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Church, with the steeple, fired 1561 : con- Light as the foam when Venus leaves the wave, sequently this is the oldest view of London

Or blossoms tluttering over April's grave. extant. Over the Tower Gates from the hill, The trembling stalk but just declines its head.

Mark on you rose lights the celestial treadare two towers since gone. Behind the Tower Sweet Ariel floats above her as she springe, is the only view we have of Grace Dieu Abbey, And wafts the fying fair, and bends her wings.

Now wreath'd in radiant smiles she seems to glide in the Minories, with four towers and two or

With buoyant footsteps like Favonius' bride, three spires. Above this is a spired church; Or Psyche, zephyr-borne, to Cupid's blushing side. also a dome, with four towers or chimneys Her light symar in lucid beauty streams, lower down. To the left of the view is seen

Of woven air, so thin the texture seems.

Round her small waste the zone young Iris binds, the fine pinnacled tower and church of St.

gives the sandals that command the winds. Mary Overie.

A thousand voices challenge music's throne. The Bridge is covered with buildings, and Daughter of Air ! this empire is thine own:

Here Taglioni reigns, uvrivall’d and alone! its appearance may be described nearly in the words of a descriptive eulogy attached to

PICTURE OF MORNING. a very curious view, executed by Norden, about the end of Queen Elizabeth's reign, A VALE of beauty !-lol the morn

In clouds of crimson radiance born, but not published till the latter part of that

Hath risen from the couch of night, of James I. :

And fills the air with fresh delight; “ This famous Bridge is adorned with While hues, like harmonies that range

The world of sound with lovely change,sumptuous buildings, and statelie and beauti

In varied lustre o'er the sky full houses on either side, inhabited by wealthy

Awaken, mingle, melt, and die ; citizens, and furnished with all manner of Till full-orb'd ou his flaming throne trades, comparable in it selfe to a little citie, The Sun-king is beheld alone!

And, blue as Baltic waves asleep, whose buildings are so artificially contriued, Before him lies a dazzling sweep and so firmly

combined, as it seemeth more Of azure, in its deep excess than an ordinary streete; for it is as one con- Of morn-created loveliness |-tinuall vaute or roofe, except certain void How exquisite this breathing hour! places, reserved from buildings, for the retire

As though awhile some choral bower,

Where cherubim partake repose, of passengers from the danger of carres, carts

Its crystal gates did half unclose, and droues of cattle, vsually passing that Till fragments of delicious sound way. The vaults, sellers, and places in the Came wafted on the winds around,

And bloom and balm to uature giv'u bowels, as it were, of the same Bridge, are

Made earth a momentary heaveur ! many and admirable, which arte cannot dis- Hark! to the choir of yonder wood, cover to the outward view.”

Where life exults in solitude : Annexed to the print already described, by

On each unrifled bough is heard

The lay of some melodious bird,
way of vignette, is the subjoined represen. And young-wing a breezes as they float
tation of the

From brook and meadow learn a note;
And streams like tides of gladness flow,
Aud in the air there dwells a glow
Of elemental youth and joy,
Unchillid 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 mauy a lark from out the ground
Is startled, like a magic sound

That ere the sense be half aware
Ancient and Modern Arms of the City of London.)

Is kindled by the harp of air !

And list! from out yon village dell,

Upon the breeze, in broken swell,
Notes of a Reader.

The goings-on of life begin

To charm the ear with social din.
TAGLIONI.

The creak of hill-ascending wain,

The shout of some exulting swain, (From a Poem by the Rev. J. Mitford, prefixed to his The watch-dog baying far behind, New Edition of the Works of PĀRNELL.)

The mill-sounds hoarse upon the wind, ONE moment linger! lo, from Venus' bowers

With voices from the child or crone,Descends the youngest of the roseate hours :

Are all in gay confusion thrown! She comes, in all her blushing beauty borne,

And travel on tire moruing breeze From the fair mountains of the purple morn.

With notes whose human echoes please. Aurora's self! what time her brow resumes

From the thatch'd chimney now have broke The bright refulgence of its golden plumes.

The tinted wreaths

of cottage smoke, Sylph of the earth! the sky and oh, as fair

Ascending delicately bright, And beauteous as the sisters of the air.

And braided by a golden light, In that sweet form what varied graces meet,

Like air-wing'd hopes they glide away, Love in her eye, and music in her feet !

Commingling with the boundless day! Light as the bounding fawn along the lea,

And see, amid the straw-roofd throng Or blithe bird glancing on the summer tree;

Of homes that to yon dale belong,

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KITCHEN ORTHOGRAPHY,

As dwelt the patriarch on the plain,

the morning—and thy say she was so black Surrounded by his pastoral train,

and blu with the brewses that she would not A mansion smiles; whose neater state, Though unallied to proud or great,

take Missus Deffon with hur on account she A central grace around it throws,

shud not see the whales wich were to be And o'er each cot a charm bestows.

seen playing round her boddy. Miss HemEmbower'd in laurels, green and calm,

mer has not cum aloan. she has brote home To view it yields the eye a balm ! But, when at eve its garden hath

a bow wich I hav not seen. a french lordA lustre on each lilied path;

I here he is very ansum ane that Miss Hem. When bough, and branch, and grape-hung vine,

mer is

very fond of him-her maid you now In rays of pensive beauty shine, Whi gladsome bee, and quiring bird,

is as close as whacks and theres no gitin And leafy souy, are faintly heard,

nothing out of her, speshally to sich as meMore lovely than a dream-built dome

wot she is amungst the ladys I can't say, but Appears that hush'd and heavenly home! There often hath the worldling cast

I sed to her yestardy nowing ow fond Miss A longing eye, ere on he past,

Hemmer is of Lord W. that I was afrayed Aud while it wander'd o'er the scene,

she was cockgetting about with this french Mused-oh! that such my own had been !

nobbelman, and she laffed phit to kill husWomun-by R. Montgomery.

self. wech I tuk to meen that eyes right in my conjectures howsewver Robert i never

middles nor mucks wich i am sewer is the [MR. THEODORE Hook, in his novel, The whysest whey. Parson's Daughter, is unusually sparing of "We ad a goose on Micclemus day wich his satire on the people who “eat peas with pot me so in mind of yew, because of what a koife, and burn tallow candles, but the yew used to say aboat good luck; and we reader must not expect to find their sins drunk hall habsent frends. incloodeng my against propriety altogether overlooked; nor, Lord and my Lady Phransis wich i ope is in has the author spared lower grades ; for, to aid jude ealth as I am at present. an so is the the working of the plot, he makes one of the knary burds and the vergin knyhtangull wich leading characters avail herself of the follow- as a been malting but as now in eye pheathir. ing letter, written by the red-elbowed corres- “So jood bye, send me sum noose of your pondent of Robert the footman : she wrote sylph and wen yew think it lickly yeu shall about him and about herself, to show the cum here, for I feel quit dissolute without interest she took in him; and to maintain yew and mop aboat all day for your sakthe interest which she truly believed he felt sins the Squirr has begun to shoote the Peaabout her. But, in order to entertain him sants on his hestate, there is more cumpunny and exhibit the versatility of her own genius, at the All and several grums and helpers hat she mixed in her letters much information the Gorges but I never goes out of she gait, upon "affairs in general,” to which, it must except in the ducks of the heavening praps however be admitted, she was more particu- to Mrs. Hervens for hany triffling thinks we larly induced, by the solicitude of Robert to wants - the hold ooman and i are good " tell hime something of what's going on:"] frends. and if we ad yewer sockity I shud be

“Dale Cottage.

ass apie has the dey is long. Adoo, no more “DEER Robert,-Yours of Sunday cum at presant. give mi luv and komps to Missus safe to and,-I am mutch obligged to yew All from yewers truly and fatfully for hall yew say, as well as for Missus Alls

“ MARY GREEN." civilarity; ples mak my ruspecks too her, and [This caricatura orthography is preposteope she is wel.

as for youre aving ad my air rous; but then, to be sure, its production put into a lochete, i niver cud ave thot of must have cost the writer some pains.] sich a thing and shall never foggit it. “ Yew ask me for noose, noose here is This place isn't the same since

Oh think not, when my brow is calm,

My eye undimm'd is seen, yew went. The Squirr is at the all, but no

That Peace hath shed her heavenly balm sich doins as wen Missis Arbottle was there

Upon the soul within; -all mail creturs now, not a phemale cums

Nor deem that grief can only dwell

Where sorrow casts a cloud nigh the plaice, and the Squirr always inhe

That hearts alone a pang can feel brewated. Miss Ollis is gon to toun with

Who tell their woes aloud. her brother George—they say to be marred Like sunny streams, when Winter's chill to some rich man; but this I think is all

Hath check'd them in their pride, fuge, and bleve the Squirr is not so thick with

When clear, and cold, and calmer still Ollis as eretofore, and as hordered them of.

Now sleeps the marble tide,

Beneath the icy waste the wave Mister Ollis was very much shagreened at Is living still below their suppuration.

The current yet will sink and heave, “ Miss Hemmer Lovell is returned, but

Though none behold it flow. not Missis Arbottle, which has said she shall

And thus the eye may beam the while

As wont in happier daysnivir come back to the Squirr, because thy

The brow may wear the clear calm smile say he beet her, the nite she went away in

That speaks a mind at ease;

SONG.

scace.

ACCESSION OF

DOMESTIC LUXURIES AT THE

CHARLES I.

And none may learn, that deep within

The courtly poet Carew, several years after The heart lies bleeding there,

the accession of Charles I., thus describes in That Joy's reflection is but seen Held frozen in despair.

an epistle the feasting in the great hall of No smile that beams from sunniest eyes

Wrest, the seat of the Earls of Kent, in Bed. Can kindle Transport's glows,

fordshire, which he describes as a mansion No sigh can break, no tear surprise,

unadorned with carved marble or porphyry, My fix'd and chill repose : The gloomless brow shall still conceal

with lofty chimney-pieces, or Doric or Corin. The wakeful heart beneath;

thian pillars, but built for “ hospitality.” No rising throb shall e'er reveal

“ The lord and lady of this place delight
Its swift dark course to death.

Rather to be in act than seem in sight.
Cobbett's Magazine. 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,
The progress of luxury in dress, diet, furni- Are with the women, steward, and chaplain, fed

With daintier cates; others of better note, ture, and decorations of every kind, had fully

Whom wealth, parts, office, or the herald's coat kept pace with the extension of commerce Have sever'd from the common, freely sit and the increase of national wealth. In the At the lord's table, whose spread sides admit

A large access of friends to fill those seats article of court-dresses, especially those of

Of his capacious sickle, I fill'd with meats men, the extravagance was such as no suc- Of choicest relish, till his oaken back ceeding times have attempted to emulate. Under the load of piled-up dishes crack.” King James, amongst his other weakuesses, The nobility and leading gentry of a former had a childish admiration of what was then age, whose rude ideas of grandeur were com. called bravery. His favourites could scarcely prised in a retinue of two or three hundred by their utmost efforts satisfy his demands servants and retainers, and a mansion capaupon them for splendour and variety in their ble of lodging and entertaining half a county, personal decorations; and the common phrase had reared enormous piles of building, court of a man's “ wearing his estate on his back,” behind court, with long suites of galleries and hyperbolical as it sounds in modern ears, saloons, which when built they knew not could scarcely be called an exaggeration at a how suitably to furnish or adorn; but taste time when a court suit of the Duke of Buck- and luxury were now busily at work upon ingham's was estimated at 80,0001.

their decoration." In their state entertainments, the tables of Under the patronage of King James, Sir the great groaned under lofty piles of dishes Francis Crane had established, at Mortlake, of massy silver, replenished with the most in Surrey, a manufactory, where the weaving delicate as well as substanti viands, the of tapestry was carried to great perfection : cost of which was enhanced by a wonderfully designs both in history and grotesque being elaborate art of confectionary, and by the supplied by a native of Denmark, named lavish use of ambergris, and sometimes of Cleyne, an admirable artist, patronized by musks and other scents, to fume and flavour the prince. In costliness, its fabrics must the meats and wines. In conformity with apparently have vied with the finest of the this mode, Milton describes,

Netherlands. Charles, in the first year of “ A table richly spread in regal mode,

his reign, acknowledged a debt to Crane of With dishes piled and meats of noblest sort 6,0001., for three sets of “gold hangings. And savor, beasts of chace or fowl of game, Archbishop Williams paid him 2,5001, for a In pastry built, or from the spit, or boil'd, Gris-amber steam'd ....

piece representing the Four Seasons; and and

the more affluent of the nobility purchased " the wine

of him, at proportional prices, various rich That fragrant smell diffused."*

hangings "wrought in sisk.” Thus also Beaumont and Fletcher:

Foreign artists of considerable eminence

were employed to paint walls, staircases, and The wines be lusty, light, and full of spirit, ceilings with figures and arabesques, and And amber'd all.” †

collections of pictures began to be formed. Magisterial of pearl was likewise employed Fine carving and gilding was bestowed on as an article of cookery. It is observable, various articles of furniture; and with such however, that whilst the court gave the exam. profusion were the richest materials brought ple of this wantonness and absurdity of pomp into use, that state beds of gold and silver and luxury, the simple old English hospi- tissue, embroidered velvet, or silk damask tality in its primitive forms was still main- fringed with gold ; silk carpets from Persia; tained by the independent portion of the toilets covered with ornamental pieces of nobility, who lived secluded in their own dressing plate ; tables of massy silver, richly demesnes, in the midst of hereditary tenants embossed with figures; and enormons cabiand retainers.

nets elaborately carved in ebony, became the • Par. Regained, B. ii.

familiar ornaments of the principal man+ Custom of the Country, A. iii. Sc. ii.

# Curved dining-table..

« Be sure

LORD BYRON.

INDIAN RUBBER.

sions. Inigo Jones, with taste matured by elastic cables and ropes, were exhibited, and 8 second residence in Italy, had begun to their uses ably illustrated, by the lecturer. supply designs of edifices, both public and private, in which the Greek or Roman style, The Public Dournals. 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

(From Lady Blessington's Conversations.) of Whitehall, had already caused him to TALKING of his proposed expedition to Greece, execute the only part of the building

which Byron said that, as the moment approached was ever completed: that noble banqueting- for undertaking it, he almost wished he had house, on the ceiling of which Rubens after. never thought of it.

“ This (said Byron) is wards painted the apotheosis of the monarch.

one of the many scrapes into which my The art of sculpture could scarcely be said poetical temperament has drawn me. You to exist in the land. Tombs and monu

smile; but it is nevertheless true. No man, ments executed by mere masons and stone.

or woman either, with such a temperament, cutters, and gaudily bedecked with colours can be quiet. Passion is the element in and gilding, marked the miserable declension which we live; and without it we but vegeof this branch since those ages when the arts

tate. All the passions have governed me in and artists of Rome had found free entrance turn, and I have found them the veriest as followers in the train of her religion. But tyrants ;-like all slaves, I have reviled my the deficiency was felt, and steps had already masters, but submitted to the yoke they imbeen taken for enriching the country with à posed. I had hoped (continued Byron) that store of those immortal models bequeathed avarice, that old gentlemanly vice, would, to the world by Grecian antiquity.

like Aaron's serpent, have swallowed up all Miss Aikin's Memoirs of Charles I.

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 Spirit of Discobery.

found it in golden dreams, (and let me tell you, that, of all the passions, this same de

cried avurice is the most consolatory, and, in At the Royal Institution, Mr. Brockedon nine cases out of ten, lasts the longest, and lately gave an interesting lecture upon the is the latest,) when up springs a new passion, properties and present applications of caout- - call it love of liberty, military ardour, or chouc, or Indian rubber, the former uses of what you will,—to disgust me with my which were only for the rubbing out of pencil strong box, and the comfortable contemplamarks. It was introduced into this country tion of my moneys,-nay, to create wings about a hundred years since, and is now ex- for my golden darlings, that may waft them tensively used for making water-proof clothes, away from me for ever; and I may awaken and elastic materials of every description. It to find that this, my present ruling passion, is particularly adapted to surgical bandages, as I have always found my last, was the and all materials where an equal pressure is

most worthless of all, with the soothing required, which can be regulated by the reflection that it has left me minus some

The lecturer stated that he was thousands. But I am fairly in for it, and it much indebted for the substance of his lec. is useless to repine; but, I repeat, this ture, and the materials furnished, to Messrs. scrape, which may be my last, has been Cornish and Co., of Holloway, who have a caused by my poetical temperament.” very extensive factory. The Indian rubber is “ It is odd (said Byron) that I never cut into fine threads, by machinery; and so could get on well in conversation with literapid is the rate of the machine, that two rary men: they always seemed to think girls, by the aid of steam-power, can cut into themselves obliged to pay some neat and threads, not much coarser than thick sewing appropriate compliment to my last work, thread, 240,000 yards per day, 8,000 yards of which I, as in duty bound, was compelled to which weigh a pound. A curious experi- respond to, and bepraise theirs. They never ment was also exhibited—the strengthening appeared quite satified with my faint praise, of unsound Indian rubber; a strand of thread and I was far from being satisfied at having of which broke upon the smallest tension ; been forced to administer it; so mutual the same strand being dipped in a solution, constraint ensued, each wondering what was immediately became perfectly strong. The to come next, and wishing each other (at lecturer stated himself unacquainted with least I can answer for myself) at the devil. the secret of this solution, the result of which Now Scott, though a giant in literature, is was most important to its possessors. The unl literary men; he neither expects machinery and secret mode of strengthening compliments nor pays them in conversation. the Indian rubber was the invention of Mr. There is a sincerity and simplicity in his Sievier, the sculptor. Whale fishing-lines, character and manner that stamp any com

wearer.

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mendation of his as truth, and any praise can find nothing bad to say of hin, except one might offer him must fall short of his that he is a bore; and as there is no lay deserts; so that there is no géne in his against that class of offenders, one must society. There is nothing in him that gives bear with him. It is to be hoped, that, with the impression I have so often had of others, all the modern iinprovements in refinement, who seemed to say, I praise you that you a mode will be discovered of getting rid of may do the same by me. Moore is a delight- bores, for it is too bad that a poor wretch can ful companion (continued Byron ;) gay, be punished for stealing your pocket-handwithout being boisterous, witty, without kerchief or gloves, and that no punishment effort, comic without coarseness, and senti- can be inflicted on those who steal your mental without being lachrymose. He re- time, and with it your temper and patience, minds one (continued Byron) of the fairy, as well as the bright thoughts that might who, whenever she spoke, let diamonds fall have entered into the mind, (like the Irishfrom her lips. My téte-à-téte suppers with man who lost a fortune before he had got Moore are among the most agreeable impres- it) but were frighted away by the bore. ** sions I retain of the hours passed in London: *'* * * I have known people who were they are the redeeming lights in the gloomy incapable of saying the least unkind word picture; but they were

against friends, and yet who listened with “ Like angel visits, few and far between;" evident (though attempted to be suppressed) for the great defect in my friend Tom is a

pleasure to the malicious jokes or witty sarsort of fidgety unsettledness, that prevents even in the best people, some taints of the

casms of others against them; a proof that, his giving himself up, con amore, to any one friend, because he is apt to think he might think I am wrong (continued Byron) in my

original evil of our natures remain. You be more happy with another : he has the estimate of human nature ; you think I anaorgan of locomotiveness largely developed, as a phrenologist would say, and would like lyze my own evil qualities and those of others to be at three places instead of one. I always have need of self-examination to reconcile me

too closely, and judge them too severely. I felt, with Moore, the desire Johnson expressed, to all the incongruities I discover, and to to be shut up in a post-chaise, téte-à-téte make me more lenient to faults that my with a pleasant companion, to be quite sure of him. He must be delightful in a country, from the consciousness of its own weakness.”

tongue censures, but that my heart pardons, house, at a safe distance from any other inviting one, when one could have him considered a demon, when people have taken

“ It is no wonder (said Byron) that I am really to one's self, and enjoy his conversa. it into their heads that I am the hero of all tion and his singing, without the perpetual fear that he is expected at Lady this or Lady my own tales in verse. They fancy one can that's, or the being reminded that he pro- one's self, and forget the power that persons

only describe what has actually occurred to mised to look in at Lansdowne House or

of Grosvenor Square. The wonder is, not that themselves, for the time being, with the

any imagination possess of identifying he is recherche, but that he wastes himself creations of their fancy. This is a peculiar on those who can so little appreciate him, distinction conferred on me, for I have heard though they value the eclat his reputation of no other poet who has been identified gives to their stupid soirees. I have known with his works. I saw the other day (said a dull man live on a bon-mot of Moore's for a week; and I once offered a wager of a

Byron) in one of the papers a fanciful simile considerable sum that the reciter was guilt, that Moore's poems appeared as if they ought

about Moore's writings and mine. It stated less of understanding its point, but could to be written with crow-quills, on rose-coloured get no one to accept my bet.

“ Do you know ? (asked Byron). paper, stamped with Cupids and flowers; and He is the king of prosers ; I called him he mine on asbestos, written by quills from the of the thousand tales, in humble imitation of wing of an eagle ;-—you laugh, but I think Boccaccio, whom I styled he of the hundred far as I am concerned, it quite consoles me

this a very sublime comparison, at least, so tales of love-mais helas! 's are not tales of love, or that beget love ; they are

for chantre d'enfer. By the by, the French born of dulness, and inciting sleep, they as he dubs me by this title merely because I

poet is neither a philosopher nor a logician, produce the same effect on the senses that doubt that there is an enfer, -ergo, I cannot the monotonous sound of a waterfall never fails to have on mine. With

be styled the chantre of a place of which I afraid to speak, because whatever is said is doubt the existence. I dislike French verse sure to bring forth a reminiscence, that as

so much (said Byron) that I have not read

more than a few lines of the one in which I surely leads to interminable recollections,

am dragged into public view. He calls me, • Dull as the dreams of him who swills vile beer.'

(said Byron) · Esprit mystérieux, mortel, Thus (continued Byron), is so ho- ange ou démon; which I call very uncivil, nourable and well-intentioned a man that one for a well-bred Frenchman, and moreover one

one is

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