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The Lion's Head is determined on having a paw in the Coronation : It has serious thoughts of putting in its claim to sit on the right side of Britannia (if Britannia intends being present), its old established place, as the earliest pocket-pieces testify. The Lion's Head can pledge itself, that the Unicorn will not be there, so that there will certainly be nothing to apprehend from that old and graceless broil about the Crown: at any rate, Lion's Head will fight for nothing so little as a Crown; and Mr. Dymoke would be by to settle all squabbles, as in duty bound. Lion's Head, or some part of its family, attended heart in hand, at Richard Cour de Lion's Coronation; and it will certainly prowl its way into Westminster Hall, on the approach-, ing splendid day, and bear a watchful eye upon the ceremony. Lion's Head is not a Dandy-lion, but its mane will be carefully cut and turned for the occasion; and it will go ruffled, like a true British Lion. The readers of the London MAGAZINE, in fine, may rest assured, that Lion's Head will, on that day, seek its own food, and not trust to the established Jackalls of the diurnal press.

We promised a Plate in the present Number, from Mr. Hilton's picture, of “ Nature blowing Bubbles for her Children;" but being disappointed in the Engraving, we are compelled to defer the fulfilment of our promise till next month.

Table Talk, No. XI. and the Buccaneer, will certainly appear in our next Number.

We really cannot commend such poetry as the following, and say with our Correspondent that it “ mingles delicacy, tenderness, and sprightliness, and is among the prettiest that has been written on that poetic favourite, the Nightingale."

The Nightingale, pent in his cage,

Cleora, is musical still ;
He harps on the wires in his rage,

And his sighs in soft melody trill.

Oh! hear how he warbles ! each note

Is a mystical, soft billet doux,
Sent post to the woods, from his throat,

With the sweetest and saddest adieu.

We wish the Author of the “ Ballad to his Mistress,” bad been near the postman of the woods, mentioned above, as he might have compassed a cheaper delivery. Surely this “ earnest of future, and more valuable conributions,” was never written in earnest.

The “ Public Office Clerk” must share the fate of many of his brethren, and be dismissed.

Two Sorts of Men” shall be carefully considered. We will, as a learned personage says, “take the papers home with us, and give judgment on a future day.”

J. W. G. must excuse us if we decline inserting the “ two more little efforts of his unfledged muse,” which we the less regret, as he says, “ they cost no effort.”

Our respect for the original of Mr. R-'s “poetic paraphrases,” impels us to refuse his friendly offer. Non hæc conveniunt lyræ. And if it were not so, the lyre he aims at holding is too heavy for his hands, judging from the specimen he has sent us.

“ The Lawyer, a Picture,” is quite to our taste; and we promise our poetical readers a treat, by the insertion of it in our next number.

The paper of A. W. upon the encouragement of Autograph-Epitaphs(a species of writing to which we never particularly applied our minds) partakes rather too much of the sombre sobriety of its subject. We are obliged by the offer of it for our pages; but, like young ladies at an offer of another description, we really cannot yet make up our minds.

The Translation from Earl Conrad, of Kirchberg, in Praise of May, will appear in our next. We may answer our fair Correspondent's proverb of a “ day after the fair,” with another: “a miss is as good as a mile.” The season, however, seems to have put itself off to oblige her.

M. A. will see that we have availed ourselves of one of his papers. We cannot promise as to the rest, for we have really not yet had time to read them.

E. R. and Zara, and the author of the versified Epistle on Poetical Deception, are unavoidably deferred.

The proprietors of the following signatures must frame excuses the most pleasant to their own feelings for our omission of their several contributions. We sincerely thank them one and all for their kind intentions; but the public is a dainty personage, and we are obliged to cater cautiously.—Ensign S. -H. L.-Jack Straw.-J.J. W.-Beta.-Chevalier.-James with his Pocket Book.--Singultus.

Our Publishers desire to say a word or two, but we have not room for them this time : they shall have a fair hearing on a future opportunity. In the mean time, the Public are assured, that all the former Contributors to the London Magazine are earnest in giving it their powerful support; and the contents of the present Number are, in our minds, a more substantial recommendation than a thousand promises.

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The castle I do give thee, here's the keyes. Old Ballad. If any one would choose to pay visit, for unless I go regularly through Antiquity a visit, and see, her in her the pictures of my memory, and grand tiara of turrets, see her in all point them out in their proper lights her gloomy glory,--not dragging on and sequent courses, I become cona graceless existence, in ruined cell, fused and wandering, like the powwith disordered dress, and soiled vi- dered guide of Hampton Court, who sage ; but clad in seemly habili- drags along his aged silken feet, from ments, bearing a staid, proud, and painting to painting, day by day, glowing countenance, and dwelling and hour by hour, with a rigid and in a home that seems charmed, and tedious precision-pointing out to not distracted by time:- let such a every comer the same picture, from one go to the wooded solitudes, the the same spot, directing the visitor silent courts, the pictured walls, and (every visitor) to “ stand there and rich embrowned floors of Warwick admire the perspective," and never Castle. There dwells Antiquity like failing, winter and summer (I have a queen! There she holds her sombre been there I know not how oft), to state, amid spear and sword, and select a brass pan in the picture of battle-axe and shield: there she keeps the Deluge, as a thing that “ is rich and solemn revel through all reckoned very fine:” Leave him to time. The air takes a more hallowed his own course,-and he knows a softness from her presence; and the Rembrandt from a Guido, a Titian paintings which hang in her halls, from a Raphael, a Vandyke from a appear to warm and brighten under Sir Peter Lely; but take him up on her mild care and sovereignty. Time the sudden, and call him back to a breathes patiently upon them, and picture past in his description, or to they ripen in his breath, like fruit in one considerably a head of his narthe rich mellowed airs of autumn. rative, and you ruin his knowledge, The Titian cheek deepens and glows lay waste his recollections, pillage into rich perfection; the black hair his pictorial saws and ancient inbecomes more black, magnificent, in- stances, and plunge him into a tutense. The velvet garmenting, and mult of names, from which he cannot crimson robe, and gloomy fur, seem easily extricate himself, I have his filled with thought. All around looks trick to a nicety, and must be allowsacred, and dedicate to Time. War- ed to “ begin at the beginning," or wick Castle is sure the palace of An- I shall confound oak with myrtle, tiquity : and here let me tell how I shade with sun light, and vase with found that gracious and queenly cauldron. Let me proceed “orderly, creature, when I last was in her pre as it is meet,” or you get nothing

I will minutely describe my true of me. I must, if the reader Vol. IV.

с

sence.

love me, take up at the gate, and not staid on the bridge longer “ than then my description will be sure to one with moderate haste might count prosper.

a hundred.” I proceed. The gate of No-I must begin with the bridge the castle is walled, or rather rocked, that leads the road over the river deeply in; and the transition from the (the Avon! Shakespeare's Avon!) coarse road, meagre gravel, and from Leamington to Warwick, - be- barren wall, to the verdant riches of cause I once beheld from it one of the garden, to its soft shades and the finest scenes of evening-quiet tender lustres, is high enchantment. and beauty that ever blessed me in You pass the gate, and the world is my poetical days. The sky all around - shut out !--You enter,-- and Adam's was cloudless ; so much so, as to ap- banishment seems reversed. I would pear thrice spacious over my head; only recommend, and this earnestly, and the set sun had warmed it, and that all lovers of the picturesque tinted it with a soft pink lustre, that rush onwards immediately, and that made it extremely calm and reposing they dally not with a sleek modern to the eye. Peace “ sailed upon the porter, who does antiquity great disbosom of the air.” I leaned against service at her very portal. He may the parapet of the bridge, and gazed be a worthy man, but he should not in lazy wonder and delight at the stand there yet. He is old-a trifle castle. It crowned the river, and —but not old enough for his situalooked proudly down from its nest of tion. He ought to be infru-antrees and ancient rock, as though nuated. watching and brooding over its image The garden, or park, for I know in the water, silver bright beneath it. not which it should be called, is pleaNothing could be more strangely still santly reliered with hill and slope,and clear; not a leaf thrilled on the distance, and sweet bounded dells; trees; not a wave, not the shudder and clumps of trees-not of those of a wave, arose to break the mir- slim, young things, - saplings, I rored smoothness of the charmed would call them,- which usurp the Avon! Every sound and moving ob- name of trees in these impoverished ject even confirmed the silence ; for times,- but of old solid family trees, the long low evening moan of the trees of character, and long standcattle, in the level meadows by the ing,--break the prospect grandly and river side, took a deep far-off echo, irregularly, and vary the green exas though no other sound was alive panse of grass and shrubs, with beauto disturb or break it; and the passe tiful strewings of light and shade. ing of a sparrow across the air was The castle stands at no great distmost distinct, and apparently most ance from the gate, but you are pursolitary. I never shall forget this posely and cunningly perplexed with scene,--and when in a morning of a winding path, that will have its last spring, I crossed the bridge a own way, and will not let you have new, that evening arose before my yours; and, it is therefore a work of eyes in its placid splendour and time to reach the foss and solemn beauty, and the past revived, with walls of this noble building. To be all its warm and slumberous lustre. candid, I must own that my shrewdHow poor does the scene appear in ness and ingenuity adopted an erring this colourless description, and yet it path, and maintained it contrary to seemed to contain at the time the in- the advice of two young creatures spiration of a thousand glowing (women-kind, as my friend Jonapages ! Why did I not " write it than Oldbuck hath it) who accomdown” at the moment I saw it, as a panied me; and thus we were carlandscape-painter colours from na- ried far beyond the castle, and, inture; then should I have had a deed, were brought to the greenery sketch worthy the possessing : but before its time. Greatly were my the opportunity is gone by, and such associates disconcerted, and, as my evenings do not occur frequently in powers as a guide were considerably these degenerate days. I can but disordered, I attempted no excuse, exclaim with master Shallow, “Ha! but sought hy other topics to divert o'my life, if I were young again!” the minds of my friends from the re

The reader will admit that I have collection of my perversity. We

talked of the beauty of the day, the A gardener now joined us, and charm of fine scenery, the pleasures proceeded forth with to fasten himself of a picturesque solitude of all those upon us as a guide. He led us back delights, in short, which so romantic into the green-house, from which we a place never fails to suggest, but we had slily and quietly oozed at his apentered the greenery, and my errors proach, and with tedious officious-' were instantly and utterly forgotten. ness went into a prose account of the The tall and beautiful myrtles, the vase, hoeing up all our little previous wide-spreading geraniums,

the grace- poetical feelings, and plainly telling ful and delicate roses of every va

us that the handles were formed of riety, plants of the most rare flow- interwoven vine-branches, and that er and odour, were disposed around the basin would hold one hundred us in the most cunning order, and and sixty-three gallons, wine meaarranged, so as to set each other's sure. He then descanted on the beauties off, like “ jewels in an plants, and on the prospects, and Ethiop's ear.”. We admired in si- contrived to take us out of the greenlence, -save that one of us (I will house, in a far more perplexed and not disclose the name of the Extra- ignorant state, than that in which we vagant) wished for the possession of entered it. In spite, however, of the tallest and handsomest geranium, the cruel learning of our guide, we and that another hinted at a certain forgave him in the open air. He was mother going mad in such a paradise an old man, lame, and clothed in a of plants. In the midst of the most grey dress, a shade darker than his delicate stems and tender leaves, hair. His garments and general apwhich crept and twined around, as pearance were remarkably neat and forming a verdant nest, stood the far- placid, and he might have been misfamed vase, présented to the Earl of taken for a quaker of the forests—a Warwick by Sir William Hamilton, romantic sectarian. I myself could This noble piece of antiquity, with not but conceit him to be a kind of its silent Bacchanalian emblems, and lay-gardener, let loose by the Earl fair shape of white marble, seemed to ornament the grounds more by to us a fit urn to hold the ashes of his presence, than by his labour: to Anacreon. Its decorations of the be sure, he picked a weed from the vine-leaf, and the grape, would fain walk, as he toiled idly and relaxedly remind us of joy, and life, and love, before us, and rooted up a stray daisy

or so, but he did no more; and he

-the wine, had no spud, no spade, no hoe, no Brought from the gloomy tun with merry hook, no blue apron, no curved clasp shine.

knife, to mark him a man of gardenBut there is in the pale cold still- occupation. He stood before us an ness of the white marble, a mystery locks curled loosely and irregularly

ideal gardener only ! His long grey that touches the imaged joy to sadThe heart becomes awed un

over his grey shoulders, and around der the strange and tomb-like quiet

his dark healthy neck, which, being of the vase, and scarcely dares to ask slightly 'kerchiefed, was deeply em

browned by the united efforts of the What leaf-fringed legend haunts about its air and sun. His step was heavy shape.

and solemn, as though he dragged at

his heels all his past years, the wiWe gazed upon it in silence, until thered weeds and brambles of existwe departed from its magic presence, ence. I thought his aged face handwhen I could not help uttering those some, and my companions detected beautiful lines, which the most ori- in it a kindly and benign expression: ginal poet of the age hath conse and I have, indeed, remarked or fancrated to an imaginary vase.

cied that men who associate with -Cold pastoral !

plants and flowers only become as When old age shall this generation waste,

simple and as pure as they ; that their Thou shalt remain in midst of other woe

faces ever speak of the gentleness of Than ours, a friend to man, to whom thou pleasant plants. So country schoolsay'st,

masters are touched with the simpliBeauty is truth, truth beauty.

city of childhood, and become un

, and

ness.

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