The Mirror of Literature, Amusement, and Instruction | Page 3

intelligent correspondents inform me why there is an
elder tree in all the Palace Gardens?
There is at the back of Old London Bridge, on this side, a street called
"Labour in Vain Hill:" not from the height, but from a stone, on which
are engraved two figures washing a blackamoor.
GEO. ST. CLAIR.
_Dean-street, Soho._
* * * * *
I do not know where your indefatigable correspondent Zanga
discovered his curious "Historical Fact," detailed in No. 471 of _The
Mirror_: it is highly amusing, but unfortunately void of truth. The wife
of the first Earl of Clarendon was Frances, daughter of Sir Thomas
Aylesbury, Bart. (now extinct) one of the Masters of Request; by whom
he had issue four sons--viz. Henry, his successor; Lawrence, created
Earl of Rochester; Edward, who died unmarried; and James, who was
drowned while going to Scotland in the Gloucester frigate: also two
daughters--viz. Ann, wife of James, Duke of York, afterwards James II.,
and Frances, married to Thomas Knightly, created a Knight of the Bath.
HENRY CARR.
* * * * *

SELECT BIOGRAPHY.
* * * * *
MEMOIR OF TAM O'SHANTER.
(_For the Mirror._)
Thomas Reid, so celebrated as Tam O'Shanter by Burns, was born in
the Kyle of Ayrshire. His first entrance into active life was in the
capacity of ploughboy to William Burns, the father of the poet, whom
Thomas described as a man of great capacity, as being very fond of an
argument, of rigid morals, and a strict disciplinarian--so much so, that
when the labours of the day were over, the whole family sat down by
the blazing "ha' ingle," and upon no pretence whatever could any of the
inmates leave the house after night. This was a circumstance that was
not altogether to Thomas's liking. He had heard other ploughboys with
rapture recount scenes of rustic jollity, which had fallen in their way,
while out on nocturnal visits to the fair daughters or servant girls of the
neighbouring farmers--scenes of which he was practically ignorant.
And more--he had become acquainted with a young woman he had met
at Maybole Fair; and having promised to call upon her at her father's
house, owing to his master's regularity of housekeeping, he had found it
totally impracticable.
To have one night's sport was his nightly and daily study for a long
time. It so happened that his mistress about this time was brought to
bed. Thomas hailed the bustle of that happy period as a fit time to
compass his long meditated visit. Mrs. Burns lay in the spence. The
gossips were met around the kitchen fire, listening to the howling of the
storm which raged without, and thundered down the chimney: it was a
January blast. Thomas kept his eye upon his master, who, with clasped
"hands and uplifted eyes, sat in the muckle chair in the ingle neuk," as
if engaged in supplication at the Throne of Grace for the safety of his
wife and child. Thomas drew his chair nearer the door, and upon some
little bustle in the kitchen, he reached the hallen, and was just emerging

into darkness, when the hoarse voice of the angry Burns rung in the
ears of the almost petrified ploughboy, "Where awa', Tam?"
"The auld doure whalp," muttered Tam, as he shut the door and
resumed his stocking; "I was gaun to the door to see if the win' was
tirring the thack aff the riggin."
"Thou needs na gang to look the night," cried the rigid overseer of
Doonholm, "when it is sae mirk, thou coudna' see thy finger afore
thee." It was indeed "a waefu' nicht." Such a night as this might give
rise to these admirable lines of that bard, about to be ushered into the
world--
"That night a child might understand The deil had business on his
hand."
It was a little before the now pensive and thoughtful Burns was given
to understand that a son was born unto him, as
"The wind blew as 'twad blawn its last,
that a horrid crash was heard; a shriek rose from the affrighted women,
as they drew their chairs nearer the fire. "The ghaists and howlets that
nightly cry about the ruins o' Alloway's auld haunted kirk" rose on
every imagination. The gudeman rose from his chair, lighted a lantern,
commanded Thomas to follow him, and left the house. The case was
this--the gable of the byre had been blown down, which, as it was of his
own building, was not of the most durable nature.
In due time the joyful father had his first-born son laid in his arms: his
joy knew no bounds. The bicker was now sent round with increasing
rapidity; and Thomas, then in his fourteenth year, was carried to his bed,
to use