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May the toil of the poor man be lightened,
May he cease at his lot to repine;
“ Farewell to the year twenty-nine !”. Farewell to the year, and the shadows
of happiness round it that sped ! For sunshine in winter can glad us,
Though quickly the pleasure is fled ; Day the joys that in it have faded,
Like the ashes of Phenix combine, And, remoulded in fairer forms, whisper
“ Farewell to the year twenty-nine !" Farewell to the year, and the paper
That scribblers have spoilt, as it past,
And verses that die away fast.
To the lays of the beautiful Nine-
Farewell to the year twenty-nine ! Farewell to the year !-Come, ye topers,
Fill a glass “ to the year that is filed !” Toasts ne'er should be thought interlopers,
Though the living they tell of the dead. My pen wanders so, 'twere a pity
To add to its fever by wine; While you're drinking, I'll finish my ditty:Farewell to the year twenty-nine !
Farewell to the year !-- There arises
A shout from fair Attica's shore; Who Liberty's music despises,
May the song of her children deplore : No longer the slaves of oppression,
In freedom her warriors recline ; Then, as Time notes the tyraut's confession,
Farewell to the year twenty-nine ! Farewell to the year !-It is written
In triumph on Mexica's coast, Where a despot's mad legions were smitten
Defeated, ere silent their boast;
The cords of oppression to twine,
Farewell to the year twenty-nine !
Should cheer the debutant's last scene; For Matthews again is at home"
With an actor far greater than Kean;
Might bit as a new Columbine ;-
Farewell to the year twenty-nine !
For those who love looking at sights, Though mermaids came not with their stories,
And ghosts kept away with their frights.
Inteuds in Vesuvius to dine,
"Farewell to the year twenty-nine!" Farewell to the year !-It has wept o'er
The fate that the “Charley-men" grieve ; Their beats by “ Policemen" are swept o'er,
And robbers no longer may thieve. The watcb-boxes all are in mourning ;
What's to come o' them who can divine ?
Parewell to the year tweaty-nine !
There Liberty's bonfires shine :
Farewell to tho year twenty-nine!
The joys and griefs of its part-
The breaking of many a heart-
The many who starving repine :-
Farewell to the year twenty-nine ! Farewell to the year, and its follies !
May gents cease to bully like grooms ! May ladies dress more like the women,
And less like the Dutch“ buy a brooms !"
On the tree that has borne them decline;
Farewell to the year tweuty-nine !
May the truths it las taught never fade, Though the schoolmaster” often is quizz'u
on By those who of trath are afraid ! May the beams of the bright sun of knowledge
In the breast of the meanest man shite; And gild upon cottage and college,
“ Farewell to the year twenty-nine !" Farewell to the year, and the sorrows
That crowded so darkly its scene ! May distress and chill Poverty's horrors
Be talked of as things that have been ?
(For the Olio.)
appears somewhat strange, that in neither the first nor second edition of Hutchins's History of Kent, is any notice taken of a lofty eminence called Binden Hill, in the parish of West Lulworth. It forms a part of that grand cliff-scenery which towers in the magnificence of nature along the coast of Dorset from the Druid island of Purbeck-or, according to the Phænecians, Pur-bec, the house of the Sun, the seat of the eternal fire, -to the sandy shores of Weymouth, or Melcombe in Regis, another compounded name, each part being of the same signification in Runic and Latin. On the eastern side of this eminence is plainly to be seen the original British trackway, which, coming out of Devonshire, the ancient dominions of a Celtic tribe, deno. minated the Cymbri, from their aboriginal founders, the Cymry, runs along the whole line of the Durotrigian coast, and on each side of which are numerous barrows of the remotest antiquity. This trackway leads from the outer rampart of an immense camp or British station, which seems once to have covered the whole summit of this hill of Binden, till it is lost in the llimbling crays and rocks which crown the verge of a stupendous cliff, that overhangs with majestic horror the ever toil
ing billows of the mighty deep; still wholly, with the stones taken from these pointing towards another camp or hill. vast bulwarks of the aboriginal inhabitants city, but of a far different castramenta. of the coast. tion, on the opposite line of hills in the From the western camp, which appears Isle of Purbeck.
to have been weakly fortified compared This track way running as it does now with the central one, there is a dyke over the edge of the ocean-precipice, which runs down the steep side of the hill, proves what devastation the tempests and and originally crossed the narrow valley sea have in two thousand years made on where part of the village of West Lulthe rocky mounds and vast bulwarks of worth now stands, as it is plainly seen in our wave-encircled island.
a meadow on the other side, and is carTo the north, the interior camp or sub- ried up to the edge of the cliffs on the urb to this once mighty city amidst the This dyke completely cut off the clouds, is protected by a single vallum communication between the valley and and fosse, for here the mountain is exceed cove or small bay of Lulworth, and was ingly steep as well as lofty ; while on the the barrier against the incursions of a wild south, the hiil itself forms one contined and roving foe, whose war-barques visited and stupendous rampart from cliff to cliff. the coast for plunder, and often, no doubt, Here are still to be seen the numerous lay secure from the destructive visitations excavations, chiefly circular, but of va of winds and billows, in the circular rious dimensions, over which the rude and land-locked harbour of Lulworth. tents and booths of the ancient Britons That this was a station in forming a were erected. In this suburb are three treble camp of the Durotrigians, cannot, or four Celtic barrows. As you advance it appears to us, be contended against, to the west, beyond the loftiest part of with any degree of probability, and a the mountain, which rises in the centre, station too of great consequence, to which and, from thence is called, vulgn, the all the neighbouring population, with their Swine's back, you approach the middle cattle and wealth, resorted in times of camp or chief city. This is in the shape danger and invasion. And frequently of a parallelogram of great extent, and is did these barbarous invasions take place; divided from the outer camps 10 the east for ancient writers assert, that the Briand west by the remains of immense walls tons delighted in picking quarrels, and it of stone, but without the least appearance was their daily exercise and pleasure to of cement or that vitrified matter which be skirmishing ; that they were continu. is found in the walls of certain hill-forti. ally going out in parties, fortifying and fications in some parts of Scotland, and entrenching, many times rather out of which has puzzled so much the brains of delight than any security.* our most learned antiquarians. In the From this lofty and commanding foreastern wall, which is more than twenty- tress of Bindon, the Cymry could behold five feet in thickness, and crosses the hills many of those hill-cities which belonged to the south, ending where the descent is to their tribe. Here, as the early land. almost perpendicular, appears a grand scape gleamed shadowy in the grey tints entrance, nearly central, on each side of of the dawn, and the wide ocean blushed which are the foundations of two circular with the roses of morning, they walked towers, of more than a hundred feet in forth from their tents, they bowed in hocircumference ; and in the western wall, mage to the rising sun-god, as he tipped on the outside of which is a lofty rampart, the tall cliffs with wavering fire, and are two smaller gates or entrances, with- lighted up the voluptuous woods with gorout towers, leading into another suburb, geous splendours. . From hence they beor outer camp. On the north, the wall held on the estuary of the Frome the is also twenty-five feet in thickness; here strong though lowland town of Moricothe declivity of the hill is much easier nium,t to the north, the beautifully situathan elsewhere, and therefore beyond this wall is another outer wall, twelve feet in • Britannia Antiqua Illustrata. breadth, and on the outside of that a dyke,
+ That Wareham was a British, previous to and in some places a double fosse pro
its being a Roman station, we have not in our
own ininds a shadow of doubt. Such a fine tects the approach on this side to the situation for strength as the peninsular on city.
which Wareham stands would hardly be overThe whole foundations of this once
looked by the ancient Britous. On the north noble station, of which no antiquary has the east and south the sea once encompassed
it has a steep ascent, moated by a river; on ever taken any notice, are above the soil, it, and to the west, where it is connected with and numerous fragments, and large stones the main land, they threw up an immense inare scattered on every side; no doubt trenchment, which also surrounded the whole
area of very considerable extent, and which, the village, which lies in a deep glen be
in part remains to this day. These ramparts, neath, was originally built in part, if not and the circular tombs of that once great and
ted station of Iburnium of Woodbury, while around the outer barriers which hill; and towering in the horizon far repelled the intruding ocean, the upward. beyond, the lofty ramparts of Badbury, leaping billows uttered their angry murwith an immense extent territory, va murs in wild and solemn music. ried with mountain, valley, sea and river, Such was the situation of this strong heath and forest. When the worshipped hold of the hill, placed like other fortiorb of day sunk amid the amethyst and fied stations of various remote nations and opal clouds of the west, his last rays, as ages, on the cloud-capped eminence, the smoke of the evening sacrifice arose, and the lofty summit of the isolated rock. fell on those lofty and wonderful ram
(To be continued.) parts, which, surpassing in strength and duration the majestic walls of Nineveh and Babylon, surrounded Dunium or BAZAARS. THE ROYAL LONDON Maiden Castle, the capital of their pro
BAZAAR. vince; a work which to remotest generations will speak the strength and warlike
(For the Olio.) abilities of a once mighly people, now vanished from the earth like the shadow
If we feel justified in noticing Bazaars, of a fleeting cloud. To the south lay it is because they are of a light class, and before them the everlasting ocean, stretch by their being patronised, serve to eming out in its undulating grandeur and ploy many females in their several de sublimity to meet the horizon, hung with partments in an industrious and laudable its cloud-tapestry of a thousand brilliant occupation. The great noise the 'Soho dyes and pictures. To the west appeared and Maberly' Bazaars made when first the island or peninsular of Vindelia and opened to the public, and the countenance its neighbouring shores, beyond which they received, encouraged other similar the sun-beams fell like a sparkling sheet places to venture a stand ;' some of of silver on the waters of the great west
which, varied in their pretensions, now, ern bay, rolling its eternal billows on.
we rejoice to say, are devoted to science ward to the land of the Cymbri. Turn. and the ' Fine Arts.' It is not that ar. ing again to the east, a shadowy line of ticles and specimens are purchased inore cliffs met their view, ending with the cheaply at Bazaars than at shops, or that bold and deep-based promontory of St. they are of better qualities, but the jaunty Aldhelm's, the white precipices and rocks and foreign character assumed by the of Guithor's romantic island | closing the sellers and purchasers in them, with the distant
prospect. Below them lay the liberty of mixing in a tasty and tattling richly tinted cliffs and scattered rocks that promenade, of seeing every thing and encircled the sheltered bay of Lulworth, hearing æolians and musical boxes. Here
the hungry may be refreshed by pastry.
The bride or widow choose her cap warlike people, the Cymry or Kimmerlang, lovers select presents—married ladies buy still to be seen on every side on the wild heath that encircles the town, are all which remain infants' dresses. Children may be treated to tell us who once inhabited that impregna. with toys, books, enamels, crayons, ble fortress, hemmed on all sides with thick scraps, albums, dolls, jewellery, wax, dykes.' Cæsar, speaking of the capital of Case cutlery, glass wares, shells, turnery; in sivellanus, in which maltitudes of men, wo short, the varieties are so many and the men, and cattle were shut up together, says, opportunities so inviting, no generous “The Britons call a place a town, when they dispositions can quit Bazaars without lomeans of a vallum and fosse, to avoid the in. kens of their visit. Tired of playing at vasion of enemies." Wareham is no doubt draughts with the dual Siamese, weary derived from the British name of the Frome, of laughing at the Pantomimes, doubtful the Var, or the river, In our opinion by emi- of keeping company with the Lady nence, hence “ ad Variam," a dwelling on the Elephant, lest rivals should call us to river,
1" Richard of Cirencester calls Dorchester Chalk Farm, we seek after the next • Durnium,' says the author of the History whim of fashion, and burst the last bubof Dorset, “but Camden says it is in some ble of novelty. authors erroneously written Duoium."
The 'Royal London word is written both ways in the copy which
Bazaar' is a fine building, over the we have now before us. But we cannot find Horse Repository, Gray's Inn Lane.' that he called Dorchester Dunium or Dur. There are two entrances which are tastily nium. His words are " below the Hedui are situated the Durotriges, who are sometimes fitted, and by flights of steps lead to the
Their metropolis was great room, the ceiling of which is Durnium, and their territory extended to the richly embossed by medallions and flower promontory Vindella,' And in his Iter, 16, leaf, the gilt moulding and architectural Durnovaria stands for Dorchester. Baxter maintains, and very truly, Durnlum to be entablatures, relieved by pink and green,
with the light opening of two elegant
called the Morini.
cupolas, afford a cheerful and suitable were making prodigious devastation on a aspect. The right and left wings are pile of bonbons wrapped in paper couappropriated to boutiques, and the walls leur de rose, we took some out of curio. are diversified by interesting landscapes sity. They consisted of super-excellent and scenes from nature; a promenade is sugar-plums, enveloped either in a copy thus intended in the range of fancied of tender verses, or & romance with materials and whispering gazelles, and the music. The first which I opened conthe tone of art which is here perceptible, tained deserves praise.* When the designs of
L'INCERTITUDE. this Bazaar will be completed, elegance with propriety, and business with plea
Musique de Mde. Duvivier. sure, will class advantageously with the “ Serait-il vrai ? les entendrai-je encore wishes of the most fastidious votaries.
Ces doux accens qui charmerent mon cœur ?
Le souvenir causee-t'il mon erreur ?"
Close by this sentimental heap was a pile Christmas comes but once a year,
of what appeared china-ware, consisting And therefore we'll be merry.
of certain utensils generally appropriated SHAKSPEARE. to bed-rooms; these we found to be made
of sugar. New year's day is a terrible day in Besides the presents, of more or lessi France for those who have many acquaint, value, you are obliged to buy for all the ances. It is a day both of expense and children that you may be acquainted with, fatigue ; for it is kept up with all the as soon as the eventful morniny arrives, good old ceremonies of new-year's gifts your purse-strings must be undrawn to all and bonbons, which even the mania of ihose who can raise the least pretension to the Revoļution was not able to do away. having served you during the last year; For many days before, all the confec- for every one comes for his elrenne, and tioners in France are engaged in fabricat- there is no danger of forgetting any. ing sugar-pluins of every kind and de. Sterne, if I remember right, met with but scription ; nor let it be supposed that this
one pauvre honteux in the course of his is a mere manual operation; it is one of travels; since then, the breed is extinct. the most trying exercises of the inven. The next thing is to pay your visits ; and, tion. A French confectioner's reputation, provided with five hundred cards and a his honour, is at stake ; and I should sack of bonbons, you set out to call upon never be surprised to hear that some sugаr every body you ever saw or heard of. artist, of nice feelings, had drowned him. The customs on this occasion vary in difself in syrup, like a fly, if he were to fail ferent parts of Franee, but generally the in producing something for le premier de ladies are at home. You enter, converse l'an such as had never been heard of be- for two minutes, pay your tribute of bonfore. It cannot be long, however, before bons, which varies from half-a-pound to their imagination must come to a stand
a pound, according to rank, &c. and then still, for they have literally exhausted proceed somewhere else to go through the worlds and then imagined new; and dur same ceremony. ing the week which precedes the end of As all the male part of your acquaintthe year, their shop-windows are filled
ance are actively engaged in performing with imitations, in sugar, of every thing the same duty, a card at their door is all he mind of man can conceive. The most that is required. Some families, whose disgusting, and the most tempting, filth acquaintance is large, and who do not and sentiment, refinement and indelicacy, receive in the morning, hang a box at their are all jumbled together--a true picture of door for the cards. It has become rather the nation.
bon ton now to send the visiting tickets ; On the last evening of 1824, in buy- and in some small towns, the servants ing the bonbons necessary for our visits of meet at a certain hour in the principal the next day, we saw a multitude of choice square, and exchange the cards of their specimens. The shop of Monsieur Pagés, masters, to save themselves the trouble of at Bordeaux, was filled to suffocation. carrying them. The younger part of the community was A single hour of relaxation seems eager after what are called cossaques; enough to intoxicate the French. Everyand perceiving that a body of young la- where this is a day of bustle, confusion, dies, from the age of sixteen to eighteen aud gaiety beyond all description. Cab
riolets, carriages, and vehicles of every * It is a flattering politeness to the com kind and sort, are rolling about the streets pany to be waited on in the visit to the Rooms by men servants in green liveries with gold
in all directions. Every one you meet trimmings.
you how many cards you have left;
and proclaims his own feats. All the be but one in a hundred, (and I am sure world seems mad, and the talismaric word there are more,) who, in the simplicity of is “ Cartes."
their sorrow, with their own hands raise
flowers in the turf which covers the last FUNERALS IN FRANCE.
object of their love, it is a beautiful triIt was on one of the first days of the bute to departed affection, and an honour year that I saw the body of poor Lartique to a nation not too much famed for steacarried by my windows. 'I had dined diness. with him a week before in high health,
The only funeral I have seen which but a bilious attack and three French phy: struck me much in France, was at a vilsicians soon brought him to the last gasp. lage not very far from Calais. It was The day he died they ordered him io be that of a country girl. The cross was put into a warm bath with two raw
carried in front by a little boy, and after calves' feet, but he escaped the opera. him came the priest, a venerable old man, tion by giving up the ghost, and in four- with his head bare. Several village girls and-lwenty hours after they carried him held the pall, which was strewed with 10 his long home ; for the French are in flowers; and then came the mourners, as great a hurry to put the earth upon who were few, but they seemed sincere their dead as if they were afraid of their ones, and amongst them were six nuns of coming to life again.
a neighbouring convent. The girl had Deaih, and all that appertains to death been a favourite, it seems, of the good -hat mysterious fate which we must all sisters; and their peculiar dress, and long submit to-that horizon of life's sky, black veils floating in the air, gave it a where all earthly objects terminate, is curious and solemn effect ; while a simever an object of strange interest to man. ple child, clad in white, who went before It is singular, too, to observe how fond ihe whole and strewed ihe way with wild we are of decking out death with pomp. flowers, seemed picturing the former exisWe cling to these last ceremonies, we tence of her they carried to her long home. give all the show of pride to our grief, Her way through life had been over Every nation, from the savage of the Pa- flowers, like her path to the grave. cific to the cultivated Enropean, (as if
I wished to hear something more of her there were an ivnate consciousness in inan history, and inquired amongst the peathat death's sleep was but for a time,) santry in the neighbourhood. She had loads the inanimate clay with honours, been one of those creatures that seem and carries it to the grave as if in tri- placed out of their sphere. They told umph. There seems more in it than com me that she had always been brighter,
and gentler, and more beautiful than any In France, the funerals are very va
in the village ; but, as she grew up, her rious. In large towns there is generally health failed, they knew not why, and a mixture of dustiness, and pomp, and she passed away like a bud too delicate to indecorum, which leaves little solemnity. expand in this cold world. They had The choir go forth from the church to all loved her, they said, and they all wept meet the body, and there would be some for her. thing striking in the procession, with the The manner of announcing the death of symbols of our salvation carried before a friend in France is extraordinary. I it, were it not for a man who plays upon copy one of these funeral letters, without the serpent to keep the others in time, any addition or alteration whatever, exand the evident inaitention with which the cept in the names of the parties, which is whole party go through the routine. evidently necessary.
The mourners, loo, who consist of all, " A Monsieur M. Y. even the most remote acquaintances of the
6 M.–Madame veuve Pontet, Mondeceased, do not much tend to give solem- sieur et Madame Louis Pontet, Monsieur nity to the scene ; for, following two and et Madame Augustin Brissac, Monsieur two in a string, sometimes of several hun et Madame Girodin, Monsieur et Madame dreds, they amuse themselves the best Felix Parny, Monsieur Leon et Madeway they can by talking to their neigh- moiselle Eliza Poniet, Monsieur Charles bəúr, and do noi always keep up even the Brissac, Monsieur ét Madame Claude appearance of gravity.
Pontet, Madame Lanjay, Madame PelThe cemeteries are always beautiful. Ion, Monsieur Charles et Mademoiselle We must not examine into these things Adele Girodin, Monsieur et Madame Jean too closely. I have been told that there Charles Pontet, Monsieur et Madame are people who pay the keepers of these Jean Français Pontet, Monsieur Eugère gardens of the dead to do those little ho. Pontet, Monsieur et Madame Pierre Ponnours to the grave which they themselves let, Madaine veuve Pontet Crillard, Maare too negligent in doing ; yet, if there dame veuve Girodin, Madame et Mon