or "College," as the old soldiers like to hear it called, and there, where those irregular but tall houses, so grave and self-possessed, as though they said, "we each have a history," stretch along the water with grim perpendicular railings, more than half concealed by the trees that flank the riveris Cheyne-walk-dear old Cheyne-walk! where Sir Thomas More so frequently "took boat" at the bottom of his garden; where Holbein wandered, and Pym thought, and St. Evremond resided, and Sir Robert Walpole --more celebrated than respected-made a great deal out of a little; where Addison loitered dear, sober, grey-toned Cheyne-walk!--fit emblem of the sweet old village of Chelsea, as even we remember it, before it lost all selfrespect in a wilderness of modern houses, pressing upon some quaint old nooks, where still great men shelter from the tumult of the townloving world, in an unseemly fashion. Martin still paints near Beaufort-row; and that great, grand author-who thunders at the world, but cannot comprehend an opera, who is himself to thousands, the hero of his "Hero worship,” a living myth, of whom we think more than we could write, and to whose shrine, when he passes from among us, the thinkers of the old, as well as of the new world, will do pilgrimage— CARLYLE lives beyond those trees, in a place so still, that the echo of the knocker on his door might thrice steal round the street without risk of being noticed. We longed to point out each well-known tree, and house, and chain, and bit of railing, and the spot where the ducking stool for scolding wives once stood, and the Don Saltero's coffee-house, talked of in the Tatler-and the grey old church containing the ashes of the body of Sir Thomas More. We longed to talk about it, but though many of our companions spoke of the fine square grim tower, and seemed rather fearful that our gay flagstaff might catch in the wood-work of Chelsea-bridge as we passed beneath it, yet they were too happy in the present, to travel back to the past; and so, rejoicing with them in the sunshine, and the joyous pouring forth of the music, we bade adieu to the scene of so many long-ago rambles, and felt it was better to keep our memories to ourselves, than expose them to those who would not perhaps give us their sympathy. One thing especially delighted us, the courtesy and good nature of the company one to the other. In half an hour we had ceased to feel that we were among strangers; even the political cross-firing was conducted with infinite good humour and good breeding.

It is so much the custom at the "west end," to attack the citizens of London concerning their lack of knowledge of the etiquette of the "well bred," that when, some years ago, we first had an opportunity of observing "citizens," in " citizen society," we were prepared for every species of absurdity; but, even then, before the party dispersed, we grew heartily ashamed of our credulity. Men immersed in business have seldom time to think of small forms or ceremonies, but if Lord Chatham's definition of POLITENESS be correct, and it is simply

"Benevolence in trifles,"

We

The citizens of London must be the most "polite" people in the world, for they are truly "benevolent" in small things-as surely and as well as they are in great ones. cannot forget the cordial attentions, the omissions of self, the overflowing hospitalities we have witnessed in citizen assemblies; it seems almost impertinent to say this, when prejudice has quitted so many of her strongholds, and the band of commercial brotherhood draws the inhabitants of England together much more closely than in the olden time; but as long as prejudices linger it is well to assist in their overthrow. Differences of particular kinds must always exist in the various classes of society; but they are not of the nature which empty-headed foppery would stamp upon the upright and honourable citizens of London.

We were attracted by the bright appearance of the crowd on Putney-bridge; the sun shone upon them, and brought out the colours of the gay bonnets and parasols to perfection. Putney is famous in all history as the head-quarters of Cromwell's army, and as the birth-place of Cromwell, the renowned Earl of Essex, whose father was a blacksmith in that village. We are a strange people! with the descendants of blacksmiths and butchers, tailors and drapers, and, worse than all, of women "spotted as the pard" among our peers, we talk of a "pure aristocracy," and do not desire to withdraw from its influence! At Putney, Cardinal Wolsey, after his disgrace, descended from his mule, and, delighted at the message sent him by his master, bestowed a gold chain on the messenger, "Master Norris;" and, not content with that, dispatched his poor attached fool as a present to the King. The fool deserved a better fate, for he did not want to go, and it took, according to good old Stowe, "six of the tallest ycomen to convey him to court." Alas! poor fool!

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Putney has other memories. Pitt died on Putney-heath; and Gibbon, our historian, was born there. It is said that Richardson wrote Sir Charles Grandison in a small house near the bridge; and, on the Fulham side of the river, we know that the witty Theodore Hook penned those works which, after their particular genre, remain unrivalled in our literature. Beside his house stands the more stately Pryor's-bank, where, five or six years ago, two well-known and hospitable friends assembled all the art and literature of the Metropolis-acting plays, and getting up masques, such as can never be forgotten.

As we floated towards the beautiful bridge of Hammersmith-which spans the water as if an enchanter had thrown it there in sportwe passed Barn-Elms, where the Earl of Essex dwelt, and Cowley lived, before he went to Chertsey; and where Jacob Tonson, the noted bookseller, resided, and formed the gallery of the Kit-cat Club. And, as the shadows of the trees come further on the water, and the wild flowers mingle with the branches of some of the old willows, which are greatly bowed into the stream since we knew them first, we approach that part of the Thames which teems with reminiscences of our truest and purest poets; hardly a spot which is not consecrated by some association with Pope, Gay, Collins, Denham, Cowley, and even the witty, disagreeable Dean Swift. We pass the site of Brandenburgh House, where one of the most unfortunate of Queens received the congregated thousands who assured her of a sympathy which followed her to her rapidly-found grave. We hope our citizen friends remembered that the noble and worthy knight of the City of London, Sir Nicholas Crisp-the LOYAL par excellence had a residence there, and that his great heart is literally buried in Old Hammersmith Church.

FETES al fresco are what we English but little understand; yet, as we rowed beneath the bridge, several of the company recalled the delightful fetes they had enjoyed at Mr. Lumley's villa, when his beautiful grounds were thrown open to his friends, and his taste and hospitality assembled guests to whom so much interest was attached that the entrance-gates were crowded to see them as they passed. And, in passing Chiswick, the seat of Devonshire's good Duke, we thought of two great men-George Canning and Charles James Fox-who died there, and of the gravestones that surround the ancient village church; of Hogarth, who lies buried thereof Loutherbourg, the artist and magnetizer

of Cromwell's gentle daughter Mary-and of the proud Duchess of Cleveland—all, however separated by time and circumstance, united by death in that crowded churchyard, we had become quite oblivious of the scene, for we passed Mortlake without bestowing a thought on Dr. Dee, the astrologer, and found ourselves at Kew, beneath the bows of the Maria Wood, without having noted our approach; and leaving the gorgeous little palace which had floated us thus far, we entered upon a more extensive domain, our passenger-boats bounding backwards and forwards, to convey on board the company who joined us there. The guns fired, and the band took up its posi tion round the mast of our stately barge; and, shaded by an awning which covered the whole of the deck, the guests commenced dancing with considerable spirit; while, below in the saloon, preparations for the dinner were continued with unabated activity.

Everybody knew everything about Kew, and everybody seemed to admire Sion-house, whose chief interest to us arose from the memory that it stands nearly on the site of a nunnery which gave shelter to Elizabeth Barton, the holy maid of Kent: a circumstance that provoked the special ire of Henry VIII.; and the nunnery, founded by Henry V., " in honour of the Holy Trinity, the glorious Virgin Mary, the apostles and disciples of God, and all saints, especially St. Bridget," was one of the first establishments which Henry thought fit to suppress, "for the honour of God," and the increase of his own revenue! When the kingly state added dignity and power to the virtues of Edward VI., he bestowed the domain on the Duke of Northumberland; and the sweet eyes of Lady Jane Grey looked out from thence, upon the waters of the Thames, when she accepted the crown which crushed her into an early grave. And then, poor misguided Mary, re-gave the nunnery to "all the saints, but particularly St. Bridget," who enjoyed it but a little while; for Elizabeth, with a stroke of her sceptre, swept them all away, and re-gifted the nunnery to the Earl of Northumberland, in whose family it remains until this day.

ISLEWORTH, whose church is built on the margin of the river, quiet and sleepy and harmless as it looked from our floating palace, was once the head-quarters of firm, determined men, as ever wielded "bill" or drew "bow" in defence of rights and liberties. There, during the long and disturbed reign of Henry III., the insurgent barons, under Simon de Montfort, Earl of Leicester, assembled and camped. Those grim, grand, old barons were, in truth, trouble

some to deal with! But, as we draw nearer to RICHMOND, our senses become bewildered, and were lost in the mazes of fact and fiction; we were beside Jeannie Deans and the Duke of Argyle, and we saw cows that would have excited the enthusiasm of the said Jeannie. And snatches of Thompson's poetry tingled in our ears, and we kept repeating (all gently to ourselves, while the dance continued)—we kept, we say, repeating to ourselves the ode of Collins:

"In yonder grave a druid lies,

While slowly wind the stealing waves,
The year's best sweets shall duteous rise,
To deck their poet's sylvan grave.
"Remembrance oft shall haunt the shore,

When Thames in summer wreath is drest,
And oft suspend the dashing oar,

To bid thy gentle spirit rest." Thompson's spirit may well be supposed to haunt the Thames, to watch its banks, to inhale its perfumes, to mingle with its gales; the beauteous river seemed necessary to his very existence; he lived beside it, died beside it, in Rosedale-house, and he is buried in one of its most sacred resting-places-in the churchyard of Richmond. Our thoughts were so filled by the sweet poet of the "Seasons" that we hardly remembered our long-ago wanderings on Richmond-green, where we called up the shadows of the kings who passed beneath the crumbling gateway, the only remains of the ancient palace where Edward III. dieddeserted by his base mistress, Lady Alice Pierce, who stripped the jewels from the fingers of her dying king, and fled! And there ELIZABETH, great in all things save the attributes of woman, also died; her stormy nature and fiery passions quenched at last! There is a sudden pause in the dance, and the band, according to custom, strikes up--

"Sweet lass of Richmond-hill !”

We pause beneath the shadow of the beautiful bridge and now have patience with our description. Imagine the waters of the Thames —a fresh, bright, heavenly blue, as blue as unstained ether-overflowing their banks rippling on the green sward. Take yon arch as the frame of your picture, and look through it. Behold those pensile trees sweeping into the water, while others stretch loftily away into a magnificent background—the banks, gorgeous with all the brilliant flowers of the season. Note how the villas peep through the trees, breaking up the foliage into lights. Did you ever see such delicious masses of colour? But therea little in advance of us--in the centre of our landscape, like a bright ruby set round with sapphires, rides our city barge, the crimson,

black-capped rowers resting on their oars; there is just enough breeze to prevent the flags clinging round their staffs, and keep them floating; the silken curtains of the windows heave, so as to give the idea of motion, faint as that which lifts a rose-leaf; the carving and gilding of the barge shows with gorgeous but not gaudy effect; and the bluff steersman looks like a portion of the barge itself, standing out against the sky, which is of a paler blue than the water. About it are numerous skiffs and boats, and a flotilla of swans, making out the picture, but not in the least injuring the effect of the glowing barge, round which the sun's rays play, as if sporting with its beauty; but we cannot describe the effect of that exquisite, though accidental, grouping. The barge remained stationary, as long as we have taken to write of this spot, and then crossed to the Twickenham side of the river.

How busy

On we go, in mid-stream! our memory will be, and no wonder; how many days, weeks, months, of our girlish life were passed upon the banks of the Thames, so that we seem to know every spot, and tree; and we used to know the children and dogs; and there is an abundance of both, shouting and baying at our pageant-we can fancy them the same!--but that, indeed, is fancy.

We never saw the dwelling of the "bold Buccleuch" look so lovely as on that afternoon; it was in complete shadow, the turf had the shimmering effect of green velvet, and it looked a very bower of beauty; we paused to gaze, and then, as we moved on at a stately pace, consistent with the dignity of the City of London, Richmond-hill swelled out from the verdant and richly wooded valley of the Thames. We most earnestly beg that whoever has not seen the view of the river from the hill, will not be content with the view of the hill from the river. "The Star and Garter," so deservedly famous as one of the best and most beautifully situated hotels in England, looks merely an "hotel" from the water, and the landscape would be better without it; but our acquaintance with many of the "fine view points" of Europe, has increased our appreciation of the view from Richmond-hill. One American, after gazing upon it for a time, said, it "wanted clearing," while another declared, that "he would not look at it again, it made him sorry to leave England!" A little beyond, where Gay's summer house stood (we know not if it be still there) stands Ham-house, concealed by almost a forest of noble trees. from the water. We once made pilgrimage

there a pilgrimage of curiosity-to sce the rooms where the infamous Cabal was held, when the house was the residence of the Duke of Lauderdale, where he and those lords met whose initials composed the word CA BAL! This visit was soon after the death of that old Lady Dysart, whose little carriage we used to watch rushing about Ham and Petersham, when her ladyship was nearly blind. We delighted to speculate as to where Charles II. concealed himself in Ham-house; and there is a tradition that the great gates of the said Ham-house have not been moved since they closed on his departure; at all events, those fine wrought iron gates have not been opened within the memory of

"The oldest inhabitant."

Eel-pie❞ Island we found more embowered than ever, and we hardly like to repeat what we heard upon "unquestionable authority”— for it was told us by one of the city magnates, that the pics made at Eel-pie Island are no longer made of Thames eels, but absolutely of Dutch eels!

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Edmund Kean was fond of this island, and there is a monument to his memory erected in Richmond church, by the piety of his high-principled son; but we are nearing Pope's Villa," where the all-important ceremony of dinner is to be gone through-and we are quite ready for it. The barge draws in to the shore, the inhabitants crowd to their windows, and into their gardens. The poet's grounds are cut up into strips, where houses are strung nearly together, with a beading of garden wall between; they may almost be called town houses, but for the river, which flows before them, and the freshness and exquisite finish of their little parterres. Certainly, in these small garden arrangements, England is unrivalled; but while we admire the grace and finish imparted to a tiny plot of ground, we deplore the taste which has crammed a mongrel Swiss house close to "Pope's sacred grotto." The fantasie of this building might be tolerated in a park, relieved by an abundance of well-grown timber, but where it isslashed and "cross gartered," a very Malvolio of architecture-it is an insult to the

tree that, to avoid the nuisance, it was cut down, and the root is preserved in the grotto; so the destruction was accomplished by a coup of the hatchet at once, instead of by the penknives of a century of relic hunters. We would not point out this crushed-up grotto of our great English Poet to our foreign visitors for the first time we were glad there were none there -such sacrilege would not have been tolerated in any other European country.

When will our government understand the national value of enshrining the memories of our literary and artistic heroes, within the sanctuary where they lived and thought; even our slow neighbours of Holland point out to their sons the birth-places and dwelling-places of their great men. But a jour de fête is no day for melancholy-we were summoned to descend to the saloon; we did so, remembering we numbered one hundred and twenty absolutely hungry individuals, and wondering how we could manage to get any dinner: but we had only to do as we were desired. The ladies went first, and, directed by a most courteous gentleman, who acted as master of the ceremonies, found their names in their plates, on the inside row, abundant space reserved for each, and no possibility of dresses being crushed or deranged by the passing and repassing of servants. The gentlemen sat at the opposite sides of the narrow tables, and the dishes were placed in rotation, relieved by an abundance of flowers. In a few minutes, so admirable were the arrangements, that all were seated without the least confusion, and, after the bugle sounded from the steps of the ante-room, “silence for grace" proclaimed, and the grace said, the city turtle soup went round, and round, and round ;—the ladies being served, as at any other stately dinner, first. It was a cheerful pleasant dinner, free alike from insufficiency and the vulgarity of overabundance, while the various "plats" would have satisfied the eye and the palate of a Parisian epicure. But, in due course, the whole was removed, "the wine butler"- —a very important person at the Mansion House-placed the golden loving-cups upon the tables-two on each table-the trumpet sounded, and the toastmaster proclaimed the names of all the aldermen present, adding, that "the Lord Mayor and Lady Mayoress gave to them and to the ladies and gentlemen, their other guests, a hearty welcome, and greeted them with a loving-cup," which loving-cup was passed round after ancient fashion; and then the trumpet and toast-master craved attention for the Lord Mayor, who said a few words with earnestness and fervour, pro

posing the health of our beloved Queen. This was applauded to the echo, round after round; and before all was again still the band on deck burst forth into the National Anthem; coming from above us, it had a most singular and beautiful effect, as though descending from the heavens. True it is that, no matter how often heard, that sacred strain thrills every Englishman's heart while he stands erect in his loyalty, as in a suit of armour, nerved to do battle unto death for throne and sovereign. We forgot all about Pope's Villa then, and longed for the foreigner to see how we loved our Queen!

We love her, first of all from instinct; next, because she has ranged every womanly virtue around her throne, and her example is as a beacon, set upon a hill, to show all those of her own sex, who are wandering after the illfavoured, and unnatural phantom, called the "rights of woman," with how much loving nature the first lady in the realm combines the perpetual duties of her state with the duties of wife and mother, and submits to the restraint of laws which bind her as closely as they do the poorest woman in her kingdom. We all do love her! heartily, honestly, devotedly and we bless God that the purity of our court is the brightest jewel in the crown of Queen Victoria.

When the anthem had received its round of applause, and the company calmed down, the bugle and toast-master came again and again, and toast and speech, toast and speech and song succeeded each other-speeches as good as after-dinner speeches generally are when gentlemen praise each other, and season their compliments with much good-nature, a little banter, and a modicum of wit, Flocks

of swans crowded round the barge, and received what was spared from our well-spread board; and fair ladies did not hesitate to row so close to our windows that we had the "benefit" of their observations,

Our barge cleared its moorings, and the band gave notice, by a cheerful polka, that all above was again ready for the merry dance. The ladies left their seats, followed almost immediately by the gentlemen; and, by the time we arrived at Richmond-bridge, where many of the party disembarked, nearly all the gentlemen were mingling in the dance-all with as cool heads, and clear, intelligent eyes, as though not a toast had been drank, or a bottle of the favourite "hot wines" of England poured out in loyal or friendly libation.

"And what for the obsolete calumny, that London citizens have their chief joy when they eat and drink?" Such was a not unnatural remark as we drove homewards; for we had heard and read, in old novels and old plays, that city relaxation inferred nothing less nor more! The charge may have had foundation, as well as currency, once: it is gone with many even grosser things of a grosser age-coeval with that which made intoxication a sort of duty from guest to host, when people assembled for enjoyment--not only in the city, but in the palace, in the mansion, and in the cottage. For ourselves, we bear witness that in no society in Europe could affairs have been conducted with greater propriety, with less coarseness, or with courtesy more nearly approaching the chivalric, than they were on board the barge in which the Lord Mayor of London progressed from Westminster to Twickenham! A. M. HALL.

WITHIN a few years, Ireland has undergone a continuance of suffering almost unparalleled in the annals of the world: her utter destitution may, indeed, be traced to a variety of causes, which barely to touch on would occupy a space much greater than our limits permit. Famine and pestilence wasted the land, leaving everywhere the impress of devastation and ruin: vast tracts of country remained untilled, "a weary waste, expanding to the skies;" and such scenes took place, through the length and breadth of the land, as were, perhaps, never before witnessed in any civilised part of the

globe-scenes which baffle all powers of description. But a merciful Providence has so ordained, that good often arises out of evil; and, while mourning the misery of those disastrous times, it is consolatory to turn to the recollection of the sympathy and benevolence which did all that was possible to mitigate the evil that was beyond cure. Perhaps, among the best efforts were those to promote and encourage industry-efforts which are evidently increasing, and from which we may anticipate a success that is destined yet to raise unhappy, poverty-stricken Ireland, to the