a ed paper. a a ago, by a near relation of Mr Hunt's, should be so sorely troubled with the now, we fear, in jail. But it could not cholic, the gripes, and the mullygrubs. be a challenge, surely, to General Is he sure that he regularly follows Izzard--for gentlemen do not com- his doctor's prescriptions ? We susmunicate private messages of that kind pect he is a restive patient, and does through the medium of the public not take kindly to his pills. However prints ;-they are never sent on stamp- unpoetical a dose of salts may seem to be to his distempered fancy, let him Pray, what does Mr Hunt mean by make a mouth, and gulp them. A very calling all our contributors “ men of sweet series of sonnets might, we the world?”—Many of us are so-Our- think, be composed by the Centurion, selves, Dr Morris, Wastle, Lawer- entitled, “Series of Sonnets, on seeing winkle, Odoherty, and some others. my friend Leigh Hunt boggling at à But can there be a more enormous Dose of Glauber Salts.” How can we absurdity than to call Kemperhausen, better illustrate our humanity, than or Delta, or the two Mullions, or Dr by wishing to see Mr Hunt restored Berzelius Pendragon, or Tims, or the to sanity, both of mind and body, many other old ladies, and young though we know that he is to leap up misses, who embellish and adorn our like a giant refreshed, and sally forth work, men of the world ? Mr Hunt to our destruction ? One single anecmust see his idiotcy the moment it is doto of us, such as this, is a sufficient thus pointed out. Yet granting that answer to all the calumnies that have Blackwood's Magazine were, in some ever wounded our peace of mind. The measure, written by men of the world, day on which Mr Hunt is able to sit is it not generally reported that the up in his night-gown and slippers Examiner is much more written by may be that of our doom ; and yet we women of the town? Now, what would not only wish to see him so sitting Mr Hunt think of our liberality, were once more, but absolutely arrayed in we, on a mere malicious rumour like his most formidable and terrific and this, to assert that most of the articles irresistible garb, his yellow breeches, on life and manners have been, for and flesh-coloured silk stockings. some years past, written by a Mrs Sim- There is true magnanimity!- Why, mous, formerly the kept mistress of if Mr Hunt has not a heart of cherrythe late Lord Čamelford, and who was stone, he will weep to think that he the innocent cause of his fatal duel should ever have uttered one syllable with Mr Best? Would it not be ex- in our dispraise. If, after this, he tremely illiberal in us to bring forward should persist in his attempts to dethis report as an accusation against the stroy us, we shall, both by the law of character of the Examiner? Mrs Sim- nature and of nations, be justified in nons' alleged articles seem, to our un- putting his majesty to death. prejudiced minds, often the most cle- Mr Hunt informs the Public, in dia ver, and always the least indecent, of rect contradiction to her own knowiny in that work. And we should think ledge, that our sale is diminishing. meanly of ourselves indeed, if we were Has Mr Hunt nothing to do with his ver to taunt Mr Hunt with the pro- own private affairs—his own sales and ession of any of the fair writers, whose purchases, that he must thus interfere ucubrations gain him bread. We have with ours ? We never boasted of our 10 doubt, indeed, that Mrs Simmons sale-17,000 is not such a sale as we has more regard to her own character desire, and deserve. But, as sales go, han to write in the Examiner. But it is not so much amiss ;-—and even if were she to do so, we confess that Mr Hunt should have ascertained that many allowances should have to be it has fallen off a few dozens in his nade for a woman of genius, placed own kingdom, of which he has given in her peculiar circumstances, even no proof but his own assertion, (and while we lament that distress should that, to those who know Mr Hunt, ever have driven her from a life of would not, in a court of justice, greatly error and misfortune, into a connexion endanger either life or property,) yet, which a harsh world might call one is the royal edict proclaiming the still more degrading. great fact somewhat premature. For Mr Hunt regrets that bad health our last quarter's revenue surpassed as for some time past prevented him that of any previous quarter by nearly From putting down our Magazine. It L. 1500; so that, if a few subscribers rieves us to think that Mr Hunt in Cockaigne have, either from fear a a or favour, taken off their names from happy on a holiday. Sooth her-mb the list which contains those of all her gently with the hair - chuck the talent, virtue, taste, and wealth her under the chin, and coax her to in the country, the erasure, however hold up her head-whisperinto her ear portentous to our existence it may that she is quite killing-squeeze her have been deemed by the poor crea- hand-give her a kiss, and treat her to tures about the Court, has not been a glass-not of bitters and blue ruin, followed, instantly at least, either by but of double brown stout, with a beefgradual decay, or sudden annihila- steak and a quartern loaf. So ought tion, and we still continue to distress England to be treated on a holidaythe Banks by our deposits. and so she will be treated, in spite of But this is one way of reviewing Mr Hunt, and all those other dolorous a book-so to business. swains, who make love in a whisper, Mr Hunt, (as we suppose,) indites and imagine they can win the afterhis feelings and sentiments respecting tions of a jolly, bouncing, buxom the holidays that are still kept in the wench like England, by impudently metropolis ; and, with certain abate- telling her that she is half starved, and ments and drawbacks, these little slim has a face as shrivelled as an apple-John. Essays are amiable and lively. There There is also some bad wit in the Pocis in almost one and all of them a por- ket-Book-but so is there in Blacktion of sulky and senseless whining wood's Magazine, which is some exabout starvation, taxes, money-getting, cuse for Mr Hunt, and all other and so forth, which, in handling the men. However, in a few short essays, description of a holiday, honest people a considerable quantity of bad wit is ought not to be badgered with—it is more apt to attract attention than a disgusting and repulsive. Thus he small quantity in many long volumes says, before he has well opened his (That sentence, by the way, must have mouth, "Holidays serve to put people been quoted unintentionally from some in mind that there is a green and a work of Sir John Sinclair's). The folglad world, as well as a world of brick lowing paragraph should have been and mortar, and money-getting. They scratched out of Mr Hunt's MS. with remind them disinterestedly of one red ink, and a distinct pe le put upon another, or that they have other things it :-"We might as well trace a laugh to interchange besides bills and com- or an appetite to a particular nation, modities. If it were not for holidays, as the rejoicing for a new year we and poetry, and such like stumbling- might as well deduce our noses from blocks to square-toes, there would be the Dog-ribbed Indians, or our wish no getting out of the way of care and to be comfortable from the Tartars, or common-places.” This is cockneyish our tendency to look sad in the toothand ugly. It checks the genial cur- ache from the Hyperboreans, or yawno rent of the soul before it has well being from the Celtic tribes, or lifting gan to flow. We see Mr Hunt begin. our hands to our heads (especially in ning to bristle up, and put himself putting on our hats) from the negroes, into a fume. He is an Indicator of the or our disinclination to be kicked from Examiner, and in that character he is the Samothracians.” This is pure most offensive. A little farther on, in nonesense, and can amuse nobody . alluding to the expression of " merry Whatever be our other faults and deold England,” he says, “We feel too ficiencies-and, God knows, they are truly that it is melancholy new Eng- not a few,—nobody has ever denied to land—as melancholy as a new jail, or a new cut from a canal, or a new light , ous, the lively, and the witty. This us a nice perception of the humoror a new lease under a racking land is neither. It'ís like the pleasantry of lord.” Now does our good and sensible friend Charles Ollier think that Eng- der from the touch of a bum-bailifos lish people, who buy little red Literary lily-hand. It might have been writsuch in a bits as these, and smack their lips after men of non-chalance. But the smile them on a holiday ?-He cannot. If of the poor gentleman is seen throues England have the vapours and the blue He himself feels a pain in the muscles devils--if she be as melancholy as a of his cheek, gib-cat, do not tell her so to her face, them into an effective position. when she is exerting herself to be a man with a numbness in his shoul spunging-house, as a speci as he strains to bring To be done with our objections at a « shades brown," Alle last few as these sketches are, the tradistinction to the untamed caprices of writer has so little sense of propriety, nature, can do for it,wide and level terso little feeling, that he more than once races, clear perspectives drawn to a minute lets out that he is a deist; and seems point, to hug and pat himself upon the back si for being so liberal as to speak flatter High roof'd, and walks beneath, and alleys en ingly-of what ?--of the Christian * Religion, and its Divine Author. This fountains, statues, shapely groves, trim arer is something in the same taste and bours, smooth-shaven lawns, &c. (We spirit with Mr Hazlitt, who pro- large scale of many acres.) are speaking, of course, of gardens on a Were it only nounced an eulogium on his Saviour, for the sake of keeping the keenness of our in a lecture, at the. Surry-Institu- enjoyment alive for the mighty irregulartion, on the literature of the age of ities of Nature, we would wish to have no Elizabeth. Coxcombs below the imitation of them in gardens. Distinction Cross ! is in itself a great source of beauty. But we have said that some of these “How many things by season season'd are little articles are amiable and lively. To their right praise and true perfection.” If Mr Hunt would but SHAKESPEARE. - however, it is in vain for us to hope ever to “ In the delight arising from the conmake Mr Hunt what he might be templation of uncultivated scenery there is So, for an extract, or specimen.- something of melancholy; the mind is Why, really, on looking over these elevated, expanded, and tasked in speculaHolidays again, there is not one that tion. But in a garden we seek recreation is not disfigured-we had almost said bodily and mental; we enter it idly, and are disappointed if we do not find in it polluted—by the peculiar vices of Mr luxury and repose. In open Nature there Hunt's mind, more than, on the first are many unenjoyable parts,—intricacies, glance, we had suspected.-So we beg sudden obstructions, and places of difficult pardon of him, the Messrs Olliers, access ; imitations of all which are to be and our readers,--but, positively, we included in the new system ; but in what will on no account whatever transfer are stigmatized as formal gardens every any of them to our pages. portion is dedicated to human pleasure. We therefore turn to the conclu- Nature is trained in happy discipline to be ding part of the Pocket-Book, and the servant of man. “ In other things we count Art to excel, present to our readers the following If it a docile scholar can appear pleasant, picturesque, and well-written article, entitled, 6 Walks round Lon It over-rules, and is her master here. don." Who would not joy to see his conquering hand No. III. O'er all the vegetable world command; And the wild giants of the wood receive š And all about were walkes and alleyes dight, What law he's pleased to give ?" With divers trees enrang'd in even rankes; COWLEY. And here and there were pleasant arbors pight, " The old gardeners were, therefore, And shadie seates and sundry flowering bankes right in selecting flat spots in which to lay SPENSER. out their plantations, and where their 6 KENSINGTON Gardens have been avenues might stretch away uninterruptedobjected to because they are flat, and plant- ly; for there are few objects in Nature ed in an artificial or formal manner. It is finer than those old-fashioned long perspecchiefly on those very accounts that we like tives, and few accidental effects more gratethem so well as we do ; for we are of opi. ful to the eye than remote figures in them, nion that the present fashion of laying out coming, as they must, so palpably in the this kind of gardens in what is called a line of vision, and yet looking so fairy-like picturesque, or wild, or natural manner, is in their size and noiseless footfalls. These by no means an improvement on the state- are vistas, if we may speak profanely, finer liness of the old English method, which is than Nature ever made; nor is any inean imitation of the Dutch, without its quality of ground equal to the wide and clipped conceits. To say nothing of the costly terraces of the old style of gardenabsurdity of being industriously negligent, ing, or so fit for the promenading of those of making arrangements for accidental ef. courtly dames who used to undulate along fects, or of cultivating little domestic wil them in all the triumph of their beauty dernesses, a garden is perfect in proportion and brocade. The garden festivities in as it possesses every thing that art, in con. the pictures of Watteau would lose nearly To Nature, and but imitate her well: * .-KENSINGTON GARDENS. To sit and rest. * See the delicious inductions to the different books of the Decameron. 61 state. and all their gusto were they surrounded by and afterwards much improved by the c. any thing resembling romantic scenery. lebrated Brown, who did not, however, then the The careless, amorous air of the gallants, take from the Gardens the character we 72 quite and soft figures of the ladies, beautiful as have attempted to vindicate. Brown, in spoke they are, would seem impertinent amongst deed, whatever might have been his prachills and tangled dells ; and so would tice in his art, did not hesitate to recognise se brez Boccaccio's holiday-party* of “ seven ho- the merits of the old style; for, when he nourable ladies, and three noble gentle. had his late Majesty's permission to remen,” who, in the seclusion of goodly gar- model the gardens of Hampton-Court , and dens, sing canzonets, and pace dances, and introduce such natural effects as his imaslumber under orange-trees, and banquet, gination might suggest, he declared his and cluster round fountains, and tell the opinion that they appeared to the best adHundred Tales of the Decameron. Groupes vantage in their present grand and regular such as these require the pervading consciousness, indicated by the character of “ The approach to Kensington Gardens salon the garden, and always included by Boc- through Hyde-Park, on the south side, is caccio and Watteau, that the mansion, very fine and stately; the one on the northwith all its luxuries is at hand. The ladies east is, we think, the most beautiful. The must have no fatigue in prospect to daunt Park hereabouts deserves to be so called , the brilliance of their eyes ; no chance of by reason of its extensive spread of pas. brambles or mire to sully the elaborate turage, spotted with trees, groups of a polish, or discompose the folds of their cattle and deer. The massy line of word erzis alluring satins; no dank overgrowth to on the confines of the Gardens is very muffle with cold the tones of their silver magnificent, and full of announcement voices. which is well answered by the noble sheet “ The writer of these remarks has a of water near the entrance, with its willows picture, by Cawse, hanging over the mantle and smooth shores. Whatever we have shelf, in which this sentiment is exquisitely commended in our foregoing observations , felt.. It represents a southern Cavalier excepting only fountains and statues, are playing his guitar to a young Signora in a here to be found in the utmost perfection. garden at night. The moon is rising be- At the western extremity are some exquihind some poplars ; and in the girl's uncovered head a chaplet of towers is just ting in delicious retreats. The terrace in E site specimens of alleys green," terminaseen in the uncertain light ; her little lap- this part is bordered by deep-coloured the dog is gamholling with his own shadow in yews, and commands a view of one end of the gravel-walks; the glimmering of the the palace, seen through an avenue of tall moori falls here and there upon the leaves elms, trained arch-wise. The chief pros: of some exotics which stand about in gar- pect from the house is almost beyond den-pots ; a piece of sculpture is near them praise. It is artificial, if you please; but half in shadow, and the house is dimly when we look at that circular and ample discerned at a short distance. All is de bosomed lake, round which those full. licious, tranquil, secure from intrusion, leaved groves stand as if to do it honour, seductive ! . It has been observed of Milton, that he admiration by the knowledge that what has it is impossible to restrain the burst of our anticipated the present taste of gardening excited it is nothing more than an instance in his description of Eden ; but it should of professional contrivance . The grelha be recollected, that Eden was the whole house which stands in this part of the Gato world to Adam and Eve, not a small spot dens, is a large ornate piece of architecture and inclosed out of it, for the purposes of care. less pleasure. Let us see what his taste paved terrace is spread out in front of it: in the manner of Vanbrugh; a spacious was when he has to allude to such. It is a part of the sublime invocation in his courtly banquet and numerous revel in a and a glorious place it would be for a Penseroso : moonlight summer's night. “ And add to these, retired Leisure, “ If we have a preference for any par: That in trim gardens takes his pleasure." ticular spot in the Gardens, it is for one of the Warton's note on these lines is, in our the semicircular nooks in the neighbour. opinion, hardly warranted ; the passage he hood of this green-house. It is the largest cites from Du Bartas is not a parallel one. “ Kensington Gardens, which are now has its own leafy bower, its own lawn , of the recesses, and the most retired ; i three miles and a half in circumference, green alleys, gravel walk, “ patrician tres delo originally comprized only twenty-six acres. and bushy underwood, its Queen Anne added thirty acres, which ! almost its own sky.' were laid out by her gardener, Mr Wise; “ A friend of ours, who lives in the but the principal addition was made by neighbourhood of Kensington Gravel-Pita Caroline, consort of George II., who took having party of musical professors and in nearly three hundred acres from Hyde amateurs at his hoặse one fine sultry night Park. These were laid out by Bridgman, proposed to them to try the effect of the a own birds concert in the Gardens. It was a late hour part, run not only upon wheels, but when they adjourned there, and the place as upon a rail-road. By this happy was quité deserted. The nook we have contrivance, indeed, of a rail-road, just spoken of was chosen for the perform Pegasus can draw ten times as much ance, and thither the instruments and music stuff round Parnassus, at a canter, as were brought, the part of the company would once have tethered him. What who were not engaged in the harmony better poetry would a man desire than holding lights over the books. the fine thing to see the effect of the partially- following ?-and ought not we all illuminated group, and hear the graceful to be beyond measure or expression harmonies of Haydn rising and falling in happy that such poetry can at the same that leafy covert. We ought not to omit time be produced by 1850 men, yet * mentioning, that the circumstance came to living, of the greatest genius ? the knowledge of the late Dr Calcott, who On his Return. dual was observed by the company walking “ Divine lady, who hast been, at a short distance from them. When it Like a young and widowed queen, was ascertained that this was the Doctor, Pining for thy husband dear the performers laid aside their instruments, Twice the months that fill the year ; and burst, with their skilful voices, into And, as Dian wax'd and waned, one of his best glees. It was a fine com- Ever to her light complain'd, pliment, and we dare say the musician laid And to the Siderean North, up the memory of that night-concert and Smile, and put thy beauty forth ; unexpected homage among the trees of For, upon the wings of war, Kensington Gardens as one of the pleasant Amidst pennons flying far, moments of his existence.” Trumpets, and the stormy drums, Armed with his fame, he comes Homewards, having swept the seas: excellent in its way. Nothing can be Homewards, for a little ease, = more comfortable than to see so much After all his toil, he comes, For thy home-sweet looks of beauty, good poetry staring one in the face For the smiles that lighten duty, now-a-days, go where we will. We For the love which absence measures, know upwards of 3000 people who And the hoarded wedding treasures, write excellent verses ; of these, about Such as hang upon a kiss, 1850 are very nearly first-rate poets. Tender words and questions,-pleasures They all see deep into human nature- Where the last the sweetest is : more especially that part of it known He cometh from the Indian shores, under the names of passion and ima Where the lashing lion roars, gination. Pope had little passion, we By the tusked elephant, have been informed, and no imagina And the cruel tigers pant 3. tion. We should like to know the rea In the watery jungles near. son of this. Are all these 1850 living 66 Husband !_laurell'd conqueror ! gentlemen better poets than Pope? To thy wife, who hath no peer, # How foolish he would have looked, had Welcome !_welcome unto her - he lived during our era! This objec- From the parched Indian shore, tion seems to lie against modern poet From the land where lions roar, ry, that almost any one volume may Welcome to a peaceful clime ! as well bear the name on its title-page Oh! how long hath patient Time Waited for thee ; and how long of any one author as another. Put Echo, with her silver song, Byron, Wordsworth, Crabbe, Scott, (Mocking all the notes of pain,) and Southey, aside, and all the other Hath allured thee back again ! great living poets seem to us one flock Husband ! thou art come at last, of sheep. We mean no offence by this And the present and the past pastoral image—but really there is not Shall put out their blossoms, both; much to pick and chuse between Cole- And the future shall be loth ridge, Montgomery, Hogg, Heber, To look dark or perilous. Bowles, Millman, Shelly, Hunt, Joy alone shall tend on us ; Wilson, Procter, and the other 1850. Saving him, we'll nothing see Now, this being the case, how can it In the far futurity. be expected that we can make a guess " Thou, to whom, thro' toil and war, even at the names of the anonymous Thy great husband cometh far, bards of the Pocket-Book School of Fail not at this joy-bright hour ! Poetry? The verses do, for the most Re-array thy holliest bover, |
