crown; and assure yourself, if I lose that, I will lose my life too, but I hope to preserve both, do you stand in such a place (pointing to the spot) where you may see the battle, out of danger, and when I have gained the victory come to me, I will then own you to be mine, and take care of you: but if I should lose the battle, then shift as well as you can, and take care to let nobody know that I am your father, for no mercy will be shown to any one so nearly related to me;" that the king gave him a purse of gold and dismissed him; that he followed those directions, and when he saw the battle was lost and the king slain, he hastened to London, sold his horse and his fine clothes, and the better to conceal himself from all suspicion of being the son of a king, and that he might gain a livelihood, he put himself apprentice to a bricklayer, and generally spent his spare time in reading. Sir Thomas, finding him very old, is said to have offered him the run of his kitchen, which he declined, on the ground of his patron having a large family; but asked his permission to build a small house in one of his fields, and this being granted, he built a cottage, and continued in it till his death.

ANTIQUITIES BURLESQUED.

We have often been amused with the different wonders of ancient Rome, but seldom more than with the following piece of antiquarianism burlesqued:

M. Simond, in his Tour in Italy and Sicily, tells us that the Coliseum is too ruinous-that the Egyptian Museum in the Vatican puts him in mind of the five wigs in the barber Figaro's shop-window-that the Apollo Belvidere looks like a broken-backed young gentleman shooting at a target for the amusement of young ladies. Speaking of the Etruscan vases, he says, " As to the alleged elegance of form, I should be inclined to appeal from the present to succeeding generations, when the transformation of every pitcher, milk-pot and butter-pan, into an antique shape, has completely burlesqued away the classical feeling, and restored impartiality to taste."

ABOUT Six or seven-and-twenty years ago, an effort was made to revive the fashion of ladies visiting the House of Commons. The late Queen Caroline, then Princess of Wales, upon one or two occasions made her appearance, with a female attendant, in the side-gallery. The royal visit soon became generally

known, and several other females were tempted to follow the example. Among these was Mrs. Sheridan, the wife of the late Right Honourable Richard Brinsley Sheridan; but this lady, considering herself an intruder, to whose presence, if known, exception might be taken, thought fit to disguise her per son in male attire. Her fine dark hair was combed smooth on her forehead, and made to sit close, in good puritanical trim, while a long, loose, brown coat concealed her feminine proportions. Thus prepared, she took her seat in the Strangers' Gallery, anxious to witness a display of her husband's eloquence; but he did not speak, and the debate proved without any interest. The female aspirants whose taste was thus excited, were, however, confined to a few bluestocking belles, without influence to set the fashion; and the attempt did not succeed.

MOCHA.

THE buildings of Mocha are so white, that it seems as if excavated from a quarry of marble; and this whiteness of the town forms a curious contrast with the blueness of the sea. The materials, however, of which Mocha is constructed, are nothing better than unburnt bricks, plastered over, and whitewashed. The coffee bean is cultivated in the interior, and is thence brought to Mocha for exportation. The Arabs themselves use the husks, which make but an in

ferior infusion. Vegetables are grown round the town, and fruits are brought from Senna; while grain, horses, asses, and sheep, are imported from Abyssinia. There are twelve schools in the town; and, inland, near Senna, there are col

leges, in which the twelve branches of Mohomedan sciences are taught, as is usual in Turkey and India. Arab women marry about the age of sixteen; they are allowed great liberty in visiting

one another, and can divorce their husbands on very slight grounds. Every lady coffee with her, which enables " her to who pays a visit, carries a small bag of enjoy society without putting her friends to expense." Lushington's Journey from Calcutta to Europe.

ENGLISH AND FOREIGN NEWSPAPERS.

EVERY one acquainted with the public press of Europe, must have observed the contrast which a London Newspaper forms with the journals of every other capital in Europe.. The foreign journals never break in upon the privacy of

domestic life. There the fame of parties and dinners is confined to the rooms which constitute their scene, and the names of the individuals who partake of them never travel out of their own circle. How widely different is the practice of the London Journals! A lady of fashion can find no place so secret where she can hide herself from their search. They follow her from town to country, from the country to the town. They trace her from the breakfast-table to the Park, from the Park to the dinner-table, from thence to the Opera or the ball, and from her boudoir to her bed. They trace her every where. She may make as many doubles as a hare, but they are all in vain; it is impossible to escape pursuit; and yet the introduction of female names into the daily newspapers, now so common, is only of modern date. The late Sir Henry Dudley Bate, editor of The Morning Herald, was the first person who introduced females into the columns of a newspaper. He was at the time editor of The Morning Post.New Monthly Magazine.

The Gatherer.

A snapper up of unconsidered trifles.
SHAKSPEARE

A "" THIN NIGHT AT VAUXHALL. THERE were fewer audience than performers, and those made up of fellows evidently not in the habit of shirt-wearing; of women there were very few— of ladies none; the fireworks were bad and brief, and the waterworks the most absurd affair I ever beheld; the thing was overdone. To the people who would like to go to Vauxhall in fine weather, second-rate Italian singing and broken down English prima donnas are no inducement, a bad ballet in a booth has no attraction, and an attempt at variety * There be some flowers that do remain quite unclosed, during not only the day, but during also the night. There he others which do likewise open during the day, albeit when night cometh, they close themselves up until the sun do appear, when they again ope their beautifulness.-Old Botanist.

mars the whole affair. Vauxhall is a delightful place to go to in fine weather with a pleasant party; give us space to walk, light up that space, and shelter us from the elements, set the military bands to play popular airs, and we ask no more for our four or five shillings, or whatever it is; but the moment tuinbling is established in various parts of the garden, and the whole thing is made a sort of Bartholomew Fair, the object of breathing a little fresher air, and hearing ourselves talk is ended; crowds of raffs in boots and white neckcloths attended by their dowdy damsels and waddling wives, rush from one place to another, helter skelter, knocking over the few quiet people to whom the " sights" are a novelty; turning what in the days of the late Lady Castlereagh, the present Duchess of Bedford, the first Duchess of Devonshire, and the last Duchess of Gordon (but one) was a delightful reunion of fashion, into a tea-garden (without tea) or a bear-garden-not without bears.-Sharpe's Magazine.

NAPOLEON BONAPARTE AND LORD

NOEL BYRON.

It is a singular coincidence, not unworthy of remark, that the initials of twe of the most singular men of their own, and perhaps of any age, the Emperor Napoleon of France, and Lord Noel Byron of England, used the same letters as an abbreviation of their name, N. B. which likewise denotes Nota Bene. It was not the habit of either to affix his name to letters, but merely N. B.

R. W.

DUCHESS OF DEVONSHIRE AND THE

DUSTMAN.

As the late beautiful Duchess of Devonshire was one day stepping out of her carriage, a dustman, who was accidentally standing by, and was about to regale himself with his accustomed whiff of tobacco, caught a glance of her countenance, and instantly exclaimed, "Love and bless you, my lady, let duchess was so delighted with this comme light my pipe in your eyes!" The pliment, that she frequently afterwards checked the strain of adulation, which was so constantly offered to her charms, by saying, "Oh! after the dustman's compliment, all others are insipid."

Printed and Published by J. LIMBIRD, 143, Strand, (near Somerset House,) London; sold by ERNEST FLEISCHER, 626, New Murket. Leipsic; and by all Newsmen and Booksellers.

strayst.

Thy British Tempe! There along the dale, with woods o'erhung, and shagg'd with mossy rocks,

Whence on each hand the gushing waters play, And down the rough cascade white dashing fall, Or gleam in lengthen'd vista through the trees, You silent steal; or sit beneath the shade

Of solemn oaks, that tuft the swelling mounts Thrown graceful round by Nature's careless hand,

And pensive listen to the various voice

Of rural peace; the herds, the flocks, the birds, The hollow-whispering breeze, the 'plaint of

rills,

That, purling down amid the twisted roots Which creep around their dewy murmurs shake On the sooth'd ear.

on the reader, who "wonders that he never saw before what Thomson shows him, and that he never yet has felt what Thomson impresses.'

'L

110

B we quit these nether flights o song to describe the locality of Hagley Park, of whose beauties our Engraving is but a mere vignette, and in comparison like holding a candle to the sun. The vilBromsgrove, in Worcestershire, whence lage of Hagley is a short distance from the pleasantest route to the park is to turn to the right on the Birmingham road, which cuts the grounds into two unequal parts. The house is a plain and even simple, yet classical edifice. Whately, in his work on Gardening, describes it as surrounded by a lawn, of fine uneven ground, and diversified with large clumps, little groups, and single trees; it is open in front, but covered on one side by the Witchbury hills; on the

LYTTLETON, the friend!"

Yet these lines will kindle the delight and reverence of every lover of Nature, in common with the effect of the Seasons VOL. XIV. E

in the park, which are high and steep, and all overspread with a lofty hanging wood. The lawn pressing to the front, or creeping up the slopes of three hills, and sometimes winding along glades

Johnson's Life of Thomson.

382

into the depth of the wood, traces a beautiful outline to a sylvan scene, already rich to luxuriance in massive foliage, and stately growth. The present house was built by the first Lord Lyttleton, not on, but near to, the site of the ancient family mansion, a structure of the sixteenth century. Admission may be obtained on application to the housekeeper; and for paintings, carving, and gilding, Hagley is one of the richest show-houses in the kingdom."

Much as the visiter will admire the refined taste displayed within the mansion, his admiration will be heightened by the classic taste in which the grounds are disposed. A short distance from the house, embosomed in trees, stands the church, built in the time of Henry III.; with a sublime Gothic arch, richly painted windows, and a ceiling fretted with the heraldic fires of the Lyttleton family, whose tombs are placed on all sides; among them, the resting-place of the gay poet is distinguished by the following plain inscription:

This unadorned stone was placed here By the particular desire and express Directions of the Right Honourable GEORGE, LORD LYTTLETON, Who died August 22, 1773, aged ca ascend to the Leaving the church. which stands the crest of a hill Prince Wales's Pillar. From this net, the view is inexpressibly beautiful, in which may be seen an octagon seat sacred to the memory of Thomson, and erected on the brow of a verdant steep, his favourite spot. In the foreground is a gently winding valley; on the rising hill bevond is a noble wood, whilst

sp

We have not space to describe, or. rather to abridge from Whately's beautiful description, a tithe of the classic embellishments of Hagley. Shenstone as well as Pope has here his votive urn. Ivied ruin, temple, grotto, statue, fountain, and bridge; the proud portico and the humble rustic seat, alternate amidst these ornamental charms, and never 1 and art more delightfully blended than in the beauties of Hagley. Here Pope, Shenston, and Thomson + passed many hours of cain contempla tion and poetic ease, amidst the talities of the noble owner of Hagley. To think of their kindred spirits haunting its groves, and their imaginative contrivances of votive temples, urns, and tablets, and to combine them with these enchanting scenes of Nature, is to realize all that Poets have sung of Arcadia of old. Happy! happy life for the man of letters; what a retreat must your bowers have afforded from the common-place perplexities of every-day life: Alas! the picture is almost too sunny for sober contemplation.

STANZAS.

(For the Mirror.) WHEN we pierce the grey inist, the dark mantle of time,

Enshrouding the scenes, and the deeds of the past

What a host in the volume are records of crime!

How few are the actions of virtue that last; In the carnage of conquest see aunals of pride,

Like beacons of glory that shine in the blast, Whilst the storm howls around; event me they deride;

Whilst honesty's acts in oblivion are cast. CYMBELINE.

Thomson's affectionate letter to his sister, (quoted by Johnson, who received it from Boswell,) is dated "Hagley, in Worcestershire, October the 4th, 1747."

INGRATITUDE.

A DRAMATIC SKETCH.

(For the Mirror.)

HENCE, faithless wretch! thou hast forgot the

band

That say'd thee from oppression-from the grasp
Of want. I fed you once-then you was poor:
Even as I am now. Yet from the store
Of your abundance, you refuse to grant
The veriest trifle. May the bounty

Of that great God who gave you what you have
Ne'er from you flow. You have forgot me, sir,
But I remember ere I left this land,
By way of traffic for the western world,
I had a favourite, faithful dog,
Who for the kindnesses I pour'd upon him
Would fawn upon me: not in flattery,

But in a sort that spoke his generous nature.
Lasting as memory,

Faster than friendship-deeper than the wave
Is the affection of a mindless brute.

In a few hours (for I can almost see

The cot wherein these travell'd bones were cradled,;

I shall have ended an untoward enterprize,
And if that honest creature I have told you of
Still breathes this vital air, and will not know
me,

May hospitality keep closed her gates
Against me, till I find a home within
The grave.

CYMBELINE.

M. BOILEAU TO HIS GARDENER. IMITATED.

(For the Mirror.)

INDUSTRIOUS man, thou art a prize to me,
The best of masters-surely born for thee;
Thou keeper art of this my rural seat,*
Kept at my charge to keep my garden neat ;
To train the woodbine and to crop the yew-
In th' art of gard'ning equall'd p'rhaps by few.
O! could I cultivate my barren soul,
As thou this garden canst so well control;
Pluck up each brier and thorn, by frequent toil,
And clear the mind as thou canst cleanse the
soil t

But now, my faithful servant, Anthony,
Just speak, and tell me what you think of me ;
When through the day amidst the gard'ning trade
You bear the watʼring pot, or wield the spade,
And by you: labour cause each part to yield,
And make my garden like a fruitful field;
What say you, when you see me musing there
With looks intent as lost in anxious care,
And sending forth my sentiments in words
That oft intimidate the peaceful birds?
Dost thou not then suppose me void of rest,
Or think some demon agitates my breast?
Yon villagers, you know, are wont to say
Thy master's fam'd for writing many a lay,
'Mongst other matters too he's known to sing
The glorious acts of our victorious king;
Whose martial fame resounds thro' every town
Unparallel'd in wisdom and renown.

* Antevil, near Paris.

† Horace speaks thus to his steward in the country. Epistie xiv. book 1. Lewis XIV.

You know it well-and by this garden wall P'rhaps Mons and Namur § at this instant fall, What shouldst thou think if haply some should say

This noted chronicler's employ'd to-day

In writing something new-and thus his time
Devotes to thee-to paint his thoughts in rhy me?
My master, thou wouldst say, can ably teach,
And often tells me more than parsons preach;
But still, methinks, if he was forc'd to toil
Like me each day-to cultivate the soil,
To prune the trees, to keep the fences round,
Reduce the rising to the level ground,
Draw water from the fountains near at hand
To cheer and fertilize the thirsty land,
He would not trade in trifles such as these,
And drive the peaceful linnets from the trees,
Now, Anthony, I plainly see that you
Suppose yourself the busiest of the two;
But ah methinks you'd·tell a different tale
If two whole days beyond the garden pale
You were to leave the mattock and the spade
And all at once take up the poet's trade :
To give a manuscript a fairer face.
And all the beauty of poetic grace;

Or give the most offensive flower that blows
Carnation's sweets, and colours of the rose;
And change the homely language of the clown
To suit the courtly readers of the town-
Just such a work, in fact, I mean to say,
As well might please the critics of the day!
Soon from this work returning tir'd and lean,
More tann'd than though you'd twenty sum.
mers seen,

The wonted gard'ning tools again you'd take
Your long-accustom'd shovei and your rake;
And then exclaiming, you would surely say,
Twere better far to labour many a day
Than e'er attempt to take such useless flights.
And vainly strive to gain poetic heights,
Impossible to reach-I might as soon
Ascend at once and land upon the moon!

Come, Anthony, attend: let me explain
(Although an idler) weariness and pain.
Man's ever rack'd and restless, here below,
And at his best estate must labour know.

Then comes fatigue. The Sisters nine may please

And promise poets happiness and ease:
But e'en amidst those trees, that cooling shade,
That calm retreat for them expressly made,
No rest they find-there rich effusions flow
In all the measures bardic numbers know:
Thus on their way in endless toil they move,
And spend their strength in labours that they
love.

Beneath the trees the bards the muses haunt,
And with incessant toil are seen to pant;
But still amidst their pains, they pleasure find
An ample entertainment for the mind.
But, after all, 'tis plain enough to me,
A man uustudious, must unhappy be;
Who deems a dull, inactive life the best,
A life of laziness, a life of rest;
A willing slave to sloth-and well I know,
He suffers much who nothing has to do.
His mind beclouded, he obscurely sees,
And free from busy life imagines ease.
All sinful pleasures reign without control,
And passions unsubdued pollute the soul;
§ See Ode sur la prise de Namur.