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Church, with the steeple, fired 1561: consequently this is the oldest view of London extant. Over the Tower Gates from the hill, are two towers since gone. Behind the Tower is the only view we have of Grace Dieu Abbey, in the Minories, with four towers and two or three spires. Above this is a spired church; also a dome, with four towers or chimneys lower down. To the left of the view is seen the fine pinnacled tower and church of St. Mary Overie.

The Bridge is covered with buildings, and its appearance may be described nearly in the words of a descriptive eulogy attached to a very curious view, executed by Norden, about the end of Queen Elizabeth's reign, but not published till the latter part of that of James I.:

Light as the foam when Venus leaves the wave,
Or blossoms fluttering over April's grave.
The trembling stalk but just declines its head.
Mark on you rose lights the celestial tread-
Sweet Ariel floats above her as she springs,
And wafts the flying fair, and bends her wings.
Now wreath'd in radiant smiles she seems to glide
With buoyant footsteps like Favonius' bride,
Or Psyche, zephyr-borne, to Cupid's blushing side.
Her light symar in lucid beauty streams,
Of woven air, so thin the texture seems.
Round her small waste the zone young Iris binds,
And gives the sandals that command the winds.
A thousand voices challenge music's throne.
Daughter of Air! this empire is thine own:
Here Taglioni reigns, uurivall'd and alone!

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Ancient and Modern Arms of the City of London.)

Notes of a Reader.

TAGLIONI.

PICTURE OF MORNING.

A VALE of beauty!-lo! the morn In clouds of crimson radiance born, Hath risen from the couch of night, And fills the air with fresh delight; While hues, like harmonies that range The world of sound with lovely change,In varied lustre o'er the sky Awaken, mingle, melt, and die; Till full-orb'd ou his flaming throne The Sun-king is beheld alone! And, blue as Baltic waves asleep, Before him lies a dazzling sweep Of azure, in its deep excess Of morn-created loveliness !

(From a Poem by the Rev. J. Mitford, prefixed to his
New Edition of the Works of PARNELL.)
ONE moment linger! lo, from Venus' bowers
Descends the youngest of the roseate hours:
She comes, in all her blushing beauty borne,
From the fair mountains of the purple morn.
Aurora's self! what time her brow resumes
The bright refulgence of its golden plumes.
Sylph of the earth! the sky! and oh, as fair
And beauteous as the sisters of the air.
In that sweet form what varied graces meet,
Love in her eye, and music in her feet!
Light as the bounding fawn along the lea,
Or blithe bird glancing on the summer tree;

How exquisite this breathing hour!-
As though awhile some choral bower,
Where cherubim partake repose,
Its crystal gates did half unclose,
Till fragments of delicious sound
Came wafted on the winds around,
And bloom and balm to uature giv'n
Made earth a momentary heaven!-
Hark! to the choir of yonder wood,
Where life exults in solitude:
On each unrifled bough is heard
The lay of some melodious bird,
And young-wing'd breezes as they float
From brook and meadow learn a note;
And streams like tides of gladness flow,
And in the air there dwells a glow
Of elemental youth and joy,

Unchill'd by one corrupt alloy.-
How dazzlingly with rosy dies
The fairies of the field arise!

And flutter on their insect wings,

As each a song of matin sings;

And where around the glitt'ring blade

A liquid web of dew is laid,

As early peasants' footsteps pass,-
How greenly shines the shaken grass!
While many a lark from out the ground
Is startled, like a magic sound
That ere the sense be half aware
Is kindled by the harp of air!

And list! from out yon village dell,
Upon the breeze, in broken swell,
The goings-on of life begin

To charm the ear with social din.
The creak of hill-ascending wain,
The shout of some exulting swain,
The watch-dog baying far behind,
The mill-sounds hoarse upon the wind,
With voices from the child or crone,-
Are all in gay confusion thrown!
And travel on the morning breeze
With notes whose human echoes please.
From the thatch'd chimney now have broke
The tinted wreaths of cottage smoke,-
Ascending delicately bright,
And braided by a golden light,
Like air-wing'd hopes they glide away,
Commingling with the boundless day!
And see, amid the straw-roof'd throng
Of homes that to yon dale belong,-

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KITCHEN ORTHOGRAPHY.

[MR. THEODORE HOOK, in his novel, The Parson's Daughter, is unusually sparing of his satire on the people who "eat peas with a knife, and burn tallow candles," but the reader must not expect to find their sins against propriety altogether overlooked; nor, has the author spared lower grades; for, to aid the working of the plot, he makes one of the leading characters avail herself of the following letter, written by the red-elbowed correspondent of Robert the footman: she wrote about him and about herself, to show the interest she took in him; and to maintain the interest which she truly believed he felt about her. But, in order to entertain him and exhibit the versatility of her own genius, she mixed in her letters much information upon "affairs in general," to which, it must however be admitted, she was more particularly induced, by the solicitude of Robert to "tell hime something of what's going on:"]

"Dale Cottage. "DEER ROBERT,-Yours of Sunday cum safe to and,-I am mutch obligged to yew for hall yew say, as well as for Missus Alls civilarity; ples mak my ruspecks too her, and ope she is wel. as for youre aving ad my air put into a lochete, i niver cud ave thot of sich a thing and shall never foggit it.

"Yew ask me for noose, noose here is scace. This place isn't the same since yew went. The Squirr is at the all, but no sich doins as wen Missis Arbottle was there -all mail creturs now, not a phemale cums nigh the plaice, and the Squirr always inhebrewated. Miss Ollis is gon to toun with her brother George-they say to be marred to some rich man; but this I think is all fuge, and bleve the Squirr is not so thick with Ollis as eretofore, and as hordered them of. Mister Ollis was very much shagreened at their suppuration.

"Miss Hemmer Lovell is returned, but not Missis Arbottle, which has said she shall nivir come back to the Squirr, because thy say he beet her, the nite she went away in

the morning-and thy say she was so black and blu with the brewses that she would not take Missus Deffon with hur on account she shud not see the whales wich were to be seen playing round her boddy. Miss Hemmer has not cum aloan. she has brote home a bow wich I hav not seen. a french lordI here he is very ansum ane that Miss Hemmer is very fond of him-her maid you now is as close as whacks and theres no gitin nothing out of her, speshally to sich as me-wot she is amungst the ladys I can't say, but I sed to her yestardy nowing ow fond Miss Hemmer is of Lord W. that I was afrayed she was cockgetting about with this french nobbelman, and she laffed phit to kill husself. wech I tuk to meen that eyes right in my conjectures howsewver Robert i never middles nor mucks wich i am sewer is the whysest whey.

"We ad a goose on Micclemus day wich pot me so in mind of yew, because of what yew used to say aboat good luck; and we drunk hall habsent frends. incloodeng my Lord and my Lady Phransis wich i ope is in jude ealth as I am at present. an so is the knary burds and the vergin knyhtangull wich as a been malting but as now in eye pheathir.

"So jood bye, send me sum noose of your sylph and wen yew think it lickly yeu shall cum here, for I feel quit dissolute without yew and mop aboat all day for your saksins the Squirr has begun to shoote the Peasants on his hestate, there is more cumpunny at the All and several grums and helpers hat the Gorges but I never goes out of the gait, except in the ducks of the heavening praps to Mrs. Hervens for hany triffling thinks we -the hold ooman and i are good frends. and if we ad yewer sockity I shud be ass apie has the dey is long. Adoo, no more at presant. give mi luv and komps to Missus All from yewers truly and fatfully

wants

"MARY GREEN."

[This caricatura orthography is preposterous; but then, to be sure, its production must have cost the writer some pains.]

SONG.

Oн think not, when my brow is calm,
My eye undimm'd is seen,
That Peace hath shed her heavenly balm
Upon the soul within ;

Nor deem that grief can only dwell
Where sorrow casts a cloud-
That hearts alone a pang can feel

Who tell their woes aloud.
Like sunny streams, when Winter's chill
Hath check'd them in their pride,
When clear, and cold, and calmer still
Now sleeps the marble tide,
Beneath the icy waste the wave
Is living still below-
The current yet will sink and heave,

Though none behold it flow. And thus the eye may beam the while As wont in happier daysThe brow may wear the clear calm smile That speaks a mind at ease;

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DOMESTIC LUXURIES AT THE ACCESSION OF CHARLES I.

THE progress of luxury in dress, diet, furniture, and decorations of every kind, had fully kept pace with the extension of commerce and the increase of national wealth. In the article of court-dresses, especially those of men, the extravagance was such as no succeeding times have attempted to emulate. King James, amongst his other weaknesses, had a childish admiration of what was then called bravery. His favourites could scarcely by their utmost efforts satisfy his demands upon them for splendour and variety in their personal decorations; and the common phrase of a man's "wearing his estate on his back," hyperbolical as it sounds in modern ears, could scarcely be called an exaggeration at a time when a court suit of the Duke of Buckingham's was estimated at 80,0007.

In their state entertainments, the tables of the great groaned under lofty piles of dishes of massy silver, replenished with the most delicate as well as substantial viands, the cost of which was enhanced by a wonderfully elaborate art of confectionary, and by the lavish use of ambergris, and sometimes of musks and other scents, to fume and flavour the meats and wines. In conformity with this mode, Milton describes,

"A table richly spread in regal mode,

and

With dishes piled and meats of noblest sort And savor, beasts of chace or fowl of game, In pastry built, or from the spit, or boil'd, Gris-amber steam'd

"the wine

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That fragrant smell diffused."❤ Thus also Beaumont and Fletcher:

"Be sure The wines be lusty, light, and full of spirit, And amber'd all." + Magisterial of pearl was likewise employed as an article of cookery. It is observable, however, that whilst the court gave the example of this wantonness and absurdity of pomp and luxury, the simple old English hospitality in its primitive forms was still maintained by the independent portion of the nobility, who lived secluded in their own demesnes, in the midst of hereditary tenants and retainers.

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The courtly poet Carew, several years after the accession of Charles I., thus describes in an epistle the feasting in the great hall of Wrest, the seat of the Earls of Kent, in Bedfordshire, which he describes as a mansion unadorned with carved marble or porphyry, with lofty chimney-pieces, or Doric or Corinthian pillars, but built for "hospitality."

"The lord and lady of this place delight Rather to be in act than seem in sight. Instead of statues to adorn their wall,

They throng with living men their merry hall, Where, at large tables fill'd with wholesome meats The servant, tenant, and kind neighbour eats : Some of that rank, spun of a finer thread, Are with the women, steward, and chaplain, fed With daintier cates; others of better note, Whom wealth, parts, office, or the herald's coat Have sever'd from the common, freely sit At the lord's table, whose spread sides admit A large access of friends to fill those seats Of his capacious sickle, fill'd with meats Of choicest relish, till his oaken back Under the load of piled-up dishes crack.” The nobility and leading gentry of a former age, whose rude ideas of grandeur were comprised in a retinue of two or three hundred servants and retainers, and a mansion capable of lodging and entertaining half a county, had reared enormous piles of building, court behind court, with long suites of galleries and saloons, which when built they knew not how suitably to furnish or adorn; but taste and luxury were now busily at work upon their decoration."

Under the patronage of King James, Sir Francis Crane had established, at Mortlake, in Surrey, a manufactory, where the weaving of tapestry was carried to great perfection: designs both in history and grotesque being supplied by a native of Denmark, named Cleyne, an admirable artist, patronized by the prince. In costliness, its fabrics must apparently have vied with the finest of the Netherlands. Charles, in the first year of his reign, acknowledged a debt to Crane of 6,000l., for three sets of "gold hangings.' Archbishop Williams paid him 2,5007. for a piece representing the Four Seasons; and the more affluent of the nobility purchased of him, at proportional prices, various rich hangings "wrought in silk.”

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Foreign artists of considerable eminence were employed to paint walls, staircases, and ceilings with figures and arabesques, and collections of pictures began to be formed. Fine carving and gilding was bestowed on various articles of furniture; and with such profusion were the richest materials brought into use, that state beds of gold and silver tissue, embroidered velvet, or silk damask fringed with gold; silk carpets from Persia ; toilets covered with ornamental pieces of dressing plate; tables of massy silver, richly embossed with figures; and enormons cabinets elaborately carved in ebony, became the familiar ornaments of the principal manCurved dining-table.

sions. Inigo Jones, with taste matured by a second residence in Italy, had begun to supply designs of edifices, both public and private, in which the Greek or Roman style, in its purity and beauty, had superseded the incongruous mixtures of his earlier works; and King James, purposing to commit to him the task of rebuilding the ancient palace of Whitehall, had already caused him to execute the only part of the building which was ever completed: that noble banqueting house, on the ceiling of which Rubens afterwards painted the apotheosis of the monarch. The art of sculpture could scarcely be said to exist in the land. Tombs and monuments executed by mere masons and stonecutters, and gaudily bedecked with colours and gilding, marked the miserable declension of this branch since those ages when the arts and artists of Rome had found free entrance as followers in the train of her religion. But the deficiency was felt, and steps had already been taken for enriching the country with a store of those immortal models bequeathed to the world by Grecian antiquity.

Miss Aikin's Memoirs of Charles I.

Spirit of Discovery.

INDIAN RUBBER.

Ar the Royal Institution, Mr. Brockedon lately gave an interesting lecture upon the properties and present applications of caoutchouc, or Indian rubber, the former uses of which were only for the rubbing out of pencil marks. It was introduced into this country about a hundred years since, and is now extensively used for making water-proof clothes, and elastic materials of every description. It is particularly adapted to surgical bandages, and all materials where an equal pressure is required, which can be regulated by the wearer. The lecturer stated that he was much indebted for the substance of his lecture, and the materials furnished, to Messrs. Cornish and Co., of Holloway, who have a very extensive factory. The Indian rubber is cut into fine threads, by machinery; and so rapid is the rate of the machine, that two girls, by the aid of steam-power, can cut into threads, not much coarser than thick sewing thread, 240,000 yards per day, 8,000 yards of which weigh a pound. A curious experiment was also exhibited-the strengthening of unsound Indian rubber; a strand of thread of which broke upon the smallest tension; the same strand being dipped in a solution, immediately became perfectly strong. The lecturer stated himself unacquainted with the secret of this solution, the result of which was most important to its possessors. The machinery and secret mode of strengthening the Indian rubber was the invention of Mr. Sievier, the sculptor. Whale fishing-lines,

elastic cables and ropes, were exhibited, and their uses ably illustrated, by the lecturer.

The Public Journals.

LORD BYRON.

(From Lady Blessington's Conversations.) TALKING of his proposed expedition to Greece, Byron said that, as the moment approached for undertaking it, he almost wished he had never thought of it. "This (said Byron) is one of the many scrapes into which my poetical temperament has drawn me. You smile; but it is nevertheless true. No man, or woman either, with such a temperament, can be quiet. Passion is the element in which we live; and without it we but vegetate. All the passions have governed me in turn, and I have found them the veriest tyrants;-like all slaves, I have reviled my masters, but submitted to the yoke they imposed. I had hoped (continued Byron) that avarice, that old gentlemanly vice, would, like Aaron's serpent, have swallowed up all the rest in me, and that now I am descending into the vale of years, I might have found pleasure in golden realities, as in youth I found it in golden dreams, (and let me tell you, that, of all the passions, this same decried avarice is the most consolatory, and, in nine cases out of ten, lasts the longest, and is the latest,) when up springs a new passion, -call it love of liberty, military ardour, or what you will, to disgust me with my strong box, and the comfortable contemplation of my moneys,-nay, to create wings for my golden darlings, that may waft them away from me for ever; and I may awaken to find that this, my present ruling passion, as I have always found my last, was the most worthless of all, with the soothing reflection that it has left me minus some thousands. But I am fairly in for it, and it is useless to repine; but, I repeat, this scrape, which may be my last, has been caused by my poetical temperament."

"It is odd (said Byron) that I never could get on well in conversation with literary men: they always seemed to think themselves obliged to pay some neat and appropriate compliment to my last work, which I, as in duty bound, was compelled to respond to, and bepraise theirs. They never appeared quite satified with my faint praise, and I was far from being satisfied at having been forced to administer it; so mutual constraint ensued, each wondering what was to come next, and wishing each other (at least I can answer for myself) at the devil. Now Scott, though a giant in literature, is unlike literary men; he neither expects compliments nor pays them in conversation. There is a sincerity and simplicity in his character and manner that stamp any com

mendation of his as truth, and any praise one might offer him must fall short of his deserts; so that there is no géne in his society. There is nothing in him that gives the impression I have so often had of others, who seemed to say, I praise you that you may do the same by me. Moore is a delightful companion (continued Byron;) gay, without being boisterous, witty, without effort, comic without coarseness, and sentimental without being lachrymose. He reminds one (continued Byron) of the fairy, who, whenever she spoke, let diamonds fall from her lips. My téte-à-téte suppers with Moore are among the most agreeable impressions I retain of the hours passed in London: they are the redeeming lights in the gloomy picture; but they were

"Like angel visits, few and far between;" for the great defect in my friend Tom is a sort of fidgety unsettledness, that prevents his giving himself up, con amore, to any one friend, because he is apt to think he might be more happy with another: he has the organ of locomotiveness largely developed, as a phrenologist would say, and would like to be at three places instead of one. I always felt, with Moore, the desire Johnson expressed, to be shut up in a post-chaise, téte-à-téte with a pleasant companion, to be quite sure of him. He must be delightful in a countryhouse, at a safe distance from any other inviting one, when one could have him really to one's self, and enjoy his conversation and his singing, without the perpetual fear that he is expected at Lady this or Lady that's, or the being reminded that he promised to look in at Lansdowne House or Grosvenor Square. The wonder is, not that he is récherche, but that he wastes himself on those who can so little appreciate him, though they value the eclat his reputation gives to their stupid soirees. I have known a dull man live on a bon-mot of Moore's for a week; and I once offered a wager of a considerable sum that the reciter was guilt less of understanding its point, but could get no one to accept my bet.

"Do you know ?(asked Byron). He is the king of prosers; I called him he of the thousand tales, in humble imitation of Boccaccio, whom I styled he of the hundred

tales of love mais helas! -'s are not tales of love, or that beget love; they are born of dulness, and inciting sleep, they produce the same effect on the senses that

the monotonous sound of a waterfall never fails to have on mine. With one is

afraid to speak, because whatever is said is sure to bring forth a reminiscence, that as surely leads to interminable recollections,

Dull as the dreams of him who swills vile beer.' Thus (continued Byron), is so honourable and well-intentioned a man that one

can find nothing bad to say of him, except that he is a bore; and as there is no law against that class of offenders, one must bear with him. It is to be hoped, that, with all the modern improvements in refinement, a mode will be discovered of getting rid of bores, for it is too bad that a poor wretch can be punished for stealing your pocket-handkerchief or gloves, and that no punishment can be inflicted on those who steal your time, and with it your temper and patience, as well as the bright thoughts that might have entered into the mind, (like the Irishman who lost a fortune before he had got it) but were frighted away by the bore. * * ****I have known people who were incapable of saying the least unkind word against friends, and yet who listened with evident (though attempted to be suppressed) pleasure to the malicious jokes or witty sarcasms of others against them; a proof that, even in the best people, some taints of the think I am wrong (continued Byron) in my original evil of our natures remain. You estimate of human nature; you think I analyze my own evil qualities and those of others have need of self-examination to reconcile me too closely, and judge them too severely. I to all the incongruities I discover, and to make me more lenient to faults that my from the consciousness of its own weakness." tongue censures, but that my heart pardons,

"It is no wonder (said Byron) that I am considered a demon, when people have taken it into their heads that I am the hero of all

my own tales in verse. They fancy one can one's self, and forget the power that persons only describe what has actually occurred to themselves, for the time being, with the of any imagination possess of identifying creations of their fancy. This is a peculiar distinction conferred on me, for I have heard of no other poet who has been identified with his works. I saw the other day (said Byron) in one of the papers a fanciful simile that Moore's poems appeared as if they ought about Moore's writings and mine. It stated to be written with crow-quills, on rose-coloured paper, stamped with Cupids and flowers; and mine on asbestos, written by quills from the wing of an eagle ;—you laugh, but I think far as I am concerned, it quite consoles me this a very sublime comparison,—at least, so for 'chantre d'enfer.' By the by, the French poet is neither a philosopher nor a logician, doubt that there is an enfer, ergo, I cannot as he dubs me by this title merely because I be styled the chantre of a place of which I doubt the existence. I dislike French verse so much (said Byron) that I have not read more than a few lines of the one in which I am dragged into public view. He calls me, (said Byron,) Esprit mystérieux, mortel, ange ou démon;' which I call very uncivil, for a well-bred Frenchman, and moreover one

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