Is she not beautiful, although so pale?
The first May flowers are not more colourless
Than her white cheek; yet I recal the time
When she was called the rosebud of our village.
There was a blush, half modesty, half health,
Upon her cheek, fresh as the summer morn
With which she rose. A cloud of chesnut curls,
Like twilight, darkened o'er her blue-veined brow;
And through their hazel curtains, eyes, whose light
Was like the violet's, when April skies
Have given their own pure colour to the leaves,
Shone sweet and silent, as the twilight star.
And she was happy-innocence and hope
Make the young heart a paradise for love.
And she loved, and was loved. The youth was one
That dwelled on the waters. He had been
Where sweeps the blue Atlantic, a wide world-
Had seen the sun light up the flowers, like gems,
In the bright Indian isles-had breathed the air
When sweet with cinnamon, and gum, and spice.
But he said that no air brought health, or balı,
Like that on his own hills, when it had swept
O'er orchards in their bloom, or hedges, where
Blossomed the hawthorn and the honeysuckle ;
That, but one voyage more, and he would come
To his dear Ellen and her cottage home-
Dwell there in love and peace. And then he kissed
Her tears away, talked of the pleasant years
Which they should pass together of the pride
He would take in his constancy. Ob, hope
Is very eloquent! and as the hours

Pass'd by their fireside in calm cheerfulness,
Ellen forgot to weep.

At length the time

Of parting came; 'twas the first month of Spring.
Like a green fan spread the horse-chesnut's leaves,
A shower of yellow bloom was on the elm,
The daisies shone like silver, and the boughs
Were covered with their blossoms, and the sky
Was like an augury of hope, so clear,
So beautifully blue. Love! oh young love!
Why hast thou not security? Thou art
Like a bright river, on whose course the weeds
Are thick and heavy; briers are on its banks,
And jagged stones and rocks are mid its waves.
Conscious of its own beauty, it will rush
Over its many obstacles, and pant
For some green valley, as its quiet home.
Alas! either it rushes with a desperate leap
Over its barriers, foaming passionate,
But prisoned still; or winding languidly,
Becomes dark, like oblivion, or else wastes
Itself away. This is love's history.

They parted one spring evening; the green sea
Had scarce a curl upon its wave; the ship
Rode like a queen of ocean.

Ellen wept, But not disconsolate, for she had hope. She knew not then the bitterness of tears. But night closed in; and with the night there came Tempest upon the wind, the beacon light Glared like a funeral pile; all else was black And terrible as death. We heard a sound Come from the ocean-one lone signal gun, Asking for help in vain-followed by shrieks, Mocked by the ravening gale; then deepest silence. Some gallant souls had perished. With the first Dim light of morn, they sought the beach; and there Lay fragments of a ship, and human shapes, Ghastly and gashed. But the worst sight of all— The sight of living misery, met their gaze. Seated upon a rock, drenched by the rain, Her hair torn by the wind, there Ellen sat, Pale, motionless. How could love guide her there? A corpse lay by her; in her arms its head Found a fond pillow, and o'er it she watched, As the young mother watches her first child. It was her lover

L. E. L.

(Written for the Iris.)

A WEEK IN LONDON.

(Continued from our last.)

arms.

It would be difficult to compress all my notes and observations made in this splendid residence -it is one tissue of oriental magnificence, and superb decoration. The exterior front, now recently laid open from Pall Mall, and greatly improved by the splendid houses and other buildings, which from Regent-Street, and Waterloo Place, has been found fault with as being obscured by a heavy colonnade, which it is in contemplation to remove. The Opera House is another immense building, passing by which, and the celebrated equestrian statue at Charing Cross, we proceeded to St. Paul's: there are many objects worthy of curiosity in passing thither, amongst these we may mention the magnificent structure called Northumberland House. An obscure room, in a very humble pot-house, Fleet-Street, where the great moralist, Dr. Johnson pursued many of his literary labours. The church of St. Dunstan, remarkable for its striking figures, and here, numberless of the light fingered gentry, take their stand, to relieve the unwary visitor of any articles of superfluous apparel, or to dive into the inviting pocket of unsuspecting credulity; not an hour in the day passes, without numbers of persons being collected to gratify an idle curiosity, and seldom one passes without afford. ing profit to the depredators. Approaching to the Metropolitan Church, the corner of Ludgate Hill, as well as its narrowness, militates, against the view of this immense pile, and that which would otherwise fix the stranger in mute and wondering attention, gradually unfolds itself; notwithstanding, there is much to impress the mind with on your approach. As you enter the church yard, on a pedestal stands an almost obliterated figure of Queen Anne; there are three principal entrances, and you ascend to each by an elegant flight of steps. Here as at Westminster Abbey, it is most desirable to enter during the performance of divine service, which is twice a day performed with much state; the vergers in their ornamented silk gowns, bearing silver rods, precede the dignitaries of the Cathedral as they enter, and accompany them

to the robing room; we passed the large front gate, as the organ was solemnly playing in the immense space; my companion paused in dumb admiration. Around on every side were exquisite works of art, mementos of the illustrious dead; above hung trophies of British valour of past and later days, the flags of conquered enemies gently waved through the great void; the immense colours of the Santissima Trinidada, which the gallant Nelson vanquished hang round the exterior of the dome, in the centre of which, and designated by a large metal covering, sleeps the hero of a hundred battles, enclosed in the relic of his triumphs, and surrounded by the emblems of his glory. Amongst the mighty monuments, are those of Howard, Captain Falkner, and Abercrombie, the two last are exquisite works of art; many travellers, and I plead ignorance among the rest, are often decoyed into a search for the monument of the great architect, to which the classical reader is referred, by an inscription in letters of gold under the organ-concluding, "Leetor si queris monumentum-circumspice.-"Reader wouldst thou seek his monument, look around thee,”-never remembering that the structure I was in was the noble monument he had raised to himself.

of

Here, in traversing these holy aisles the mind is impressed with a religious awe, and the organ bursting into the chorusses in the progress of the service, gradually swells its note till it has filled the fabric, and leaves the sound of its solemnity, as it descends again to that of the choir accompaniment. As soon as the service was ended we proceeded to examine that part the church, the fret work and rich mosaic pavement, with the rich gildings and mouldings are admirable productions; the altar piece, on which it is impossible to be minute, has been acknowledged a Chef d'ouvre of that description of sacred embellishment; but much chance is not left to the casual visitor of retaining the precise beauties of this or any other building in the metropolis; the guides no sooner form their party, and receive the stipulated mite for the privilege of seeing higher beauties than you are hurried off in the same unbecoming manner, and rapidity of description defies any, but the most retentive of memories, or a frequent recurrence to the same objects, to be gratified by a rememberance of what has been seen, or heard. That miraculous part of the dome called, the whispering gallery, is the first place you are led to, and though from the church it appears at no great elevation, few ever arrive at it without feeling a desire to recruit; the railing of this gallery which is of elegant iron work richly gilt, is at the commencement of the dome, and as soon as the disposition to fall, which is generally experienced at the elevation, has subsided, the matchless paintings, &c. on the top are seen to great advantage. The visitors being ranged opposite to the place of entrance, the guide opens the door, and banging it to with some violence the sound is like a reverberating peal of thunder, or the discharge of a piece of artillery in a mountainous country; the ear is then applied to the wall, and the guide whispers the particulars of the erection of the church which reaches you in a loud voice those who wish it, now proceed up a dark and cheerless stair-case, to a room where you are shewn the original model of the church as intended to have been built, a great curiosity; thence to the clock where few go, from fear or weariness, but is well worth the labour; the interior machinery is in most beau

taken at the battle of the Nile, and presented to him by his officers.

+ Nelson's coffin was made out of the mast of the L'Orient.

tiful order, and after prayers are over, you will arrive here about the hour of twelve; it is pleasing as well as curious to watch the breathless anxiety of the visitors as the hammer slowly raises itself to thunder the solemn note of this tremendous bell on the world.below; this bell which has been heard at a distance of twentythree miles, is deafening to the auricular organs, and painful through the intimation of the hour; from hence we proceeded to the top railingmany however relinquished the task, but no sooner had we arrived there, than a tremendous conflagration of great extent was visible in the eity, it was soon apparent they were salt-petre works as the casks exploded and blew up vast columns of fire and smoke; from this great elevation a most awful view was commanded, and we were far beyond the height of the highest spires, which with other steeples, we enumerated no less than seventy-three, though the increase of smoke was against us; I shortly after left the fair companions who had towered thus far and with thirteen gentlemen, began to ascend to the ball.

This requires no ordinary resolution, as the ladders are by no means inviting and the passage extremely dark; before we got half way, six of our number had abandoned the enterprize, and I must confess the shame of being outdone, alone urged me to the completion; at last we reached this eminence, and, in aerial majesty, beheld the great and important population of London, as a Lilliput below, and drinking from a midshipman's locker, who had been more considerate than his associates, a glass of wine to the prosperity of the city and the King, we descended, and it is not easy to imagine the feeling which is experienced from so rapid a transition.

To be continued in our next.

MY NATIVE BELLS.

BY MRS. WILSON.

Ye sweetly ring, my native Bells!

Your soft notes float upon the gale; Till my sad heart responsive swells,

And echoes back your mournful tale. Ye tell me youth's bright dreams are gone, And all that charm'd my earlier years; While I am left to journey on,

A pilgrim through this vale of tears. Ye say the joys of life's young day

The hopes that gladden'd ev'ry scene; Like rain-bow tints have pass'd away,

And left no trace where they have been. Ye speak of hours too lightly priz'd, (Regretted now their hopes are fled), Of follies, thoughtless-unadvised,

ran by the side of the worthy Captain N-, of the East India service. The pray sir, bestow one ha'penny,' was so common a souad, that it passed unheeded, but indeed I'm very hungry,' uttered in a voice of plaintive sorrow, could not be resisted by the huane and generous N―. Hungry, poor child, while I am living on luxuries; let ne see, let me see," gaz ing in the lad's face. The tears were trickling down, hat so obscured was every feature by dirt, there was nothing to excite satisfaction. They were close to the buttock-of-beef shop, in the Old Bailey; "Ave, aye, let me see," continued N-, and, grasping the boy's arm, with eagerness entered the house. Here, my good woman, give this lad as much bread and meat as will make him a hearty meal, d've hear, and I'll thank you to bear a hand." The child looked at him with astonishment, burst into tears and caught hold of his hand, but instantly let it go again, with a look of deep it was the workings of the heart pictured on the counhumiliation and shame; there was no deception in it, Look at the young dog! there, there, don't be snivelling, you little bypocrite," while the dew-drop of pity trembled in his own eye. "Where's your pa"Parents," repeated the boy.

tenance. "

rents?"

Aye, your father and mother." "I never had any, Sir." "What's your name?" "Ned, Sir." "Where do you belong to?" "6 I don't know, Sir." "Where do you come from? "I have been travelling about the country with old Nan, till, yesterday, she brought me here and told me to shift for myself; and indeed, Sir, I think I could work." Aye, aye, you've been well tutored, no

66

doubt; there, run along, and sit on yon step and eat your meal." Away trudged the lad, looking first at his victuals and then at his benefactor. "Poor fellow, what's to become of him?" said N-, as he paid the demand and walked into the street; "What's to betome of him?" He stopped a moment, and looked towards the spot where the delighted boy was devouring his meal with all the savouriness of real hunger; at this instant. a gentleman tapped him on the shoulder, and together they proceeded for the Jerusalem. Can it be mere fate that regulates our actions? Is there no still small voice that whispers to the soul, soft as the balmy zephyr in the summer's eye? Ah, yes, it is the divinity that stirs within us, else why should this expression be deeply stamped in a moment on the mind of the Captain, the words of our blessed Master, Forasmuch as you have done it unto one of these, you have done it unto me.' The noise and confusion of Lloyd's, the transacting of business, rise and fall of stocks, the price of frieghtage, nothing could wear out the recollection of the poor little houseless child of want; and, What's to become of him,' frequently burst from his lips. As soon as 'Change was over, away strode the Captain towards Newgate Street, with indescribable sensations of anxiety and feeling; yet without any definite intention-he reached the spot the child was gone; in vain he inquired at the shop, the woman was ignorant of his route, but said he had come across to thank her, and pray for a blessing on his generous provider. What, didn't you ask him where he was going, and what he meant to do?" "No, Sir, we have so much to attend to." N- would have scolded, but conscience told him he had been equally negligent; and thus, perhaps, a useful member was

Are lost within the trackless main; Like them Life's summer hours pass o'er, And never can return again!

Still, still ring on, my native Bells! For as your soft notes fill the gale; My answering heart responsive swells, And echoes back your mournful tale!

GREENWICH HOSPITAL. From the Literary Gazette.

A SAILOR'S TALE.

"They that wants pity, why I pities they."

"Pray, Sir, bestow one ha'penny on a poor child, to buy a morsel of bread; indeed I'm very hungry" such was the petition of a little ragged urchin, as he

its very pest. Quitting the house, he turned down the alley leading to the cloisters of Christ Church, where all the smiling countenances and cheerful looks of the boys, operated like a momentary charm. "And you," said he," poor Ned, might have been here, aye, shall be here, if I find you worthy-till I return from my next voyage, and then you shall go to sea; I know my friend C- would do it for me-but where is he!" He made every inquiry, searched every nook, but his efforts were vain. Leaving money and directions with the woman, that should he make his appearance again, to take care of the lad, he once more pursued bis way to his lodgings. What nonsense, thought he, for me to take such interest in the welfare of a little ragged dog I never saw before; perbaps the scout of some infamous wretch, who has brought him up to all manner of wickedness-But avast. no, I cannot be deceived, that look was honest truth; poor fellow, what's to become of him? He had now reached the place against the walls of Newgate, where the porters rest

46

from their burdens, when, by the side of an apple stall, on some straw, lay the unconscious boy fast asleep. Halloa, you young rascal!" roared the Captain, with a look between a smile and a tear, to the great terror of the lad, who sprung up instantly; "Halloa, what do you mean by giving me all this trouble, arn't I been looking for you this hour, while you lie skulking here in the lee scuppers; come, rouse out." God bless him!" said the owner of the stall, apparently in the last stage of a consumption, with an infant at the breast and a child about three years old by her side, God bless him, my poor little Bess must have gone home hungry if he had not shared his dinner with her." "Did he," said N-, throwing down a crown, then

"

say God bless him too; but come along," catching hold of the boy's hand. Regardless of the looks of the assembled crowd, he brushed hastily through them called a hack, jumped into it, and away they drove, the Captain whistling with all his might, Dibdin's song of "The heart that can feel for another." Arrived at an elegant house in Piccadilly, "Here, Will Junk; Will, where are you? you lazy old swab." Here, Sir; here, Sir." Take this young scamp and give him a fresh scrape and a paint, and then hand him up into the parlour upon a clean plate." Aye, aye, Sir," replied Will; "come along, young six-foot." In about half-an-hour the boy was brought up. Well, now let me see, let me see," gazing with astonishment on the animated and beautiful countenance of the delighted boy, whose full round eyes sparkled with pleasure" Well, Will, what do you make of him?" "I don't know, Sir, can't tell; it's a comical world, Sir." "Aye, and there's comical creatures in it, Will, comical creatures in it," giving the old man a look he well understood. "But let me see, come here." His former questions were repeated, and many others pat, but still the boy knew no more than that his name was Ned, and he had wandered about the country with old Nan. "He's got a some'ut hanging round his neck, Sir," said Will, but I wouldn't open it, to be made an Admiral; for I thinks it's a charm." "Go along, you old blockhead: let me see, let me see." The boy drew out a small bag closely sewed up. "Where did you get this?"-"I don't know, Sir; I've worn it ever since I can remember." "I'll open it-no-yes-avast.

He paused a minute, raised the lid of his desk, and deposited it in safety. "Well, Ned, will you live with me?" The boy looked, but he could not speak. "What, dumb foundered ?" said Will; d'ye hear, will you live with his honour?"— Yes, for ever," sobbed the lad, "if be'll let me." "There, take him down, Will; and to-morrow morning, let him be fresh rigg'd by the time I turn out; and now send my dinner up."

"

The father of Captain N- was the son of a wealthy merchant, who, by dint of industry and taking care of the pence, rose by degrees from a very low station to continued, and, though literally rolling in riches, was one of great opulence; but his penurious habits still always haunted by the fears of poverty. At the age of forty he married a young and beautiful female, of engaging manners and amiable disposition. The bear and the lamb were yoked together. On her part it was indeed a sacrifice; for her heart had been engaged to one who was her counter-part; but her father becoming embarrassed, and Mr. N- the principal creditor, how could they reject, or she refuse? Every effort was tried to avert the evil; but ruin came on with rapid strides, and the horrors of want, of pinching poherself, to save her sinking family. She sent for her verty, of a jail, resolved the heroic girl to sacrifice lover. Oh, what an interview was that! They who had pictured future years of mutual happiness; whose hearts were bound in the silken cords of real rich affection; whose existence seemed almost dependent on each other; yes, they met to meet no more; they should live and breathe, and yet be dead to each other for ever. I cannot describe their meeting and their separation; those that can feel will do it for themselves. Her lover left his native land-the land of his fathers -of his childhood, and once his dearest boast. Yes; he left it, and was never heard of more. As the wife of Mr. N-, Amelia endeavoured to discharge her duties with scrupulous attention; but still her thoughts would sometimes wander to the scenes of departed days, and remembrance linger on him who, perhaps,

had gone before her to the blessed realms of immortality. The birth of a boy now occupied her mind. None but a mother can tell a mother's delight, when gazing on her first-born; or a father the joy which a father feels, while looking on his smiling babe. But Mr. Nknew not these sensations; he was proud of his child, and loved his wife, as far as his rugged nature would permit; but he was not aware of the treasure he possessed. Immersed in speculations and amassing wealth, he was unacquainted with those little tendernesses, those endearing attentions, so precious to a sensitive mind; and his early education being very imperfect, he was unable to converse on subjects gratifying to an enlightened and liberal understanding. Amelia's chief delight was to watch and tend her blooming boy; and for a few weeks in the year to visit her place of nativity in Devonshire. There, with her parents, she could smile or weep without restraint. Eight years had now passed away since her parting with her heart's first love; and she once more arrived for a short time at the home of her parents. It was a sweet romantic spot, and at a little distance was a lonely wood, where the foot of mortal seldom trod; but it was hallowed to Amelia. There she had passed, oh! how many happy hours, in the society of Henry, as they sat in a small arbor, formed by their own hands with the twisted nut-boughs, upon a turf-raised seat, overspread with downy moss, while the wild thyme

breathed its fragrance and the waving flowers their the white sail far distant on the ocean, and picture the happy countenance of the mariner, who joyed to see his native land once more; or heave the sigh of lingering regret, as it gradually lessened to a spot just dazzling on the horizon, with those who were bidding their own white cliffs adieu: here, too, they had pledged their vows in the presence of the Majesty of heaven. This spot had never been visited since Henry's departure; but the morning after her arrival, Amelia arose, and almost unconsciously advanced towards the place. She reached the opening pathway, between two old embracing oaks, who, like an aged pair passing through life's pilgrimage, had been each other's support through many a winter's storm. An indescribable impulse seemed to urge her on; and, without reflection, she separated the tangled wood, and wound up the ascent yet did the well-remembered feeling thrill through her heart-the once-cherished hope that they might often meet together there. The umbrageous foliage wept its tears of dew as she hastily passed by the tree where her name was carved-the hazels had formed so thick a canopy above as almost to exclude the light of day-the arbor was now before her; but

odours on the breeze. Here they would sit and watch

what were her feelings when she beheld a man kneeling

"Hen

at the mossy seat, in the attitude of prayer! ry, Henry!" she shrieked with convulsive agony, sprung to his side, and grasped his hand. Oh! horror, horror! Shriek after shriek followed; for she pressed the fleshless fingers of a dead man's hand, and her eyes rested on the Blanched cheek-bones of a hu

man skeleton! Yes, it was Henry. At a short distance was found a bottle, which had contained laudanum, enclosed in a sheet of paper, written in a wild,

incoherent manner, leaving no doubt as to the manner or cause of his death, under total deprivation of mental faculty. # Amelia awoke once more from

a

a state of lethargic stupefaction to sense and reason. She gave the above brief sketch, clutched her hands, closed her eyes with a shudder, laid her head back

upon her pillow, and her pure spirit returned to Him who gave it.

IN PRAISE OF CRANIOLOGY.

You may fag at your school or your college,
You may pant for your ribbands and scars,
But without it you'll never get knowledge,
And never need go to the wars.
Though they dub you a doctor for ever,
Though you fight till you're nothing but stump,
Who dares be courageous or clever,

If he is deficient in-bump?
Oh, bump, bump, bump!

Ent the nose from my face-but oh, never,
Never curtail me of bump.

Why is a virgin false hearted?

A negro for logic unfit ?

A fool and his money soon parted?

And no critic at all in the pit?
Why can't a member make speeches?
An alderman play at hop-jump?
Why should a man's wife wear the breeches?
Because they're deficient in-bump.

Oh, bump, bump, bump!
Magnified, mystified bump!

1 ask not love, laurels, or riches,
But give me abundance of-bump.

COMIC PAINTING.

BY THE FACETIOUS CAPT. GROSE.

Of all the different artists who have attempted this style of painting, Hogarth and Coypel seem to have been the most successful; the works of the first seem to stand unrivalled for invention, expression and diversity of characters. The ludicrous performances of Coypel are confined to the history of Don Quixote.

On examining divers of Hogarth's designs, laid down. For example, let us consider the we find he strongly adopted the principle here prison scene in the Rake's Progress. How incompatible is it for a man who professes wings and the art of flying, to be detained within the walls of a gaol; and equally contradictory is the idea of one suffering for the non-payment of his own debts, who has the secret of discharging those of the nation!

In the Four Times of the Day, what can be more truly consonant with the scene near Islington, where, in the sultry heat of summer, a number of fat citizens are crowded together in a small room, by the side of a dusty road smoaking their pipes, in order to enjoy the refreshment of country air? In the Gate of Calais, how finely does the fat friar's person and enthusiastic admiration of the huge surloin, mark that sensuality so incompatible with his profession; the fundamental principles of which dictate abstinence and mortification? In that admirable and comic print, the Enraged Musician, the humour lies solely in the incompatible trained to melodious and harmonious sounds, is situation of the son of Apollo, whose ear, thereby rendered extremely unfit to bear the tintamarre, or confusion of discordant noises, with which the painter has so ludicrously and ingeniously surrounded him.

The picture of Grown Gentlemen learning to Dance, painted by Collet, was well conceived; and though infinitely short of Hogarth's execution, had a very pleasing effect, both on the canvass and on the stage, where it was introduced into a pantomime. In this piece, every person was, by form or age, totally unfit for the part he was acting.

Anachronisms have likewise a very laughable effect. King Solomon in all his glory, delineated in a tye or bag wig, laced cravat, long ruffilles, and a full dressed suit, will always cause a smile; as would also the siege of Jerusalem, where the emperor Titus and his aid-de-camp should be represented in the fore-ground, dressed in great wigs and jack boots, their horses decorated with laced furniture, holsters, and pistols; in the distance a view of the town, amidst the fire of cannons and mortars. Our theatrical representations afford plenty of these ridiculous absurdities, where we frequently see the chamber of Cleopatra furnished with a table, clock, and harpsichord, or a pianoforte, or the hall of Marc Antony with a large chimney garnished with muskets, blunderbusses, fowling-pieces,

&c. and a picture of the taking of Portobello, by the brave Admiral Vernon.

Nothing affords greater scope for ludicrous representations, than the universal rage with which particular fashions of dress are followed by persons of all ranks, ages, sizes, and makes, without the least attention to their figures or stations. Habilaments also, not ridiculous in themselves, become so by being worn by improper persons, or at improper places. Thus, though the full-bottomed wig adds dignity to a venerable judge, we should laugh at it on the head of a boyish counsel; and though a tye-wig lends gravity to a counsellor or physician, it contributes greatly to the ludicrous equipment of a mountebank, a little chimney-sweeper dancing round the May-day Garland, or one of the candidates for the borough of Garrat in the procession to that election; a high head, and a large hoop, worn in a stage coach, or a full dressed suit and a sword at a horse race, are equally objects of ridicule.

Respectable characters, unworthily employed, are objects for the ludicrous pencil. Such would be a lord mayor or an alderman in his at-law in his coif, band, and spectacles, standgold chain, dancing a hornpipe, or a serjeanting up at a reel or cotillion. Employments accidentally improper may make a character ridiculous, and that for those very circumstances which, in another situation, render it respectable. Thus, a military or naval officer dancing a minuet with a wooden leg, exhibits a truly ludicrous appearance-consider the same person walking or standing, and his wooden leg makes him an object of respect, as a sufferer in the cause of his country.

others which, like the stage tricks, will always Besides these general subjects, there are ensure the suffrages of the vulgar; among them are national jokes,-as, an Irishman on horseback, carrying a heavy portmanteau on his head, to ease his horse of its weight; a Welchman with his goat, leek, hay boots, and long pedigree; a Scotchman with his scrubbing-post, and a meagre Frenchinan in his laced jacket and bag, having long ruffles to his sleeves, without a shirt. Of this kind are professional allugame, by prescription; a tailor by trade; and sions-a physician and apothecary are lawful a mayor, alderman, or churchwarden, ex officio.

Injudicious representations of sublime or se rious subjects, have often unintentionally been productive of pictures highly ridiculous; of this a striking instance occurs in a history of the Bible, adorned with plates, in one of which the following text of the 7th chapter of St. Matthew, verse the 3d, is illustrated:-" And why beholdest thou the mote that is in thy brother's eye, but considerest not the beam that is in thine own eye?" The state of these two men is thus delineated by the artist:-one of them has in his eye a complete castle, with a moat and its appurtenances; and from the eye of the other projects a large beam, like the girder of

a house.

To conclude the instances of these acciden tally ludicrous pictures, I shall just mention one which a gentleman of veracity assured me he saw at the Exposition des Tableaux at Paris. The subject was the death of the late dauphin, which the painter had treated in the manner following:-on a field bed, decorated with all those fluttering ornaments of which the French are so peculiarly fond, lay the dauphin, pale and emaciated; by it stood the dauphiness weeping over him, in the affected attitude of an opera dancer. She was attended by her loving children; and in the clouds, hovering over