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THE

PORTFOLIO

Of Entertaining and Instructive Varieties in History, Literature, the Fine Arts, &c. included under the following arrangement: 1. THE LIGHT ESSAYIST AND HUMOROUS DELINEATOR; 2. BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCHES; 3. THE MECHANIC-THE ARTIST THE PHILOSOPHER; 4. THE DOMESTIC; 5. MISCELLANY.

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THE NEW NATIONAL SCOTCH CHURCH,
INTENDED FOR THE REV. EDW. IRVING, A.M.

The following are the inscriptions on the
Glass Plate and Trowel:

On the Glass Plate.-(In Hebr.) I Kings, 8th Chapter 27th Verse: " But will God indeed dwell on the earth; behold, the Heavens and Heaven of Heavens cannot contain thee; how much less this house that I have builded."

In Greek.) 1 Peter, 2d Chapter 6th Verse: "Behold I lay in Sion a chief corner stone, elect, precious; and he that believeth on him shall not be confounded.".

The First Stone of this Church was laid on the 1st of July, 1824, by his Royal Highness William Henry Duke of Clarence and VOL. III.

St. Andrews; Edward Irving, A. M. Minister; William Dinwiddie, Elder; William Tite, Architect.

On the Trowel.-The First Stone of the National Scotch Church, London, was laid on the first of July, 1824, by his Royal Highness William Henry Duke of Clarenee and St. Andrews, K.G. K.T. G.C.B. &c. &c. Edward Irving, A. M. Minister; William Dinwiddie, Elder; William Tite, Architect.

Coins contained in the Glass Vase.-A sovereign, a half-sovereign, a crown, a halfcrown, a shilling, a sixpence, a silver fourpence, a silver three-pence, a silver twopence, and a silver penny.

No. 73.-July 10.

AFTER a very excellent and impressive Discourse, delivered by the Rev. E. Irving, at the Caledonian Church, Cross Street, Hatton Garden, on Thursday, July 1st, 1824, the Members of this Church proceeded in the following order, to lay the first stone of the new edifice, on a plot of ground obtained for that purpose, on the South side of Sidmouth Street, Brunswick Square;

The following is the order of the Procession ;

Peace Officers to clear the way.
Beadles of the Scotch Churches in London.
Superintendent of the Caledonian School.
Boys of Ditto.
Master of Ditto.

Precentors of the Scotch Churches in London.
Members of the General Committee, two and two.
Members of the Finance Committee.
Members of the Building Committee.

William Tite, Esq. the Architect, with the Plans and Elevations.
Mr. Barclay,
Mr. J. H. Mann,

Chairman of the Finance Committee, Chairman of the Building Committee,

with the Coins.

with the Silver Trowel.

Mr. J. D. David, Sec. to the Building Com. with the Glass-plate.

Mr. William Hamilton, General Secretary, with the Holy Bible.
Sheriff of London and Middlesex.

Elder-Rev. John Marshall.

:

Elder.-Rev. Dr. Manuel.
Elder-Rev. Edward Irving, A. M. Elder-Rev. J.
Crombie. Elder-Rev. Dr. Blythe.
The Right Hon. the Earl of Breadalbane.
Noblemen and Visitors.

On the arrival at the ground, the stone being in readiness to be laid, Mr. Mann, the Chairman of the Building Committee, made a concise address, and introduced Mr. Tite, the Architect, to the Earl of Breadalbane, who was proxy for his Royal Highness, with the plans for his inspection. The Rev. Mr. Manuel, of London Wall, then pronounced an eloquent prayer invoking a divine blessing upon the work in which they had been engaged, and on all those assisting in its execution. The Rev. E. Irving then delivered a suitable address. Mr. Hamilton, Secretary to the General Committee, then read the inscription on the plate, and exhibited it, with the Vase and Bottle, and presented them to his Lordship, who consigned them to their place in the following succession the glass bottle, hermetically sealed, containing an account of the Church, with the name of the Pastor, Elder, Finance and General Committees, and a book of the Subscribers to the present time. This part of the ceremony being concluded, the stone was lowered to its proper place, and the trowel presented to the Earl of Breadalbane, who repeated the formula of nomination, having spread some mortar, and ascertaining that it was in its right position, gave it three strokes with a wooden mallet, and declared it to be fixed. A tent was erected over the stone, which was in the centre of the area, and which was gravelled and railed round. The ground, as well as the scaffolding, was crowded with company, who were admitted by tickets, 1,700 of which were issued. The crowd was great throughout the day, but not the slightest accident occurred.

The plot of ground has been purchased for the sum of 1,5001. and is considered a very

eligible spot. The fine Gothic front is in part modelled from the York Cathedral; the breadth to the outside of the front buttresses is 80 feet; the height to the battlements of the tower 100 feet; and to the top of the pinnacle 120 feet; the centre doorway leads into a vestibule, connected with the body of the church; the side-doors each lead to a separate staircase communicating with the galleries. The interior dimensions of the church are 100 feet by 63, containing sittings (in pews) for 1,800 persons. (There will not be any free seats.) In the interior the same style of architecture is preserved throughout; it is roofed tailed in one span, the roof is divided into compartments, or pannelling by ribs, with leaves at the intersections, which will have the character and effect of an ancient oak ceiling; it is lighted by fourteen windows, seven on each side the pulpit and precentor's desk are carved oak of the same gothic character. There will be burial vaults under the whole of the church.

EVENING.

Eve's lingering clouds extend in solid bars

Through the grey west, and lo! these waters steeled
By breezeless air to smoothest polish yield
A vivid repetition of the stars.
Jove, Venus, and the ruddy crest of Mars,

Amid his fellows beauteously revealed.
At happy distance from earth's groaning field,
Where ruthless mortals wage incessant wars.
Is it a mirror? or the nether sphere

Opening its vast abyss, while fancy feeds
On the rich show! But list! a voice is near,
Great Pan himself low whispering through the reeds,
"Be thankful thou, for if unholy deeds
Ravage the world, tranquillity is here!"

J. THE LIGHT ESSAYIST AND HUMOROUS DELINEATOR:

CHARACTERS.—No. I.

THE COMMON-PLACE MAN. "Eternal smiles his emptiness betray, As shallow streams run dimpling all the way."-Pope. THERE is a class of persons, indigenous to England, which appears to have escaped the notice of our subtlest philosophers. Although they have consumed much ink, paper, and patience in their analysis of the nature of genius, and have been equally voluminous in accounting for the causes of ignorance, they have wholly neglected a character which steers midway between the two, and is not inaptly denominated common-place. "A nice young man" is the term usually applied to folks of this description, for they seldom offend by their sarcasm, or delight by their genius, and an indiferent good humour is the sole satisfaction derived from their society. But inasmuch as they are removed from intellect, they are finished adepts at the small talk of the day. The current of fashion is their element, they swim on the surface of public opinion, and follow every winding of the stream. Orthodoxy is their passport to the ball-room; and the golden calf of the hour is the idol of their reverence. In displaying the merits of an opera dancer they are always on the side of power, they vote with the majority on matters of dress, and their judgment on literature is given as the world decides. With the real merits of a book, they have no communion, for the "outward and visible sign" is the surest test of its " inward and spiritual grace." Compliments flow from them as honey from the lips of Nestor, with voluble lubricity of utterance; and it is impossible to resist their arguments on the best mode of peeling oranges, dressing the hair, or plastering the face. A lady of ton has usually a list of these animals on half-pay, who are ready at a moment's warning to take a vacant seat, eat up the good things of the table, and laugh at those of their hostess. In return for such discreet behaviour, they are admitted to the honour of tea and scandal, in a family way; vouchsafed a bow from the carriage window, and allowed to be seen in familiar conversation with their illustrious patroness. There is a numerous class of such common-place characters, the hangers-on, as it were, of society, who are discarded and resumed with as much indifference as the coat that immortalizes their tailor. The lawyer, the clergyman, the soldier, and the merchant, are all occasionally baptized by the same appropriate epithet. Our business at present is with the merchant, the "nice young man of the middling circles, the Adonis of city fashion and romance.

"

He is a youth who hits the exact level of mediocrity, and never for an instant sinks below, or rises above, the surface. Like the tragedy of Cato, he is an elegant petrifaction of feeling, and makes a bow, hands a chair, or says a smart thing, with the same fault

less insipidity. His very face is a title-page of ignorance, and presents a vast surface unruffled by the lines and furrows of intellect. Nothing can be more happily characteristic; he looks like a card of invitation to a party, in the vapid inanity of which he lives, moves, and has his being. In relating an anecdote, he does it with systematic stupidity, and professes an orthodox horror of people who are addicted to embel lishment. If this was the aversion of principle it might be pardoned, but it is a bitter consciousness of inferiority which induces him to despise all those who from native genius, or from a felicitous mode of expression, can gild even common-place occurrences with the flowers of wit and fancy.

At the time specified by established usance, our nice young gentleman is metamorphosed into a lover, and scribbles valentines on on gilt-edged paper, with the lines written in large text, and the sentences liberally stopped with commas and notes of admiration, being the only notes of admiration in the whole piece. As for the composition, it is symbolically replete with darts, flames, and nonsense, and pours forth vows of attachment with unintelligible vehemence of intellect. Is it in the heart of woman to resist so fascinating a billet-doux ?

As in love, so in religion, his feelings are always on the popular side of the question. He believes in the literal construction of the Scriptures, and is of opinion that the book of Apocrypha is doubtful, because it is so called in the title-page. His ideas of Satan are drawn from the picture pamphlets of the nursery; and he has fearful imaginings about the length of his tail, and quality of his brimstone. Lately, however, he has begun to doubt whether Apollyon actually has a tail; but in his more contemplative moments shrinks from such apostacy, as being little better than a suggestion of the evil one. The principle of his devotion consists in manfully wrestling with a sleepy sermon, and his charity, in giving away a useless shilling at the chancel. He would never miss church on Sundays, if he could be assured of fine weather; but clothes are expensive articles, and you may always hear a sermon, when you are not so confident of a new suit. This is unanswerable logic.

In the sublime and beautiful, his taste is singularly discriminative; for he is of opinion that there is nothing more beautiful in taste than a venison pie, or more sublime in character than the Lord Mayor at the head of a turtle feast. Still, however, he can feel a sense of the picturesque, in a Sunday walk to Hyde-park; and glow with romantic apprehensions, as he comes home late at night along Hounslow-heath. Nor is Hampstead utterly neglected; for, after all, says out young gentleman, its ponds are exceeding pretty, but not sufficiently round.

His reading, according to his own account, is very extensive, for he has regularly perused

the Observer for the three last years, and is critically skilled in the obituary of the Gentleman's Magazine. He is also a profound scholar, inasmuch as he has deeply studied Smollett's Novels, and slept over Blair's Lectures. In politics he is equally acnte; for who can doubt the statistics of one who has read the leading article in the Morning Post for six weeks running? In the late war with Russia, however, his political reading was sadly hampered, for the tall Muscovite words rose in the columns of the newspapers, like an army advanc ing in columns against his intellect, and compelled him to skip over the names of many a Russian general, town, and village, who figured in polysyllables as long as the petitions for reform, which have been lately presented to the House of Commons.

I should be ashamed of myself, were I to omit the mention of his taste in painting, which is principally founded on the shilling catalogue of the Exhibitions, and the floating opinions of the connoisseurs. He is optically exact in the breadth and length of the miniatures, nor is his skill in the names of the artists contemptible; but he is much shocked at the indecencies of the statues, and observes, that Venus should never be without the feminine accompaniment of a flannel petticoat. Hercules, he says, would look well in a frock coat; nor would Apollo be disfigured by the addition of a well-curled periwig.

who he may, man, woman, or thing, he must be a prodigy of learning. But what puzzles him cruelly, is the great novelist's description of scenery; for how can beauty exist in the highlands, when they are at least five hundred miles distant from Eastcheap? His poetical canons are equally singular; he has himself been a rhymester in his day, and once indited some thundering stanzas to his first love, in which he compared her bloom to the tints of a winter cabbage. The damsel, however, disliked the allusion, and was only reconciled in consequence of hearing him assert, "that poets succeed better in fiction than in truth.'

On the drama he is profoundly acute : Pizzaro he conceives to be catching, but is dissatisfied with the want of genius in the last pantomime. Of the capabilities of Mr. Liston's face, he can detail wonders, and always sits in the pit when Lubin Log is the hero of the night. The imitations of that funny fellow, Yates, he dubs vastly like; and his songs teem with poetry; Shakspeare, too, is prodigious fine, but then he is familiar and coarse at times; for instance, Lear had no right to ask any one to unbutton his waistcoat, or tell the storm to "rumble its belly full, and spit;" wonders how the dramatist could be so indelicate. With respect to the modern alterations of the tragedy, they are very fine; and so delighted is he with the storm, that he actually encores it, in order that he may have the most for his money.

As a sportsman, he ranks in the first class; a station conferred on him from his Easter He is a great observer of fasts and feasts, achievements at Epping. On this immortal and once cut a friend, for inviting him to a Monday, he starts, well fenced in leather Christmas dinner without the customary acbreeches, from Cheapside; but mounting companiment of a plum pudding. Occasionon the wrong side of his hunter, salutes the ally, however, he dubitates whether it is gutter with headlong speed, disdainful of correct to kiss a girl under the misseltoe, attitude. On reaching the forest, his Rozi- when the Vestal manners of the day nante, alarmed at the multitudinous tally refuse to sanction such effrontery. But hos, takes an unusual fancy to gate-leaping. twelfth-cake still maintains its ground, in' Away goes our Nimrod-hat on one side- despite of the courtly contempt for its apgloves on the other-himself picturesquely purtenances; and the twenty-ninth of Sepindependent of both. On the first of September is a privileged day, because, as it tember, he commences his shooting excursions. The slaughter of cats is marvellous, and many an old country woman, hotly peppered a posteriori, is reminded of her latter end. On the first day, he bags a cock, two hens, and a sucking-pig; but, taking desperate aim at a rook, shoots the wig off his grandfather's head, and concludes by the murder of a scarecrow.

I have sundry marvels to relate, touching his fashionable information. He regularly reads every new novel, and makes a point of digesting the contents of the circulating libraries in every watering-place that he visits. Bad, good, or indifferent, it is all the same; one must read, and though, as the poet says, " a little learning is a dangerous thing," it is still a fashionable requisite. With the Scotch novels he is particularly taken, and is of opinion, that Ivanhoe is exceeding pretty, and that the conflagration of Front de Beuf's castle, would burn well at Sadler's Wells. With the author, he professes to be unacquainted, but be he

comes only once a year, he may eat to suffocation of its symbol, a Michaelmas goose. On the first of April, he most sacredly makes fools of his family, and by day-break they are awakened by the sound of robbers, to be jeered for their timidity at breakfast. His sisters too receive letters from imaginary lovers; and the postman confirms his epistolary prowess in many an extra ramble.

And such is the character, and such are the pursuits of the nice young man of modern day. Whether merchant, lawyer or soldier, the ruling principles are the same, though the mode of action may vary. I have selected the city beau for my description, because the common-place character is more indigenous to the counting-house, than to the camp, or the courts of law. This is easily accounted for; the education of the one is usually homely; of the other respectable; and as the mind strengthens by cultivation but weakens by neglect, the merchant has few opportunities of enlarging his stock of ideas, though he may enlarge his stock of

COMMON-PLACE MAN.WONDERS OF NATURE.

goods, or of correcting the inherent weak ness of nature. To such a character the world is a huge counting-house where the cleverest member is the best hand at a bargain. In vain for him nature unfolds her stores; the ocean gale is only viewed as the wind that wafts his ships to port, and despite of its sublime associations, the tempest is a nuisance, inasmuch as it wrecks a cargo. To the beauty of external nature, he is constitutionally blind; his loveliest prospect is from the window that overlooks the count ing-house; his finest eminence is the site of Ludgate Hill; his most picturesque declivities, the vale of Holborn. In society he is a cypher, which married to its kindred unit, begets in quantity what it wants in quality; and in every respect he is one of those insignificant individuals, the fact of whose existence we might forget, if their appearance did not bring it to our mind.

Thus he jogs along the beaten track of life, verging neither to the right or left of the high-way. The poet loiters to cull flowers on the road, and the philosopher to smooth its roughness; but the commonplace man tarries for nothing but his meals and his hour of repose. When his journey is over, he resigns himself quietly to his last sleep, while a ten-pound marble records his virtues, and his generosity encircles the fingers of his immediate friends and exe

cutors.

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THE WONDERS OF NATURE AND ART.-No. II.

ACCOUNT OF THE ADMIRABLE CRICHTON*.

Virtue, says Virgil, is better accepted when it comes in a pleasing form. The person of Crichton was eminently beautiful; but his beauty was consistent with such activity and strength, that in fencing he would spring at one bound upon his antagonist; and he used the sword in either hand with such force and dexterity, that scarce any one had courage to engage him.

Having studied at St. Andrews, in Scotland, he went to Paris in his twenty-first year, and affixed on the gate of the college of Navarre, a kind of challenge to the learned of that university, to dispute with them on a certain day; offering to his opponents the choice of ten languages, and of all the faculties and sciences. On the day appointed, three thousand auditors assembled, when four doctors of the church and fifty ministers appeared against him and one of his antagonists confesses that the doctors were defeated; that he gave proofs of knowledge beyond the reach of man, and that a hundred years passed without food or sleep would not be sufficient for the attainment of his learning. After a disputation of nine

* This youthful prodigy, according to the best authorities, lived from about 1560 to

-1582.

197

hours, he was presented by the president and professors with a diamond and a purse of gold, and dismissed with repeated acclamations.

From Paris he went to Rome, where he made the same challenge, and had, in the presence of the pope and cardinals, the same success. He then visited Padua, where he engaged in another public disputation, beginning his performance with an extempore poem in praise of the city and the assembly present, and concluding with an oration equally unpremeditated in commendation of ignorance.

These acquisitions of learning, however stupendous, were not gained by the omis sion of any accomplishment in which it becomes a gentleman to excel. He practised, in great perfection, the arts of drawing and painting; he was an eminent performer in both vocal and instrumental music; he danced with uncommon gracefulness; and on the day after his disputation at Paris, exhibited his skill in horsemanship before the court of France, where, at a public match of tilting, he bore away the ring upon his lance fifteen times together. He excelled likewise in domestic games of less dig nity and reputation; and in the interval between his challenge and disputation at Paris, he spent so much of his time at cards, dice, and tennis, that a lampoon was fixed upon the gate of the Sorbonne, directing those who would see this monster of erudition, to look for him at the tavern.

So extensive was his acquaintance with life and manners, that in an Italian comedy composed by himself, and exhibited before the court of Mantua, he is said to have personated fifteen different characters, His memory was so retentive, that, hearing an oration of an hour, he would repeat it exactly, and in the recital follow the speaker through all the variety of tone and gesticulation.

Nor was his skill in arms less than in learning, or his courage inferior to his skill. There was a prize-fighter at Mantua, who had defeated the most celebrated masters in many parts of Europe; and in Mantua had killed three who appeared against him. Crichton, looking on his sanguinary success with indignation, offered to stake fifteen hundred pistoles, and mount the stage against him. The duke of Mantua with some reluctance consented: and on the day fixed the combatants appeared. The prizefighter advanced with great violence and fierceness, while Crichton contented himself calmly to ward his passes, and suffered him to waste his vigour by his own fury. Crichton then pressed upon him with such force and agility, that he thrust him thrice through the body, and saw him expire. He then divided the prize he had won among the widows whose husbands had been killed.

The duke of Mantua having received such proofs of his various merit, made him tutor to his son Vicentio di Gonzaga, a prince of

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