to sing and as for the little children, they have evidently never come to their tongues at all-a "hush!" or an upheld finger, being the extent of their intercourse with their parents and with one another!

Seriously, this pattern village of Edensor is the prettiest idea imaginable-on paper; and there it is that the Duke must alone have contemplated it, before carrying the design of his architect into effect; or his fine natural taste would have predicted the almost painfully-artificial result.

The case is simply this: on the spot at present occupied by the model village of Edensor, there not long ago stood (within the very precincts of the park,) a squalid hamlet, comprising the usual amount of tumbledown cottages, reeking dung-heaps, dreary duck-ponds, draggletailed mothers, dowdy daughters, dirty-faced children, and all the accompanying ills and eyesores that English poverty is heir to; not forgetting the

usual proportion of those amiable inventions of modern legislation, where boor and beer are "licensed to be drunk on the premises":-in short, a very blotch upon the fair aristocratic face of Chatsworth; an unwholesome, unsightly eruption, for which, all ordinary modes of treatment being tried in vain, there was none left but the empirical one, of driving the disease inwards. And this, by the shallow counsel of his estate's physician, the good, kind, and generous Duke has adopted; little guessing the fatal result upon the patient, and as little likely to learn it from that quarter as from any other,—seeing that the disease we are dying of is always the last to which we believe ourselves liable. The least reputable and tractable of the quondam inhabitants of Edensor have been relegated to a village about a mile off, erected purposely for them by the Duke; and the élite have been installed in this beau-ideal of a village, at an almost nominal rent, but under

a tenure, the conditions of which may be guessed from what we have observed while looking on this prettiest and most plausible of mistakes-which can only be described by negatives. It has no shops, no smithy, no "public," no pound, no pump;—no cage, no stocks;-no quoits, no single-stick, no wrestling, no kite-flying, no cricketing, no trapball, no pitch and toss, no dumps;—no shouting, no singing, no hallooing, no squabbling, no scolding;--no love-making, no gossipping, no tittle-tattle, no scan-Yes! one thing the miserable denizens of this "happy village" have gained, in vice of their elevation in the scale of social life: they may scandalize one another to their hearts! content! And it is to be hoped that they do so: for what is left but scandal, to those whose lives must be conducted in a whisper?

VIII.

THE PARK AND THE PALACE.

TURNING our backs (not reluctantly) upon the pretty, but ill-placed toy, which, we more than suspect, an eye to business, rather than to beauty and propriety, has caused to be foisted into one corner of Chatsworth Park, (an outrage not unlike hanging a Brummagem jewel in the ear of one of those noble female faces which mark the house of Burlington), the lovely expanse of the park itself opens before us in all its stately simplicity, and with an air so purely English, yet so perfectly classical, that one is tempted to inquire -how it is that the two epithets admit of a "yet" coming between them.

Deferring the reply to this inquiry till we have nothing better to do than to seek it, let us observe, how nobly the view opens out on

the right and left, as we advance,-showing, as far as the eye can scan the scene as a whole, one unbroken expanse of turf, embroidered at intervals by distant groups of beech, or elm, or oak, that look as if they were artificially worked into that rich velvet robe, to relieve its uniformity; or (still more beautiful) here and there is one standing in that "single blessedness," in which those noblest denizens of inanimate nature are alone capable of attaining the true amount of their stately birthright.

This beautiful expanse, vast as it is, at no point extends beyond the limit that it pleases and satisfies the eye to compass at one view, in a scene of this nature. At the precise point where, if extended further, it would pass that limit, the rising ground on all sides becomes clothed in dense umbrageous groves, (not woods, which present a less cultivated aspect,) opening here and there towards their lower skirts, into short glades; but, as they ascend the heights which close in the view all