We are pleased therefore to commence our Supplementary Sheet with such a volume as the present, which we have reserved for this purpose. The feelings which it must engender in the reader will be doubly grateful in these troublous times of strong p
1
We are pleased therefore to commence our Supplementary Sheet with such a volume as the present, which we have reserved for this purpose. The feelings which it must engender in the reader will be doubly grateful in these troublous times of strong political excitement: they enjoin "peace on earth, and goodwill towards men." the Divine antidote to the storms of conflicting interests and passions, and the balm which heals the thorny wounds of the world, that cross every path and tear the finest sympathies of our nature. It adds, moreover, a pleasant variety to the contents of our sheet, and alternates with the vicissitudes of enterprise, in the progress of infant liberty in the New World, as in the Memoirs of the patriot Miller;—the daring and recklessness of crime, as in the vivid sketch of First and Last;—the picturesque country and ceremonies of Arabia and its religious people, as drawn by Burckhardt;—and the architectural embellishment of the Metropolis, as shown in Britton's Picture of London.
2
In the MIRROR, dated March 1, 1828, we noticed "Gilbert White's Natural History of Selborne, is one of the most delightful household books in our language, and we are surprised at the rarity of such works." The publication of the Journal of a Naturalist, early in March, 1829, is "a coincidence."
3
Philosophers and wits have written on this subject. Sir Thomas Brown, who wrote a book of Vulgar Errors, remarks with great seriousness that the man "who could eradicate this error from the minds of the people, might prevent the fearful passions of the heart, and many cold sweats taking place in grandmothers and nurses"—Swift lets fly the shafts of satire in these lines.—
A woodwormThat lies in old wood, like a hare in her form;With teeth, or with claws, it will bite, or will scratch;And chambermaids christen this worm a death-watch;Because, like a watch, it always cries click;Then woe be to those in the house who are sick;For sure as a gun they will give up the ghostIf the maggat cries click when it scratches the post.Gay, too, in a pastoral dirge, says,
The wether's bell,Before the drooping flock, toll'd forth her knell;The solemn deathwatch click'd the hour she died.