The Gatherer.

muddy the skin, it becomes in their hands smooth and transparent; unsightly down and wrinkles disappear together; and the hair--but sad tricks are played with that. I knew a Scotch lassie whose elf-locks of red were changed into a delightful and silky brown; but one fine morning I was surprised to find her with swollen eyes, green hair, and an intolerable pain in the head. She blest the Pomade de Venus, of course, and sent for the doctor. He ordered her head to be shaved, declaring, and very properly, that after such dangerous folly she was fit only for a lunatic asylum."

BALDNESS.

"There are advertisements daily to the effect of restoring the hair on heads that have been bald for years.' A list of cures is given, particularly of one old gentleman at the Land's End. The bottle is ten shillings only; you take it home, and grease yourself like an Indian for a fortnight. No hairs! At the end of a month you begin to think it a capital joke, for which you have paid half a sovereign!"

ALMACK'S.

"In Venice there was a 'Council of Ten,' and in King-street, St. James's, there is a Council of Four, equally summary in its proceedings. The punishments inflicted by the latter are not quite so severe, though in either case you pass, when condemned, over the Bridge of Sighs. The council consists of a duchess, two countesses, and the beautiful Mrs. ***. Their decrees are as unaccountable as inscrutable; but that which commonly carries the day over beauty, virtue, accomplishments, and even birth, is wealth. Dancing and social enjoyment are of the least possible moment at these assemblies, the ballot for membership being only another word for patronage in Church and State. This Gyneocracy, or petticoat dominion of Four,' forms, in truth, an estate of the realm."

BEAU.

6

"A London beau, of a certain age, is an optical delusion-a fraud of the more inoffensive kind. Naturally sans teeth, hair, whiskers, moustache, eyebrows, with one eye, and as thin as a lamp-post-he comes forth plus all the above, perfumed, debonnaire, and twenty years younger than he really is."

Want of space prevents us from giving a few clever extracts. We will, however, in a future number, return to this interesting little work, feeling confident that the extracts that we shall give will be appreciated by our readers. Those of our country friends who are "uninitiated in London life," will relish the Mysteries of the Great Metropolis.

THE LAST CITY CONUNDRUM.

(On the Dinner to be given in honour of Mr. Tite.) "Why." cried Sir Claudius," were it strange, If, when complete the New Exchange, We feast not with delight?"

"Why?" Laurie asks, with face demure. "Because, Sir Clau. replies, we're sure

To have a happy Tite.”

Ancient Notions respecting Geography.-"We," says Gervase of Tilbury, "declare the world to be a square placed in the middle of the seas." Vincent de Beauvais' work contains a tolerably exact picture of the state of geography in the middle ages. He gives a methodical list of the different countries of Asia, Africa, and Europe. Concerning Palestine, as his information was founded on the observation of pilgrims, his report is pretty accurate. When he comes to the north, then but very little known, he supposes that Europe is terminated by the ocean at the 60th degree of latitude: beyond which islands only

occur.

Experimental Marking of Salmon Fry.-To ascertain the precise period occupied by the salmon in passing from the state of a smoult six or seven inches long to its mature size, and also the stages through which it has to pass in the interim, parties connected with the fisheries have commenced an experiment, by marking a considerable number of the fry; which now abound in the Tweed, with different coloured worsteds, according to the state they may be in when captured. They commenced on Friday last at Horncliff, and will continue their proceedings from time to time, as long as the smoults remain in the river.-Berwick Warder.

The "Wolf Fish."-A wolf fish, or Anarr-hicas Lupus, was caught by Mr. James Watson, fisher. man, Greense, on Tuesday week. Its extreme length was 5ft., and its weight 3st. 3lb. In the Kelso museum there is one of similar dimensions, which was caught at Goswick, and pre sented by the late Robert Wilkie, Esq., of Ladythorne. It has earned the name of wolf among the fishermen by its savage rapacity when caught-snapping and biting at everything within its reach. The fish has been salted down for use it was caught on a cod-line hook, with a haddock bait.

Life in Trees.-Ancients beheld nothing in nature as inanimate. The vegetables, which they saw increase, and covered with new leaves every year, had, they imagined, animal existence. The oak, apparently dead for a period, and yet reviving annually, must, they thought, conceal beneath its bark a supernatural being, who presided over these regular and admirable changes.

CORRESPONDENTS.

"K.'s" strictures are somewhat harsh. The writer alluded to will soon find his level, and will not fail to do for himself all that his enemies could wish to see done for him.

"G. S.'s" contribution is under consideration.

"F. G."-It is the intention of the proprietors of the "Mirror" to contine the columns of this periodical to original articles alone, with occasional translations from the works of talented continental writers.

"F.'s" suggestions will be attended to.

LONDON: Printed and Published by AIRD and BURSTALL, 2, Tavistock-street, Covent-garden; and sold by all Booksellers and Newsmen.

present to posterity a noble specimen of the perfection to which the fine arts had obtained at the period of its erection, it will gratify our readers to have some further pictorial sketches of the designs submitted to the commissioners, [VOL. XLIV.

laid before them. A lively representation of the carving, by Mr. Nixon, is given in our cut, where Alfred is seen "dividing his only meal with the pilgrim." There is much beauty in the design, and great felicity in the execution. From the many scenes which he suggests relating to that monarch, Alfred seems to be almost "the god of Mr. Nixon's idolatry." All the leading incidents of his life-some of them in no slight degree apocryphal-are included in his sculptures.

Among the numerous exhibited designs for the stained-glass window of the House of Lords, No. 71, by Edward Corbould, has been said by critics to be the best, the subject of which is Edward I. entering Westminster, after having vanquished the Welch in 1282. A better subject might have been selected. A triumph over our brethren, is, at the best, but "a fearful joy;" and we do not know what peculiar greeting the victor king received at Westminster, that could so especially engage the artist's attention. Perhaps we underrate the achievements of Edward, because we know he was not faithful to his own glory. It ought, however, to be remembered that in those days the Welch were sufficiently turbulent to give their neighbours great cause for uneasiness. Their natural fortresses, their mountains, enabled them for a time to set the English at defiance. The prudent and determined measures adopted by Edward soon caused them to experience all the horrors of famine, and their prince, Lewellyn, was obliged to yield at discretion. The terms imposed upon him were these. He bound himself to pay

£50,000-an enormous sun for such a chief to furnish-as reparation for damages sustained from the effects of his hostility: he engaged to render homage to the crown of England, which he had previously refused, and to permit all the barons of Wales, except four, near Snowden, to swear fealty to its king. He was obliged to relinquish the country between Cheshire and the river Conway, to settle on his brothers, Roderick and David, who had marched under the standard of Edward, incomes of 1,000 and 500 marks, and to give ten hostages for his future submission. The severity of the conditions probably caused a speedy rupture of the pact. His brother David became reconciled to Lewellyn, and a new contest was com

menced. For a short time the unhappy Lewellyn was flattered by the chances of war, and hoped, by continued success, to establish his independence; but he soon experienced a melancholy reverse. He was defeated in battle, and slain, with two thousand of his followers. A still more afflicting visitation was reserved for David, who, on the death of Lewellyn, succeeded to his brother's rank. Too weak to face his enemies, he fled from place to place in disguise, and was at length made prisoner. The English king, in resentment of his defection, sent him in chains to Shrewsbury, and, says Hume, "bringing him to a formal trial before all the peers of England, ordered this sovereign prince to be hanged, drawn, and quartered, as a traitor, for defending by arms the liberties of his native country, together with his own hereditary authority."

Though Edward tarnished the lustre of his exploits by the unnecessary and unjustifiable shedding of blood, to have humbled the Welch was, at the time, regarded as a triumph of real importance. How formidable their national spirit was deemed-how important it was felt to guard effectually against its premature revival is sufficiently indicated by the barbarous policy of the Conqueror, when, having gathered the bards together, he cruelly doomed them all to be put to death, that the fury of discontent might not be sustained by the inspiring aid of song.

The picture by Corbould is rich in noble animation. Selecting from it one group only, we render it very imperfect justice. It is almost showing a brick, as a sample of a house. In the little, however, there presented, we think enough will be seen to wake a desire to look on the whole. A visit to St. James-street is due to such a performance from every lover of the arts.

1620, 1720, AND 1820;

OR,

THE DEAD GUEST.

(Continued from page 276.)

consider it would be unpolite to remain In this situation of things, if he did not with so extraordinary a visitor in darkness, he felt that candles could not for a moment be dispensed with, and such being the case, he rushed from the apartment to seek them himself,

Brandt had left the house, and his master had some thoughts of following the bookkeeper's example. But, remembering his late scepticism, a sense of shame came over him, which forbade him to retreat. Besides, reflecting that such a being as he had encountered, if disposed to pursue, would not be long in overtaking him, he, therefore, judged that in point of fact, he would risk little in remaining where he was. In other words, he came to the sage conclusion of Sir Boyle Rode, "that the best way of avoiding danger was to meet it plump."

With a faltering step he returned to the parlour two lighted candles he carried with him. The figure in black was there.

:

He placed the candles on the table. The visitor now approached with all the appalling dignity for which rumour had given him credit at the Black Cross; he respectfully bowed, and cautiously extended his hand.

His touch was icy cold. More collected than before, though still not a little shaken, Bantes looked stedfastly on his unwelcome visitor. But what a thrill ran through his whole frame while gazing on that pale, not to say ghastly visage, and on those lack lustre eyes! To behold them and not recognise them as the property of a tenant of the grave he felt was impossible. Nothing nothing could to him be more clear than that he was confronted with the Dead Guest. In a low hollow tone, such as he could well imagine the tomb, and only the tomb likely to give forth, the unknown began

66

My name," said he, "I have told." "Have you indeed!" Bantes mentally rejoined; "if you did, I have not heard it. I wonder what character the Dead Guest will now assume! Is it Count Graves?" But all this though imagined, was not even whispered.

"And you know my errand," the visitor proceeded.

"Yes, I do;" thought Bantes, "it is to make love to three young ladies, gain their hearts, and wring their necks."

This he muttered to himself, but his confusion and alarm were still so great, that he was unprepared with anything suitable to reply aloud.

The stranger paused, but as Bantes remained silent, he went on.

"I am the son of your old friend, Hahn, the banker."

"The cunning devil-knows all!" he was on the point of exclaiming; he, however, did not unclose his lips, but still out of breath, attempted a bow, and mechanically pointed to a chair. The other returned his greeting with dignity, and seated himself.

He proceeded. "It is the wish of my honoured father, and I understand it is

yours, that I should become the husband of your daughter, the beautiful Frederica."

The manufacturer shuddered; real anguish oppressed him. To his "mind's eye" came the image of that beautiful daughter writhing in the merciless grasp of a spectre husband. The roseate glow of blooming health yielding to the pallid hue of death, her bright eyes starting from their orbits in expiring agony as they were screwed round to the back of her snow white neck. In that sad moment his senses did not wholly desert him. He reflected that it was his duty to save her from the fiend, and the readiest way of doing so, it appeared to him, was to turn the unwelcome suitor aside from his purpose-in fact to send him elsewhere.

65

Why, yes-certainly," he answered, 'my old and esteemed friend, as you say, designed me the honour-but-but," and for some seconds he was at a loss what to add, but, at length stammered out-"women are fickle-I say are fickle-liable to change.

"I know what women are," was the response of the soi-disant Hahn.

"Of course you do," said Bantes, and inwardly he added, "and so you did two centuries ago. But," he proceeded raising his voice, "as I cannot for a moment think of deceiving or trifling with the son of an old and much esteemed friend, it becomes my painful duty to tell you, within these few days it has transpired that her affections are fixed-irrevocably fixed upon another. If their union is not already completed, the business is so far advanced, that it cannot be prevented nor long deferred."

Nothing like the disappointment which an aspirant of flesh and blood would have indicated, was manifested by the Dead Guest at this revelation; on the contrary, from his sunken eyes, before so dead, a ray of light was instantly emitted, which astonished the parent, from its suddenness, though in the same moment he was enabled but too well to account for it. bride, the young and lovely bride of another, was what the stranger sought. To marry her himself, in the ordinary sense of the word, was not so much his object, as to destroy.

The

A smile irradiated the pale ghost-like face on which the manufacturer continued to gaze with trembling alarm, and its wearer again spake, and with more animation than before.

have only to say, that much as I should have rejoiced in an alliance with a family so respectable as yours, I now indulge no wish but to release you from my unwelcome presence."

The courteous, and indeed cordial bow of the father of Frederica, acknowledged this exceedingly generous, and most acceptable intimation, with something quite equivalent to "I am very much obliged to you for going."

"Notwithstanding," Hahn resumed, "before I leave Herbesheim, I shall claim the honour and the happiness of being introduced to the lovely being whom my kind father had flattered himself was destined to become my partner for life."

"Not if I can help it," thought Bantes, "wring somebody else's neck if you can, but my poor girl, while I have sense and recollection, you never shall approach."

"Why, as to that," he said, "since our plans are altogether altered, I do not see that any good can result from your meeting her."

"Excuse me, my good sir," said the mysterious visitor, "I cannot, must not return without paying my compliments to the young lady, that I may join to celebrate those charms which have given her fame." Enough, perhaps too much, has been said of them already; more needs not."

66

"At least allow me one interview, though but for a single half hour; if not now, tomorrow. To night, indeed, I am fatigued, and am not in very good health, and besides, have to call on two other friends."

66

"To make up the fatal number, three," thought the parent; "well, well," said he, seeing you are engaged to night, I will not ask you to stay. We can think of these matters to-morrow."

"To-morrow then," replied the tall visitor, "I will not fail to wait on you, and then I shall calculate on the high honour of kissing your daughter's fair hand."

"You reckon without your host," Bantes murmured to himself, but added aloud, "In the morning, we will see about it."

The Dead Guest rose to take his leave. Bantes shrank from the chilling touch of his cold hand, as they parted for the night, and mentally thanked heaven, that he had at least gained a respite, and would now, at all events, have an opportunity of consulting his friends, on the steps which it would be prudent for him to take under circumstances so extraordinary, so truly awful.

It was time for Bantes to follow the ladies. The storm had abated, but the night was dark. He fancied the veil which nature had dropped over the face of creation was thicker than ordinary. The eye refused to penetrate it even to a moderate

extent.

Such a night he thought well fitted for spirits of the lower world, who cannot rest in their graves, to return to this. Every object that met his eye, exhibited by the few lights he approached as he moved onward, shadowed forth something of strange and menacing aspect. He had not proceeded far when a doubt came over his mind, whether in the confusion of his ideas, he had not forgotten to close the door as he quitted his house. Bantes found that he had left it wide open. Reprehending his own negligence, he shut it; having done so, he perceived some one at a short distance apparently watching him. Through the deep gloom, he could not recognise the individual. Whoever he was, he stealthily withdrew. Bantes listened with awe, suspecting that it was the Dead Guest, but all he could hear was a softly receding step.

He looked almost with fear at the Black Cross as he passed. His eyes were fixed on the window of one of the apartments; it was illuminated, but the blind was down. A form rested on it; it was the Dead Guest, magnified so that his gigantic stature was nearly doubled, but most assuredly no other than Herr Hahn, as he had called himself. In the same moment that it was seen, it passed away.

Bantes had got a short distance from the Black Cross, when a sound of music arrested his attention. Is it a requiem-is it a wail for the dead? he could have asked, it was so thrilling and melancholy. He thought he had heard it before, and doubt was no more, when he caught the following words sadly poured forth in the same hollow voice which he well remembered to have heard on awaking from his terrifying dream of the Dead Guest.

""Tis mine to roam in midnight gloom,
'Tis mine to act a fearful part."

ON METALLO-CHROMES, AND ANION DEPOSITS GENERALLY. No. VIII.

(Concluded from page 298.) THE production of colours in circular rings has been shown in our last. We may now modify the cathode ad infinitum, and so obtain an almost endless variety of forms. For instance, the edge of a slip of metal will give the films an elliptical form of greater or less elongation; a flat disc will give a circular form, with a centre of a more or less distinctive character, according to the circumstances of the experiment. The cathode may be framed into a cross of wire, in which case the colours will grow out from each arm of the cross, and blend with each other, forming a definite figure; and by a little ingenuity, a great variety of