has failed in one point of imitation, as his ode is perfectly intelligible.

ODE TO WINTER.

HAIL, wayward Winter! child of snow,
I see thee mount thine icy throne,
I see thee spread thy scenes of woe
To yon poor moonless wanderer lone.
On the wild waste he feels thy power,
Thy biting blast, thy sleety shower,
Resolved by night no more to roam
Far from his faithful friends, and hos-
pitable home.

2

Though now the vermil-tinctured lip Of frolick Spring, with roses crowned, No more the ambrosial dew can sip, Or kiss the flowers that paint the ground;

Though fair Hyperion's brilliant beam Assail in vain the impassive stream, And keen is felt thy frosty sting,

I woo thee, Winter wild, nor heed thy
watry wing.
3

The bard's rapt eye no longer views
The fairy elves in noon of night,
In circles deftly skim the dews,
Nor fly the leafy lawn till light,
When they with twinkling feet ad-

vance

To thrid the mazes of the dance,
And o'er his frenzied sense diffuse
Bland visions, light as air, and spotless
as the Muse.

4

The azure violet on the shore,
Fair rival of the ruddy rose,
Spreads its blue foliage no more,
Entombed beneath a waste of snows.
The gay-plumed songsters of the grove
No longer carol tales of love,

But Nature, through her empire's bound,

Hears nought but horrid hail, and threatening tempests sound.

5

But though thy spells, relentless power, The world in frosty fetters bind ; Though, arm'd with snow, and ice, and shower,

Thou shedd'st thy wrath on all mankind,

Yet I thy ruffian rage defy,
Thy storm-tongued voice, thy lowering

eye,

While hous'd, and round the social fire, I hear thy menace loud, and unavailing ire.

6

Dauntless I brave thy boisterous breath,
Whene'er the lettered circle meet,
Nor dread to tempt at daylight's death,
The dangers of the slippery street.
This eve with choicest friends I pass,
Nor churlish shun the electrick glass,
Iberia's fragant tube illume,
Nor dread thy thunders, Winter, though
they shake the room.

PLIN.

ART. 6.

Letters from England: by Don Manuel Alvarez Espriella. Translated from the Spanish. First American edition. Boston, printed by Munroe & Francis. 1807. 12mo. pp. 384.

THERE are few books, which are read with greater avidity, as there are few, that furnish more instruction and amusement, than books of travels. Pope justly observes, that the proper study of mankind is man;' and by an acquaintance with the manners and customs of other nations, with their commerce and manufactures, with their civil and religious polity, prejudices are diminished, liberality of sentiment increased, and the boundaries of human knowledge enlarged.

The land of their forefathers must always present an object of peculiar interest to those, who speak the same language, and boast of the same progenitors; and whether the political ties of the two countries be straitened or relaxed, America can never regard GreatBritain with indifference. event of importance can take place there, which will not be felt here ; and, whatever misunderstandings may arise between us, respecting national rights, or in the course of

No

commercial emulation, we shall always feel that respcct for the parent country, to which she is so justly entitled for her naval prowess, her mercantile integrity, and her scientifick and literary achievements.

These letters, which we have undertaken to review, have afforded us much amusement in their perusal. The author, in the character of a Spaniard, describes in a lively and entertaining manner the modern Tyre. In his description of places he is extremely correct, but in his opinions and sentiments we discover a strange mixture of truth and errour. Under the veil of Catholick bigotry, a bigotry wholly inconsistent with his freedom on other subjects, he aims a deadly blow at the English church, and through her at all religion. In many instances we detect the disciple of the new philosophy, which has caused, and still continues to cause, so much mischief in the civilized world. The most superficial observer will discover the author to be an Englishman, who has chosen this method to display his talents, and diffuse his prejudices.

Having thus warned the reader of these letters to be on his guard, we shall select such passages for his amusement, as we think best calculated for that purpose.

The following description of the inside and furniture of an English house is entertaining, and reminds us of the domestick comforts of a wealthy American.

One of the peculiarities in this country is, that every body lives upon the ground floor, except the shopkeepers. The stable and coach-house either adjoin the house, or more frequently are detached from it, and the kitchen is either at the back of the house on the ground floor, or under ground, which is usually the case in large towns, but never, as with us, above stairs. They wonder at our custom of living on the higher floors, and call it troublesome I, on my part, cannot be reconciled to the inconvenience of living on a level with the street: the din is at your very ear, the window cannot be thrown open for the dust which showers in, and it is half darkened by blinds that the by-passers may not look in upon your privacy.

One room on the first floor is reservfor company, the rest are bed-rooms; for the beds, instead of standing in recesses, are placed in rooms as large as those in which we dwell. This occasions great waste of space, the more remarkable, as ground is exceedingly valuable in the towns, and is rented by the square foot of front at a prodigious price. Nothing surprised me more at first, than the excellent workmanship of the doors and windows; no jarring with the wind, no currents of air, and the windows, which are all suspended by pulleys, rise with a touch. This is not entirely and exclusively owing to the skill of the English workmen, but in great measure also to the climate. When the wood has once been seasoned, neither the heat nor humidity of the atmosphere is ever sufficient to affect it materially. In good houses the doors have a strip of open brass work above the handle, that the servants may not soil them with their fingers.

An Englishman delights to show his wealth; every thing in his house, therefore, is expensive : a whole dwelling in our country is furnished at less cost, than is bestowed here upon a single apartment. The description of their common sittingroom may be considered as a fair specimen. The whole floor is fitted with carpeting, not of the costliest kind, but both in texture and

design far superiour to what is usually seen in Spain. This remains down summer and winter, though in summer our matting would be far more suitable, if the fashion were once introduced. Before the fire is a smaller carpet of different fabrick, and fleecy appearance, about two varas long, and not quite half as broad; a fashion of late years which has become universal, because it is at once ornamental, comfortable, and useful, preserving the larger one, which would else soon be worn out in that

particular part. Of the fire-places I have already spoken; here the frontal is marble, and above is a looking-glass the whole length of the mantle piece, divided into three compartments by gilt pillars, which support a gilt architrave. On each side hang bellropes of coloured worsted, about the thickness of a man's wrist, the work of Mrs. J— and her sister, which suspend knobs of polished spar. The fender is remarkable; it consists of a crescent basket-work of wire, painted green, about a foot in height, topt with brass, and supporting seven brazen pillars of nearly the same height, which also are surmounted by a band of brass. This also is a late fashion, introduced in consequence of the numberless accidents occasioned by fire. Almost every newspaper contains an account that some woman has been burnt to death, and they are at last beginning to take some means of precaution.

The chairs and tables are of a wood brought from Honduras, which is in great request here, of a fine close grain, and a reddish brown colour, which becomes more beautiful as it grows darker with age. The history of this wood, of which all the finer articles of furniture exclusively are made, is rather singular. A West Indian captain, about a century ago, brought over some planks as ballast, and gave them to his brother, Dr. Gibbons, a physician of great eminence, who was then building a house. The workmen, however, found the wood too hard for their tools, and it was thrown aside. Some time afterwards, his wife wanted a box to hold candles, the doctor thought of his West Indian wood, and in spite of the difficulty, which was still found in working it,had the box made. He admired its colour and polish so much, that he had a bureau made of it also; and this was thought so beautiful, that it

was shown to all his friends. Among others, the Duchess of Buckingham came to see it, and begged enough of the wood to make her a bureau also. From that moment the demand was so great, that it became a regular article of trade, and as long as the woods of Honduras last it is likely to continue so. There is reason to believe that the tree would grow in England, as there are some flourishing plants in the neighbourhood of London, which have been raised from seed. Formerly the tables were made of the solid plank; but English ingenuity has now contrived to give the same appearance at a far less cost of materials, by facing common deal with a layer of the fine wood not half a barley corn in thickness.

Το

give you an idea of the curiosity, with which all these things are executed, is impossible; nothing can be more perfect.

Our breakfast table is oval, large enough for eight or nine persons, yet supported upon one claw in the centre. This is the newest fashion, and fashions change so often in these things, as well as in every thing else,that it is easy to know how long it is since such a house has been fitted up, by the shape of the furniture. An upholder just now advertises Commodes, Console-tables, Ottomans, Chaiselonges, and Chiffoniers ;— what are all these? you ask. I asked the same question, and could find no person in the house, who could answer me; but they are all articles of the newest fashion, and no doubt all will soon be thought indispensably necessary in every well furnished house. Here is also a nest of tables for the ladies, consisting of four, one less than another, and each fitting into the one above it; you would take them for playthings, from their slenderness and size, if you did not see how useful they find them for their work. A harpsichord takes up the middle of one side of the room, and in the corners are screens to protect the face from the fire, of mahoga ny, with fans of green silk, which spread like a flower, and may be raised or lowered at pleasure. A book-case standing on a chest of drawers completes the heavy furniture, it has glazed doors, and curtains of green silk within.

But I should give you a very inadequate idea of an English room were I to stop here. Each window has blinds

to prevent the by-passers from looking in; the plan is taken from the Venetian blinds, but made more expensive, as the bars are fitted into a frame and move in grooves. The shutters fit back by day, and are rendered ornamental by the gilt ring, by which they are drawn open at night you perceive that you are in a land of house-breakers, by the contrivances for barring them, and the bells which are fixed on to alarm the family, in case the house should be attacked. On each side of the window the curtains hang in festoons, they are of rich printed cotton, lined with a plain colour and fringed, the quantity they contain is very great. Add to this a sconce of the most graceful form, with six prints in gilt frames, and you have the whole scene before you. Two of these are Noel's views of Cadiz and Lisbon; the others are from English history, and represent the battles of the Boyne and of La Hogue, the death of General Wolfe at Quebec, and William Penn treating with the Indians for his province of Pennsylvania.

Let us proceed to the dining-room. Here the table is circular, but divides in half to receive a middle part which lengthens it,and this is so contrived that it may be made to suit any number of persons from six to twenty. The sideboard is a massier piece of furniture; formerly a single slab of marble was used for this purpose, but now this is become one of the handsomest and most expensive articles. The glasses are arranged on it ready for dinner, and the knives and forks in two little chests or cabinets, the spoons are between them in a sort of urn; every thing being made costly and ornamental.

The drawing-room differs chiefly from the breakfast parlour in having every thing more expensive, a carpet of richer fabrick, sconces and mirrours more highly ornamented, and curtains of damask like the sofas and chairs. Two chandeliers with glass drops stand on the mantle-piece ; but in these we excel the English; they have not the brilliancy of those from the royal fabrick at St. Ildefonso. In this room are the portraits of J- and his wife, by one of the best living artists,so admirably executed as to make me blush for the present state of the arts in Spain.

Having proceeded thus far, I will go through the house. J took me into his kitchen one day to show me what

is called the kitchen-range, which has been constructed upon the philosophical principles of Count Rumford, a German philosopher, the first person who has applied scientifick discoveries to the ordinary purposes of life. The top of the fire is covered with an iron plate, so that the flame and smoke, instead of ascending, pass through bars on the one side, and there heat an iron front, against the which food may be roasted as well as by the fire itself; it passs on heating stoves and boilers as it goes, and the smoke is not suffered to pass up the chimney till it can no longer be of any use. On the other side is an oven heated by the same fire, and vessels for boiling may be placed on the plate over the fire. The smoke finally sets a kind of wheel in motion in the chimney, which turns the spit. I could not but admire the comfort and cleanliness of every thing about the kitchen; a dresser, as white as when the wood was new, the copper and tin vessels bright and burnished; the chain, in which the spit plays, bright; the plates and dishes ranged in order along the shelves: and I could not but wish our dirty Domingo were here to take a lesson of English cleanliness. There is a back kitchen in which all the dirty work is done, into which water is conveyed by pipes. The order and cleanliness of every thing made even this room cheerful, though under ground, where the light enters only from an area, and the face of the sky is never seen.

And now, for my own apartment, where I am now writing. It is on the second floor, the more therefore to my liking, as it is less noisy, and I breathe in a freer atmosphere. My bed, though neither covered with silk nor satin, has as much ornament as is suitable; silk or satin would not give that clean appearance, which the English always require, and which I have already learnt to delight in. Hence the damask curtains, which were used in the last generation, have given place to linens. These are full enough to hang in folds; by day they are gathered round the bed posts, which are light pillars of mahogany supporting a frame work, covered with the same furniture as the curtains; and valances are fastened round this frame, both withinside the

curtains and without, and again round the sides of the bedstead. The blankets are of the natural colour of the wool, quite plain; the sheets plain also. I have never seen them flounced nor laced, nor ever seen a striped or coloured blanket. The counterpane is of all English manufactures the least tasteful; it is of white cotton, ornamented with cotton knots, in shapes as graceless as the cut box in a garden. My window curtains are of the same pattern as the bed; a mahogany press holds my clothes, an oval looking-glass. swung lengthways stands on the dressing-table. A compact kind of chest holds the bason, the soap, the tooth brush, and water glass, each in a sepa rate compartment; and a looking-glass, for the purpose of shaving at, (for Englishmen usually shave themselves) slips up and down behind, the water-jug and water-bottle stand below, and the whole shuts down a-top, and closes in front, like a cabinet. The room is carpeted; here I have my fire, my table, and my cassette; here I study, and here minute down every thing, which I see or learn; how industriously you will perceive, and how faithfully, you, who best know me, will best know.

My honoured father will say to all this, How many things are there here which I do not want?-But you, my dear mother, I think I see you looking round the room while you say, How will Manuel like to leave these luxuries and return to Spain? How anxiously I wish to leave them, you will not easily conceive, as you have never felt that longing love for your own country, which absence from it renders a passion, and almost a disease. Fortunate as I am in having such rare advantages of society and friendship, and happy as I am in the satisfaction where with I reflect every night that no opportunity of inquiry or observation has been lost during the day, still my greatest pleasure is to think how fast the days and weeks are passing on, and that every day I am one day nearer the time of my return. I never longed half so earnestly to return from Alcala, as I now do to enter my native place, to see the shield over the door-way, to hear the sound of our own water-wheel, of the bells of St. Claras, of Domingo's viola at evening, to fondle my own dogs, to hear my own language, to kneel at mass in the church where I was bap