The Mirror of Literature, Amusement, and Instruction. Volume 10, No. 280, October 27, 1827
TextA FETCH
(For the Mirror.)
"I do believe," (as Byron cries,)
"There is a haunted spot,
And I can point out where it lies,
But cannot—where 'tis not.
Turn gentle people, lend an ear,
Unto my simple tale,
It will not draw a single tear
Nor make the heart bewail,
'Tis of a ghost! O ladies fair!
Start not with sore affright,
It will not harm a single hair,
Nor 'make it stand upright."
Attend, it was but yesternight,
I in my garret sat,
I saw—no, nothing yet I saw,
But something went pit-pat.
So did my heart responsively,
Beat like a prison'd bird,
That's newly caught—but no reply
I made, to what I heard.
It nearer came—'Angels,' I cried,
'And Ministers of Grace defend.'
Yet nothing I as yet descried,
My hair stood all on end.
My breath was short, I'm sure my eye
Was dim, so was the light,
I thought that I that hour should die,
With sad and sore affright.
And then came o'er me—what came o'er?
Some spectre grim I'll bet,
O tell me!—why at every pore—
A very heavy sweat.
Poh, don't delay the wond'rous tale,
What follow'd? tell me that,
(I feel my heart and limbs too fail)
The same thing, pit-a-pat.
And then there came before my eyes,
I pray thee 'list, O list,'
You fill my heart with dread surprise
What was it? why a mist.
And then around my head there play'd
A flame, so wond'rous bright,
That made me more than all afraid—
My wig had caught the light.
And there came wand'ring by at last,
The same thing, pit-a-pat,
I found as 'cross the room it past,
The cat had got a rat.
MAY.
TEA
(For the Mirror.)
"The Muses' friend, tea, does our fancy aid,
Repress those vapours which the head invade."
WALLER.
The tea-tree loves to grow in valleys, at the foot of mountains, and upon the banks of rivers, where it enjoys a southern exposure to the sun, though it endures considerable variations of heat and cold, as it flourishes in the northern clime of Peking, as well as about Canton; and it is observed that the degree of cold at Peking is as severe in winter as in some parts of Europe. However, the best tea grows in a mild, temperate climate, the country about Nanking producing better tea than either Peking or Canton, betwixt which places it is situated. The root resembles that of the peach-tree; the leaves are green, longish at the point, and narrow, an inch and half long, and jagged all round. The flower is much like that of the wild rose, but smaller. The fruit is of different forms, sometimes round, sometimes long, sometimes triangular, and of the ordinary size of a bean, containing two or three seeds, of a mouse colour, including each a kernel. These are the seeds by which the plant is propagated, a number, from six to twelve, or fifteen, being promiscuously put into one hole, four or five inches deep, at certain distances from each other. The seeds vegetate without any other care, though the more industrious annually remove the weeds and manure the land. The leaves which succeed are not fit to be plucked before the third year's growth, at which period they are plentiful, and in their prime. In about seven years the shrub rises to a man's height, and as it then bears few leaves, and grows slowly, it is cut down to the stem, which occasions an exuberance of fresh shoots and leaves the succeeding summer. In Japan, the tea-tree is cultivated round the borders of the fields, without regard to soil, but as the Chinese export great quantities of tea, they plant whole fields with it. The tea-trees that yield often the finest leaves, grow on the steep declivities of hills, where it is dangerous and in some cases impracticable to collect them. The Chinese are said to vanquish this difficulty by a singular contrivance. The large monkeys which inhabit these cliffs are irritated, and in revenge they break off the branches and throw them down, so that the leaves are thus obtained. The leaves should be dried as soon as possible after they are gathered. The Chinese are always taking tea, especially at meals; it is the chief treat with which they regale their friends, but they use it without the addition of sugar and milk. Tea was first introduced into Europe by the Dutch East India Company very early in the seventeenth century, and a great quantity of it was brought over from Holland by Lord Arlington and Lord Ossory about the year 1666, at which time it sold for 60s. per pound. Tea exhilarates without intoxication, and its enlivening qualities are equally felt by the sedentary student and the active labourer. Dr. Johnson dearly loved tea, and drank great quantities of this elegant and popular beverage, and so does P.T.W.
PORSON
The late professor having once exasperated a disputant by the dryness of his sarcasm, the petulant opponent thus addressed him:—"Mr. Porson, I beg leave to tell you, sir, that my opinion of you is perfectly contemptible." Person replied, "I never knew an opinion of yours, sir, which was not contemptible."
THE DRAMA AND ITS PROFESSORS
(For the Mirror.)
It is remarkable with what difference actors were treated among the ancients. At Athens, they were held in such esteem, as to be sometimes appointed to discharge embassies and other negotiations; whereas, at Rome, if a citizen became an actor, he thereby forfeited his freedom. Among the moderns, actors are best treated in England; the French having much the same opinion of them that the Romans had; for though an actor of talent, in Paris, is more regarded than here, he nevertheless is deeply degraded. He may die amid applauses on the stage, but at his natural death, he must pass to his grave, without a prayer or de profundis, unless a minister of religion receives his last sigh.
Cromwell and his Puritans had a holy horror of actors. They pronounced them Sons of Belial! and professors of abomination. During the whole reign of the Republican Parliament, and Protectorate, the theatres of that day were closed, or, if opened by stealth, were subject to the visits of the emissaries of "Praise God Barebones," "Fight the Good Fight," and their crew. The actors were driven off the stage by soldiers, and the cant word of that period is still recorded, "Enter red coat, exit hat and cloak." William Prynne was celebrated for his writings against the immorality of the stage, and the furious invectives of Jeremy Collier, are still extant; his pen was roused by Dryden's Spanish Friar, and Congreve's witty, but licentious comedies. Collier inveighed without mercy, but he certainly did much to reform the stage. Our Evangelicals and Methodists denounce the histrionic art to this day, with more than the zeal of the Church of Rome. But a follower of Wesley or Whitfield would not enter the den of abomination. Here, however, we take care all our comedies shall be purified, and our tragedies free, even from an oath; both are subject to the censor's unsparing pen, and must be subsequently licensed by the Lord Chamberlain.
The actors in England, have, it is true, only become respectable within the last half century, and though they are termed his majesty's servants, yet an unrepealed statute denounces them as vagabonds. As a body, numerous in itself, they are as free from crime as any other associated body or profession of men, and yet do they "his majesty's servants" continue to lay under the stigma which the above unrepealed act fixes upon them. This is perfectly anomalous, and it was spiritedly denounced by Sir Walter Scott, when on a recent and interesting occasion he nobly and manfully declared "Its professors had been stigmatized; and laws had been passed against them less dishonourable to them than to the statesman by whom they were proposed, and to the legislators by whom they were passed." To repeal, therefore, an act nugatory in itself, would not add to the reputation of the profession, nor give a license to further abuse; but it would be an act of justice, and remove a prejudice unjustly attached to the professors of a difficult art.
The critical pen of Mrs. Inchbald justly remarks, "To the honour of a profession long held in contempt by the wise—and still contemned by the weak—Shakspeare, the pride of Britain, was a player." To the illustrious bard, the modern drama is indebted for its excellence. His writings will remain for ever the grandest monument of a genius which opened to him the whole heart of man, all the mines of fancy, all the stores of nature, and gave him power beyond all other writers, to move, astonish, and delight mankind. In the drama, the most interesting emotions are excited; the dangerous passions of hate, envy, avarice, and pride, with all their innumerable train of attendant vices, are detected and exposed. Love, friendship, gratitude, and all those active and generous virtues which warm the heart and exalt the mind, are held up as objects of emulation. And what can be a more effectual method of softening the ferocity, and improving the minds of the inconsiderate? The heart is melted by the scene, and ready to receive an impression—either to warn the innocent, or to appal the guilty; and numbers of those who have neither abilities nor time for deriving advantage from reading, are powerfully impressed through the medium of the eyes and ears, with those important truths which while they illuminate the understanding, correct the heart. The moral laws of the drama are said to have an effect next after those conveyed from the pulpit, or promulgated in courts of justice. Mr. Burke, indeed, has gone so far as to observe that "the theatre is a better school of moral sentiment than churches." The drama, therefore, has a right to find a place; and to its professors are we indebted for what may justly be considered one of the highest of all intellectual gratifications.
F.K.Y.