With a luckless result may be branded;
Wherefore add this particular rule to your code,
Let all vehicles take the wrong side of the road,
And man, woman, and child, be left-handed.

Yet regard not the awkward appearance with doubt,
But remember how often mere blessings fall out,
That at first seem'd no better than curses:

So, till things take a turn, live in hope, and depend
That whatever is wrong will come right in the end,
And console you for all your reverses.

But of errors why speak, when for beauty and truth
Your free, spirited Etching is worthy, in sooth,

Of that Club (may all honour betide it!)
Which, tho' dealing in copper, by genius and taste,
Has accomplish'd a service of plate not disgraced
By the work of a Goldsmith beside it!*

So

your sketch superficially drawn on the plate, It becomes you to fix in a permanent state,

Which involves a precise operation,

With a keen biting fluid, which eating its way—
As in other professions is common they say-
Has attain'd an artistical station.

And it's, oh! that some splenetic folks I could name
If they must deal in acids would use but the same,
In such innocent graphical labours!

In the place of the virulent spirit wherewith-
Like the polecat, the weasel, and things of that kith-
They keep biting the backs of their neighbours!

But beforehand, with wax or the shoemaker's pitch,
You must build a neat dyke round the margin, in which
You may pour the dilute aquafortis.

For if raw, like a dram, it will shock you to trace
Your design with a horrible froth on its face,

Like a wretch in articulo mortis.

Like a wretch in the pangs that too m ny endure
From the use of strong waters, without any pure,

*The Deserted Village. Illustrated by the Etching Club.

A vile practise, most sad and improper !
For, from painful examples, this warning is found,
That the raw burning spirit will take up the ground,
In the churchyard, as well as on copper!

But the Acid has duly been lower'd, and bites
Only just where the visible metal invites

Like a nature inclined to meet troubles;
And behold! as each slender and glittering line
Effervesces, you trace the completed design
In an elegant bead-work of bubbles!

And yet constantly secretly eating its way,
The shrewd acid is making the substance its prey,

Like some sorrow beyond inquisition,

Which is gnawing the heart and the brain all the while
That the face is illumed by its cheerfullest smile,
And the wit is in bright ebullition.

But still stealthily feeding, the treacherous stuff
Has corroded and deepened some portions enough,-
The pure sky, and the water so placid-
And these tenderer tints to defend from attack,
With some turpentine varnish and sooty lamp-black
You must stop out the ferreting acid.

But before with the varnishing-brush you proceed,
Let the plate with cold water be thoroughly freed
From the other less innocent liquor—
After which, on whatever you want to protect,
Put a coat that will act to that very effect,

Like the black one which hangs on the Vicar.

Then the varnish well dried-urge the biting again,
But how long, at its meal, the eau forte may remain,
Time and practice alone can determine :

But of course not so long that the Mountain, and Mill,
The rude Bridge, and the Figures-whatever you will—
Are as black as the spots on your ermine.

It is true, none the less, that a dark-looking scrap With a sort of Blackheath and Black Forest, mayhap, Is considered as rather Rembrandty;

And that very black cattle and very black sheep,
A black dog, and a shepherd as black as a sweep
Are the pets of some great Dilettante.

So with certain designers, one needs not to name,
All this life is a dark scene of sorrow and shame,

From our birth to our final adjourning-
Yea, this excellent earth and its glories, alack!
What with ravens, palls, coffins, and devils, as black
As a Warehouse for Family Mourning!

But before your own picture arrives at that pitch,
While the lights are still light, and the shadows, though rich,
More transparent than ebony shutters,

Never minding what Black-Arted critics may say,
Stop the biting, and pour the green fluid away,
As you please, into bottles or gutters.

Then removing the ground and the wax at a heat,
Cleanse the surface with oil, spermaceti, or sweet-
For your hand a performance scarce proper-
So some careful professional person secure―
For the Laundress will not be a safe amateur-
To assist you in cleaning the copper.

And, in truth, 'tis a rather unpleasantish job,
To be done on a hot German stove, or a hob—
Though as sure of an instant forgetting
When as after the dark clearing off of a storm-
The fair Landscape shines out in a lustre as warm
As the glow of the sun in its setting!

Thus your Etching complete, it remains but to hint,
That with certain assistance from paper and print,
Which the proper Mechanic will settle,
You may charm all your Friends-without any
Of such perils and ills as beset Lady Sale-
With a fine India Proof of your Metal?

sad tale

CORRESPONDENCE OF LADY HESTER STANHOPE.

[AMONG the remarkable personages of our times, the writer of the letters now first published, was certainly one of the most prominent. The very little that is known of her personal history, has excited public curiosity in no ordinary degree, which the authentic information conveyed in this interesting correspondence is likely to revive. The outline we have had of the marvellous story of her eccentricities, her genius and her misfortunes, is here filled up by the only hand by which it could have been properly done, and the reader is introduced on a more familiar footing than he could have obtained during her life, to the wondrous woman who, for a considerable period, exercised an extraordinary dominion over the warlike Arabs of the desert,-Sheiks, Effendis, Hakims, Dervishes, and Rabbis, regarding her with wonder and veneration, as much for her courage as for her assumed knowledge of the occult sciences-an assumption she took every means in her power to maintain through the medium of conversation with the many eastern philosophers and scholars who frequented her residence in the mountains of Syria, where she lived with as much display of eastern power and magnificence as her income would allow.

But towards the close of her life, pecuniary difficulties so pressed upon her, that her days were passed in much suffering and considerable risk. She found herself frequently obliged to submit to insult and menace-difficult to be endured by one of her proud spirit, the last flash of which was elicited by a communication from the British government respecting the appropriation of a part of her pension to the payment of her numerous debts in the Levant. She died shortly afterwards in her residence at Djouni, on the 23d of December, 1839, in the sixty-fourth year of her age. The father of Lady Hester was the third Earl of Stanhope, celebrated for his genius for mechanics; and her mother was the eldest daughter of the first Earl of Chatham, after whose decease, the earl married the daughter of Henry Grenville, Esq. (cousin to the Marquis of Buckingham), by whom he had issue Philip Henry Viscount Mahon, and two other sons.]

As the niece of the Right Honourable William Pitt, she received 900l. per

annum.

Lady Hester Stanhope to Lieut.-General Oakes.

My dear General,

St. Antonio, Sunday night,
July 8, 1810.

I send you the box I mentioned. If it occasionally puts you in mind of me I shall be much flattered. Were I in France, where they work so admirably, I might be able to offer you one more worthy your acceptance, for I should order that a little bird should pop up with a spring, and sing a little hymn daily, expressive of my gratitude for all the kindness you have shown me.

I am going with Mr. Bruce to-morrow to speak to Captain Vincent; if, therefore, you would have the goodness to allow your boat to come to General Mc Kenzie's house in the bay I could take advantage of seeing every part of the harbour, &c. About half-past six I should think quite early enough. Believe me, dear General, Yours most sincerely,

Lady Hester Stanhope to Lieut.-General Oakes.

H. L. S.

Terapia, upon the Bosphorus,
December 21, 1810.

My dear General, I have to thank you for your kind letter just received, dated the 24th of November, your long letter which preceded it, and one I only received about a week ago, as it was sent by mistake into Greece. Your conduct about Lucun proves that judgment and firmness which has ever marked your character, and I am delighted it has been approved by his majesty; I wish all his servants could boast of serving him as faithfully as you have always done. What a sad business in Portugal! and this is to be called a victory? I think the inclosure you had the goodness to send me in your last letter, shows that things at Cadiz do not go on quite as one should wish; indeed, my dearest brother gives me to understand this to be the case. Dear fellow, he has been ill, confined to his bed for three weeks with a violent fever, from being too much exposed to the sun, but his last letter assures me he is recovered.

Since the fire at Pera good houses are so scarce that I have taken up my abode at this place, where I have a fine view of the coast of Asia, and mouth of the Black Sea. Lord Sligo and Bruce are about to set off upon a tour; the latter returns here in a few weeks, but my lord, out of respect to you, means to take his passage to Malta by the first opportunity, and to return to us in the early spring. I flatter myself that you will take my word for his having the best of hearts, and being a most friendly creature, till you can judge yourself of his good qualities; then I am sure that you will not withhold him a little good advice when you think he may want it, and I can answer for his taking it well, as he is very partial to you, and thinks highly of you in every way. Bruce desires to be most kindly remembered to you; he is going to-morrow to choose a worked handkerchief for your love, and I shall take the liberty of sending you a pot of preserved roses, which we all think the best sweet thing we ever tasted. As you will probably see Lord Sligo so soon, I shall not prolong this letter, as he will tell you all our adventures.

I have now only to thank you for your kindness in writing to me when your time must have been so much employed, and to entreat you to take a little care of yourself, for I really fear you have more business than it is almost possible you can get through without injuring your health. Allow me to assure you, my dear General, of the sentiments of perfect regard and esteem with which I shall ever remain, Most sincerely yours,

H. L. S. Canning has behaved to me in the civilest, kindest manner pos