days of Charles I.; we may, perhaps, conclude, that the sign was originally, at that distant period, nothing but an Italian oil-jar, which being very badly painted, and become much worse by decay, might have been likened by the customers to a headless old woman with her arms a-kimbo; and might really have been as much like one as what it was intended for. Then, we may suppose, the next occupier of the house, either deceived himself, or humouring the mistake of others, might, when he renewed his sign, really turn it into a woman without a head. Or, even supposing the mistake to have been made by the sign-painter, from being unable to distinguish the figure he had to copy from, have we not read of stranger metamorphoses, and of stranger errors in drawing? F. R -Y. HOT ROLLS; OR, ST. MONDAY. (For the Mirror.) MISS MONDAY, as the gossips tell, Not Scandal's tongue her name could taint; And as some things are thought propitious, Now, so it fell---the baker's shop, "Next time, I'll serve that girl myself." In vain declar'd he ne'er went out, LOVE OUT OF PLACE. BY THE HON. ROBERT SPENCER. (For the Mirror.) I'm a boy of all work, a complete little servant, Tho' now out of place, like a beggar I rove; Tho' in waiting so handy, in duty so fervent, The heart (could you think it?) has turn'd away Love! He pretends to require, growing older and older, A muse more expert his chill fits to remove; But sure ev'ry heart will grow colder and colder, Whose fires are not lighted and fuel'd by Love! He fancies that Friendship, my puritan brother, In journies and visits more useful will prove ; But the heart will soon find, when it calls on another That no heart is at home to a heart without Love. He thinks his new Porter, grim featur'd suspicion, Will falsehood and pain from his mansion re prove ; But pleasure and truth will ne'er ask for ad. mission, If the doors of the heart be not open'd by Too late he will own, at his folly confounded, Must starve at a banquet unseasoned by Love! The heart will soon find all his influence falter By me, by me only that influence throve; With the change of his household, his nature will alter, That heart is no heart which can live without Love. THEATRICAL FIRE (To the Editor of the Mirror.) SIR, I am induced to make a few observations, from observing in No. 70 of the "MIRROR" two recipes for "Red and Green Fire." In both, five proportions of oxymuriate (or more properly chlorate) of potash are required, and directed to be well and perfectly triturated with the other ingredients. Now this preparation of potassa is very highly inflammable, and, of course, very dangerous to "You shan't," says John.---" I will," says Jane, handle. This, the attempt to substitute "And always when she comes again. In vain did John caress his wife it for nitre, in the manufacture of gunpowder, at Essone, in the year 1788, can prove; I have no doubt that many, seeing the directions, would be inclined to make these "Fires," (especially as they are exceedingly expensive to purchase,) and in the trituration, cause themselves very considerable danger from explosion : I myself am an instance of this. I have found, however, that by substituting ten parts of nitrate of potassa, for five of the chlorate, all danger is obviated, and the brilliancy of the mixture very little, if at all, diminished.-A Chemical Student. ON A LADY WHO SQUINTED. Ir ancient Poets Argus prize, BULL IN "WAVERLEY." (To the Editor of the Mirror.} SIR,-Your intelligent correspondents, who have favoured us with an account of the mistakes in the Scotch novels, have overlooked one, which, perhaps, if it came from an Irish instead of a Scotch author, would be termed a bull. It occurs near the end of the third volume of Waverley, when the procession, which bears Fergus M'Ivor to execution, has passed through the court-yard. After describing the scene very faithfully, he the court-yard was now ENTIRELY EMPTY. Waverley was standing in the middle of it." Yours, HONOROTONTHOLOGOS. says, THE POET'S VALENTINE. Well known by those who're skill'd in love, Ye sisters of Parnassus' hill! K Select Biography. No. III. HENRY HEADLEY. Fame, register of time, And ripe in worth, tho' greene in years did die. DRUMMOND. HENRY HEADLEY was the only son of the Rev. Henry Headley, Vicar of North Walsham, in the County of Norfolk. He was born at Irstead, in Norfolk, in the year 1766. The reputation of Dr. Parr, as master of the grammar school at Norwich, induced Mr. Headley to place his son under his care, under peculiarly fa vourable circumstances. As the consti tution of young Headley was naturally delicate, much of the time, which his school-fellows spent in robust exercises, he devoted to writing, and many of the wild and tender effusions of his fancy, proved the poetical bias of his mind. On the 14th of January, he was admitted a commoner of Trinity College, Oxford, under the tuition of the Rev. Charles Jesse; and at the following election on Trinity Monday, May 27th, was chosen scholar of that society. His situ ation at the University was as favourable as he could desire; for it not only allowed him ample scope for the expansion of his genius, and the indulgence of his literary habits, but presented him with living examples of classical taste, and learned research, which he could not behold without enthusiastic admiration. Among these bright examples was the Rev. Thomas Wharton, well known to the public by his writings: he was at that time Senior fellow of Trinity College, where he usually resided: and Headley, as a scholar of the same College, was favourably situated for the contemplation of Mr. Wharton's character, general manners, and habits of life. As his friends found that no subjects were more agree able to Headley than anecdotes of Wharton, they often fed his curiosity with a treat he so much enjoyed. The information they gave him, and the perusal of his various publications-his poemshis observations on Spenser and his history of English poetry, stimulated him to give his mind that direction which marked the course of his subsequent studies, and induced him to prefer "the monuments of banish'd minds" as existing in old English poetry to all other } pursuits. JACOBUS. The various objects which the appear. ance of the University of Oxford pre 134 sented, could not fail to produce a powThe erful effect on his imagination. delightful gardens and public walks; the various seats of learning and piety, where heroes had been taught the lessons of honour and virtue, sages had planned their systems of philosophy, and poets had indulged their flights of fancy-the survey of the gothic battlements and lofty towers" mantled with the moss of time" the crisped roofs, the clustered columns, and the mellow gloom of the painted windows, were all objects so closely connected with the study of the by-gone times, as to give a deep tincture to his mind; they were perfectly congenial with his taste, and contributed to mature and refine it. Kindred minds will invariably cling together, wherever they meet. Happily finding in Trinity College several of its members, who were young men of talents, learning, and amiable manners, he had little difficulty in forming an aquaintance. Among the select number of his associates was William Lisle Bowles, who has since distinguished himself as an eminent poet. His long vacations, far from being passed in idle rambles from home, were devoted to his studies, and the anxious It is discharge of his domestic duties. of importance to observe such traits as these in his character, especially at a time when men of literary pretensions appear by their actions, in too many deplorable instances, to deem it the privilege of genius to hold the important demands of ordinary life in utter contempt. At this time his father was confined by an illness which terminated in his death: the impression made upon the mind of his affectionate son, by a prospect so melancholy, may be collected from the beginning of his poem to Myra. From these sad seenes, where care and pale dismay Darken with deepest clouds the coming day, In 1786, he produced the first collected fruits of authorship by the publication of his poems and other pieces. Most of them had appeared in the Gentleman's Magaxine. In the following year, at the age of twenty-two, he published" Select Beauties of Ancient English Poets, with remarks." Such a work was highly complimentary to these pioneers of our literature, as well as honourable to the author. The plagiarisms of many of our modern flippant scribblers from these writers are so many abundant proofs of the merit, which even they attach to them. He was an occasional contributor of many ingenious pieces to the Gentleman's Magazine, under the signature of C. T. O., and wrote an Essay in the Olla Podrida, a periodical work, published in Oxford, in 1788, by the Rev. T. Monro, which contains some excellent observations on ancient and modern tragedy. He left Trinity College, after a residence there of nearly three years. For some months after his departure from Oxford, the inquiries of his college friends for his place of residence were in vain : it at length appeared, that he was inarried, and had retired to Matlock, in Derbyshire, pleased with such a sequestered retreat, and the wild scenery of the country which accorded with the romantic turn of his mind. The symptoms of a consumptive tendency in his constitution, which had been increasing for some years, were now so strongly confirmed, and he became so alarmingly indisposed, that his physician advised him to take a voyage to Lisbon. Thither he determined to proceed immediately, and his college friend, William Benwell, excited by the most affectionate sympathy, hastened to London, and took leave of him under circumstances of distress, which may be more easily imagined than described. Though harrassed by an incessant cough, and unaccompanied by any one he knew, Headley had the resolution to undertake the voyage: he sailed in May, 1788; but on landing at Lisbon, so far was he from feeling any effectual relief, that he found himself oppressed by the heat of the climate. A few days would probably have terminated his life, but for the unremitting kindness of a friend, to whom he had an introductory letter, and who procured him every facility of deriving the desired benefit from the change of climate. His malady had, however, made too great progress to be stopped; and as he found that nothing was to be gained from a residence in Portugal, he returned to England in August, to his house in Norwich. After suffering to such a degree, as to put his patience to a very severe trial, he died on the 15th November, 1788, in the twenty-third year of his age, and was buried near his parents, and two sisters, in the church of North Walsham, in Norfolk. Mr. Headley was of middle stature, thin, and delicately formed. His features were remarkably expressive: when in health, his cheeks glowed with the tints of the damask rose and genius and sensibility were written in his face. There was a charm in his society which all acknowledged who came within the sphere of its influence. The stream of his conversation was rather rapid than diffuse rather brilliant than profound. He caught the peculiarities of different characters with amazing quickness, and described them with matchless humour; he excelled in original and lively sallies of imagination; yet was his wit free from malevolence, for he was perfectly goodnatured, and his ridicule was as often turned upon himself, as levelled against others. The Rev. Henry Kett, (from whose Memoir of Headley, the present notice is chiefly abstracted,) observes, that active benevolence was a prominent feature of his character, and recollects but one instance of his anger. His resentment was roused by an unfounded insinuation, that he preferred the company of some of his acquaintance of another college, because they were of superior rank to his friends at Trinity. This gust of his passion was violent, though short. Such a noble mind as his could recognize no predilection for associates, but that which depended upon merit alone. He was high spirited without arrogance, and elevated without pride. Nothing could be more abhorrent from his disposition than the cringing of the sycophant, or the abject servilities of the flatterer. Although he had smarted under the discipline of his old master, (Dr. Parr) he recounted many instances of his kind ness, and he would not have paid him the compliment of a dedication of his poems, had he not regarded him as a person of transcendent worth: to such worth alone, he made his obeisance; and when Headley offered up the incense of his praise, it was the sacrifice made by genius upon the altar of gratitude. When suffering the attacks of indisposition, he showed great firmness of mind, and cheerfulness of temper. There was, indeed, a buoyancy in his disposition, that elevated him above the pressure of his malady, and which seldom failed to display itself in the most agreeable manner, on the appearance of any one of his friends, who might truly exclaim, in the words of his favourite poet, Shirley, LEAP YEAR. As this is leap year, an explanation of the term, and when it originated, may not be deemed irrelevant, or unacceptible to our readers. The time our earth takes to make one complete revolution in its orbit round the sun, we call a year. To complete this with great exactness, is a work of considerable difficulty. It has mostly been divided into twelve months of thirty days. The ancient Hebrew months consisted of thirty days each, excepting the last, which contained thirty-five. Thus the year contained 365 days. An intercalary month, at the end of 120 years supplied the difference. The Athenean months consisted of 30 and 29 days alternately, according to the regulation of Solon. This calculation produced a year of 354 days, and a little more than one third. But as a solar month contains 30 days, 10 hours, 29 minutes, Meton, to reconcile the difference between the solar and lunar year, added several embolismic, or intercalary months, during a cycle, or revolution of 19 years. The Roman months, in the time of Romulus, were only ten of 30 and 31 days. Numa Pompilius, sensible of the great deficiency of this computation, added two more months, and made a year of 355 days. The Egyptians had fixed the length of their year to 365 days. Julius Cæsar, who was well acquainted with the learning of the Egyptians, was the first who attained to any accuracy on the subject. Finding the year established by Numa ten days shorter than the solar year, Julius Cæsar supplied the difference, fixed the length of the year to be 365 days, 6 hours, and regulated the months allow for the six odd hours, he added an according to the present measure. intercalary day, every fourth year, to the month of February, reckoning the 24th of that month twice, which year must, of course, consist of 366 days, and is called leap year. From him it was denominated the Julian year. To the almanacks, and the day added is This year is also called Bissextile in termed the intercalary day. The Romans, as has been observed, inserted the intercalary, by reckoning the 24th twice, and because the 24th of February, in their calendar, was called sexto calendas mairii, the second sixth of the calends of March, and hence the year of intercallation had the appellation of Bissextile. We introduce in leap year a new day in the same month, namely, the 29th. To ascertain at any time, what year is leap year, divide the date of the year by four, if there is no remainder it is leap year. Thus 1820 was leap year. But 1819 divided by four, leaves a remainder of three, showing that it is the third year after leap year; and, as 1821 divided by four, leaves one, it was, consequently, the first after leap year. But the true solar year does not contain exactly 365 days, 6 hours, but 365 days, 5 hours, 48 minutes, and 49 seconds; which to calculate for correctly requires an additional mode of proceeding; 365 days, 6 hours, exceeds the true time by 11 minutes, 11 seconds, every year, amounting to a whole day in little less than 130 years. Notwithstanding this, the Julian year continued in general use till the year 1582, when Pope Gregory XIII. reformed the calendar, by cutting off ten days between the 4th and 15th of October in that year, and calling the 5th of that month the 15th. This alteration of the style was gradually adopted through the greater part of Europe, and the year was afterwards called the Gregorian year, or New Style. In this country, the method of reckoning according to the New Style, was not admitted into our calendars until the year 1752, when the error amounted to nearly 11 days, which were taken from the month of September, by calling the 3rd. of that month the 14th. The error amounting to one whole day in about 130 years, (by making every fourth year leap year,) it is settled by an act of parliament, that the vear 1800 and the year 1900, which according to the rule above given, are leap years, shall be computed as common years, having only 365 days in each; and that every four hundredth year also. If this method be adhered to, the present mode of reckoning will not vary a single day from true time, in less than 5,000 years. The beginning of the year was also changed, by the same act of parliament, from the 25th of March to the 1st of January, so that the succeeding months of January, February, and March, up to the 24th day, which would, by the Old Style, have been reckoned part of the year 1752, were accounted as the first three months of the year 1753. Hence we see such a date as this, January 1st, 1757-8, or February 3, 1764-5: that is according to the old style, it was 1764, but, according to the new, 1765, because now the year begins in January instead of March. DUSTY BOB'S LOVE LETTER. Nice pleasant's legs, and such poach'd eggs A good stew'd eel, some roasted veal, Then tell me Cookey, tell me pray, Don't leave me out, but your first rout SIGNS OF RAIN; An excuse for not accepting the invitation of a Friend to make an excursion with him. An Original Poem, by the late Dr. Jenner. 1. The hollow winds begin to blow, 2. The clouds look black, the glass is low; 3. The soot falls down, the spaniels sleep, 4. And spiders from their cobwebs peep. 5. Last night the sun went paie to bed, 6. The moon in halos hid her head; 7. The boding shepherd heaves a sigh, 8. For, see, a rainbow spans the sky. 9. The walls are damp, the ditches smell, 10. Clos'd is the pink-ey'd pimpernell. 1. Hark! how the chairs and tables crack, 12. Old Betty's joints are on the rack; 13. Loud quack the ducks, the peacocks cry; 14. The distant hills are looking nigh. 15. How restless are the snorting swine, 16. The busy flies disturb the kine; 17. Low o'er the grass the swallow wings 18. The cricket, too, how sharp he sings; 19. Puss on the hearth, with velvet paws, 20. Sits, wiping o'er whisker'd jaws. 21. Through the clear stream the fishes rise 22. And nimbly catch th' incautious flies; 23. The glow-worms, numerous and bright, 24. Illum'd the dewy dell last night. 25. At dusk the squalid toad was seen, 37. And seem precipitate to fall--- Lit. Gaz. |