"THE Temple," as our readers may be aware, is an immense range of buildings, stretching from Fleet-street to the River Thames, north and south; and from Lombard-street, Whitefriars, to Essex-street, in the Strand, east and west. It takes its name from having been the principal establishment, in England, of the Knights Templars; and here, in the thirteenth century they entertained King Henry III., the Pope's Nuncio, foreign ambassadors, and other great personages. The king's treasure was accustomed to be kept in the part now called the Middle Temple; and from the chief officer, who, as master of the Temple, was summoned to Parliament in the 47th of Henry III., the chief minister of the Temple Church is still called Master of the Temple. After the suppression of this once celebrated order, the professors of the common law purchased the buildings, and they were then first converted into Inns of Court, called the Inner and Middle

*In the Temple Church, lie the remains, marked out by their effigies, of numbers of the

Templars. For a Description and Engraving of the Church, see MIRROR, No. 274. VOL. XIV. 2 E

spective arms of Henry III. and George IV. At the end immediately adjoining the Chapel, is a Latin inscription with the date of the repairs, 1819, and at the eastern extremity of the present building is another inscription with the date of 1828, in which the last improvements were commenced. Viewed from the Terrace, the whole range has a handsome and substantial appearance, sufficiently decorated, yet not overloaded with ornament. From another point, Whitefriars Gate, the end of the building, with its fine oriel window, is seen to considerable advantage. Against the old brick house on this spot was a sundial, with the quaint conceit, "Begone about your business." The cast-iron railing of the area appears to us extremely elegant and appropriate.

The interior is not yet completed, but, by the courtesy of the architect we have obtained a view of its unfinished state. The principal apartments are the Parliament Chamber on the first, and the Library on the second floor. The Chamber adjoins the Hall, and is intended for a withdrawing-room, whither the Templars of our times, after dining in the Hall, may repair to exercise the argumentum ad Bacculinum in term time. The dimensions of this room are in height about 13 feet; length 37 feet; and width about 27 feet. Above is the Library, which is indeed a magnificent room. The height is about 20 feet; length 39 feet; and width in the centre about 37 feet. The fine window, of which we spoke in our description of the exterior, is not yet glazed; its height is 17 feet, and width 14 feet; and the mullions, &c. are very rich. The remainder of the buildings will be occupied by ante-rooms, and chambers for barristers. The whole will be fire-proof, the floors being divided by plate-iron archings upon cast-iron bearings.

The Inner Temple Hall is a fine room, though comparatively small. It is ornamented with the portraits of William III. and Mary, and the Judges Coke and Littleton; it is also embellished with a picture of Pegasus, painted by Sir James Thornhill. The Middle Temple has likewise a Hall, which is spacious and fine: here were given many of the feasts of old times, before mentioned. It contains a fine picture of Charles I. on horseback, by Vandyke, and portraits of Charles II. Queen Anne, George I. and George II. There is a host of pleasing associations connected with the Temple, if we only instance the seasonable doings

there at Christmas-as breakfasting in the hall "with brawn, mustard, and malmsey;" and at dinner, “a fair and large Bore's head upon a silver platter with minstralsaye.”

SPRING TIDES.

(For the Mirror.)

Ar page 310 of the present volume of your miscellany, your correspondent Vyvyan states that the tide rises at Chepstow more than 60 feet, and that a mark in the rocks below the bridge there denotes its having risen to the height of 70 feet, which is, perhaps (Vyvyan states), the greatest altitude of the tides in the world. At Windsor, seated on the east bank of the Avon river, which falls into the Basin of Mines, at the head of the Bay of Fundy, the spring tides regularly rise 70 feet and upwards; and at Truro, at the eastern extremity of the Bay of Fundy, the spring tides rise to an altitude of 100 feet. There are some parts of the west coast of North America also where the tides rise to a very high altitude; but I do not at this moment remember the particulars. My attention having thus been directed to the Bay of Fundy, it induces me to inform you, that an inland water communication, at a minimum depth of eight feet, and proportionate expanse, is now forming from Halifax, Nova Scotia, by the Shubenacadie river, falling into the Bay of Fundy, near the abovementioned town of Truro.

The total length of this canal is 53 miles, 1,024 yards, the artificial portion of which is only 2,739 yards, the remainder being formed by a chain of deep lakes and the Shubenacadie river. The summit level is 95 feet 10 inches above the high-water surface of medium tides in Halifax harbour; and is attained by seven locks, each 87 feet long, and 22 feet six inches wide; and the tide locks nine feet in depth of water. The descent into the Bay of Fundy, at highwater surface medium tides, is by eight locks.

The estimated expense of this interesting work is £54,000.

MINSTRELS.

J. M.

(To the Editor of the Mirror.) SIR,-Sometime ago a discussion arose in the public papers respecting the right of the King's Sergeant Trumpeter to grant licenses to minstrels for carrying on their calling in London and Westminster. I do not recollect whether

this officer succeeded in establishing the right; but the following account of a similar privilege in another part of the country is founded on fact, and may furnish amusement to some of your readers :

About the latter end of the reign of Richard I., Randal Blundeville, Earl of Chester, was closely besieged by the Welsh in his Castle, in Flintshire. In this extremity, the earl sent to his constable, Roger Lacy, (who for his fiery qualities received the appropriate cognomen of hell), to hasten, with what force he could collect, to his relief. It happened to be Midsummerday, when a great fair was held at Chester, the humours of which, it should seem, the worthy constable, witless of his lord's peril, was then enjoying. He immediately got together, in the words of my authority," a great, lawless mob of fiddlers, players, cobblers, and such like," and marched towards the earl. The Welsh, although a musical people; not relishing this sort of chorus, thought it prudent to beat a retreat, and fled. The earl, by this well-timed prestomovement, being released from danger, returned with his constable to Chester, and in reward of his service, granted by deed to Roger and his heirs, authority "over all the fiddlers, minstrels, and 'cobblers in Chester."

About the end of the reign of John, or the beginning of that of Henry III., the fire of Roger being extinguished by death, his son John Lacy, granted this privilege by deed to his steward, one Hugh Dutton and his heirs, in the words following:-" Dedi et concessi, et per hac presenti charta mea, confirmavi Hugoni de Dutton, et heredibus suis, magistratum omnium lecatorum,

et meretricum, totius Cestershiriæ,' &c. Dugdale relates in his Monasticon, p. 860, that "under this grant, and by

ON GARDEN S.*

(For the Mirror.) THE hanging gardens, in antiquity. called Pensiles Horti, were raised on arches by Nebuchadnezzar, King of Babylon, in order to gratify his wife, Amyctis, daughter of Astyages, King of Media. These gardens are supposed by Quintus Curtius to have been equal in height to the city, viz. 50 feet. They contained a square of 400 feet on every side, and were carried up into the air in several terraces laid one above anterrace was by stairs 10 feet wide, other, and the ascent from terrace to

Among the Mexicans there are floatAbbé Clavigero, as highly curious and ing gardens, which are described by the interesting, so as to form a place of recreation and amusement. The abun

dant produce of these prolific gardens, are brought daily by the canal in numerous small vessels, at sun-rise, to sold. The plants thrive in these situa the market-place of the capital to be tions in an astonishing manner, the mud of the lake being extremely fertile and productive, without the aid of rain, Whenever the owners of these gardens they get into their little vessels, and by are inclined to change their situations, their own strength alone, or where that is not sufficient, by the assistance of others, they get them afloat, and tow them after them wherever they please.

I

Lord Bacon has truly observed, "A garden is the purest of all human pleasures," and no doubt he felt its influence, when he returned from the tur*We would suggest " Gleanings on Gardens," were not that title forestalled by an interesting

-ED.

moil of a court and courts. Many of his writings were composed under the shade of the trees in Gray's Inn Gardens; he lived in a house facing the great gates, forming the entrance to the gardens, and Sir Fulke Greville, Lord Brook,† frequently sent him "homebrewed beer." Epicurus, the patron of refined pleasure, fixed the seat of his enjoyment in a garden. Dr. Knox says, "In almost every description of the seats of the blessed, ideas of a garden seem to have predominated. The word paradise itself is synonymous with garden. The fields of Elysium, that sweet region of poesy, are adorned with all that imagination can conceive to be delightful. Some of the most pleasing passages of Milton are those in which he represents the happy pair engaged in cultivating their blissful abode. Poets have always been delighted with the beauties of a garden. Lucan is represented by Juvenal as reposing in his garden. Virgil's Georgics prove him to have been captivated with rural scenes; though to the surprise of his readers he has not assigned a book to the subject of a garden. But let not the rich suppose they have appropriated the pleasures of a garden. The possessor of an acre, or a smaller portion, may receive a real pleasure from observing the progress of vegetation, even in the plantation of culinary plants. A very limited tract properly attended to, will furnish ample employment for an individual, nor let it be thought a mean care; for the same hand that raised the cedar, formed the hyssop on the wall." P. T. W.

GRECIAN FLIES SPONGERS.

(For the Mirror.)

IN modern days we should term Grecian Flies, Spongers; alias Dinner Hunters. Among the Grecians (according to Potter) "They who forced themselves into other men's entertainments, were called flies, which was a general name of reproach for such as insinuated themselves into any company where they were not welcome." In Plautus, an entertainment free from unwelcome guests is called hospitium sine muscis, an entertainment without flies; and in another place of the same author, an inquisitive and busy man, who pries and insinuates himself into the secrets of others, is termed musca. We are likewise informed by Horus Apollo, that in Egypt a fly was the In the street called Brook Street, was Brook

House.

The Selector;

AND

LITERARY NOTICES OF NEW WORKS.

MARSHAL NEY.

[No apology is requisite for our introduction of the following passage from the life of Marshal Ney, in a volume of the Family Library, entitled "The Court and Camp of Buonaparte."]

In the campaign of 1813, Ney faithfully adhered to the falling emperor. At Bautzen, Lutzen, Dresden, he contributed powerfully to the success; but he and Oudinot received a severe check at Dennewitz from the Crown Prince of Sweden. From that hour defeat succeeded defeat; the allies invaded France; and, in spite of the most desperate resistance, triumphantly entered Paris in March, 1814. Ney was one of the three marshals chosen by Napoleon to negotiate with Alexander in behalf of the King of Rome, but the attempt was unsuccessful, and all he could do was to remain a passive spectator of the fall and exile of his chief.

On the restoration of the Bourbons, Ney was more fortunate than many of his brethren: he was entrusted with a high military command, and created a knight of St. Louis, and a peer of France.

But France was now at peace with all the world; and no one of these great military chiefs could be more unprepared for the change than the Prince of Moskwa. He was too old to acquire new habits. For domestic comforts he was little adapted: during the many years of his marriage, he had been unable to pass more than a very few months with his family. Too illiterate to find any resource in books, too rude to be a favourite in society, and too proud to desire that sort of distinction, he was condemned to a solitary and an inactive life. The habit of braving death, and of commanding vast bodies of men, had impressed his character with a species of moral grandeur, which raised him far above the puerile observances of the fashionable world. Plain in his manners, and still plainer in his words, he neither knew, nor wished to know, the art of pleasing courtiers. Of good na

ture he had indeed a considerable fund, but he showed it, not so much by the endless little attentions of a gentleman, as by scattered acts of princely beneficence. For dissipation he had no taste; his professional cares and duties, which, during twenty-five years, had left him no respite, had engrossed his attention too much to allow room for the passions, vices, or follies of society to obtain any empire over him. The sobriety of his manners was extreme, even to austerity. His wife had been reared in the court of Louis XVI., and had adorned that of the emperor. Cultivated in her mind, accomplished in her manners, and elegant in all she said or did, her society was courted on all sides. Her habits were expensive; luxury reigned throughout her apartments, and presided at her board; and to all this display of elegance and pomp of show, the military simplicity, not to say the coarseness, of the marshal, furnished a striking contrast. His good nature offered no other obstacle to the gratification of her wishes than the occasional expression of a fear that his circumstances might be deranged by them. But if he would not oppose, neither could he join in her extravagance. While she was presiding at a numerous and brilliant party of guests. he preferred to remain alone in a distant apartment, where the festive sounds could not reach him. On such occasions he almost always dined alone.

Ney seldom appeared at court. He could neither bow nor flatter, nor could he stoop to kiss even his sovereign's hand without something like self-humiliation. To his princess, on the other hand, the royal smile was as necessary as the light of the sun; and unfortunately for her, she was sometimes disappointed in her efforts to attract it. Her wounded vanity often beheld an insult in what was probably no more than an inadvertence. In a word she ere long fervently regretted the court in which the great captains had occupied the first rank, and their families shared the almost exclusive favour of the sovereign. She complained to her husband; and he, with a calm smile, advised her never again to expose herself to such mortifications if she really sustained them. But though he could thus rebuke a woman's vanity, the haughty soldier felt his own wounded through hers. To escape from these complaints, and from the monotony of his Parisian existence, he retired to his country-seat, in January, 1815, the very season when people of consideration are most engrossed by the busy scenes of the metro

;

polis. There he led an unfettered life he gave his mornings to field sports; and the guests he entertained in the evening were such as, from their humble condition, rendered formality useless, and placed him completely at his ease.

It was here that on the 6th of March he was surprised by the arrival of an aide-de-camp from the minister at war, who ordered him, with all possible despatch, to join the sixth division, of which he was the commander, and which was stationed at Besançon. In his anxiety to learn the extent of his instructions, Ney immediately rode to Paris; and there, for the first time, learned the disembarkation of Buonaparte from Elba.

Ney eagerly undertook the commission assigned him of hastening to oppose the invader. In his last interview with Louis his protestations of devotedness to the Bourbons, and his denunciations against Napoleon, were ardentperhaps they were sincere. Whether he said that Buonaparte deserved to be confined in an iron cage, or that he would bring him to Paris in one, is not very clear, nor indeed very material.We 'reluctantly approach the darker shades in the life of this great officer.

On his arrival at Besançon, March 10th, he learned the disaffection of all the troops hitherto sent against the invader, and perceived that those by whom he was surrounded were not more to be trusted. He was surrounded with loud and incessant cries of Vive l'Empereur ! Already, at Lyons, two members of the royal family had found all opposition vain; the march of Napoleon_was equally peaceful and triumphant. During the night of the 13th, Ney had a secret interview with a courier from his old master; and on the following morning he announced to his troops that the house of Bourbon had ceased to reignthat the emperor was the only ruler France would acknowledge! He then hastened to meet Napoleon, by whom he was received with open arms, and hailed by his indisputed title of Bravest of the Brave.

Ney was soon doomed to suffer the necessary consequence of his crime bitter and unceasing remorse. His inward reproaches became intolerable: he felt humbled, mortified, for he had lost that noble self-confidence, that inward sense of dignity, that unspeakable and exalted satisfaction, which integrity alone can bestow: the man who would have defied the world in arms, trembled before the new enemy within him; he saw that his virtue, his honour, his peace, and the esteem of the wise and