HISTORICAL REMINISCENCES.

MAHMED.

MAHMED, at the commencement of his career, was detailing to his wondrous audience the visions of a night; he had travelled on Borauk from one heaven to another, and done, and seen so much, that an auditor, less credulous than his neighbors, objected to the short space of time allowed for feats so extraordinary. The prophet replied, that the fact was more marvellous in the occurrence than in his relation; for upon his first alarm, when Gabriel appeared with the horse of heaven, he overthrew a kooza of water, nor were its contents all run out, when (the vision over) he returned from his travels, "beyond the flaming bounds of space and time."-This so effectually disconcerted the doubter, that he forthwith put on his shoes, (analogous to our putting on the hat), and quitted the congregation, resolving never more to countenance such absurdities by listening to them. On reaching home, he found his "neat-handed Phillis" had just purchased fish, and was about to draw water from the well to prepare the mess. Overjoyed at seeing him, she prayed him to take the pitcher in her stead, and commenced her culinary preparations. The unbeliever obeyed, and quickly returned, but fatigued and thirsty, after Mahmed's long-winded discourse, he dipped a small drinking cup into his pitcher, and filling it with water, lifted it up to his lips to drink. Some vile magician must have been in the well: no sooner did he feel the coolness of the draught upon his tongue, than the music of a royal festival burst in full chorus upon his ears: without any sense but of the change, he found himself metamorphosed into a woman of regal birth, and destined for the harem of a king. Tongue-tied and incapable of uttering the words which should disclose his original situation, he went like an automaton, as if possessed of a spirit, which spoke through his lips, and acted with his body. Horror crowded upon horror: she became the abased wife of a cruel and jealous tyrant; and day by day was in peril from unjust suspicions and base slanders. She

became the "care crazed mother" of a countless family of children, undutiful in conduct and deformed in person. Finally, war beset the gate; famine desolated the land; death and ruin overwhelmed and swept away all that her eyes had rested on; and last of all, she found herself in extreme old age, a withered hag, helpless and powerless, cast upon a dunghill, and writhing under the beaks and talons of vultures that were tearing in pieces the yet living carrion! Then conscience whispered her of the scorn she had cast upon the messenger of heaven; and her last faint dying breath past, with articulation too low to be heard save by the angel of mercy,-"God is God, and Mahmed is his prophet!"

The voice of the charming Phillis was now heard again, as she asked what made him gulp

down the water so eagerly, and stare around him so wildly now he had done? The illusion had ceased; and to the utter overthrow of all the doubter's scepticism, he found the adventures of more than half a century, which had been prolonged to ages by misery, had been crowded upon him during the few seconds it had required to swallow the water he had lifted to his lips.

PUBLIC WALKS.

The English people have long been noted for their destructive propensities in public walks; for in many places which have been thrown open for their gratification, there is scarcely a tree but what has been practised on by the hand of some rude engraver, who has thus attempted to immortalize his name. It is, perhaps, owing to the prevalence of this absurd practice, that the parks and country seats of the nobles and gentry have been so generally closed against public intrusion, and the whole population is thus made to suffer for the malicious follies of a few. In other countries, on the continent, the poorest classes in society deem all public places as sacred, and each person considers himself bound to protect that which is allowed to be used for the benefit and the pleasure of the whole.

CHIT-CHAT.

HAYMARKET.-Mr. Phelps will make his first appearance in London, on Monday, the 28th inst., in the character of Shylock. This evening, Mr. Buckstone's new Comedy of Love and Murder is to be brought forward.

GRAVESEND THEATRE.-The season is now drawing to a close; but the management are still producing novelties. The Pickwickians has been quite a hit. Miss S. Booth has been astonishing the natives, during the present week, in the School for Scandal, and the Young Widow,

dividing the applause with our little favorite, Miss Shaw, of the Adelphi; who has won many laurels during her short engagement.

TEMPLETON and Miss SHIRREFF are still contesting for public favor among the elite of the Emerald Isle.

Mrs. COCKING.-We are glad to hear that 'golden honors' are being conferred on this unfortunate, though deserving, lady. The proceeds of Wednesday's entertainments, at Vauxhall Gardens, on which occasion Mr. GREEN made another balloon ascent, have been handed over to her, and the amount, being considerable, will, we trust, in some measure compensate for

the loss of her husband.

Madame Eugenie GARCIA, sister-in-law of the late Malibran, has appeared in Italy with great success in the part of Desdemona. She is the pupil of Garcia, to whose son she is married.

THE QUEEN'S OWN THEATRE.-By the courtesy of Mr. HOLLAND, treasurer of the establishment, we were admitted, a few days since, to view the progress of the works at the Queen's Own Theatre, in Oxford Street; and we are glad to have it in our power to announce, that there is now every chance of its being opened in October. While the workmen are actively engaged on the premises, the scenery, decorations, &c. &c. are preparing elsewhere; so that there will be no delay occasioned, beyond the actual completion of the building. The accommodation of the public has been consulted in every part of the house-which, by the way, is unusually capacious-and in every other arrangement, it would seem that comfort has been considered before expense. The theatre, altogether, promises to surpass in beauty, and attraction, every other theatre in London. We are in possession of the names of the principal performers who are engaged; but it would be premature to announce them just now.

RICHMOND THEATRE.-On Monday, Mr. BUTLER made his first appearance here in the character of Virginius, and was received most favorably. His acting was fine, and duly appreciated by one of the fullest houses of the season. Miss DESBOROUGH, as Virginia, both looked, and played the character admirably. FORESTER, also, and indeed all the actors, exerted themselves most successfully. After the tragedy, Mr. BUTLER was called for, and loudly applauded. In the course of the evening, Miss WARING sang one of her popular little songs, which received an unanimous encore. On Wednesday, Mr. BUTLER appeared in the character of Shylock, which he sustained admirably. Of a truth the Richmond Theatre is doing well.

John REEVE is recovering slowly from his late misfortune. It will, however, be a considerable time before he is able to resume his place on the stage.

WRITING FOR THE STAGE, AND LONDON AUDIENCES.-To write for low, ill-informed, and conceited actors, whom you must please for your success is necessarily at their mercyI cannot away with. How would you, or how do you think I should, relish being the object of such a letter as Kean wrote t'other day to a poor author, who, though a pedantic blockhead, had at least the right to be treated like a gentleman by a copper-laced, two penny tear-mouth, rendered mad by conceit and success? Besides,

if this objection were out of the way, I do not think the character of the audience in London is such that one could have the least pleasure in pleasing them. One half come to prosecute their debaucheries so openly, that it would degrade a bagnio. Another set to snooze off their beef-steaks and port wine; a third are critics of the fourth column of a newspaper; fashion, wit, or literature, there is not; and, on the whole, I would far rather write verses for mine honest friend Punch and his audience.-Lockhart's Life of Scott.

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VOL. I.-No. 15.]

HOW TO MAKE EXCUSES. Why should excuse be born, or ere begot? SHAKSPEARE.

To the Editor of the "IDLER." SIR. I know no talent, in the application of which some gentlemen more excel than that of excusing; and when I tell you that I am a tradesman, obliged, from the nature of my business, to give credit, I hope you will not doubt that experience has qualified me to speak upon this subject, and to speak feelingly.

There are only two kinds of debtors-those who cannot pay, and those who will not pay. The first have excuses ready made-the latter are obliged to make excuses. The first may be sometimes dishonest-the latter are never very honest. The first destroy hope at one blow-the latter protract its torments till it expires from weakness. The first is an acute distemper, that kills in a few hours-the latter is a chronic distemper, worse than death. word, Sir, inability is tolerable, because they cannot cure it-unwillingness is painful, because I cannot shorten it.

In a

In forming excuses, according to the common practice, the following rules are observed :

1st. That the same excuse shall be as seldom repeated as possible.

2nd. That the excuses be as various and plausible as possible.

3rd. By way of maxim-every kind and degree of excuse deserves to be tried, because there is much less inconvenience in postponing

[PRICE Two-PENCE.

a debt than in paying it; and the advantages of giving words and parting with money are all on the side of the former.

To exemplify these rules, Mr. Editor, permit me to state a case. Z. Y. owes me a bill. I send it in, we shall suppose the 1st July. Now mark the excuses in succession.

July 1. "Oh! this is Mr. Mercer's billcall again any day next week." July 9.

"Not at home."-" When will he be at home?"-"Any time to-morrow." July 10. "Has a gentleman with him". wait an hour-"O! ah! this is the bill-ayhum!-look in on Monday."

Monday. Not at home-gone to 'Change." Thursday. Leave the bill, and I'll look it over." July 20.

"There seems to be a mistake in the bill; I never had this article-take it back to your master, and tell him to examine his books."

24. Just gone out."

29. "I am busy now! tell your master I'll call on him as I go into the city."

Aug. 16. "Bless me! 1 quite forgot to call. This bill is not discharged-bring me a receipt any time tomorrow or next day."

17. Gone to Margate, and wont be home till next month."

Sept. 12. "What! did not I pay that bill before I went out of town?-Are you going farther?"-"Yes."-"Very well; call as you come back, and I'll settle it."-Calls, and he is gone to dinner at Clapham.

16. "Plague of this bill!-I don't believe I have so much cash in the house can you give me change for a £100 note?"-"No." Then call in as you pass to-morrow." 18. "Not at home.."

25.

Appoint a day! Damme, what does your master mean? Tell him I'll call upon him, and know what he means by such a message." Oct. 14. "What no discount!". Sir, it has been owing these two years."-" There's your money then."-"These sovereigns are light."- "Then you must call again; I have no loose cash in the house."

And here ends the payment of £9 14s. 6d. with some of the gold light-weight.

But these are only a sample, after all, of the many excuses I must receive; and the most mortifying part of the business is, that such debtors are really those who can pay, but by various delays obtain the use of the money, and in some cases tire out the patience of the ereditor. I must say, indeed, that they are remarkably civil;-they give me the prettiest words-they send their compliments and kind love "to Mrs. Mercer and the dear little ones -but, plague on them! they won't send the money.

As my fellow-shopkeepers labor under the same hardships in these respects as myself, I hope you will not refuse this humble statement of our case; and if it produces the payment of any one bill which I am now hunting after, you will merit the hearty thanks of, Cheapside, August, 13, 1837.

Your constant Reader, JOSEPH MERCER.

REVIEW OF BOOKS.

A History of British Birds, Indigenous and Migratory, &c. &c. &c. By William Macgillivray, A.M. F.R.S.E. Vol. I. Scott and Co.

A very delightful book, written not only with a perfect knowledge of the subjects introduced, but with a considerable spice of humor and pleasantry. The volume is stored with so much useful matter, that we can hardly err in extracting what comes first to hand. Here are two interesting descriptions of the raven and the

crow:

THE HABITS OF THE RAVEN.

"The raven sometimes nestles at no great distance from the eagle, in which case, these birds do not molest each other; but in general, the former is a determined enemy to the latter, and may be often seen harassing it. What a brave soldier the raven is; he fights the eagle, who is four times his size!' I remember hearing an old Highlander say to me more than twenty years ago. But let us consider the matter. There goes the whitetailed eagle! Launched from the rock of Liuir, she advances along the cliffs on her way to to the inland hills, where she expects to find a supply of food for her young. Now she is opposite the promontory of Ui, whence, croaking in fierce anger, rush two ravens.

The eagle

seems not to heed them; but they rapidly gain upon her, and, separating as they come up in their wake, one ascends, the other glides beneath, menacing her, and attempting to peck at her. While she regards the one below, the above plunges towards her; but perceiving that she is ready to meet him, he reascends a few feet,

the other in the mean time threatening vengeance be

low. I never observed, however, that they actually came in contact with the object of their pursuit, which seemed to regard them as more disagreeable than dangerous, and appeared to hurry on merely to avoid being pestered by them.'

THE CARRION CROW.

"The carrion crow is very easily tamed, and is strongly attached to the person who brings him up. I kept one for two years and a half. It flew round about the neighborhood, and roosted every night on the trees of my shrubbery. At whatever distance he was, as soon as he heard my voice he immediately came to me. He was very fond of being caressed, but should any one except myself stroke him on the head or back, he was sure to make the blood spring from their fingers. He seemed to take a very great delight in pecking the heels of barefooted youths. The more terrified they were, the more did his joy seem to increase. Even the heels of my pointers, when he was in his merry mood, did not escape his art of ingeniously tormenting. His memory was astonishing. One Monday morning, after being satiated with food, he picked up a mole which was lying in the orchard, and hopped with it into the garden. I kept out of his sight, as he seldom concealed any thing when he thought you observed him. covered it so nicely with earth that, after the most diligent search, I could not discover where he had put it. As his wings had been cut to prevent him from flying over the wall into the garden, he made many a fruitless attempt during the week to get in at the door. On Saturday evening, however, it having been left open, I saw him hop to the very spot where the mole had so in the twinkling of an eye."

He

long been hid, and, to my surprise, he came out with it

There are more volumes yet to come; and if they are conducted with the same ability as is evinced in the one before us, we may class the author among the first Ornithologists of the age. The illustrations, which are numerous, and very correctly executed, confer a great additional value on the book.

Country Stories. By Mary Russell Mitford. Saunders and Otley.

There are very few persons that can read, ignorant of the writings of Miss Mitford, and their peculiar attractions, which have always NATURE to recommend them. We need therefore only say that these stories are from her pen, to ensure them a hearty welcome. The stories being all too long to extract whole, we offer the scene of the story called

THE WIDOW'S DOG.

"One of the most beautiful spots in the north of Hampshire-a part of the country which, from its winding green lanes, with the trees meeting over head like a cradle, its winding roads between coppices, with wide turfy margents on either side, as if left on purpose for the picturesque and frequent gipsy camp, its abundance of hedgerow timber, and its extensive tracts of woodland, seems as if the fields were just dug out of the forest, as might have happened in the days of William Rufus-one of the loveliest scenes in this lovely county is the Great Pond at Ashley End.

Ashley End is itself a romantic and beautiful village, straggling down a steep hill to a clear and narrow running stream, which crosses the road in the bottom, crossed in its turn by a picturesque wooden bridge, and then winding with equal abruptness up the opposite acclivity, so that the scattered cottages, separated from each other by long strips of garden around, the little country inn, and two or three old-fashioned tenements of somewhat higher pretensions, surrounded by their own moss-grown orchards, seemed to be completely shut out from this bustling world, buried in the slop

ing meadows so deeply green, and the hanging woods so rich in their various tinting, along which the slender wreaths of smoke from the old clustered chimneys went smiling peacefully into the pleasant autumn air. So profound was the tranquillity, that the slender streamlet which gushed along the valley, following its natural windings, and glittering in the noonday sun like a thread of silver, seemed to the unfrequent visitors of that remote hamlet the only trace of life and motion in the picture.

The source of this pretty brook was undoubtedly the Great Pond, although there was no other road to it than by climbing the steep hill beyond the village, and then turning suddenly to the right, and descending by a deep cart-track, which led between wild banks covered with heath and feathery broom, garlanded with bramble and briar-roses, and gay with the purple heathflower and the delicate harebell, to a scene even more beautiful and more solitary than the hamlet itself.

It was a small clear lake almost embosomed in trees, across which an embankment, formed for the purpose of a decoy for the wild fowl with which it abounded, led into a wood which covered the opposite hill; an old forest-like wood, where the noble oaks, whose boughs almost dipped into the water, were surrounded by their sylvan accompaniments of birch, and holly, and hawthorn, where the tall trees met over the straggling paths, and waved across the grassy dells and turfy brakes with which it was interspersed. One lowbrowed cottage stood in a little meadow-it might almost be called a little orchard-just at the bottom of the winding road that led to the Great Pond: the cottage of the widow King.

Independently of its beautiful situation, there was much that was at once picturesque and comfortable about the cottage itself, with its irregularity of outline, its gable ends and jutting-out windows, its thatched roof and pent-house windows. A little yard, with a small building which just held an old donkey-chaise and an old donkey, and a still older cow, and a few pena for geese and chickens, lay on one side of the

"One of the pleasantest moments that I have ever known, was that of the introduction of an accomplished young American to the common harebell, upon the very spot which I have attempted to describe. He had never seen that English wild-flower, consecrated by the poetry of our common language, was struck even more than I expected by its delicate beauty, placed it in his button-hole, and repeated with enthusiasm the charming lines of Scott, from the Lady of the Lake:'

'For me,'-she stooped, and, looking round,
Plucked a blue harebell from the ground,-
'For me, whose memory scarce conveys
An image of more splendid days,

This little flower, that loves the Lea,
May well my simple emblem be;

It drinks Heaven's dew as blithe as rose

That in the King's own garden grows,
And when I place it in my hair,
Allan, a bard, is bound to swear
He ne'er saw coronet so fair.'

Still greater was the delight with which another American recognised that blossom of a thousand associates -the flower sacred to Milton and Shakspeare-the English primrose. He bent his knee to the ground in gathering a bunch, with a reverential expression which I shall not easily forget, as if the flower were to him an embodimeut of the great poets by whom it has been consecrated to fame: and he also had the good taste not to be ashamed of his own enthusiasm. I have had the pleasure of exporting, this spring, to my friend Miss Sedgwick (to whose family one of my visitors belongs) roots and seeds of these wild flowers, of the common violet, the cowslip, and the ivy, another of our indigenous plants which our Transatlantic brethren want, and with which Mr. Theodore Sedgwick was especially delighted. It will be a real distinction to be the introductress of these plants into that Berkshire village of New England, where Miss Sedgwick, surrounded by relatives worthy of her in talent and in character, passes her summers.

house; in front, a flower court surrounded by a mossy paling a larger plot for vegetables behind; and stretching down to the Great Pond on the opposite side of the yard, was the greenest of all possible meadows, which, as I have before said, two noble walnut and mulberry trees, and a few aged pears and apples, clustered near the dwelling, almost converted into that pleasantest appendage of country life, an orchard.

Notwithstanding, however, the exceeding neatness of the flower-court, and the little garden filled with choice beds of strawberries, stocks, carnations, roses, pinks; and in spite of the cottage itself being not only almost covered with climbing shrubs, woodbine, jessamine, clematis, and musk-roses, and in one southern nook a magnificent tree-like fuchsia, but the old chimney actually garlanded with delicate creepers, the maurandia, and the lotus spermus, whose pink and purple bells, peeping out from between their elegant foliage, and mingling with the bolder blossoms and dark leaves of the passion flower, give such a wreathy and airy grace to the humblest building; † in spite of this luxuriance of natural beauty, and of the evident care bestowed upon the cultivation of the beds, and the training of the climbing plants, yet we felt, we could hardly tell why, but yet we instinctively felt, that the moss-grown thatch, the mouldering paling, the hoary apple trees, in a word, the evidences of decay visible around the place, were but types of the fading fortunes of the inmates.

And such was really the case. The widow King had known better days. Her husband had been the head keeper, her only son head gardener, of the lord of the manor; but both were dead; and she, with an orphan grandchild, a thoughtful boy of eight or nine years old, now gained a scanty subsistence from the produce of their little dairy, their few poultry, their honey (have I not said that a row of bee-hives held their station on the sunny side of the garden?) and the fruit and flowers which little Tom and the old donkey carried in their season to Belford every market day.'

+ I know nothing so pretty as the manner in which creeping plants interwreath themselves one with another. We have at this moment a wall quite covered with honeysuckles, fuchsias, roses, clematis, passionflowers, myrtles, scobæa, acrima carpis, lotus spermus, and maurandia Barclayana, in which two long sprays of the last-mentioned climbers have jutted out from the wall, and entwined themselves together, like the handle of an antique basket. The rich profusion of leaves-those of the lotus spermus, comparatively rounded and dim, soft in texture and color, with a darker patch in the middle, like the leaf of the old gum geranium; those of the maurandia, so bright, and shining, and sharply outlined-the stalks equally graceful in their varied green, and the roseate bells of the one contrasting and harmonising so finely with the rich violet flower of the other, might really form a study for a painter. I never saw anything more graceful in quaint and cunning art than this bit of simple nature. But nature often takes a fancy to outvie her skilful and ambitious handmaiden, and is always certain to succeed in the competition.

A FEW WORDS ON BOOKS AND BOOKSELLERS.

[We need hardly inform our readers—who, by this time, must be tolerably well acquainted with our sentiments on such matters-that we fully concur in the following observations, copied from our worthy contemporary, the Athenæum. Glad indeed shall we be to see a more wholesome state of things in the Literary world!]

"WE have availed ourselves of a moment of unex

pected leisure, to look over the literary accumulation of the season; and having felt it to be our duty to put aside, as wholly unworthy of critical notice, at least a bushel of what are called "NEW BOOKS,' we shall take leave, by way of apology, to offer a few words of

"