The Mirror of Literature, Amusement, and Instruction. Volume 12, No. 322, July 12, 1828. Various
p>The Mirror of Literature, Amusement, and Instruction / Volume 12, No. 322, July 12, 1828
CLARENCE TERRACE, REGENT'S PARK
CLARENCE TERRACE,
O mortal man, who livest here,
Do not complain of this thy hard estate.
Thomson's Castle of Indolence.
The annexed continuation of our illustrated ramble in the Regent's Park is named Clarence Terrace, in compliment to the illustrious Lord High Admiral of England. It consists of a centre and two wings, of the Corinthian order, connected by colonnades of the Ilyssus Ionic order, and altogether presents a picturesque display of Grecian architecture. The three stories are a rusticated entrance, or basement; and a Corinthian drawing-room and chamber story; surmounted with an elegant entablature and balustrade. In the details, the spectator cannot fail to admire the boldness and richness of the columns supporting the pediment in the centre, and the classic beauty of the pilasters which decorate the wings.
Clarence Terrace is from the designs of Mr. Decimus Burton, to whose ingenious pencil we are indebted for some of the splendid architectural combinations in this district. The present terrace is, we believe, the smallest in the park, but yields to none in picturesque effect and harmonious design; and the variety of its composition renders it one of the most attractive illustrations of our series. It is likewise worthy of remark, that this portion of the Regent's Park, from its natural beauties, is entitled to the first-rate embellishment of art, inasmuch as the basement of Clarence Terrace commands a "living picture" of extraordinary luxuriance; and from the drawing-room windows the lake may be seen studded with little islands, and environed with lawny slopes and unusual park-like vegetation:
With Nature the creating pencil vies
With Nature joyous at the mimic strife.
We have already indulged our fancy in anticipations of the future splendour of the Regent's Park. As yet, art triumphs, and here the lordlings of wealth may enjoy otium cum dignitate: but in a few years Nature may enable this domain to vie with Daphne of old, and become to London what Daphne was to Antioch, whose voluptuousness and luxury are perpetuated in history. But the beginnings of such triumphs furnish more pleasing reflections than their decline.
Clarence Terrace is on the western side of the park, and adjoins Sussex Place, whose cupola tops were the signals for critical censure and ridicule among the first structures in this quarter. The artists have, however, profited by the lesson, and the architecture of the Regent's Park bids fair to rank among the proudest successes of art.
ORIGIN OF PARISHES
(For the Mirror.)
How ancient the division of parishes is, may at present be difficult to ascertain. Mr. Camden says, England was divided into parishes by Archbishop Honorius, about the year 630. Sir Henry Hobart lays it down, that parishes were first erected by the council of Lateran, which was held A.D. 1179. Each widely differs from the other, and both of them perhaps from the truth, which will probably be found in the medium, between the two extremes. We find the distinction of parishes, nay, even of mother churches, so early as in the laws of King Edgar, about the year 970. The civil division of England into counties, of counties into hundreds, of hundreds into tithings, or towns, as it now stands, seems to owe its original to King Alfred; who, to prevent the rapines and disorders which formerly prevailed in the realm, instituted tithings; so called, from the Saxon, because ten freeholders with their families composed one. These all dwelt together, and were sureties, or free-pledges to the king for the good behaviour of each other; and if any offence were committed in their district, they were bound to have the offender forthcoming. And therefore, anciently, no man was suffered to abide in England above forty days, unless he were enrolled in some tithing or decennary. As ten families of freeholders made up a tithing, so ten tithings composed a superior division, called a hundred. In some of the more northern counties these hundreds are called wapentakes. The sub-division of hundreds into tithings seems to be most peculiarly the invention of Alfred; the institution of hundreds themselves he rather introduced than invented, for they seem to have obtained in Denmark; and we find that in France a regulation of this sort was made above 200 years before; set on foot by Clotharicus and Childebert, with a view of obliging each district to answer for the robberies committed in its own division. In some counties there is an intermediate division between the shire and the hundred, as lathes in Kent, and rapes in Sussex, each of them containing about three or four hundreds a-piece. Where a county is divided into three of these intermediate jurisdictions, they are called trithings, which still subsist in the large county of York, where, by an easy corruption, they are denominated ridings; the north, the east, and the west.
J.M. C–D.
STANZAS,
(For the Mirror.)
The young, fair Spring, is tripping o'er the Earth,
With feet that ne'er can know the lag of age;
The Earth, her lover, conscious of her worth,
Flings down all his rich treasures to engage
That blushing wanderer: but she journeys forth
Heedless of all his offerings. The hot rage
Of love shall scorch his heart in tortures fell,
Till Winter comes with many an icicle.
That loved-one yet is here; and flowers, and songs,
And streams—to gush above her own free feet
Of stainless ivory,—and countless throngs
Of birds are living, her pure soul to greet.
And the lone spirit, thoughtfully that longs
For a dim view of Eden, from a seat
O'erhanging some green valley, now espies
Nought that might dread compare with Paradise!
There is a glory gone forth from on high!—
It quickens the heart's beat, whereon it flings
Its fervour;—the flushed cheek and glowing eye
Confess its influence;—and the many strings,
Voiceless too long in the young heart, reply
To the mute promptings of a thousand things
Which Spring has conjured up;—all, all is hers—
That Glory without name—she ministers.
Now—all the thoughts she wakens in the heart
Are glorious Music!—divine Poesy!—
Now—all the dreams on Fancy's eyes that start,
She will disown not, wayward though they be.
Sweet Dreams!—down Lethe's billow they depart—
Words are too weak to clothe them worthily.
Rich incense, burnt upon some altar stone
Censerless,—in a temple—desert—lone!
What shall we do in these delightful days,
When the full, bounding heart, will not be still;—
When the glad eye, absorbed in far-sent gaze,
Forgets Earth's plenitude of grief and ill;—
Shall we dream on, in a bewitching maze
Of sweet affections and bold hopes, until
Earth is not Earth—but Heaven? or shall we die
Hourly, to some "dissolving minstrelsy?"
Sometimes, when day is dying—when twilight
Brings its dim Vigil,—hour of quietness,—
'Tis