Diary and Chronology. FEBRUARY.-For the origin of this month, see page 79. 5 -7 2 This saint was a native of Rome. He became arch- 3 St. Blase was bishop of Sebaste in Armenia; he suf- 4 St. Andrew Corsini was a member of the illustrious family of Corsini of Florence; he was consecrated to a devout life by his parents before birth. When bishop of Fiesoli he practised great austerities. His death took place A. D. 1373. 1554-Anniversary of the burning of John Hooper, bishop of Gloucester, before the door of his cathedral in that city, in the reign of the bigoted Mary. 1746-Died on this day the Rev. Robert Blair, the author of the celebrated poem "The Grave." 5 Our saint was a,pative of Sicily; suffered martyrdom by order of Decius, about the year 251. 1790-Expired on this day, Dr. William Cullen, the eminent physician of Edinburgh. Dr. C. is said to have raised the Edinburgh University to an unequalled height in medical science. 1816-Anniversary of the death of Richard, viscount Fitzwilliam. This nobleman by his will bequeathed to the University of Cambridge £100,000 South Sea Stock, to erect a museum; he also left the University his collection of books, paintings, and drawings to be placed therein. 6 To St. Vedast we have a church dedicated in London; he died a bishop, A. D.539. 1685-Expired on this day, at Whitehall, Charles II. This saint, who was king of the West Saxons, died 1823-Mrs. Anne Radcliffe, the authoress of several 8 1576-Born on this day, Robert Burton, the author of the celebrated work the "Anatomie of Melancholie," which may be considered as a treasure for its learning, pleasant humour, and sterling RECOLLECTIONS OF EMINENT AND ECCENTRIC CHARACTERS. JOHN WILKES. Or all the Lord Mayors of London, for the half century of Mr. Wilkes's public career, none could be mentioned less acquainted with the polite customs of life than Alderman Burnel, who had raised himself from a very obscure grade to great wealth, and to the civic chair. He was of the Right Worshipful Company of Bricklayers. Wilkes was an amateur of marrow pudding, and so was Alderman Burnel. At a private dinner, of about twenty-four guests, at the London Tavern, where his Lordship presided, all the marrow puddings had vanished, excepting one single dish. Wilkes was yet engaged upon some favourite morceau, with his eye on the marrow pudding, when, unfortunately for both parties, the alderman attacked this too, and Wilkes began to consider that his VOL. I. G share would be none; so, not able to restrain his vexation, he exclaimed, as the Alderman was returning to the charge, "My lord-why-surely-you are helping yourself with a trowel." When the patriot, John Wilkes, lived at the corner of South Audley-street, with one front looking into Grosvenor-square, he had the misfortune to have the glass composing his parlour windows destroyed by the Mount-street rioters. These windows were, perhaps, the most valuable of any in the world, for the whole of the lower sashes, composed of very large panes, were of plate glass, engraved with Eastern subjects in the most beautiful taste. These were naturally the more valued by Mr. Wilkes, as they were the ingenious labour of his daughter. When Horne Tooke heard of this memorable smash, he smiled, and observed, "Through my old friend, Jack, many a mob has done these things for others--now the visitation comes upon himself;" adding, "but I am sorry to hear this tooO the mischievous rabble!" 6-SATURDAY, FEB. 16. DR. BOSSY DR. Bossy, the itinerant empiric, was certainly the last who exhibited in the British metropolis, and his public services ceased about forty years ago. Every Thursday, his stage was erected opposite the north-west colonnade, Covent Garden. The platform was about six feet from the ground, was covered, open in front, and was ascended by a broad step-ladder. On one side. was a table, with medicine chest, and surgical apparatus, displayed on a table, with drawers. In the centre of the stage was an armchair, in which the patient was seated; and before the doctor commenced his operations, he advanced, taking off his gold laced cocked hat, and bowing right and left, began addressing the populace which crowded before his booth. The following dialogue, ad literatim, will afford the reader a characteristic specimen of one of the customs of the last age. It should be observed that the doctor was a humorist. An aged woman was helped up the lad der, and seated in the chair: she had been deaf, nearly blind, and was lame to boot; indeed, she might be said to have been visited with Mrs. Thrale's three warnings, and death would have walked in at her door, only that Dr. Bossy blocked up the passage. The doctor asked questions with an audible voice, and the patient responded-he usually repeating the response, in his Anglo-German dialect. Doctor. Dis poora voman vot is-how old vosh you? Old Woman. I be almost eighty, Sir; seventy-nine last Lady Day, old style. Doctor. Ah, tat is an incurable disease. Old Woman. O dear! O dear! say not so-incurable! Why you have restored my sight-I can hear again--and I can walk without my crutches. Doctor. (Smiling). No, no, good vomans-old age is vot is incurable; but by the plessing of Gote, I vill cure you of vot is elshe. Dis poora vomans vos lame, and deaf, and almost blind. How many hosipetals have you been in? Old Woman. Three, Sir, St. Tho Doctor. Vot, and you found no reliefs?-vot none ? -not at alls? Old Woman. No, none at all, Sir. Doctor. And how many medical professioners have attended you? Sir. Old Woman. Some twenty or thirty, Doctor. O mine Gote! Three sick hosipetals, and dirty (thirty) doctors! I should vonder vot if you have not enough to kill you twenty time. Dis poora vomans has become mine patient. Doctor Bossy gain all patients bronounced ingurables; pote mid the plessing of Brovidence, Fshall make short work of it, and set you upon your legs again. Coode beoples, dis poora vomans, vas teaf as a toor nails; (holding up his watch to her ear, and striking the repeater,) Gan you hear dat pell? Old Woman. Yes, Sir. Doctor. O den be thankful to Gote. Gan you valk round dis chair? (offeringhis arm.) Old Woman. Yes, Sir. Doctor. Sit you town again, good vomans Gan you see? Old Woman. Pretty so-so, doctor. Doctor. Vot gan you see, good vomans? Old Woman. I can see the baker there, (pointing to a mutton-pye-man, with the pie board on his head. All eyes were turned towards him.) Doctor. And what else gan you see, good vomans? Old Woman. The poll-parrot there, (pointing to Richardson's hotel.) Lying old b-h!" screamed Richardson's poll-parrot. All the crowd shouted with laughter. Dr. Bossy waited until the laugh had subsided, and looking across the way, significantly shook his head at the parrot, and gravely exclaimed, laying his hand on his bosom," "Tis no lie, you silly pird, 'tis all true as is de gosbel." Those who knew Covent Garden half a century ago, cannot have forgotten the famed Dr. Bossy. And there are those too, yet living in Covent Garden parish, who also recollect Richardson's grey parrot, second in fame only (though of prior renown,) to Colonel O'Kelly's bird, which excelled all others upon record. This Covent Garden mock-bird had picked up many familiar phrases, so liberally doled out at each other, by the wrangling basket women, which were often, as on this occasion, so aptly coincidental, that the good folks who attended the market, believed pretty poll to be endowed with reason. The elder Edwin, of comic me mory, who resided over the north-east piazza (improperly so termed,) used to relate many curious stories of this parrot. Among others, that one day, the nail on which her cage was hung, in front of the house, having suddenly given way, the cage fell upon the pavement from a considerable height. Several persons ran to the spot, expecting to find their old favourite dead, and their fears were confirmed, as the bird lay motionless, when suddenly raising her head, she exclaimed, "Broke my back, by G-d!" Every one believed it even so, when suddenly she climbed up with her beak and claw, and burst into a loud fit of laughter. Nearly underneath her cage had long been a porter's block, and, doubtless, she had caught the profane apostrophe from the market garden porters, on pitching their heavy loads. SHERIDAN. The high estimation the abilities of this once great man are held in, induces us to give the following, which will, per-. haps, throw an additional ray of light on his character as a humorist and a real wit: Old Mr. Sheridan, who had naturally planned romantic schemes for the advancement of his highly gifted son, disapproved of his marriage with a public singer; and the elder Linley, on the other hand, lost by the match the emoluments which he then was deriving from the celebrity of his sweet daughter's extraordinary talents as a vocal performer; for the young lady had become so great a public favourite, that her musical engagements would have soon realized a fortune for herself, and that father conjointly, who had spared neither money nor pains in the adornment of her mind, and in the cultivation of her professional abilities. The young poet, Sheridan, indeed, had, by his captivating manners, and superior address, deprived the family of the Linleys, in every sense, of its greatest treasure. Putting this consideration aside, the parental appeals of each house were regarded as idle complaints; for, as old Jonathan Tyers, the proprietor of Vauxhall, said, "Who is to settle the precedence between the family consequence of the green-room and the orchestra?" But at length the differences of these modern Montagus and Capulets were reconciled without sepulchre, sword, or poison, and instead of the two families having to mourn two young lovers lost, the families met in social intercourse, each continuing dear in each other's affection. It has been said that Garrick could not endure to see his amiable spouse "trip it on the light fantastic toe;" neither could young Sheridan endure to hear his sweet bride," warble her native woodnotes wild;" though, to do justice to her memory, art had amply improved her strains. Some few months after their nuptials, the Angelos, friends of Sheridan, the Linleys, and Willoughby Lacy, spent an evening at Christmas, at Richard Brinsley's house, Orchard-street. They kept it up to a late hour; and music making part of the after-supper entertainment, Mamma Linley asked her daughter to sing a certain little favourite air; but a single glance from her juvenile lord and master, kept her mute. With reference to these family appeals, however, his friends happily steered so friendly a course, that no ill-will ensued; their reconciliating powers being often employed to heal the wounded feelings of these very worthy parties, and bring about a reconciliation. Among innumerable instances of the playful talent and ready wit of Richard, or, as he was more familiarly addressed, Dick Sheridan, is the following: It relates to the splendid masquerade which was given at the Pantheon, soon after that superb structure, the first great effort of the science of the late James Wyatt, was opened to the public. This magnificent building was then in the zenith of its glory. The elder Angelo, on more than one public occasion, was appointed honorary master of the ceremonies at this resort of high fashion. On this, however, he went merely as a visitor, in character. The preceding day, Mr. Angelo entertained a dinner party, when the masquerade being the subject of conversation, it became a general question what character he meant to assume. "You, who have made so conspicuous a figure in the Carnival at Venice," said the elder Sheridan, must shine in an English mumming." Many characters were suggested, when Angelo, at the instance of his wife, chose that of a mountebank conjuror. being settled, in compliance to the lady hostess, by general acclamation, Richard Brinsley said, "Come, Doctor Angelo, give me pen, ink, and paper, and I will furnish you with a card to distribute to the motley crowd, who will surround you." The materials produced, he wrote the following jeu d'esprit, talking, laughing, and entering into the chit-chat, all the while he composed it. This "A CONJUROR.-Just arrived in the Haymarket, from the very extremity of Hammersmith, (where he has spent a number of years in a two pair of stairs lodging,) A most noted and extraordi nary Conjuror, having visited above nine different parishes in the space of a fortnight, and had the honour of exhibiting before most of the Churchwardens between Knightsbridge and Brentford. "It is not in the power of words, (unless some new language were invented for the purpose) to describe the extraordinary feats he performs. "He takes a glass of wine, (provided it be good,) and, though you should fill it up to the very brim, he will drink it off-with the greatest ease and satisfaction. "He makes no scruple of eating a plate of cold ham and chicken, if it be upper time-before the face of the whole company. "Any gentleman or lady may lend him five or six guineas, which he puts into his pocket-and never returns, if he can help it. "He takes a common pocket handkerchief out of his pocket, rumples it in his hand, blows his nose, and returns it into his pocket again, with the most astonishing composure. When gentlemen are talking on any subject on which there appears a difference of opinion, he joins in the conversation, or holds his tongue--just as it happens. Any nobleman, gentleman, or lady may look him full in the face, and-see whether they know him or not. "In short, it would appear quite incredible to enumerate the unheard-of qualities he possesses, and the unprecedented wonders he performs; and all for his own private emolument, and for no other motive or consideration whatever!" This was immediately despatched to the printer's in Wardour-street, and five hundred copies were composed and struck off, dried, pressed, and ready by twelve at night, which was considered a great effort of the press in those days, printing not then being despatched as now, by the miraculous expedition of a steam-engine of thirty horse power."-Angelo Remin. SUBJECT OF THE ILLUSTRATION. THE point of action, in the fable of the poem that we have chosen for this week's embellishment, is where Sophronia, a Christian virgin, accuses herself of secretly stealing away by night the image of the Virgin from one of the mosques of Aladine, King of Jerusalem, which had been previously transported from the Temple of the Christians by the Pagans. Her lover learning that she was about to become a victim to the tyranny of Aladine, gets him |