Page 22, line 2. O'er his dead son the gallant Ormond sighed. "I would not exchange my dead son," said he, "for any living son in Christendom."-HUME. The same sentiment is inscribed on an urn at the Leasowes. "Heu, quanto minus est cum reliquis versari, quam tui meminisse! Page 26, line 1. Down by St. Herbert's consecrated grove. A small island covered with trees, among which were formerly the ruins of a religious house. Page 26, line 18. When lo! a sudden blast the vessel blew. In a mountain-lake the agitations are often violent and momentary. The winds blow in gusts and eddies; and the water no sooner swells, than it subsides.-See BOURN's Hist. of Westmoreland. Page 27, line 15. To what pure beings, in a nobler sphere. The several degrees of angels may probably have larger views, and some of them be endowed with capacities able to retain together, and constantly set before them, as in one picture, all their past knowledge at once.-LOCKE. EVERY reader turns with pleasure to those passages of Horace, and Pope, and Boileau, which describe how they lived and where they dwelt; and which, being interspersed among their satirical writings, derive a secret and irresistible grace from the contrast, and are admirable examples of what in painting is termed repose. We have admittance to Horace at all hours. We enjoy the company and conversation at his table; and his suppers, like Plato's, "non solum in præsentia, sed etiam postero die jucundæ sunt." But, when we look round as we sit there, we find ourselves in a Sabine farm, and not in a Roman villa. His windows have every charm of prospect; but his furniture might have descended from Cincinnatus; and gems, and pictures, and old marbles, are mentioned by him more than once with a seeming indifference. His English imitator thought and felt, perhaps, more correctly on the subject; and embellished his garden and grotto with great industry and success. But to these alone he solicits our notice. On the ornaments of his house he is silent; and he appears to have reserved all the minuter touches of his pencil for the library, the chapel, and the banqueting-room of Timon. "Le savoir de notre siècle," says Rousseau, "tend beaucoup plus à détruire qu'à édifier. censure d'un ton de maître; pour proposer, il en faut prendre un autre." On It is the design of this Epistle to illustrate the virtue of True Taste; and to show how little she requires to secure, not only the comforts, but even the elegancies of life. True Taste is an excellent Economist. She confines her choice to few objects, and delights in producing great effects by small means: while False Taste is for ever sighing after the new and the rare; and reminds us, in her works, of the Scholar of Apelles, who, not being able to paint his Helen beautiful, determined to make her fine. An Invitation-The Approach to a Villa described-Its SituationIts few Apartments-Furnished with Casts from the Antique, &c.-The Dining-Room-The Library-A Cold-bath-A Winterwalk-A Summer-walk-The Invitation renewed-Conclusion. HEN, with a Réaumur's skill, thy curious mind W Has classed the insect-tribes of human kind, Each with its busy hum, or gilded wing, Its subtle web-work, or its venomed sting; Point out the green lane rough with fern and flowers; The sheltered gate that opens to my field, And the white front thro' mingling elms revealed. In vain, alas, a village-friend invites To simple comforts and domestic rites, When the gay months of Carnival resume Their annual round of glitter and perfume; › When London hails thee to its splendid mart, Its hives of sweets and cabinets of art; And, lo, majestic as thy manly song, Flows the full tide of human life along. Still must my partial pencil love to dwell On the home-prospects of my hermit-cell; The mossy pales that skirt the orchard-green, Here hid by shrub-wood, there by glimpses seen; And the brown path-way, that, with careless flow, Sinks, and is lost among the trees below. Still must it trace (the flattering tints forgive) Each fleeting charm that bids the landscape live. Oft o'er the mead, at pleasing distance, pass Browsing the hedge by fits the panniered ass; The idling shepherd-boy, with rude delight, Whistling his dog to mark the pebble's flight; And in her kerchief blue the cottage-maid, With brimming pitcher from the shadowy glade. Far to the south a mountain-vale retires, Rich in its groves, and glens, and village spires ; Its upland-lawns, and cliffs with foliage hung, Its wizard-stream, nor nameless nor unsung: And through the various year, the various day, What scenes of glory burst, and melt away! When April- verdure springs in Grosvenor square, And the furred Beauty comes to winter there, She bids old Nature mar the plan no more ; Ah, still as soon the young Aurora plays, Tho' moons and flambeaux trail their broadest blaze; Here no state-chambers in long line unfold, Bright with broad mirrors, rough with fretted gold; Yet modest ornament, with use combined, Attracts the eye to exercise the mind. Small change of scene, small space his home requires, Who leads a life of satisfied desires. What tho' no marble breathes, no canvass glows, Here from the mould to conscious being start For here laces afte 192 Thy gallery, Florence, gilds my humble walls; And my low roof the Vatican recalls! Soon as the morning-dream my pillow flies, To waking sense what brighter visions rise! O mark! again the coursers of the Sun, At Guido's call, their round of glory run! Again the rosy Hours resume their flight, Obscured and lost in floods of golden light! But could thine erring friend so long forget Pause, and his features with his thoughts compare. Tho' my thatched bath no rich mosaic knows, apis Matinæ More modoque Grata carpentis thyma .-HOR. Postea verò quàm Tyrannio mihi libros disposuit, mens addita videtur meis ædibus.-CIC. |