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The Mirror of Literature, Amusement, and Instruction. Volume 13, No. 357, February 21, 1829. VariousЧитать онлайн книгу.

The Mirror of Literature, Amusement, and Instruction. Volume 13, No. 357, February 21, 1829 - Various


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pilgrim passeth by our cot—no hand shall greet him there—

      The household is divided now, and mute the evening pray'r!

      Amid green walks and fringed slopes, still gleams the village pond.

      And see, a hoar and sacred pile, the old church peers beyond;

      And there we deem'd it bliss to gaze upon the Sabbath skies,—

      Gold as our sister's clustering hair, and blue as her meek eyes.

      Our home—when will these eyes, now dimm'd with frequent weeping, see

      The infant's pure and rosy ark, the stripling's sanctuary?

      When will these throbbing hearts grow calm around its lighted hearth?—

      Quench'd is the fire within its walls, and hush'd the voice of mirth!

      The haunts—they are forsaken now—where our companions play'd;

      We see their silken ringlets glow amid the moonlight glade;

      We hear their voices floating up like pæan songs divine;

      Their path is o'er the violet-beds beneath the springing vine!

      Restore, sweet spirit of our home! our native hearth restore—

      Why are our bosoms desolate, our summer rambles o'er?

      Let thy mild light on us be pour'd—our raptures kindle up,

      And with a portion of thy bliss illume the household cup.

      Yet mourn not, wanderers—onto you a thrilling hope is given,

      A tabernacle unconfin'd, an endless home in heaven!

      And though ye are divided now, ye shall be made as one

      In Eden, beauteous as the skies that o'er your childhood shone!

      Deal.

      REGINALD AUGUSTINE.

      A CHAPTER ON KISSING

BY A PROFESSOR OF THE ART(For the Mirror.)

      "Away with your fictions of flimsy romance,

      Those tissues of falsehood which folly has wove;

      Give me the mild gleam of the soul breathing glance,

      And the rapture which dwells in the first kiss of love."

BYRON.

      There is no national custom so universally and so justly honoured with esteem and respect, "winning golden opinions from all sorts of people," as kissing. Generally speaking, we discover that a usage which finds favour in the eyes of the vulgar, is despised and detested by the educated, the refined, and the proud; but this elegant practice forms a brilliant exception to a rule otherwise tolerably absolute. Kissing possesses infinite claims to our love, claims which no other custom in the wide world can even pretend to advance. Kissing is an endearing, affectionate, ancient, rational, and national mode of displaying the thousand glowing emotions of the soul;—it is traced back by some as far as the termination of the siege of Troy, for say they, "Upon the return of the Grecian warriors, their wives met them, and joined their lips together with joy." There are some, however, who give the honour of having invented kissing to Rouix, or Rowena, the daughter of Hengist, the Saxon; a Dutch historian tells us, she, "pressed the beaker with her lipkens (little lips,) and saluted the amorous Vortigern with a husgin (little kiss,)" and this latter authority we ourselves feel most inclined to rely on; deeply anxious to secure to our fair countrywomen the honour of having invented this delightful art.

      Numberless are the authors who have written and spoken with rapture on English kissing.

      "The women of England," says Polydore Virgil, "not only salute their relations with a kiss, but all persons promiscuously; and this ceremony they repeat, gently touching them with their lips, not only with grace, but without the least immodesty. Such, however, as are of the blood-royal do not kiss their inferiors, but offer the back of the hand, as men do, by way of saluting each other."

      Erasmus too—the grave, the phlegmatic Erasmus, melts into love and playful thoughts, when he thinks of kisses—"Did you but know, my Faustus," he writes to one of his friends, "the pleasures which England affords, you would fly here on winged feet, and if your gout would not allow you, you would wish yourself a Dædalus. To mention to you one among many things, here are nymphs of the loveliest looks, good humoured, and whom you would prefer even to your favourite Muses. Here also prevails a custom never enough to be commended, that wherever you come, every one receives you with a kiss, and when you take your leave, every one gives you a kiss; when you return, kisses again meet you. If any one leaves you they give you a kiss; if you meet any one, the first salutation is a kiss; in short, wherever you go, kisses every where abound; which, my Faustus, did you once taste how very sweet and how very fragrant they are, you would not, like Solon, wish for ten years exile in England, but would desire to spend there the whole of your life."

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      1

      "Warwickshire," p. 298, edit. 1661.

      2

      Vide Camden's "Britannia," by Bishop Gibson, vol. i. p. 603, edit. 1722.

      3

      "Inter Occidentalium Anglorum Reges i

1

"Warwickshire," p. 298, edit. 1661.

2

Vide Camden's "Britannia," by Bishop Gibson, vol. i. p. 603, edit. 1722.

3

"Inter Occidentalium Anglorum Reges illustrissimos, præcipua commendationis laude celebratur, rex Warmundus, ab his qui Historias Anglorum non solum relatu proferre, sed etiam scriptis inserere, consueverant. Is fundator cujusdam urbis a seipso denominatæ; quæ lingua Anglicana Warwick, id est, Curia Warmundi nuncupatur."—Matthæi Paris "Historia Major," à Watts, edit. 1640.

4

Hardynge's "Chronicle," p, 211, edit. 1812.

5

"Now is Mortimer lord of the city."—Vide Shakspeare.

6

In the reign of Mary, hailstones, which measured fifteen inches in circumference, fell upon and destroyed two small towns near Nottingham.—Cooper's Hist. England.

7

"The Neck, a water-spirit, answering, in Sweden, &c. to the Scottish kelpie, as to its place of abode; but we believe its character is not so mischievous. The northern idea, that all fairies, demons, &c. who resided in this world, were spirits out of the pale of salvation, is very ancient. Mr. Keightley assures us, that the legend of which these stanzas attempt a versification, is extremely popular in Sweden."—Vide "Fairy Mythology."


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