Composed, sedate, and firm she stood,
And look'd industrious, calm, and good.
THEN, sang a wild fantastic song,
Light as the gale she flies on:
Still stretching, as she sail'd along,
Towards the fair horizon;

Where clouds of radiance, fringed with gold,
O'er hills of emerald beauty roll'd.

'Now, rarely raised her sober eye
To view that golden distance;
Nor let one idle minute fly

In hope of THEN's assistance;
But still, with busy hands, she stood,
Intent on doing present good.

She ate the sweet but homely fare
That passing moments brought her;
While THEN, expecting dainties rare,
Despised such bread and water :
And waited for the fruits and flowers
Of future, still receding hours.
'Now, venturing once to ask her why,
She answer'd with invective ;
And pointed, as she made reply,
Towards that long perspective
Of years to come, in distance blue,
Wherein she meant to live and do.

""Alas," says she," how hard

toil ! you

With undiverted sadness:
Behold yon land of wine and oil,-
Those sunny hills of gladness;
Those joys I wait with eager brow."-
"And so you always will," said Now.
“That fairy land that looks so real,
Recedes as you pursue it;

Thus while you wait for times ideal,
I take my work and do it ;
Intent to form, when time is gone,
A pleasant past to look upon.'

"Ah, well," said THEN," I envy not
Your dull fatiguing labours;

Aspiring to a brighter lot,

With thousands of my neighbours,
Soon as I reach that golden hill ;”.

"But that," says Now,

you never will."

""And e'en suppose you should," said she,

"(Though mortal ne'er attain'd it,)—

Your nature you must change with me
The moment you had gained it:

Since hope fulfill'd, (you must allow,)

Turns Now to THEN, and THEN to NOW."

Vol. II. pp. 125-8.

We must not indulge in further citations; and yet, there is one poem which, equally on account of the theme, and the manner in which it is treated, we cannot pass over. It is the tender and touching effusion of a congenial spirit on visiting the garden and summer-house of Cowper.

'On VISITING COWPER'S GARDEN and SUMMER HOUSE at OLNEY.

Are these the trees?-Is this the place?
These roses, did they bloom for him?
Trod he these walks with thoughtful pace?
Pass'd he amid these borders trim ?

Is this the bower?-a humble shed
Methinks it seems for such a guest!
Why rise not columns, dome-bespread,
By art's elaborate fingers drest?

Art waits on wealth;-there let her roam-
Her fabrics rear, her temples gild:
But Genius, when he seeks a home,
Must send for Nature's self to build.

This quiet garden's humble bound,
This homely roof, this rustic fane,
With playful tendrils twining round,
And woodbines peeping at the pane :-
'That tranquil, tender sky of blue,
Where clouds of golden radiance skim,
Those ranging trees of varied hue-
These were the sights that solaced him.
We stept within :-at once on each
A feeling steals, so undefined;
In vain we seek to give it speech-
'Tis silent homage paid to Mind.

They tell us here he thought and wrote,
On this low seat-reclining thus;
Ye garden breezes, as ye float,
Why bear ye no such thoughts to us?
"Perhaps the balmy air was fraught
With breath of heaven;-or did he toil
In precious mines of sparkling thought
Conceal'd beneath the curious soil?
• Did zephyrs bear on golden wings
Rich treasures from the honied dew?
Or are there here celestial springs
Of living waters, whence he drew?

1

And here he suffer'd!-this recess,
Where even Nature fail'd to cheer,
Has witness'd oft his deep distress,
And precious drops have fallen here!

Here are no richly sculptured urns
The consecrated dust to cover;

But Nature smiles and weeps, by turns,

In memory of her fondest lover. Vol. II. pp. 254-6.

Art VII. London and Paris, or Comparative Sketches. By the Marquis de Vermont and Sir Charles Darnley, Bart. 8vo. pp. 293. London. 1823.

IN N proportion to the difficulty of ascertaining national character, is the absurdity of venturing upon its specific delineation, without the intimate knowledge that can be derived only from protracted observation. The aspect of social institutions to the eye of a stranger, varies so widely from that which they present when viewed in connexion with their effects, and the secret springs of action are so faintly indicated by their exterior manifestations, as to embarrass even the adept, while the superficial inquirer exposes himself to the inevitable hazard of gross and ridiculous error. Travellers in general, however, are very little liable to discouragement from apprehensions of failure in these respects, and speculate as fearlessly on the strength of a six weeks' residence in some foreign capital, as if some friendly Asmodeus had perched them on the dome of St. Peter's, or the pinnacles of Notre Dame, and given them a magical insight into the cabinets and boudoirs of palaces and hotels. They lose sight of the obvious fact, that society shews a very different face to natives and to aliens; that, even where the most friendly dispositions exist, there will be a specific distinction between the welcome given to a friend, and the attention shewn to a favoured foreigner; that there will be all the difference between dress and undress, careless familiarity and hospitable politeness.

The publication before us professes to supply this defect in one particular instance, and to delineate, with the accuracy of long and intimate acquaintance, the leading and distinctive features of London and Parisian society. The design is certainly a commendable one; to combat national prejudice by shewing, in the correspondence of two gentlemen of equal respectability, how very differently the same object appears to natives and foreigners. To a certain extent, this design is successfully executed. The Author has not given us either

a very extensive or a highly finished picture, but his sketches' are spirited and effective, though, perhaps, liable, in some instances, to the suspicion of extravagance and exaggeration. The English Baronet and the French Marquis, old friends and fellow travellers, take it into their heads, at the same moment, and without previous intimation, to pay each other a visit, and disappointed at missing each other at the expected point of meeting, they agree to turn the mischance to account, by interchanging the details and criticisms suggested by the novel scenes amid which they are respectively placed. Travelling, eating, early and late hours, hymeneal jobbing,' amusements, associations, politics, public fêtes, buildings, the press, with numberless et ceteras, are discussed or described in a light and vivacious manner which keeps the attention awake throughout the volume.

One of the most interesting pieces of description in the book, gives the details of a children's bal costume, under the direction of a lady of high rank. A large proportion of the French nobility were present, and, from the infant in arms to the lively youth, all were in fancy dresses. The contrast between baby lineaments and the garb of mature age, must have had a singularly quaint effect. The fly cap, long ruffles, and elongated stays of the superannuated dowager, masked the form and features of infancy, while abbes and lawyers, monks and marshals, financiers and flower-girls, peasants and petit-maitres, were dressed and acted with the utmost accuracy, though very few of the exhibitors had reached their tenth birth-day.'

But the most striking feature of the whole evening was the performance of a real quadrille (such as the courtiers of Louis XIV. were in the habit of dancing) by a party of youthful masqueraders correctly dressed after the best pictures of that age.

Before they made their appearance, papers, of which the following is a literal copy, were distributed among the company, in order to prepare them for the coming sight:

-

While these bills were dispersing about the room, a well-chosen band of musicians (also dressed in character) struck up the tune of an ancient march, when, preceded by their pages, the four boys who represented the four Seigneurs made their appearance, accoutred in long and laced coats, black wigs with long ringlets which fell down their shoulders, stockings with red clocks, which were tied above the knee, and hats à la Henri IV. They moved forward from an adjoining room with becoming solemnity, each giving his hand to his allotted partner. The young ladies, who played the parts of the celebrated women already named, were no less appropriately dressed. They wore gowns with long waists, powdered hair, rouged cheeks, high heels, &c. Proceeding forward in measured time, the youthful dancers took their places in the centre of the saloon. The pages now with bended knee approached their respective lords, received their swords, and then after several bows retired. The Seigneurs began their task by making a profound reverence to the company assembled, and then repeated the same compliment to their partners individually.

The music now changed to the air appropriate to the quadrille, which was admirably executed, with its ancient figure and ancient steps; nor did the exhibitors lay aside for one minute the gravity which they had been taught to assume.

While the performance was going forward, I could not help casting an eye on the brilliant circle of spectators which was formed round the dancers; and in those who composed it, I recognised more than one immediate descendant of those illustrious houses visitors to the Hotel de Rambouillet, whom we now saw before us in miniature and this circumstance added no trifling interest to the scene which was representing.

"When the dance was finished, the music changed to a march; the pages came forward and returned the swords, in a submissive attitude similar to that in which they had received them, to their respective Seigneurs; who, after renewing their bows to the company and their partners, gave the latter their hands, and conducted them out of the room with the same solemnity which they had observed on entering it.' pp. 86-88.

The eleventh letter, from the Englishman in Paris, contains an animated picture of the out-door enjoyments of the French capital, contrasted with the dull soirées of set visiting. The transition from the bustle and gayety of the Tuilleries, the Palais Royal, and the Boulevards, to such a scene as the following, must be peculiarly striking.

After spending an hour in one of the promenades which I have just described, when I repair to an assembly given by some of the many distinguished personages to whom you have had the goodness to introduce me, I cannot help observing the contrast which presents itself. The stiff curtsey, and cold "Bon soir, Monsieur," with which, half rising from her chair, the mistress of the house receives VOL. XXII. N.S. 2 N