ABBADONA.

FROM THE GERMAN, BY KLOFSTOCK.

On the confines of the throne, where Satan sways his infernal sceptre, agonized by remorse, and replete with care, was the wretched and terror-stricken Abbadona. In mournful silence he recalled to his memory, his days of glory and innocence, his once happy hours for ever fled; when tranquil and submissive he partook of the lot of the celestial spirits; but now he only perceived that a hapless futurity and frightful despair were all that remained for him.

The thoughts of his rebellion and dreadful error, assailed his mind and spirit without ceasing: he had continually before his eyes the image of faithful Abdiel, the seraph, who at all times embraced the quarrel of the Most High, and the tender remembrance of their friendship only added more pangs to his unavailing repentance.

Alas! this magnanimous friend, this wise seraph, did all that was in his power to prevent his crime. He had the joint examples of all the wise angels, but pride, that foolish bane, prevented him following their bright examples.

The fierce Abbadona nourished in his bosom the hopes of becoming a deity, and to have the dominion of the Almighty; but this deceptive ambition which he had cherished in his mind, doomed him for ever to be bound to the chariot of Satan; what a dreadful reflection strides along his senses, pursuing the intoxication of his passions.

Nothing equals his shame and detestation of life, he sees all his disgrace, and his troubled mind quivers at the recollection of heavenly immortality. However, his lamentations inflame and boil up his choler, and nothing has the power of quelling the vociferations of his darted tongue. The author of all his misfortunes attracted his attention during his passion, and he addressed him thus, "Thy tongue can find no grace from you; O Satan, I am too well aware of your criminal audacity to have the least suspicion that your heart of flint can be softened. It is you, O vile debaucher! that have reduced me to this dreadful dungeon. Nevertheless, nothing can force me to silence; the state that I am at present in, gives me the power of fearing your vengeance less than of the omnipotent, so justly irritated. I only quitted that seat of bliss by your infamous machinations. And can he, being aware of the grief which weighs me down, turn away his justly merited vengeance. O thou obdurate beguiler! Satan, I hate Q 2

thee, infamous suborner, I abjure thee, may that Almighty ruler whose heavenly power you strove to undo, O wretch! on you alone may he guide his horses of vengeance, and trample you down for ever. Satan beware and tremble, his thunderbolts are now hastening along to quell thy iniquitous career. On the first crime they ought to split; it is your ambition, it is your sable mantled malice, O monster, that lays a snare for our weak minds to be caught; it is you that destroys us! But what do I behold? your pride that resists all power, wishes once more to aggravate the Almighty, (at whose will and pleasure the clouds flash lightning and utter dreadful roaring, at whose command the clouds send forth rain as torrents,) who has already marked his anger on your brow; but overcome by this Great Being, to whom all things give place, O fiend, thou would'st make his son perish! thy hand already besmeared with the blood of many seraphs burns with a desire to dye itself with the blood of the Messiah; but your efforts are vain, depart, ye frightful projects, and may they be like you for ever in stupor."

Then Satan rose, bursting with rage, furious, and his throat was choked by the foam of his passion, so that he had not the power of speaking, but his ter rible countenance and restlessness depicted the movement of his barbarous heart. Three times he seized his large scimitar to fell this rash spirit at his feet, and his arm three times refused to serve the wrath that he felt himself overpressed with. Then Adramelec the enemy of the human creation, of God, and even of Satan, rose, loading Abbadona with direful threats, and making hell resound with his dreadful exclamations.

"Away from us (said he) you pusillanimous spirit, who dares to attribute to us a crime, because we fought and had revenge for our rights; go with your false virtue, go you unworthy soldier, your speeches are marks which foretell that you have no courage; deserter of our laws, can you in your delirium cast the die of an adverse tide to our new-formed empire. May your bare wish hurl more tortures on your miserable head-you will sigh in vain, O dastard! for this trifling, you ought still to feel the wretchedness of existence, and to know the power of our nervous arms.

"If you, one day, should shake off this imperial prince's yoke, to proceed to that heaven which you ought to abhor, may the clanking of irons eternally run through your ears, you vile traitor. And may you from this time, O glorious

Satan, at whose name the earth and heavens shudder! May you once more give men proofs of your valour, and punish the arrogance of our fierce enemies: chief of our legions, may your arm hurl fire and brimstone on the bosom of your detested adversary; let us guide the reins of the courser of fraud and artifice towards his arms if heaven is propitious, so that we may destroy him. No prudence can make firm the insidious battlements which I know how to discover. And if we cannot guide the dart of death to the heart of the king of heaven, we will endeavour to pour torrents of destruction on the head of the Messiah, and may he perish!" All the arched roof of hell resounded with applauses that the fiends sent forth, Olympus burst with indignation, and the earth shook. The deserted Abbadona, in a solitary corner of this horror-blasted abode, was considering how to throw away the allegiance of the prince of darkness, he had already passed divers obstacles, when, on a sudden, he found himself freed from the taint and smell of that place of woe, and transported to the palace of true happiness. What joy and transport run through his veins when he finds himself among the seraphs, who guarded the entrance. He observed Abdiel, and so great was his terror that all his blood froze and deserted his heart. Alas! how could he present himself to the companion of his ancient glory, who still had a deep remembrance of his rebellion, and more, before the friend of God, overwhelmed with grief so justly merited! ALFRED.

COOKEY'S LOVE LETTER,

In answer to Dusty Bob.* DEAR Edgar, dear Edgar, to thee I'm now sending

My love and my dripping by Sally our maid, And your sweet little song-book, with thanks for the lending,

And a dozen of quills, nice pens to be made. Accept, my sweet Edgar, I pray you, this present, This leg of a goose, duck, turkey, and pig; This pie made of pigeons, this half of a pheasant, This bottle of claret, my Edgar, to swig. This venison pasty, which I made rather hasty, But I'm fearful'tis not like the last; And as you're in the habit of eating of rabbit, I send you the whole of the breast.

The parsley and butter, it might have been better,

Which I send you on this bit of veal; But don't you refuse it, but pray do excuse it, And, my Edgar, accept this cow-heel. We've a party on Sunday, don't fail on the Monday,

My Edgar, to come with thy bag;

We have all sorts of dainties, such venison pasties!

But, stay, 'twas I made them, so I must not brag.

* See Mirror, No. 72.

In the year 555, two monks brought from Cerinda, in the East Indies, to Constantinople, the eggs of some silk-worms, which having hatched in a dung-hill, they fed the young insects with mulberryleaves; and by this management they soon multiplied to such a degree, that manufactories of silk were erected at Constantinople, at Athens, at Thebes, and at Corinth.

In the year 1130, King Roger of Sicily, brought manufacturers of silk from Greece, and settled them at Palermo, where they taught the Sicilians the art of breeding silk-worms, and of spinning and weaving their silk.

From Sicily the art was carried all over Italy, thence to Spain; and a little before the time of Francis I. it reached the south of France.

Henry IV. of France was at great pains to introduce manufactures of silk into his kingdom, and by his perseverance at last brought them to tolerable perfection.

In the year 1286, the ladies of some noblemen first appeared in England in silks, at a ball in Kenilworth Castle, in Warwickshire.

In the year 1620, the art of weaving silk was first introduced into England; and, in the year 1719, Lombe's machine for throwing silk was erected at Derbya curious piece of mechanism, containing 26,586 wheels turned by water. The perfect model of this machine is now preserved, and to be seen in the Tower of London.

Such was the first introduction of silk into England, which long continued to be too scarce and dear to be applied to

common use.

Henry II. of France was the first European who wore silk stockings. In the reign of our Henry VIII. no silk stock

ings had appeared in England. Edward VI., his son and successor, was presented by Sir Thomas Gresham with the first pair that were ever seen in this country; and the present was, at that time, much talked of as valuable and uncommon. S.

MAIL-COACH GUARDS. (To the Editor of the Mirror.) SIR,-In your 73rd Number is a communication on the subject of mail-coach guards, in which your correspondent is incorrect when he says that the man rests two nights and one day, in making the journey from London to Plymouth and back; for if he travels according to his statement, i.e. Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday, and stops on the first and third evenings only until the following mornings, it is clear that he does not rest one day. But I presume, the fact is, he remains in London until the Saturday evening, and then he rests three nights and one day, making five days in all. So that, instead of performing the journey 94 times, he performs it 73 times only every year, by which the annual amount of miles is reduced to 32,412.

I should not have taken up my pen to point out this error, as every reader must have detected it after a moment's consideration; but I wish to have it recorded in the MIRROR, that a greater distance than either is annually travelled by the driver of one of the Norwich day coaches from town. His name, I believe, is Thorowgood, and he has now for almost three years made the journey alternately to and from that city every day without a single exception. Now, as he goes by Bury, the distance between Norwich and London is 112 miles; and this performance daily amounts to no less than 40,880 miles in one year. If we suppose the three years, one of them being leap-year, fully completed, he will have travelled in the time nearly as far as five times round the earth. This will be seen by taking the estimated circumference of our planet, which is 25,020 miles: multiply the same by five, and you have 125,100; and the distance he will have gone will be 122,752 miles. In 21 days more he would exceed the difference, say 2,348, oy 12. Such a task is, perhaps, without parallel. OCULUS.

THE CRUCIFIXION. ASK'D the heavens---" What foe to God hath done

This unexampled deed?"---The heavens exclaim'd,

""Twas Man;---and we in horror snatch'd the

sun

From such a spectacle of grief." Ashain'd,

Q

I ask'd the sea. The sea with fury boll'd,
And answer'd by her voice of storms---"'Twas
Man---

My waves in panic at this crime recoil'd,

Disclos'd the abyss, and from the centre ran." I ask'd the earth. The earth replied, aghast, ""Twas Man---and such strange pangs my bosom rent,

That still I fear and tremble at the past."
To Man, gay-smiling Man I went,
And ask'd him next. He turn'd a scornful eye,
Shook his proud head, and deign'd me no reply.
J.G.

GEOGRAPHICAL GARDEN.

A NOVEL proposition has been made to the American Congress, in a memorial of Ira Hill, of Baltimore, for a grant of ten acres of land and ten thousand dollars capital, to enable him to construct in the city of Washington a geographical garden. The proposition of Mr. Hill promises to be of great utility.

This plan literally makes the paths of science to be strewed with flowers, and while it will serve to attract the young to the useful studies of geography and topography, it is admirably adapted to imprint strongly on their memories, as well as those of riper years, the important facts which it conveys, by the principles of association and location, which are the foundation of the Mnemonic Art.

The following extracts from the memorial will give the reader an idea of the intended garden :

"The memorialist proposes to form near the capital a geographical garden. In this, all the known parts of the world shall be accurately delineated. The beds of oceans, seas, gulfs, bays, and lakes, shall be depressed, and the continents, peninsulas, and isthmuses, mountains, islands, &c. shall be raised in proportion to their respective elevations on this terraqueous sphere.

"The beds of the oceans, &c. shall be covered with gravel, and the lands shall be adorned with verdure; and the mountains may rest on the same kind of stone as compose them in their natural state.

"The channels of rivers shall be described as in their natural courses, and lowered in proportion to the heights of their respective banks. If required, the beds of oceans, seas, &c. shall be so constructed, that they can be filled with water at any time, so that the whole world, in its native elements, will be completely represented in miniature.

"If the proposed topographical delineation should be constructed on ten acres of ground, and described according to Mercator's projection, the lakes Erie and Ontario would be each more than eight feet in length, and the United States, from the Atlantic to the Pacific, will be

160 feet; and every country, kingdom, state, and province, will be clearly delineated; the situations of all the important cities shall be so described as to convey a complete idea of them. The parallels of latitude and the meridians shall be correctly laid down, as shall likewise the Equator, Ecliptic, the Tropics, and other circles.

"Such a topographical delineation of the world would possess many advantages over any map or chart that was ever described. It will be made on so large a scale, that the countries will be laid down in more exact proportion, and their relative positions would be more clearly

seen.

"The various elevations of lands, on which the temperature of climate and the productions greatly depend, could here be clearly ascertained. The proper situations for roads, canals, and other improvements, may be seen at one view, that a far more useful knowledge of the science of geography can be obtained by walking a few hours in this garden, than could be gained by reading in as many years."

TONSON'S EPITAPH.

To the Editor of the Mirror.)

I SEND you herewith a translation of the Latin epitaph on Tonson, which is nearly similar to the celebrated one on the late Dr. Franklin. Unless I had reason to believe that Tonson's epitaph was unknown to the Doctor, I should certainly be inclined to think that he was indebted to it, at least for the idea. THE EPITAPH.

THE rolling course of Life, being finished,
This is the end of Jacob Tonson;

A man of eminence in his profession:
Who, as Accoucheur to the Muses,
Ushered into Life

The happy productions of Genius.

can befall human beings. It does not stand single upon record; and possibly ships, which have been totally lost without any tidings of their fate, may have perished by a similar fate. Any means, therefore, of preventing its recurrence well deserve to be pointed out. The combustion appears to me evidently to originate from the inflammable gas evolved by the spirit in drawing it off, which, accumulating in the confined space of the spirit-room, easily catches fire. Instances of ships burned in consequence of drunkards stealing spirits by candlelight are too common. If against this there be no absolute remedy, yet the mischief would very rarely occur, were the spirits stowed away in casks of a size barely sufficient for a single day's consumption, and it were made a fixed law, never to draw off spirits any where but on deck. It is true, some diffusion of inflammable gas in the spirit-room might then take place in cases of leakage; but even this would be greatly abated by the use of small casks; and the employment of a safety-lamp, when a light was required, would render the danger trifling. S. N.

PETER PINDARICS; OR, JOE MILLER VERSIFIED

THE GUESS.

Such as we see on Sundays in Hyde-Park,
TOM POPLIN was a London modern spark,--
Or mounted on a sleek and handsome filly,
Through Regent-street, Pall-Mall, or Piccadilly,
Pursue their way, elate with conscious pride,
And, doubtless, pleas'd to think how well they
ride,

How grand they look, and how the poor pedestrian

Must be delighted with the art equestrian,
Or rather with their skill!--But hold!---a truce
To any thing that might be deem'd abuse.
Like others he adopted ev'ry plan

To be suppos'd a military man;

tuneful reeds.

His boots---his spurs---his stock that cramp'd his throat--

His waist compress'd---his swagg'ring martial stride--

In the most sceptical a doubt defied

He might indeed be term'd a downright swell;
And why not? I would ask you, who could tell
That such a gentleman could e'er be seen
To measure satin, silk, or bombazine?
But truth will out. In spite of all this vapour
He was---assistant to a linen-draper!!
And nothing more. Yet I would not upbraid
A man for following such or such a trade.

Tir'd of the odious shop, one summer day,
Tom hir'd a steed---to Brighton took his way
Abode of rank and fashion. What a dash
He there should cut! How he would sport his
cash;

And such like thoughts the pleasant road beAnd at his sure success he inward smil'd. guil'd,

Tom deem'd, too, he was not devoid of wit---
Indeed, sometimes he made a lucky hit;
But, when his converse took a witty turn,
That which he utter'd he had first to learn.

Arriv'd, where two roads meet, at dusk of night,

Awhile our hero ponder'd which was right; As thus he mus'd a ploughboy chanc'd to pass; "What's to be done? I'll ask this clownish ass--

Though they're so very stupid; to their shame, These bumpkins scarce can tell their christian name.".

"Is this the road to Brighton, Jack?" he said: The clown look'd wise, and grinn'd and scratched his head,

'twas so;

And thus replied, "First tell me how you know My name is Jack?"--" Why boy, I guess'd I could not knowit."---"Oh,guess'd it, you say... Why, then, to Brighton you may guess your way!"

W. S.

Select Biography.

No. VI.

CONSTANTIA GRIERSON. THAT the most splendid talents, united with the most intense application, is not confined either to sex or sphere of life, is fully evinced by the subject of the present memoir. This prodigy of early learning and acquirements (whose maiden name is no where mentioned) was born in the county of Kilkenny, of parents poor and illiterate. Nothing is recorded of her until her eighteenth year, when we are told by Mrs. Pilkington, that she was brought to her father to be instructed in midwifery, and that then she was a perfect mistress of the Hebrew, Greek, Latin, and French languages, and was far advanced in the study of the mathematics. Mr. Pilkington having inquired of her where she gained this prodigious knowledge, she modestly replied, that when she could spare time from her needlework, to which she was closely kept by her mother, she had received some little instruction from the minister of the parish. She wrote elegantly (says Mrs. P.) both in verse and prose; but the turn of her mind was chiefly to philosophical or divine subjects; nor was her piety inferior to her learning. The most delightful hours, this lady declares that she had ever passed, were in the society and conversation of this "female philosopher.' My father, adds she, readily consented

The following epigram was written by Mrs. Grierson to the Hon. Mrs. Percival, with Hutcheson's Treatise on Beauty and Order :--Th' internal senses painted here we see, They're born in others, but they live in thee; Oh were our author with thy converse blest, "Could he behold thy virtues in thy breast,

His needless labours with contempt he'd view, And bid the world not read---but copy you.

to accept of Constantia as a pupil, and gave her a general invitation to his table, by which means we were rarely asunder. Whether it was owing to her own design or to the envy of those who survived her, I know not, but of her various and beautiful writings I have never seen any published, excepting one poem of her's in the works of Mrs. Barber. Her turn, it is true, was principally to philosophical or religious subjects, which might not be agreeable to the present taste; yet could her heavenly mind descend from its sublimest heights to the easy and epistolary style, and suit itself to my then gay disposition.

Mrs. Barber, likewise, gives her testimony to the merit of Constantia, of whom she declares," that she was not only happy in a fine imagination, a great memory, an excellent understanding, and an exact judgment, but had all these crowned by virtue and piety. She was too learned to be vain, too wise to be conceited, and too clear-sighted to be irreligious. As her learning and abilities raised her above her own sex, so they left her no room to envy any, on the contrary, her delight was to see others excel. She was always ready to direct and advise those who applied to her, and was herself willing to be advised. So little did she value herself upon her uncommon excellencies, that she has often recalled to my mind a fine reflection of a French author, That great geniuses should be superior to their own abilities."

999

Constantia married a Mr. George Grierson, a printer in Dublin, for whom Lord Carteret, then Lord-Lieutenant of Ireland, obtained a patent appointing him printer to the King, in which, to distinguish and reward the merit of his wife, her life was inserted.

She died in 1733, at the premature age of twenty-seven, admired and respected as an excellent scholar in Greek and Roman literature, in history, theology, philosophy, and mathematics. Her de dication of the Dublin edition of Tacitus to Lord Carteret, affords a convincing proof of her knowledge in the Latin tongue; and by that of Terence to his son, to whom she wrote a Greek epigram. Dr. Hazword esteems her Tacitus one of the best edited books ever published. She wrote many fine poems in English, but esteemed them so slightly, that very few copies of them were to be found after her decease. What makes her character more remarkable is, that she rose to this extraordinary eminence entirely by the force of natural genius and uninterrupted application.