"In her was youth, beautie, with humble port, Bountie, richesse, and womanly feature, (God better wote than my pen can reporte,) Wisdome, largesse estate; and cunning sure, In every part so guided her mesure, In word, in deed, in shape, in countenanc, That nature might no more her child advance. "Whether this was really the manner in which James first saw the lady of his heart, or whether it was a more poetical fiction, it is fruitless to conjecture. Do not let us always distrust what is picturesque and romantic, as incompatible with real life; but sometimes take a poet at his word. I find I am insensibly swelling this story beyond my original intention, and must bring it to a close. James, though unfortunate in the general tenor of his life, was more happy in his love than is generally the lot of poets.

"When, at length, he was released from his tedious captivity, and restored to his crown, he espoused the Lady Jane, who made him a most tender and devoted wife. She was the faithful sharer of his joys and his troubles; and when, after a brief but memorable reign of thirteen years, he was barbarously murdered by his own relatives at Perth, she interposed her body to shield him from harm, and was repeatedly wounded by the sword of the assassin. It was the recollection of this romantic tale of former times, and of the golden little poem that had its birth-place in this tower, that made me visit the old pile with such lively interest. The suit of armour, richly gilt and embellished, as if to figure in the tournay, brought the image of the romantic prince vividly before my imagination. I paced the deserted chambers where he had composed his poem. the spot where he had first seen the Lady I looked out upon Jane. It was in the same genial month; every thing was bursting into vegetation, and budding forth the tender promise of Time seems to have passed lightly over this little scene of poetry and love, and to have withheld his desolating hand. Several centuries have gone by, yet the garden still flourished at the foot of the tower. The arbours, it is true, have disappeared, yet the place is still sheltered, blooming, and retired. There is a charm about a spot that has once been printed by the footsteps of departed beauty, and hallowed by the inspirations of the poet, that is heightened, rather than impaired, by the lapse of ages. It is, indeed, the gift of poetry to consecrate every place in which it moves; to breathe around nature an odour more exquisite than the perfume of the rose; and to shed over it a tint more magical than the blush of morning. Others may speak of the illustrious deeds of James as a warrior and a legislator, but I have delighted to view him as the benefactor of the human heart, stooping from his high estate to sow the sweet flowers of poetry and song in the paths of common life. He did all in his power to soften and refine the spirit of his countrymen. He wrote many poems which are

the year.

He

now lost to the world. He improved the national music; and traces of his tender and elegant taste may be found in those witching airs still piped among the wild mountains and lonely glens of Scotland. has thus embalmed his memory in song,' and floated it down to after ages in the rich streams of Scottish melody. All these things were kindling at my heart as I paced the silent scene of his imprisonment. I have visited Vaucluse with as much enthusiasm as a pilgrim would visit the shrine at Loretto, but I never felt more poetical devotion than when contemplating the old tower and the little garden at Windsor."

The style in which this is written may be taken as a fair specimen of Irving's more serious manner-it is, we think, very graceful-infinitely more so than any piece of American writing that ever came from any other hand, and well entitled to be classed with the best English writings of our day. There is a rich spirit of pensive elegance about the commenceincreases the effect. In some of the ment, and every sentence that follows pieces of pure imaginative writing we have named above, the author strikes a deeper note, and with a no less masterly hand. He, too, has a strange power of mingling feelings of natural and visionary terror with those of a light and ludicrous kind—and the mode in which he uses this power is calculated to produce a very striking siasm what is written with enthusiasm. effect upon all that read with enthuHe is one of the few whose privilege it is to make us "join trembling with our mirth."

As a specimen of his talent for writing in a more familiar style, and

on

more ordinary topics, we give the following passage from the same Number of the same work.

"THE COUNTRY CHURCH. "There are few places more favourable to the study of character than an English country church. I was once passing a few weeks at the seat of a friend, who resided in the vicinity of one, the appearance of which particularly struck my fancy. It was one of those rich morsels of quaint antiquity which gave such a peculiar charm to English landscape. It stood in the midst of a country filled with ancient families, and contained, within its cold and silent aisles, the congregated dust of many noble generations. The interior walls were encrusted with monuments of every age and style.The light streamed through windows dimmed with armorial bearings, richly emblazoned in stained glass. In various parts of the church were tombs of knights, and high

born dames, of gorgeous workmanship, with their effigies in coloured marble. On every side the eye was struck with some instance of aspiring mortality; some haughty memorial, which human pride had erected over its kindred dust in this temple, the most humble of all religions. The congregation was composed of the neigbouring people of rank, who sat in pews sumptuously lined and cushioned, furnished with richly gilded prayer-books, and decorated with their arms upon the pew doors. The villagers and peasantry, who filled the back seats and a small gallery beside the organ, and the poor of the parish, who were ranged on benches in the aisles.

The service was performed by a snuffling, well-fed vicar, who had a snug dwelling near the church. He was a privileged guest at all the tables of the neighbourhood, and had been the keenest fox-hunter in the country, until age, and good living, had disabled him from doing any thing more than ride to see the hounds throw off, and make one at the hunting dinner.

Under the ministry of such a pastor, I found it impossible to get into the train of thought suitable to the time and place; so having, like many other feeble Christians, compromised with my conscience, by laying the sin of my own delinquency at the threshold of another, I occupied myself by making observations on my neighbours. I was as yet a stranger in England, and curious to notice the manners of its fashionable classes. I found, as usual, that there was the least pretension where there was the most acknowledged title to respect. I was particularly struck, for instance, with the family of a nobleman of high rank, consisting of several sons and daughters. Nothing could be more simple and unassuming than their appearance. They generally came to church in the plainest equipage, and often on foot. The young ladies would stop and converse, in the kindest manner, with the peasantry, caress the children, and listen to the stories of the humble cottagers. Their countenances were open, beautifully fair, with an expression of high refinement, but, at the same time, a frank cheerfulness, and engaging affability. Their brothers were tall, and elegantly formed. They were dressed fashionably, but simply, with strict neatness and propriety, but without any mannerism or foppishness,

"Their whole demeanour was easy and natural, with that lofty grace, and noble frankness, which bespeak free-born souls, that have never been checked in their growth by feelings of inferiority. There is a healthful hardiness about real dignity, that never dreads contact and communion with others, however humble. It is only spurious pride that is morbid and sensitive, and shrinks from every touch. I was pleased to see the manner in which they would converse with the peasantry about those rural concerns

and field sports, in which the gentlemen of this country so much delight. In these conversations, there was neither haughtiness on one part, nor servility on the other; and you were only reminded of the difference of rank by the habitual respect of the pea sant.

"In contrast to these, was the family of a wealthy citizen, who had amassed a vast fortune, and, having purchased the estate and mansion of a ruined nobleman in the neighbourhood, was endeavouring to assume all the style and dignity of an hereditary lord of the soil. The family always came to church en prince. They were rolled ma jestically along in a carriage emblazoned with arms. The crest glittered in silver radiance from every part of the harness where a crest could possibly be placed. A fat coachman, in a three-cornered hat, richly laced, and a flaxen wig, curling close around his rosy face, was seated on the box, with a sleek Danish dog beside him. Two footmen in gorgeous liveries, with huge bou quets and gold-headed canes, lolled be hind. The carriage rose and sunk on its long springs with peculiar stateliness of metion. The very horses champed their bits, arched their necks, and glanced their eyes more proudly than common horses, either because they had got a little of the family feeling, or were reined up more tightly than ordinary.

"I could not but admire the style with which this splendid pageant was brought up to the church-yard. There was a vast d fect produced at the turning of an angle of the wall. A great cracking of the whip, straining and scrambling of the horses, glistening of harness, and flashing of wheels through gravel. This was the moment of triumph and vain glory to the coachmas. The horses were urged and checked until they were fretted into a foam. They threw out their feet in a prancing trot, dashing about pebbles at every step. The crowd of villagers, sauntering quietly to church, opened precipitately to the right and left, gaping in vacant admiration. On reaching the gate, the horses were pulled up with a suddenness that produced an immediate stop, and almost threw them on their haunches.

"There was an extraordinary hurry of the footmen to alight, open the door, pull down the steps, and prepare every thing for the descent on earth of this august family, The old citizen would first emerge his round red face from out the door, looking about him with the pompous air of a man accus tomed to rule on change, and shake the stock market with a nod. His consort, a fine, fleshy, comfortable dame, followed him. There seemed, I must confess, but little pride in her composition. She was the picture of broad, honest, vulgar enjoyment. The world went well with her; and she liked the world. She had fine clothes, a fine house, a fine carriage, fine children;

every thing was fine about her; it was nothing but driving about and visiting and feasting. Life was to her a perpetual revel; it was one long Lord Mayor's day. "Two daughters succeeded to this goodly couple. They certainly were handsome; but there was a supercilious air that chilled admiration, and disposed the spectator to be critical. They were ultra-fashionable in dress; and though no one could deny the richness of their decorations, yet their appropriateness might be questioned amidst the simplicity of a country church. They descended loftily from the carriage, and moved up the line of peasantry with a step that seemed dainty of the soil it trod on. They cast an excursive glance around, that passed coldly over the lively faces of the peasantry, until they met the eyes of the nobleman's family, when their countenances immediately brightened into smiles, and they made the most profound and elegant courtesies, which were returned in a manner that showed they were but slight acquaintances.

"I must not forget the two sons of this aspiring citizen, who came to church in a dashing curricle, with two outriders. They were arrayed in the extremity of the mode, with all that pedantry of dress which marks the man of questionable pretensions to style.

They kept entirely by themselves, eyeing every one askance that came near them, as if measuring his claims to respectability; yet they were without conversation, except the exchange of an occasional cant phrase. They even moved artificially, for their bodies, in compliance with the caprice of the day, had been disciplined into the absence of all ease and freedom. Art had done every thing to accomplish them as men of fashion, but nature had denied them the nameless grace. They were vulgarly shaped, like men formed for the common purposes of life. and had that air of supercilious assumption which is never seen in the true gentleman.

"I have been rather minute in drawing the character of these two families, because I considered them specimens of what is often to be met with in this country-the unpretending great, and the arrogant little. I have no respect for titled rank, unless it be accompanied by true nobility of soul; but I have remarked, in all countries where these artificial distinctions exist, the very highest classes are always the most courteous and unassuming. Those who are well assured of their own standing are least apt to trespass on that of others; whereas nothing is so offensive as the aspiring of vulgarity, which thinks to elevate itself by humiliating

VOL. VI.

its neighbour. As I have brought these families into contrast, I must notice their behaviour in church. That of the nobleman's family was quiet, serious, and attentive. Not that they appeared to have any fervour of devotion, but rather a respect for sacred things, and sacred places, inseparable from good breeding. The others, on the contrary, were in a perpetual flutter and whisper; they betrayed a continual consciousness of finery, and a sorry ambition of being the wonders of a rural congregation.

"The old gentleman was the only one really attentive to the service. He took the whole burthen of family-devotion upon him. self, stood bolt upright, and uttered the responses with a loud voice that might be heard all over the church. It was evident that he was one of those thorough church and kingsmen, who connect the idea of devotion and loyalty, who consider the Deity, somehow or other, of the government party and religion, a very excellent sort of thing, that ought to be countenanced and kept up.'

"When he joined so loudly in the service, it seemed more by way of example to the lower orders, to shew them, that though so great and wealthy, he was not above being religious; as I have seen a turtle fed alderman publicly swallow a basin of charity soup, smacking his lips at every mouthful, and pronouncing it excellent food for the poor.

The

"When the service was at an end, I was curious to witness the several exits of my groups. The young noblemen and their sisters, as the day was fine, preferred strolling home across the fields, chattering with the country people as they went. others departed as they came, in grand parade. Again were the equipages wheeled up to the gate. There was again the smacking of whips, the clattering of hoofs, and the glittering of harness. The horses started off almost at a bound; the villagers again hurried to right and left, the wheels threw up a cloud of dust, and the aspiring family was wrapt out of sight in a whirlwind."

Our limits prevent us from entering at present at greater length on the merits of Mr Irving; but in our next Number we propose returning to him, and giving our readers some account of his largest and most masterly work, the History of New York by Diedrick Knickerbocker, a singular production of genius, the existence of which is, we believe, almost entirely unknown on this side the Atlantic.

4 B

WE observe, with sincere pleasure, that the foundation stone of Lord Melville's Monument is to be laid early in the following month; and it is generally understood, that the PILLAR OF TRAJAN is to be the model of the structure. Before these pages issue from the Press, its site will probably be chosen and perhaps, therefore, the remarks which they contain, may be either unnecessary or too late to attain the object for which they are intended. Yet, as it is possible that these matters may not be finally decided on for some little time, and as it is at any rate of importance, that the principles which should regulate the choice of the situation of public edifices, should be generally understood, we shall make no apology for entering on the subject.

A more splendid and unexceptionable structure than the pillar of Trajan, could not be desired for any monument. It is its SITUATION which alone remains an object of doubt.

We have heard, that it is proposed by the Committee to erect it in the centre of Melville-street, at the point where it joins the street which runs northward from the middle of the Coat's Crescent;-and we know that ground for the purpose has been offered, with his wonted liberality, by the proprietor, Sir Patrick Walker. Being confident that the motives which led this gentleman to make this offer, were of the most disinterested kind; and that if it can be shewn, that the proposed edifice, as an object of public ornament, would be thrown away in that situation, he would be the first to relinquish the plan,-we address these observations as much to him as to the other distinguished persons who compose the Committee.

When an edifice, destined for public ornament, is to be erected, it is of the last importance that the situation should be in a prominent one, and as near as possible to the centre of the metropolis. Every body must be conscious that unless this is done, its beauty is in a great measure lost. Thousands, who never can be induced to go out of their way in search of what is admirable, are nevertheless impressed with its effect when it is brought be

fore their eyes in a place of common resort: And if this applies to other edifices, most of all is it deserving of consideration in a monument to departed greatness, the very purpose of which is, not merely to testify our gratitude to the dead, but to serve as an incentive to the rising generation, to emulate the deeds by which their country has been ennobled. If such a building is buried in some obscure situation, its peculiar and distinctive objects are entirely sacrificed;—for it neither testifies to the world in general, the gratitude of those who raised it, nor is it likely to stimulate the unthinking multitude to acts of patriotic virtue. It is when it is placed in the public eye alone, and proudly brought forward, in the centre of common resort, that it becomes the worthy depo sitory of a nation's gratitude, and the means of awakening the latent desire of distinction in the breast of some of those whom nature has gifted with the means of obtaining it.

Every nation, accordingly, has felt the truth of this observation. It was in the Roman Forum, and in the very centre of common resort, that that magnanimous people raised the temples which were to testify their gratitude to the gods, and the monuments which were to be the emblem of their admiration of man. When Titus returned from the conquest of Jerusalem, it was at the entrance of the Forum that his triumphal arch was raised: when Trajan brought the captives of Scythia and India to the Roman capital, it was in the centre of the adjoining Forum, which bears his name, that his glorious column was constructed: and even in the decay of the empire, when Constantine meditated the removal of the capital to the shores of the Euxine, he still placed his arch in the same vicinity, and gloried in covering with the monument of his trophies, part of that sacred way, where the triumphs of a thousand years had passed. It was round the Forum of Venice, and in the centre of universal gayety and concourse, that the Lion of St Mark was placed, and that the trophies of Constantinople, of Athens, and of Jerusalem, were accumulated by

the prowess of the Imperial Republic. No one understood better the influence of such monuments on the public mind, than Bonaparte; and accordingly, all his meditated triumphal edifices were assembled within a narrow space, in the most ornamental part of the city.

Nor is it less essential as a matter of mere beauty, and as conducive to public ornament alone, that ornamental edifices, of whatever description, should be brought as nearly as possible to gether, and placed in the most conspicuous place of the metropolis. In natural scenery, indeed, the eye of taste is delighted by the discovery of beauties lurking in some unseen spot; and frequently an impression is produced by such sequestered charms, which the same objects, placed in a conspicuous eminence, would be incapable of effecting. But this is wholly inapplicable to works of architectural ornament. Such edifices, when placed in a city at least, are felt to be unsuitable but for places of public resort.Being the work of man, and the greatest triumph of human art, they are fitly placed in the scene of business, of festivity, and amusement. ing of disappointment is experienced when we find some beautiful edifice buried in an obscure situation, similar to what would be felt if a brilliant jewel, instead of adorning the brow of grace and beauty, were to be buried under the folds, or concealed by the least ornamental part of her drapery.

A feel

Not only, too, are such ornamental edifices wholly lost, as a means of public ornament, when their situation is unhappily chosen, but their individual beauty is destroyed by the same circumstance. No one can have visited the various beautiful buildings which are buried in the smoke, or lost among the narrow streets of London, without having felt the force of this observation. Were these edifices brought into public view, and forced on the public eye as in the place Louis XV. of Paris, they would be esteemed not unworthy of the metropolis of England. And if we require a confirmation of so obvious a truth, we have only to go to the High Street of Edinburgh, where even the beautiful pillars of Athenian Doric lose their effect under the chilling influence of the surrounding buildings.

It is a matter, too, of the greatest moment, in arranging edifices for the present or future ornament of a city, to have them so combined as to form, if possible, some one splendid whole; the attractions of which may withdraw the attention from objects of subordinate or minor interest, and the magnificence of which may produce an indelible impression on the mind of the spectator. If any one be asked if Paris, or Venice, or Rome, be splendid cities, he will immediately answer in the affirmative; but if the recollection of these different capitals be more minutely examined, it will be found that it is the recollection of some one glorious scene in them which has fixed itself in the mind, and, by its brilliancy, communicated a splendid colouring to the whole city of which it forms a part. It is the place Louis XV. at Paris which recurs to the mind of the traveller when he thinks of that celebrated capital; it is the beauty of the gardens of the Thuilleries, of the bridges of the Seine, of the matchless colonnade, and other edifices, which are there assembled, which imprints so fine a character on the whole metropolis. It is the Piazza St Marco, which identifies itself with the recollection of the capital of Venice; and the mind, forgetting the narrow lanes and muddy canals of that singular city, dwells only on the gorgeous magnificence of its pillared scenery, and sees, even after the lapse of years, with all the intenseness of present enjoyment, the Moorish domes, and granite columns, and marble palaces, which give the air of enchantment to that unrivalled spot. It is the Roman forum which has imprinted itself on the memory of all who have visited that ancient capital; it is the venerable sight of the Capitol and the Colysium, the arch of Severus and the temple of Antonine, the palace of the Cæsars and the pillars of the senate-house, combined in one landscape, which banishes the recollection of all the deformities with which the modern city is filled. The magnificence of Genoa has, for centuries, been matter of proverbial remark; but those who are acquainted with that city know, that it is to the splendour of a few streets alone, where all the grandeur of the city is combined, that its proud appellation of Genova la superba has been owing.