With sickle keen on Saxon plains I reap the flickering grain, With spear and targe in maddening strife Far rolls my shout through cloud and fire «And strikes for Norway's name! » The surge-the bounding surge for me! No sterner Scald Valhalla holds When through the tempest's rolling mists The waning moon above our path Grows pale, but ere the day, On yonder strand the War-Smiths fierce St. Petersburg. VOL. III. 71 1 MISCELLANEA. A PORTRAIT. Slow was theoretically an industrious man, practically a pattern of indolence. He was sleek, fair-haired, and, by habit, had superinduced a plumpness that bordered upon the chubby. The house was a very hive of industry, and he a drone. By the influence of his father-in-law he had obtained a situation under government; the fatigues of office were his constant theme, and the ever-ready excuse for his repose. Poor fellow he generally took his chocolate in bed at eight, read till nine, and then, by an effort, leaped into his dressinggown and slippers, and submitted his chin to the operation of a barber. At ten the omnibus called at his door, and transported him to the office, the hours of business being from eleven to three o'clock-where, in winter, he sat with his feet on the fender, punching the inoffensive red coals in the glowing grate, while a junior clerk read the newspaper aloud. In summer he ate strawberries or cherries, and killed time by shooting at the bluebottles which busily buzzed about his prison, for such he deemed it. Harrassed with the toils of the day,—having probably been compelled to sign his name half-a dozen times in the course of his incarceration, he hailed the advent of the omnibus with the glee of a school-boy going home for the holidays; and returned to his domestic retreat to count the tardy minutes till dinner was announced. His little active wife and children all sympathised with the parent; and while his affectionate partner proffered a jelly or an ice, or an anchovy sandwich, to recruit his wasted energies, his eldest girl would gently lull his mind by playing soft airs upon the piano, while he lolled at full length upon the yielding sofa. In fact, he had the art of turning all tenderness and activity to the promotion of his own peculiar enjoyment. Poor Slow? he was as nearly arriving at perfection in the art of idleness as any mortal breathing, when, unfortunately, the world suddenly lost the benefit of his bright example and profound experience, through the intervention of an apoplectic fit. LIFE.-Life has been compared to tragedy, comedy, and farce. It was reserved for Talleyrand to consider it as a one-act piece. I know not why the world calls me a wicked man,▸ said Rulhière, for I never, in the whole course of my life, committed more than one act of wickedness. »-« But when will this act be at an end? asked Talleyrand. LOVERS.-Lovers must not trust too implicitly to their visual organ. A tender swain once reproached his inamorata with suffering a rival to kiss her hand, a fact which she indignantly denied. But I saw it. Nay, then, cried the offended fair, «I am now convinced you do not love me, since you believe your eyes in preference to my word. MONKEY TROTTING MATCH.-On Tuesday a numerous assemblage took place at the enclosure attached to the Rosemary Branch Tavern, Peckham, to witness the performance of an extraordinary match. A grey pony, of twelve hands and a half high, the property of Burke, of trotting celebrity, having been backed for twenty-five pounds, to trot fourteen miles within an hour, with a monkey for its rider. The monkey, of course, was the lion of the day, and according to the conditions of the match, was booted, spurred, and otherwise attired after the fashion of the Jockeys at Epsom or Newmarket, and rode the pony in the usual style, with saddle and bridle. That selected for the undertaking belongs to Mr. D Batty, the celebrated equestrian manager, well known as Signor Jocko, who has already earned considerable reputation by his performances in the circle at the Surrey and other metropolitan and provincial theatres. At the appointed time the signor made his appearance, attended by one of the roughriders belonging to Mr. Batty's establishment. He was dressed in jockey costume, his jacket and buck-skins being built by a first-rate west-end Schneider, and his top-boots would have done honour even to the renowned Hoby. The colours he sported were red and white, and in his right paw he carried a handsome riding-whip, and also wore a small pair of spurs buckled round his boot. The pony was « The Doctor, a very fast trotter, but, notwithstanding his performances, the start took place, Burke and one of Mr. Batty's men cantering on each side of the pony, with one or two others galloping in the rear. He performed the distance, having to go twenty times round, in fifty-six minutes and fifty-three seconds of the given time, consequently having three minutes and seven seconds to spare, and was not at all distressed. The Signor rode in first-rate style, came in with his whip in his mouth, and appeared quite conscious of his own merits as an equestrian, and not less delighted when his task was completed. He grinned most alarmingly at his conductor, and evidently felt that any want of regularity would lead to his disgrace. The pony broke three times and was turned. -It has been recorded by some anti-connectional wag, that when two widowers were once condoling together, on the recent bereavement of their wives, one of them exclaimed with a sigh, Well may I bewail my loss, for I had so few differences with the deceased, that the last day of my marriage was as happy as the first. »—« There I surpass you,» said his friend, for the last day of mine was happier. » -Pithy enough was the reply of the avaricious old man, who, being asked by a nobleman of doubtful courage what pleasure he found in amassing riches which he never used, answered. Much the same that your Lordship has in wearing a sword. » THE NINE.-A gentleman once expressed his surprise that in so rich a literary country as England, the Muses should not attain their due honour. - Impossible! cried a whist-playing old lady- They are nine, and of course cannot reckon honours. MINING IN TURKEY CURIOUS DISCOVERIES. A few Turkish gentlemen have lately got up a small company to work a copper mine not twenty miles from Constantinople. In the course of their labours the men turned out, ore, petrified plants, flowers, insects, &c.; and the other day they found, at a depth of thirty-two fathoms below the surface, a perfect and well-baked brick, black as the dark soil in which it had lain for so many ages. It is, we understand, preserved for the inspection of the curious. SUGAR FROM CORN.-A new mode of raising corn trebles the saccharine quality of the stalk, and with attention it is confidently expected that 1,000lbs. of sugar per acre may be obtained. Complete success has attended the experiments on this subject in Delaware, and leave no room to doubt the fact that if the stalk is permitted to mature, without suffering the ear to form, the saccharine matter (three times as great as in beets, and equal to cane) will amply repay the cost of manufacture into sugar. This plan has heretofore been suggested by German chemists, but the process had not been successfully introduced into the United States, until Mr. Webb's experiments at Wilmington the last season. n -OBEDIENCE-MILITARY.-Must be implicit and unreasoning. «Sir, said the Duke of Wellington to an officer of engineers, who urged the impossibility of executing the direction he had received. I did not ask your opinion, I gave you my orders and I expect them to be obeyed. It might have been difficult to yield a literal obedience to the adjutant of a volunteer corps, who being doubtful whether he had distributed muskets to all the men, cried out- All you that are without arms will please to hold up your hands. |