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of jockey boots, and selecting, what appeared to his ruralized vision, a verdant spot; his feet slid from under him, and he got a fall unmodified in its disagreeable results by the excitement of the sport so prevalent in his native country. "Who built this fine stone affair ?" said R, pointing to the pea-green promenade on our right. "The people of Margate," said some

one.

"I thought nobody in England but the king could make a pier," said R-. "Come, come," cried B-, "let us be grave for a minute or two; we look more like a parcel of boys landing than a grave and learned body."

"Youth is the time for punning," said R

"It is no great crime when one is older," said B

"That I deny," answered our wag; "it may be good in youth, but it is bad in age."

The groan which followed this last pun of the voyage reechoed along the shore, and it was not until we reached Howe's hotel, a sort of Bath York House stuck in the middle of Golden Square, London, that the tumult died

away.

THE UNICORN.

In the physical world, some of our secrets are disappearing; and though Captain Parry failed to find out the pole, and we believe, with that worthy navigator, that the world have been dreaming from the beginning, and that there is no pole; and though Captain Ross will go further and fare worse, yet things are turning up now and then that our most benevolent scepticism cannot resist. But among other plunders of the imagination, they are going to rob us of the unicorn. For two thousand years and upwards, a short date in the history of human quarrel about nothings, the sages of this world have been doubting and deciding on the existence of this showy creature. Pliny would have sworn to his having all but seen it, and he would have sworn that too, if any one had taken the trouble to ask him. Kircher, and a few of the German naturalists, and black-letter fools-every naturalist and black-letter man being more or less a fool-dug up the question out of the pit of Teutonic dulness, and ever since, every traveller beyond the Needles, has had his theory, which was quite as good as his fact, and his fact, which was quite as good as his theory.

The topic perished in Germany, being

stifled under professor Bopp and Sanscrit, Professor Semler and Scepticism, Professor Jahn and Jacobinism, and the whole vast feather-bed suffocation of Professor Kotzebue and Comedy. But in England it was endeared to us by associations "deep in every truly British heart," as the chairmen of our tavern parties say over their third bottle. We had seen it for ages gallantly climbing the slippery heights of the kingly crown on show boards, carriages, transparencies, theatres, and the new, matchless, hydropyric, or fiery and watery fairy palace of Vauxhall. It met us in every material, from the gilt confitures of Bartholomew fair, to the gold plateau of the "table laid for sixty," at St. James's. All the dilettanti were immersed in the great national question of its shape and features. Mr. Barrow, in a journey of exploration, which extended to three miles beyond the Cape, believed that he saw it, but strongly doubted its existence. M. Vaillant never saw it, nor believed that any one ever did, but was as sure of its existence as if it had slept in his bosom, and been unto him as a daughter. Mr. Russel had one, which he milked twice a day, and drove in a curricle to visit the Queen of Madagascar. Doctor Lyall is writing a quarto from Madagascar, to deny the statement in toto; admitting, however, that there is a rumour of the being of some nondescript of the kind in the mountains, somewhat between the size of the elephant and the Shetland pony; but that he and we think the subject-matter will turn out asinine. But now a Mr. Ruppell, after a long sojourn in the northeast of Africa, comes at once to cheer and dishearten us by the discovery, that in Kordofan, if any one knows where that is, the unicorn exists; stated to be of the size of a small horse, of the slender make of the gazelle, and furnished with a long, straight, slender horn in the male, which was wanting in the female. According to the statements made by various persons, it inhabits the deserts to the south of Kordofan, is uncommonly fleet, and comes only occasionally to the Koldagi Heive mountains on the borders of Kordofan. This, it must be acknowledged, is a sad falling off from the rival of the lion, that we have honoured so long in the arms of England. But we sincerely hope, that by the next arrival, it will not degenerate into a cow, or worse, a goat. But he tells us, that to our knowledge of the giraffe he has added considerably. He obtained in Nubia and Kordofan five specimens, two of which were males

and three females. He regards the horns as constituting the principal generic character, they being formed by distinct bones, united to the frontal and parietal bones by a very obvious suture, and having throughout the same structure with the other bones. In both sexes one of these abnormal bones is situated on each branch of the coronal suture, and the male possesses an additional one placed more anteriorly, and occupying

the middle of the frontal suture.

The

anomalous position of this appendage furnishes a complete refutation of the theory of Camper with regard to the unicorn, that such an occurrence was contrary to nature, and proves at least the possibility of the existence of such an animal. Professor Camper is an ass, of course; but when are we to expect any thing better from the illustrissimi of the land of sour-krout? Give a Doctor Magnificus his due allowance of the worst tobacco, and the worst beer in the world, with a ream of half-brown paper, and a Leipsic catalogue to plunder, and he will in three months write any subject dead-smother the plainest truth with an accumulation of absurdity, astonishing, as the work of a creature with but two hands-and prove that the earth is but a huge oyster, in which Germany is the pearl; or that man is only a reclaimed baboon, of which all the wit is centered in Weimar.

Monthly Magazine.

The Gatherer.

A snapper up of unconsidered trifles. SHAKSPEARE.

A PUNSTER.

DR. BARTON was a punster. He said, "the fellows of my college wished to have an organ in the chapel, but I put a stop to it," whether for the sake of the pun, or because he disliked music, is uncertain. He invited, for the love of punning, Mr. Crowe and Mr. Rooke to dine with him; and having given Mr. Birdmore, another guest, a hint to be rather after the time, on his appearing, said, "Mr. Rook! Mr. Crowe! I beg leave to introduce one Bird more. He married his niece to a gentleman of the hopeful name of Buckle. The enterprise succeeded beyond his expectation. Mrs. Buckle was delivered of twins. "A pair of Buckles!" "Boys or girls?" said a congratulating friend; the answer may be supposed. To him, though it has been attributed to others, belongs the glory or the shame of having said to one, who having re-established his health by a diet of milk and

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THE following Notes convey some idea of the extent and resources of the French capital:

By the last census, 1827, the population of Paris was 890,000.

Bread. In Paris, 890,000 persons consume 227,760,000 pounds in a year. Printing. There are in Paris 80 printing establishments; 600 presses going; and 3,000 journeymen printers in constant employ.

Deaths. The annual mortality is 21,033; average of suicides 200, of whom the greater number are single persons; and on an average, a death occurs every twenty minutes. Upwards of 1,100 children die annually from small-pox.

Lamps.-The city is lit with 4,533 oil lamps, with 12,672 wicks.

The River.-The river Seine where it enters Paris is 510 feet broad; at the

Pont Neuf 864 feet, and where it leaves the city 400 feet broad.

Hospitals.-The income of the hospitals is 9,762,154 francs, or about £406,756.; the average cost to government for a day in the hospital, is about 11td. The maniacs from two prisons average 3,000 a year; and the majority of mad persons are unmarried.

Lottery. The average annual receipts of the lottery is about a million sterling-of which the treasury receive about £180,000. the remainder being the adventurers'..

Marriages. The average of marriages is 6,316, or 1 marriage in every 108 persons. Marriages are most frequent in February, and least in December. There is rather more than an average of three children to each marriage.

Births.-The births average 27,000, or 1 birth for every 12 minutes; of the number, 8,760 are illegitimate.

Gaming Houses.-The annual receipt is £360,000.; the whole expenses £60,000. Those who lease them clear in 6 years about £83,000.

Wine Tax.-The annual revenue is a million sterling.

Theatres.-There are 10,000 persons daily at the theatres, Of these, it is estimated, 6,816 pay for admission. The annual average receipts of all the theatres is £209,298.

Tombs. The price for a tomb in Pere la Chaise, is about £4. without the right to the grave; some have cost £1,400. Those erected to women are fewer by half than those for men.

Travellers.-The average since the peace of 1814, is 17,676 English residents or travellers in Paris.

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MAGISTERIAL LEARNING.

A MAYOR of Yarmouth being by his office a justice of the peace, and one who was willing to dispense the laws wisely, though he could hardly read, procured the statute-book, where finding a law, against firing a beacon, or causing any beacon to be fired after nine at night; the sapient mayor read it frying bacon, or causing any bacon to be fried. Accordingly he went out the next night on the scent, and being directed by his nose to a carrier's house, he found the man and his wife both frying bacon, the husband holding the pan, while the wife turned it; being thus caught in the fact, and having nothing to say for themselves, his worship committed them both to gaol to abide the consequence of the offence.

Printed and Published by J. LIMBIRD, 143, Strand, (near Somerset House,) London; sold bu ERNEST FLEISCHER, 626, New Market, Leivsic, and by all Newsmen and Boksellers.

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No church in London is perhaps better known than the above, which is distinctively called Saint Dunstan's in the West. External elegance has little to do with this celebrity, which has been acquired by the two wooden figures placed on a pediment in front, representing savages, who indicate the hours and quarters by striking a bell with their clubs: this has caused a wag to describe them as the most striking wonders of the metropolis. Another, who is equally disposed to sport with their notoriety, says, " as they are visible in the street, they are more admired by many of the populace on Sundays, than the most elegant preacher from the pulpit within." We are, however, induced to hope better; especially as Dr. Donne, the celebrated Richard Baxter, and the pious Romaine were preachers at St. Dunstan's.

There is no evidence when this church was erected; but Stow records burials in it so early as the year 1421. The date of the above view is 1739, and from a foot-note to the Engraving, we learn that the church was dedicated to St. Dunstan, archbishop of Canterbury, who VOL. XIV.

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died A.D. 990. "It was anciently a Rectory, in the patronage of the Convent of Westminster. Richard de Barking, the abbot, in 1237, granted the advowson to King Henry III., which continued in the crown till 1362; it was afterwards in the gift of the bishop of London, till 1386; when Robert de Braybrooke, the bishop, granted it to the abbot and Convent of Premonastratenses of Alnwick in Northumberland, where the patronage remained till their suppression. King Edward VI. granted it to the Lord Dudley, but both the Rectory and Advowson of the Vicarage were afterwards granted to Sir Richard Sackville, till alienated to George Rivers, in 1625; it is now in the gift of Joseph Taylor, Esq." (to whom the Plate is dedicated).

St. Dunstan's luckily escaped the fire of London in 1666, which stopped within three houses of it, as did also another fire, in 1730. The clock and figures were put up in 1761, and an accurate description of them (quoted from Smith's London by our esteemed correspondent, P. T. W.) will be found at page 148, vol. xi. of the MIRROR. The church was thoroughly repaired, and the roof

388

considerably raised in 1701. The last repairs, which were considerable, were executed in the year 1820; but it is expected that the whole building will be shortly taken down, and a new church erected, so as to widen the public thoroughfare.

Our Engraving is an interesting view of the church nearly a century since, when a range of shops (since removed) extended beneath the whole of this side of the structure; and the respective signs must have been unholy appendages to what appeared like part and parcel of a house of prayer. The clock is accurately represented, the bracket being a carved figure of Time with expanded wings, as mentioned by Smith. The clockmaker proposed to the parish "to do one thing, which London shall not show the like," and we hope our Engraving may be the means of rescuing his eccentric ingenuity from oblivion.

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(For the Mirror.) Rotterdam and Erasmus.-Holyrood and Mary Queen of Scots.-Scotland. Switzerland and Rousseau.-Pope's Grotto.-Chiswick, &c. THERE is perhaps no sentiment more generally felt, or more delightful, than that indescribable interest with which we are led to contemplate places and scenes, immortalized in historical renown, or hallowed by genius.

The propensity for moving from place to place, so observable in mankind, derives, no doubt, its chief zest from the anxiety we feel to visit countries of which in the course of our historical researches, we have heard and read so much to awaken our interest, and excite our admiration.

Without the early reverence which we as boys imbibe for the departed splendour of Greece and Rome, we should not as men be found wandering among the ruins of the Pyræus, or the deserted streets of Pompeii. We find it impossible to behold unmoved the sad, the astonishing changes which time, the arch-destroyer has effected with his giant arm. Our exuberant fancies carry us back to those remote periods when all was glory and magnificence, where now ruin and desolation have established their melancholy empire. Abandoning ourselves to the potent influence of classical contemplations of the past, we revel in the full indulgence of antiquarian enthusiasm. Imagination, however, needs not in general so wide a field for the exercise of

her magic powers. We desire perhaps
more of pleasurable excitement from
the recollections attached to spots iden-
tified in our minds with events of indi-
vidual or ideal interest, than from the
loftier train of thoughts produced by a
pilgrimage to countries which have be-
come famous in ancient or modern
story. Thus we experience more de-
light in visiting places, remarkable as
having once been the resort or habita-
tions of distinguished men, than in
viewing the ruins of an ancient citadel,
or the site of a celebrated battle. The
events achieved on the latter may in-
deed, in their time, have turned the
scale of empires; but the association of
ideas in the former instances, speak a
thousand times more feelingly to our in-
dividual sympathies. I remember when
passing a couple of days in the opulent
city of Rotterdam, that after walking
all the morning along its crowded
streets, and paying the accustomed
stranger's tribute of admiration to its
quays, its port, and its commercial
magnificence, I at ler.gth halted before
the statue of Erasmus. It stands on a
pedestal in the middle of a large mar-
ket, and represents the celebrated
scholar, clothed in his professor's gown,
and seemingly gazing with dignified un-
concern at the busy multitude around.
I remained looking at the effigy before
me, with a reverential feeling akin to
that of the devotee at the shrine of a
patron saint. Imagination transported
me back to the eventful times in which
Erasmus flourished, opening to my
mind's eye a long vista of historical
recollections, till my absorbed demea-
nour attracted observation. I found
myself exposed to that vacant stare
with which people are so apt to discon-
cert your composure, if they observe
you contemplating with curiosity and
interest, objects which they have seen
every day of their lives, and for that
very reason always pass unnoticed.
Leaving then my position, yet anxious
to follow up the train of ideas it had in-
spired, I sought, and by dint of inquiry,
discovered the habitation of Erasmus.
It is in a dirty street, and consists of
one moderately sized, low roofed apart-
ment, on the first floor of an old fa-
shioned, ill-built house, which the vicis-
situdes of time have converted into an
Estaminet.* I was conducted up a
dark, narrow staircase into the close,
dingy room, by an ugly, ignorant frau,
who seemed to wonder what earthly
inducement I had to visit her dwelling-

* A low resort, something between a French café, and an English pot-house.

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