, or the diversions of the place; when, walking one day upon the Wells-walk with his friend Mr. Fairbread, of Gray's-inn, just as he came to the door of a bookseller's shop, the Countess of Drogheda, a young widow, rich, noble, and beautiful, came to the bookseller, and inquired for "The Plain Dealer."- "Madam," said Mr. Fairbread, "since you are for the Plain Dealer, there he is for you," pushing Mr. Wycherley towards her. "Yes," says Mr. Wycherley, "this lady can bear plain dealing; for she appears to be so accomplished, that what would be a compliment to others, when said to her would be plain dealing."-" No, truly, sir," said the lady, "I am not without my faults; I love plain dealing, and never am more fond of it than when it tells me of a fault." "Then, madam," said Mr. Fairbread, you and the plain dealer seemed designed by heaven for each other." In short, Mr. Wycherley accompanied her on

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the walks, waited on her home, visited her daily at her lodgings, and in a little time obtained her consent to marry him. This he did by the advice of his father, without acquainting the king, who, when informed of it, was highly offended; and Mr. Wycherley, from a consciousness of having acted imprudently, seldom going to court, his absence was construed into ingratitude.

This was the cause of Mr. Wycherley's disgrace with the king, whose favour and affection he had before possessed in so distinguished a degree. The countess settled all her estates upon him; but his claims to them being disputed after her death, the expense of the law and other incumbrances so far reduced him, that he was not able to satisfy the impatience of his creditors, who threw him at last into prison; so that he, who a few years before was flourishing in all the gaiety of life, flushed with prospects of court preferment, and happy in the most extensive reputation for wit and parts, was condemned to suffer all the rigours of want. In this severe extremity he fell upon an expedient, which, no doubt, was dictated by his distress, of applying to his bookseller, who had got considerably by his "Plain Dealer," in order to borrow 201; but he applied in vain; the bookseller refused to lend him a shilling; and he remained in that distress for seven years, when he obtained his release at the instigation of King James, who, seeing his

Plain Dealer" performed, was so charmed with it, that he gave immediate orders for the payment of the author's debts, adding to that bounty a pension of 2001. per annum, while he continued in England.

On the death of his father be became possessed of a considerable estate; but it was clogged with so many limitations, that he never enjoyed any great advantage from it. In his advanced years he married a young lady of fortune, but only survived his nuptials eleven days. He died in the month of September, 1715, and was interred in the vault of CoventGarden church.

SIR WALTER SCOTT, THE AVOWED AUTHOR OF THE

WAVERLEY NOVELS. OUR readers will remember that a few weeks back we stated our views of the matter in question on the authority of a letter from Paris, and subsequently in a valuable anecdotical article by our esteemed correspondent, M. L. B., which in direct evidence traced the masked Great Unknown to be in the person of

Sir Walter Scott. At the celebration of the Annual Theatrical Edinburgh Fund Dinner, on the 23rd of February, Sir Walter Scott presiding as chairman, the Great Unknown rose and made himself known to the public as the highly gifted author of the whole of the series of the Waverley Novels. It was a most interesting moment and we shall preserve the following brief notice of the important occurrence in the columns of the MIRROR.

Lord Meadowbank begged to propose a health, which he was sure, in an assembly of Scotsmen, would be received, not with an ordinary feeling of delight, but with rapture and enthusiasm. He knew that it would be painful to his feelings if he were to speak to him in terms which his heart prompted; and that he had sheltered himself under his native modesty from the applause which he deserved. But it was gratifying at last to know that these clouds were now dispelled, and that the Great Unknown -the mighty magician-(here the room literally rung with applauses, which were continued for some minutes)-the minstrel of our country, who had conjured up, not the phantoms of departed ages, out realities, now stood revealed before the eyes and affections of his country. In his presence it would ill become him, as it would be displeasing to that distinguished person, to say, if he were able, what every man must feel, who recollected the enjoyment he had had from the great efforts of his mind and genius. It has been left for him, by his writings, to give his country an imperishable name. He had done more for his country, by illuminating its annals, by illustrating the deeds of its warriors and statesmen, than any man that ever existed, or was produced, within its territory. He had opened up the peculiar beauties of his country to the eyes of foreigners. He had exhibited the deeds of those patriots and statesmen to whom we owed the freedom we now enjoyed. He would give the health of Sir Walter Scott, which was drank with enthusiastic cheering.

Sir Walter Scott certainly did not think, that in coming there that day he would have the task of acknowledging, before three hundred gentlemen, a secret which, considering that it was communicated to more than twenty people, was remarkably well kept. He was now before the bar of his country, and might be understood to be on trial before Lord Meadowbank as an offender; yet he was sure that every impartial jury would bring in a verdict of "Not proven." He did not now think it necessary to enter into reasons of his

long silence. Perhaps he might have acted from caprice. He had now to say, however, that the merits of these works, if they had any, and their faults, were entirely imputable to himself. (Long and loud cheering.) He was afraid to think on what he had done. "Look on't again I dare not." He had thus far unbosomed himself, and he knew that it would be reported to the public. He meant when he said that he was the author, that he was the total and undivided author. With the exception of quotations, there was not a single word that was not derived from himself, or suggested in the course of his reading. The wand was now broken, and the rod buried. They would allow him further to say, with Prospero, "Your breath it is that has filled my sails," and to crave one single toast in the capacity of the author of those novels; and he would dedicate a bumper to the health of one who had represented some of those characters, of which he had endeavoured to give the skeleton, with a degree of liveliness which rendered him grateful. He would propose the health of his friend Bailie Nicol Jarvie, (loud applause ;) and he was sure that, when the author of Waverley and Rob Roy drank to Nicol Jarvie, it would be received with that degree of applause to which that gentleman had always been accustomed, and that they would take care that, on the present occasion, it should be prodigious!* (Long and vehement applause.)

Mr. Mackay spoke with great humour in the character of Bailie Jarvie.—My conscience! My worthy father the deacon could not have believed that his son could hae had sic a compliment paid to him by the Great Unknown.

Sir Walter Scott.-Not unknown now Mr. Bailie.

Mr. Mackay. He had been long identified with the Bailie, and he was vain of the cognomen which he had now worn for eight years, and he questioned if any of his brethren in the Council had given such universal satisfaction. (Loud laughter and applause.)

ASTRONOMICAL OBSERVA-
TIONS FOR MARCH.
(For the Mirror.)

"In mantle of Proteus clad,

With aspect ferocious and wild;
Now pleasant, now sullen and sad,

Now froward, now placid and mild."

THE above lines are aptly descriptive of the changes to which the month of March is usually subject.

The sun completes another revolution and enters the equinoctial and cardinal sign Aries on the 21st, at 9 h. 2 m. 58 s. morning, when 13 deg. 43 min. of Leo are due north, 19 deg. 9 min. of Gemini due east, 19 deg. 9 min. of Sagittarius due west, and 13 deg. 43 min. of Aquarius due south. At this moment spring commences, and day and night are again equal all over the globe. The point where the celestial equator cuts the ecliptic, called the first point of Aries, is found to have a motion in antecedence, or contrary to the order of the signs of about 50 sec. of a deg. in a year, and which is to be accounted for in the following manner :-The sun completes what is called a tropical year when he arrives at the same equinoctial or solstitial point which he does in 365 days 5 h. 48 m. 57 s.; but when he reaches the same fixed star again as seen from the earth, he completes the siderial year, which contains 365 days, 6h. 9 m. 14 s. As the sun describes the whole ecliptic, or 360 deg., in a tropical year, he moves 59 m. 8 s. of a deg. every day at a mean rate, and consequently 50 sec. of a deg. in 20 m. 17 s. of time, which is the precise difference between the siderial and civil year. Thus he will arrive at the same equinox or solstice when he is 50 sec. of a deg. short of the same star from which he set out the year before. This motion has now become very considerable; about 2,000 years ago, when astronomy was first cultivated by the Greeks, the first point of the ecliptic was 30 deg. or a whole sign forwarder than at present, being then about the middle of the constellation Aries, but is now about the middle of Pisces; thus with regard to the signs, the stars appear to have gone 30 deg. forwarder, for the same signs always keep in the same points of the ecliptic, without respect to the constellations. If the earth made exactly 365 diurnal rotations on its axis whilst it revolves from any equinoctial or solstitial point to the same again, the civil and solar year would always keep pace together, and the style would never have needed any alteration; but without such a change, the seasons in length of time would be quite reversed with regard to the months of the year, although it would require 23,783 years to bring about such a total change.

When the earth is in the line of the nodes of an inferior planet, Mercury for instance, his apparent motion is then in a straight line, because the plane of it passes through the eye; when he is in his inferior semicircle, he will pass directly between the sun and the earth, appearing like a black spot on the sun's disc; this

is called a transit. Were the plane of his orbit coincident with the ecliptic, this appearance would be seen frequently; but by reason of the obliquity of the two planes to each other it is much more rare. There will be a transit May 5th, 1832, and He sets another November 7th, 1835. on the 1st at 6h. afternoon, and on the 31st at 7 h. He is in perihelio on the 12th, and reaches his eastern elongation on the 18th, in 15 deg. 33 min. of Aries, when he may be seen a short time after sun-set; this is the most favourable time of the whole year for observing this small On the 26th he becomes staplanet. tionary in 20 deg. of the same sign, from whence he commences a retrograde move

ment.

Venus culminates on the 1st, at 8 h. 52 m. morning, in 24 deg. Capricorn; and on the 31st, at 9 h. 12 m. morning, in 25 deg. Aquarius. She arrives at the point of her greatest western elongation on the 5th, in 27 deg. 33 min. Capricorn. On the 8th, she has 6 digits east illuminated, her apparent diameter being then 24 sec. of a deg. Transits of Venus are much less frequent than those of Mercury, but of considerably more importance in astronomy, as from them astronomers have discovered the sun's true parallax, by which means they have been enabled to ascertain the earth's distance from the sun, as also the distance of the other pla nets. The last happened June 3rd, 1769; the next will be on December 5th, 1874, the middle being at 3 h. 43 m. 27 s. afternoon, but it will be invisible in Europe. Another will occur on December 16th, 1882, at 4 h. 49 m. 41 s. morning, partly visible in Great Britain.

Jupiter is now coming more under our observation in the evening, appearing on the eastern side of the meridian; he rises on the 1st at 8 h. 20 m. evening, in 12 deg. 57 min. Libra, and on the 31st, at 6 h. 10 m., in 9 deg. 28 min. of the same sign. The satellites of Jupiter revolve on their axis in the time of their revolution round their primary, in the same manner as our moon. They must be very magni ficent objects to the inhabitants of that planet; the first appears to them four times larger than our moon does to us, and goes through all the lunar changes in the short space of 42 hours, within which period it is itself eclipsed, and causes an eclipse of the sun on the surface of Jupiter. There are seven visible immersions of the above this month :

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