Music and Beauty! to all climes

How dear. From frozen Greenland snowing, To England's happy land: from France

Crushing her grapes, to India glowing:

Twin born delights-they cheer us, charm us,
Spell bind us, wile us, witch us, warm us.

For of all countries and all ranks,

Music and Beauty come.

Whoe'er

Heard of a land which lacked them. Look

To that deep ravishment of ear,

The air admiring hangs and mute,
O'er one glad and triumphant lute.

Thy will is done. Young Beauty, thou
Hast wrought thy spell, thy love may lay
His lute aside—those eyes would mar

His skill. I heard a poet say

That Beauty, meek-eyed, sweet, and silent,
Charmed minstrels mute and awed the valiant.

This is the triumph of thy art,

Proud painter. There man's might lies scattered

At Beauty's feet-he can but

gaze

With soul and senses stunned and fettered,

While she-her might but half divining,

Reigns sure as any monarch reigning.

THE KING AT WINDSOR.

THOSE Who wish to see a royal residence worthy of our island, and desire to become acquainted with the social and domestic character of our Sovereign, should go to Windsor. It is not in outward beauty that the castle so much deserves the name of royal, for it has little of that external magnificence which we associate with the houses of kings; nor is it among the lords and earls who surround the throne that we are to seek the character of his Majesty; for polished and courtly persons seldom say what they think, and usually speak a language at once diplomatic and mysterious. To see the palace right, we must go into the interior; and to know our Sovereign's character truly, we must converse with the common people of Windsor. In the first we shall find a succession of royal apartments which are unrivalled for elegant propriety of design and solid splendour of execution; while from the latter we shall learn that our King is warmly beloved by his people-by men who are ignorant enough to say what they think, tell what they feel, and who conceal resentments as little as they repress affections.

In the social character of our Sovereign, and in the appearance of his favourite residence, we see something peculiar to our island. It is our boast that we are inde

It is

pendent—and we are so; we have room for our social feelings to shoot freely out-our home is our castle, which we think nearly as lordly as that of Windsor; and as strong as a fortified place, since it is fenced about by the laws of our country. A Briton is more of a domestic being than any other man in Europe; and in this respect our Sovereign represents our national character. pleasing to think that a king is gentle and generous, and that one with so much wealth and power, uses both well and wisely. We are accustomed to think of kings as of persons above the ordinary sympathies of life and the influences of the world; or as men whose sole employment and use is to make lords, declare war, wear gold on their clothes, receive the visits of their barons, and preside at court in a dress cut by the head tailor of the herald's office. Out of all this foppery and solemni pedantry of the art of reigning, our King has boldly stept, and taught us to love him as a man as much as we esteem him as a monarch-and we are very glad of it.

Now, Windsor Castle resembles in some respects our national mode of building. It is plain on the outside and splendid within. Externally, the cities of foreign countries are cities of palaces, and the eye is dazzled with their picturesque grandeur and the costly marbles of which they are composed. An English city-London for instance-is as plain as brown brick can well be-all is simple, even to meanness-there are holes to let in light, doors to admit the inhabitants, and tiled roofs to throw off the rain-it is, in truth, a city of strong boxes

in which merchants secure their wealth. Yet London has a grandeur of her own-cross her threshold, and then, like the splendour of Windsor Castle, it is visible at once. Before our interior magnificence, all the outward splendour of foreign cities sinks; our merchants are as kings, who sit crowned amongst increasing riches, which the four winds of heaven waft constantly to their feet. The national taste is written on every tower and in every room of Windsor Palace—all is grave and massive without-all is rich and magnificent within.

It is no new erection which has arisen on Windsor Hill- there is much that is old and much that is newturrets of modern date and towers of old standing. Around those old battlements our national feelings are still earnestly wound, and in the royal walks old recollections still take an airing. A reverent and restoring hand has been laid on those worm-eaten holds, where the Henrys and Edwards dwelt—where the vanquished monarchs of France and Scotland were both at once confined. We are not members of the Antiquarian Society, therefore old dust and old dirt, paintings without sense, and busts without heads, are not dear to our heart, and we see them swept to oblivion in gladness rather than in sorrow. We are pleased to see the veteran fortress soften down its martial aspect to something like the peace establishment. Into the rough dark trunk of the old tree, there have been grafts inserted which give it a fresher and a sweeter look. We confess that it requires the fortunate use of great skill to subdue the rough austerity of castle architecture into elegance and grace

to change those martial features into gentleness and smiles. Nor do we like much a mimic fortress with its embrazures, and bastions, and loopholes-it is but an idle image of unquiet times—a painted dragon—a herald's griffin with gilded sting and claws. To Windsor Castle these remarks are not applied-it is a royal palace after the old martial stamp—a relique of those iron times when several kings ruled in our island-when the Red Rose warred with the White, and the Thistle did what it could against both; and it would be unwise to let it sink into decay, and still more unwise not to restore and rebeautify it in a manner worthy of the nation and the monarch. This has been done very skilfully. Around the old is thrown the enchantments of the new, and the improvements are to the ancient body of the building what the honeysuckle is to a withered oak up which it climbs, and around which it hangs its blossom and sheds its fragrance.

A walk through the Castle will be to the curious what drink is to the thirsty-the eye will be gratified and the mind will have its fill. The walls are covered with fine paintings of those great artists, who, to deep religious feeling and happy sympathy with human nature, added a poetic fervour of action and sentiment. And should the visitor love splendid colouring, extravagant attitudes, and forms which fill up the place of shape and sentiment, in the same way as stuffed regimentals represent an ardent and living warrior, he will be much pleased with Charles the Second's Chapel and banqueting room, where the heathen gods and goddesses of Verrio and La Guerre