"Charmante Gabrielle," which plunged them in a sort of languor, and relenting temper, which were well expressed in their looks and their attitude. Some other tunes produced nothing, these are not worth mentioning; and I return to the third repetition of Ca Ira, performed as at first, in D, with the addition of several voices. None but a witness can form any just idea of its effects. The female could no longer command herself; she trotted about, leaped in cadence, and mixed accents like those of a trumpet, with the sounds of the voices and instruments, which were not discordant with the general harmony. On approaching the male, her ears flapped against | her head with extreme quickness, whilst her amorous trunk solicited him in all the sensible parts of his body. Neither did she spare her gentle kicks. She often during her delirium, fell on her croups, with her fore feet in the air, and her back leaning against the bars of the lodge. In this posture she was heard to emit cries of desire; but instantly after, as if she had been ashamed of an action to which there were so many witnesses, she rose and continued her cadenced course. After a short rest, new tunes and new instruments were tried. This second part of the concert was given under the eyes of the Elephants and close to their lodges. Although the male had not as yet felt the ardour of his female, and although no sensation of appetite and desire had yet shown itself in his exterior motions, the moment was not far off, in which he would emerge from that state of in difference. At first he showed neither pain nor pleasure whilst a brilliant symphony of Haydn, in C major, was performing. The sight of the orchestra, the musicians and their apparatus, with the resounding tones of the various instruments, did not attract his attention; he testified neither curiosity nor surprise; but when that piece was finished, no sooner did the clarinet alone, begin to play the simple and pathetic pag-pipe air in the over ture of Nina, than he sought for the voice which Battered him, and stood still just before the instrument, extending his trunk towards it. Attentive and immovable he remained listening. In the mean time the fires of love insinuated themselves into his veins; betrayed by exterior signs, and as it were himself astonished at that new sensation, he retreated a few paces, and when the symptoms diminished, or were quite gone, he returned to the music, listened, and found himself again in the same state; these were transient fires, which only sparkled a few moments and disappeared, without even serving to guide him towards his mate. The clarinet having slid without interruption ato the romance O, ma tendre Musette, in D minor, (which had been before performed on the bassoon in C minor,) his illusion kept up; but the charm appeared to forsake him all of a sudden when the air. Ca Ira was repeated for the fourth time. Perhaps the effect of that tune was exhausted; perhaps also the organs of those animals began to be fatigued with being exercised too much. This is very probable, because neither of them paid the least attention to the french. horn, which terminated the concert. That in. strument, which they had not before heard, would probably have made some impression on them if it had been sooner blown. A few days after this concert the elephants were detected by their keeper, in attempting to practise at night the lessons they had learned from the agitation and heat into which they had been thrown by the music. It would therefore be prudent not to repeat the proof but with great caution, and not till they enjoy greater liberty in the park which is preparing for them. Then three other means no less powerful might be made to concur: the food more choice and abundant; the pleasure of meeting each again after a short or long separation; and the season of spring which invites all beings to love. Above all, the experiment ought to be made on a fine moon-light night: it should ap pear they were placed in the most absolute soli. tude, and where the most powerful silence reigned they should not see any of the musicians, nor even their cornac. Not a word should be heard, but only the vocal and intrumental melodies. Their instinct thus recalled, their desires revived, not suspecting any traps or surprise, perhaps they might accomplish the wish of nature, in giving themselves up, as if they were in the solitary countries of India, to that security which is exacted for an act which leaves them without defence against their ene mies. We find in the writings of Pliny, of Suetonius, and of Plutarch, anecdotes about elephants, which prove their natural inclination to music. Some were seen in the public spectacles of ancient Rome who were taught to perform in cadence to to the sound of instruments, certain evolutions, or sorts of military dances. In the Indies where they hold such a distinguished rank at the court of Kings, they have musicians attached to their service. "When the King of Pegu gives audience, the Dutch travellers say, that his four white ele phants are brought before him, who pay him their reverence by raising their trunk, opening their mouth, and giving three distinct cries, and kneeling- "Whilst they are cleaning and dressing, they stand under a canopy which is supported by eight servants, in order to shelter them from the heat of the sun. In marching to those vessels which contain their food and their water, they are preceded by three trumpets, the chords of which they attend to, and march with great gravity, regulating their paces by the sound of these instruments."-(Collection of l'oyages of the Dutch East India Company. So great is the empire of music on all living beings, that men have made use of it not only to civilize themselves and regulate their own manners, but also to subdue animals, soften their ferocious nature, direct the use of their strength, excite their courage, develope and extend their most generous qualities. At the beat of the| drum, and the accents of the warlike trumpet, the horse feels his natural pride redoubled; his eyes sparkle, his feet paw the ground, he only waits for the signal of his master to rush into the midst of dangers; does he return victorious? behold him still foaming with ardour, impatient of the bridle, and subjecting his paces and his motions to the grave and moderate measure of a triumphal march*. The charm of melody supports the ox in the midst of his painful toils; it beguiles his fatigue and revives his strength. The custom of whistling or singing to those animals is universal in France, but especially in that part which is called Lower Poitou On this subject the interesting author of the "Essays on the Propagation of Music in France," says:-"It is not enough to be young and robust, to cultivate the land there; the labourer who is most sought after, and who receives the greatest wages, is he whom they call the Noter (le Noteur.) His principal function is not to hold the plough, or to handle the spade, but to sing whilst the oxen are painfully tracing their furrows." "The song of the Noter is not any regular tune: it is an extempore melody composed of a series of pure sounds, often artfully prolonged, and with accents infinitely varied, although on a smaller number of chords." "The short extent of the Gamut which is used by the Noters in this kind of music, gives it a melancholy character, which suits both the country and its inhabitants. Perhaps this apparent sadness is indicated by nature, as an harmonic proportion with the slow, painful, equal march of the oxen, and the efforts of the tiller, whose hand laboriously directs the plough share in a hard thick soil. Be this as it may, the peasants * What Pliny relates of the cavalry of Sybarites, which moved in cadence to the sound of instruments, may be seen at the Manège of Franconi, in Paris, where the horses of their own accord, follow the rhythmus of the airs which are played to them.-The same may be seen at Astley's and the Circus. No. XX. Vol. III. there are passionately fund of this melody, and believe that it dissipates the weariness of their oxen." "The camel, one of the animals which has been longest subjected to man, learns to march by the song; he regulates his pace by the cadence, and moves slowly or quickly according to the time of the tunes which are sung to him; he stops when he no longer hears the song of his master; the whip does not make him advance, but if he be required to travel farther than usual, the song which the camel prefers is resumed.”[Chardin's Travels in Persia.] Even the violent character of the buffalo, and its gross manners, yield to the charms of melody. The keepers of the young buffaloes which inhabit the Pontine marshes in Italy, give a name to each of thein, and to teach them to know that name, they often repeat it in a singing tone, caressing them under the chin. These young buffaloes are thus instructed in a short time, and never forget their name, to which they answer exactly by stopping, although mixed in a herd of two or three thousand buffaloes. The habitude of the buffalo to hear his name cadenced is so fixed that when grown up he will not suffer any one to approach him without that kind of chant, especially the female who is to be milked. The taste of the dog, for music is well known, particularly that of which the strongly marked rhythmus bears a relation to the frank and open character of that animal; and likewise his antipathy to continued discords, and sounds prolonged without any determinate measure. 、 Buffon makes mention of some dogs who left their kennel or the kitchen to attend a concert, and afterwards returned to their usual residence. But a still more remarkable fact deserves to be recorded in the moral history of those animals. At the beginning of the revolution in France, a dog went every day to the parade before the palace of the Thuilleries, placing himself between the legs of the musicians, walking with them, and stopping when they stopped. After the parade he disappeared till the next day at the same hour, when he returned to his customary place. The constant appearance of this dog, and the pleasure he seemed to take in music, made the musicians take notice of him, who, not knowing his name, gave him that of Parade. He was vrey soon caressed by them all, and invited alternately to dinner. He who wished to invite him, had only to say, stroking his back, Parade, you dine with me to day. This was sufficient; the dog followed his host, eat his dinner with pleasure, but soon after, constant in his taste as well as in his independence, friend Parade took his leave, without attending to any entreaties for his stay, and went either to the Opera or to the Italian plays F house, entered without ceremony into the orchestra, placed himself in a corner and remained there till the end of the performance. It is needless to dwell on the musical talents of birds, of whom the greater part are born melodists. This art with them, is only the language of nature and the interpreter of pleasure. to crush a spider which he saw on my Piano-forte whilst I was playing. He was very sorry for having done so, when I told him that for a long time past I had seen the spider come down from its web as soon as I began to play, remain on the piano, and when I left off playing, remount to its usual place. There was no doubt but it was attracted by the music. can These observations might be more extended; it might be shown how rhythmus joined to melody, first united men and regulated the pri mitive societies: rhythmus, by measuring time and motion, without which measure, men not work in common; and melody by charming their troubles, which charm appears to be innate, as the child in the cradel feels it, and is appeased by the song of its nurse; how animals themselves sensible of this art approached mankind, and how men had bent them to his yoke, not only by gentleness and good treatment, but also by means of the influence of music on all animated and sensible beings: for, by force slaves may be made, but not friends and faithful servants. Do not the foregoing examples sufficiently explain the prodigies of Orpheus? And when we read Fish, who cannot live in the same element as man, have escaped from his yoke, and retained the primitive print of their nature. Notwithstanding which the sound of instruments is capable of modifying them to a certain point. "I have seen," says Chabanon in his Treatise on music, "little fish which were kept in a glass vessel of which the top was uncovered, seek the sound of the violin, rise to the surface of the water to hear it, lift up their head and remain immoveable in that situation: if I came near them without touching the instrument, they were frightened and plunged to the bottom of the vessel. I tried this experiment many times." it is well known that Carp in ponds rise to the || surface of the water at the tinkling of a bell, or the sound of a whistle, and they have been seen to follow the person who made these sounds, swimming all round the pond and leaping play-in Chardin, that in Persia, when a work is to be fully out of the water. Lastly, the musical instinct is manifested even in insects. Spiders have been seen to descend from their web, and to remain suspended by a single thread as long as an instrument was played on. Gretry, in his Essays on music says, In a small old house which I inhabited, a person happened undertaken which requires a multitude of hands, and great expedition, such as to construct or demolish edifices, level a piece of ground, &c. the inhabitants of a whole district assemble and work together to the sound of instruments, in order to increase the dispatch; does it not seem to be the walls of Thebes rising to the sound of the Lyre of Amphion. THE ANTIQUARIAN OLIO. MR. EDITOR, separate and distinct village, a mile distant from London; but still less will it be conceived to have been as it actually was, an island cut from it, by a branch of the river Thames, and ori A great part of my leisure hours has been devoted in perusing the characters, amusements, habits, and eccentricities of our ancestors, and among the rest, the various changes, improve-ginally denominated Thorney Island, from the ments, &c. &c. of this metropolis. I fatter myself by affording a portion of your valuable and elegant Miscellany to my occasional extracts and observations, under the title of The Antiquarian Otto, you may give some information as well as amusement to your numerous subscribers. I am, Sir, yours, &c. &c. B. UNITED to London by a continued succession of houses, as Westminster now is, it will scarcely be imagined that it was at one time a circumstance, as it is said, of its being over-grown with thorns and brambles. Its connection with the main land was by means of a bridge, which Matilda, Queen of Henry I. erected over the stream in King-street, at the east end of Gardener-lane. STRAND. At this early period nó houses existed in the Strand, which, as its name implies, was at first only an open plain, sloping down to the river, but intersected by several little cuts or channels, through which the water from the hills on its Near this and between Essex house and Milford-lane, was a chapel dedicated to the Holy Ghost, called S. Spirit. To the west of this last was the bishop of north side was conveyed into the Thames. And over these rivulets, wherever they occurred, bridges, consisting probably of no more than one small stone arch, were erected, to continue the road and preserve the communication. One || Bath's house, or inn, as it was usual to call such of these, called Strand-bridge, was between Surrey-street and the present Somerset-place; another, named Ivy-bridge, between Salisburystreet and where the Adelphi now stands; and a third, it is said, discovered not long since, opposite the end of Essex-street. These water-courses and bridges are, in fact, still existing, but being converted into sewers and covered with streets, are no longer visible. And where the spot called Charing-cross now is, was, in ancient time, the village of Charing, equally detached from both London and Westminster, and nearly equidistant from each. residences. Beyond this, on the side of the street, was a church-yard, in which stood the parish church of the Nativity of St. Mary and the Innocent. In the Strand, nearly adjoining this church, and between that and the river, was an inn of Chancery, called Chester's inn, because it be longed to the Bishop of Chester; but denominated by some, from its situation, Straud inn. At a small distance from the church, stood Strand-bridge, which had a lane or way under it, leading down to a landing-place on the banks of the Thames. The precise spot may still be ascertained from the name of Strand-lane, which a turning-down from the Strand to the water, between Surrey-street and Somerset-place, still retains. The bishop of Chester's own house, or re About the time of Henry III. the Courts, particularly the Common Pleas, became stationary at Westminster, which had also become the most usual place of holding the Parliament. Many of the bishops especially, and others of the no-sidence, stood a little to the west of Strandbility, therefore, for the purpose of more convenient attendance when the Parliament was held there, were induced to erect palaces on the edge of the river, and by so doing to connect, by a line of buildings, the two villages of Charing and · London. Howel has remarked, that from Dorset-house, Fleet-street, to Whitehall, all the great houses built on the Thames were episcopal palaces, except the Savoy and Suffolk-house. bridge. It was called equally the Bishop of Chester's and the Bishop of Litchfield and Coventry's inn, and was first built by Walter Langton, bishop of Chester, treasurer of England in the reign of Edward I. In the high-street, opposite the bishop of Chester's, or Coventry's inn, stood at one time a stone-cross, at which, in 1294, and at other times, the justices itinerant sat, without LonWithin a few years a house has been pulled don; but afterwards they sat in that bishop's down, though not old, yet rendered sufficiently house. No great distance from the cross, OCillustrious, by the temporary residence of the curred the palace of the Savoy, erected in 1245. Duke de Sully, when Ambassador here... It stood To the Savoy, succeeded the bishop of Caron the north side of the Strand, near Templelisle's inn, which in 1618, and also in 1633, Bar; it is said to have been at that time inhabited by Chrisopher Harley, Count Beaumont, ambassador from France in the year 1605, and the Duke de Sully, who came over as ambassador extraordinary, resided here for a few days after his arrival, till Arundel-house, then situated where Arundel street now is, could be prepared for his reception. On the south side of the Strand, beginning from Temple Bar, the first in local situation, though not in chronological order, was Exeter house, erected, as it is supposed by the then Bishop of that see, about the reign of Edward II. was inhabited by the earl of Bedford, and called Russell, or Bedford house. It is described as extending from the hospital of the Savoy to Ivy-bridge, which, in the map of St. Martin's parish, in Strype's Stow, book vi. page 66, is represented as the next turning beyond Salis.. bury-street to the west; so that it must have been the house which stood on the scite of the present Beaufort-buildings, and was at one time inhabited by the earl of Worcester. F 2 (To be continued.) CULINARY RESEARCHES. ON PASTRY. ings presented under a variety of interesting shapes, will make your delicious productions be sought for with avidity, and they will prove invaluable, when created by those who are so dear to us!" ON COOKS. In cookery, as well as almost every other art, theory is nothing unless it be accompanied with practice; and a man who possesses all the ele ments of cookery, and who has all the treatises that have been written on this art engraven on his memory, will be incapable of making a good fricassee of chickens, if he has never worn an apron. A blind routine, void of study and knowledge, does not indeed constitute an artist; but a PASTRY is to cookery, what rhetorical figures are to speech; its life and ornament. An harangue without metaphors, and a dinner without pastry, would be equally insipid; but as every body is not possessed of eloquence, so few people know the art of scientifically handling paste. Good pastry cooks are almost as scarce as great orators; and if in the records of speech, five or six great men have been justly celebrated, we should find some trouble in the history of the oven, to quote as many famous artists. The bar of Greece has been immortalized by a Demosthenes and an Eschines; and that of Rome by a Cicero and an Hortensius; and in France the rolling-pin has only been scientifically wield-theory without practice, will never afford the ed by a Rouget, a Lesage, a Leblanc and Gendrons, and very few others, who follow their steps. As to the pastry cooks of other countries, they are never even mentioned. Those of France alone have distinguished themselves. Toulouse and Strasburgh have acquired a great name by their liver pies, and Perigueux by its partridge ones; but how far are these preparations from those productions at the same time ingenious and deep which daily issue from the first ovens of Paris. means of composing a faultless ragout. The lowest scullion will succeed better in this, than the most learned philosopher. But the practice of cookery is accompanied with so many disagreeables, and even dangers, that those who devote themselves to it ought to meet with our respect, our esteem, and attentions; for money alone is not an adequate res compence for a scientific cook. We will not speak of the unwholesome vapours exhaled by the coals, which soon undermine the most robust health; of the intense heat of the fire, so pernicious to the lungs and sight; of the smoke so inimical to the eyes and Pastry is an art both agreeable and useful; which young ladies would do well to practice; it would give them a pleasing occupation, and sure means of recovering or preserving their health and beauty. May I be allowed to quote on this sub-complexion, &c. These are dangers which inject, a few lines from a celebrated writer on cookery and pastry, to whom the world has been indebted for the best works that have ever been composed on the alimentary art: cessantly arise, and which nothing can ward off. A cook must live in the midst of them, as the soldier in the midst of bullets and bombs; with this difference, however, that for the first, every day is a day of battle, and the combat is almost always unattended with renown, and the name even of the most skilful cook is, alas! generally unknown to the guests who frequent an opu "Cookery has the power of banishing ennui from all ranks; of offering a variety of amusements; of giving a gentle and salutary exercise to the human frame; of promoting a free circulation of the blood, from which we acquire ap-lent table. petite, strength and gaiety; of reuniting our It belongs to the Amphitryon, who wishes that friends; and tends to the perfection of that art, his table should retain its pre-eminence, to remedy known and revered ever since the darkest ages this injustice. If he wishes to be uniformly well of antiquity, and which on that account de-served, his cook ought to be his best friend. He serves some attention from all those who compose society. must tenderly watch over his health; he must bestow on him those little attentions, which an honest and grateful heart knows so well how to appreciate, and above all things he must often make him take physic! "Amiable fair ones, who are suffering under the affliction of ill health or ennui, quit the destructive couch, which consumes the spring of your days; and let those moulds, destined for the purpose of forming innumerable delicacies, be no longer grasped by hands that are often disgusting, but let sugar, jessamine and roses be united by hands of the graces, and your offer-and refuse to credit how the delicacies of a table At this word, we anticipate that many of our readers will start with astonishment, and deny that any connexion can possibly exist between an artist in cookery and an apothecary's shop, |