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Mr. Hornor proceeded still further to rectify them, by visiting and examining all those features of the extensive scene, respecting the exact form and situation of which he entertained any doubt. Having thus amassed a collection of drawings of unprecedented fidelity and minuteness, the next object was to erect the building of which the picture to be painted from them was to constitute the chief ornament. The building having been erected, the canvass for the picture was prepared. Its dimensions we have already mentioned. It was suspended at the distance, towards the base of the building, of three feet from the wall, all round. The transfer of the outlines from the drawings to the canvass was then undertaken by Mr. E. T. Parris; a gentleman possessed, not only of great talent as an artist, but also of extraordinary ingenuity as a mechanician; and in the selection of whom it would seem as if Mr. Hornor had been guided by observing his congenial energy, enthusiasm, and diligence. By means of squares, Mr. Parris, in December, 1825, began to draw in the outlines with chalk, on a scale sixteen times larger each way, or, in other words, two hundred and fifty-six times the size of the originals. This was a work of much labor, and demanding close attention; but it was, nevertheless, completed in the following April. The painting, which is in oil, was then commenced. It was evident that Mr. Parris's single hand, or rather his two hands (for he is ambidextrous) must be unequal to so extensive an undertaking. Mr. Hornor therefore engaged several artists to assist him. But, although most of them were men of high and acknowledged powers, yet, owing in a great measure to their being entirely unaccustomed to their new occupation, their progress was slow, and, which was worse, by no means satisfactory, In fact, it was a kind of Dutch concert, in which every performer was playing a distinct and separate tune. Each also was anxious that his allotment, whatever it might be, should be conspicuous; like

some Rosencrantz or Guildenstern, seeking to render his character as prominent and effective as that of Hamlet. One individual, a lover of independence, and resolved not to be classed with the imitatores, servum pecus, made the smoke from his chimneys proceed in a direction directly opposite to that of his neighbor; another, an equal admirer of originality, lighted up the building on which he was employed by a sun-beam from the north. The great change, almost amounting to that of enamel colors when they undergo the process of vitrification, which occurred in the apparent hue of the various pigments, according to the situation in which they were placed, was likewise a fruitful source of perplexity. Bricks, that were intended to be red, looked blue; and slates, that were intended to be blue, looked red. By degrees the picture began to assume the appearance of one of those patch-work quilts which show that the industry of our great-grandmothers predominated over their taste. The consequence of all this was, that in several cases it was necessary to re-paint what had been done, and in every instance materially to modify it; and that, eventually, Mr. Parris, having trained up several house-painters for the purpose, determined, with their assistance in the more laborious parts of the task, to execute the whole himself. The delightfully harmonious result proves the wisdom of his decision.

In addition to the numerous previous studies of aërial perspective and general effect which Mr. Parris made from St. Paul's itself, to the prodigious extent of surface to be covered, and to the multiplicity and complexity of the objects to be introduced, there was the great difficulty of getting at the canvass, in order to be able to paint upon it at all. Here Mr. Parris's mechanical ingenuity became exceedingly serviceable to him. He devised all kinds of light scaffoldings, bridges, and platforms. Sometimes he was supported from the floor by two or three long and slender spars,

which vibrated with every motion of his arm; sometimes he was suspended by cords from the roof, swinging like Shakspeare's celebrated samphiregatherer. It must require strong nerves to remain passively in such situations ;-how much more to be able freely to exercise all the faculties both of mind and of body in them! Nor was the danger imaginary. On two occasions Mr. Parris fell from a considerable height; but, fortunately, in neither did he suffer any serious injury.

This is a great and wonderful production. Ours is an age of luxury; but let us hope that luxury for once may not be the herald of decay. We heartily wish the success of Mr. Hornor complete, and that when through perils as numerous as those in the Apostolic list, he has put the last touch to his astonishing work, he may have nothing to do but rest from his labors, and enjoy the rich fruits of the paradise he has created.

We must take leave of this undertaking for the present. We will

now only add, that, besides the great point of attraction noticed above, the place is intended to put forth a variety of others, in the form of a vast saloon for the reception of works of art; numerous conservatories filled with rare and curious plants; aviaries; reading and refreshment rooms; a little suite of apartments forming a facsimile of the interior of a Swiss dwelling; and, out of doors, winding walks through grounds laid out with elaborate art, to represent different kinds of romantic scenery, interspersed with grottoes, waterfalls, &c. The extent occupied by the requisite buildings, &c. is, as we are informed, little short of five acres. The whole are in very forward progress; sufficiently so indeed to almost ensure their ultimate completion ;-which makes us the more regret, either the sad necessity, or the mistaken policy-whichever it may be-that has permitted a single visiter to penetrate the arcana of this spot, till the whole could have burst upon the world in the full completeness of its mimic wonders and attractions.

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To the breath of the myrtle a mournful power-
Sadness and Mirth! ye had each your dower!
Ye met when the triumph swept proudly by,
With the Roman eagles through the sky!
I know that e'en then, in his hour of pride,
The soul of the mighty within him died,
That the void in his bosom lay darkly still,
Which the music of victory might never fill!

Thou wert there, O Mirth! swelling on the shout,
Till the temples like echo-caves rang out;
Thine were the garlands, the songs, the wine,
All the rich voices in air were thine,

The incense, the sunshine-but, Sadness! thy part,
Deepest of all, was the victor's heart!

Ye meet at the bridal with flower and tear;
Strangely and wildly ye meet by the bier!
As the gleam from a sea-bird's white wing shed,
Crosses the storm in its path of dread,

As a dirge meets the breeze of a summer-sky—
Sadness and Mirth! so ye come and fly!

Ye meet in the Poet's haunted breast-
Darkness and rainbow alike its guest!

When the breath of the violet is out in Spring,
When the woods with the wakening of music ring,
O'er his dreamy spirit your currents pass,
Like shadow and sunlight o'er mountain-grass.

When will your parting be, Sadness and Mirth?
Bright stream and dark one! Oh! never on earth!
Never while triumphs and tombs are so near,
While Death and Love walk the same dim sphere;
While flowers unfold where the storm may sweep,
While the heart of man is a soundless deep!

But there smiles a land, O ye troubled pair!
Where ye have no part in the summer-air.
Far from the breathings of changeful skies,
Over the seas and the graves it lies,

Where the day of the lightning and cloud is done,
And Joy reigns alone, as the lonely sun!

ROVER.

BY THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD.

ROVER is now about six years old.
He was born half a year before our
eldest girl; and is accordingly looked
upon as a kind of elder brother by the
children. He is a small, beautiful li-
ver-colored spaniel, but not one of
your goggle-eyed Blenheim breed.
He is none of your lap dogs. No,
Rover has a soul above that. You
may make him your friend, but he
scorns to be a pet. No one can see
him without admiring him, and no one
can know him without loving him.
He is as regularly inquired after as
any other member of the family; for
who that has ever known Rover can
forget him?
He has an instinctive

perception of his master's friends, to whom he metes out his caresses in the proportion of their attachment to the chief object of his affections. When I return from an absence, or when he meets an old friend of mine, or of his own (which is the same thing to him) his ecstacy is unbounded: he tears and curvets about the room as if mad; and if out of doors, he makes the welkin ring with his clear and joyous note. When he sees a young person in company he immediately selects him for a play fellow. He fetches a stick, coaxes him out of the house, drops it at his feet; then retiring backwards, barking, plainly indicates his desire to

have it thrown for him.

He is never tired of his work. Indeed, I fear, poor fellow, that his teeth, which already show signs of premature decay, have suffered from the diversion. But though Rover has a soul for fun, yet he is a game dog too. There is not a better cocker in England. In fact he delights in sport of every kind, and if he cannot have it with me, he will have it on his own account. He frequently decoys the greyhounds out and finds hares for them. Indeed he has done me some injury in this way, for if he can find a pointer loose, he will, if possible, seduce him from his duty, and take him off upon some law less excursion; and it is not till after an hour's whistling and hallooing that I see the truants sneaking round to the back door, panting and smoking, with their tails knitted up between their legs, and their long dripping tongues depending from their watery mouths he the most bare-faced caitiff of the whole. In general, however, he will have nothing to say to the canine species, for notwithstanding the classification of Buffon, he considers he has a prescriptive right to associate with man. He is, in fact, rather cross with other dogs; but with children he is quite at home, doubtless reckoning himself about on a level with them in the scale of rational beings. Every boy in the village knows his name, and I often catch him in the street with a posse of little, dirty urchins playing around him. But he is not quite satisfied with this kind of company; for, if taking a walk with any of the family, he will only just acknowledge his plebeian playfellow with a simple shake of the tail: equivalent to the distant nod which a patrician school-boy bestows on the town-boy school-fellow whom he chances to meet when in company with his aristocratical relations. The only approach to bad feeling that I ever discovered in Rover is a slight disposition to jealousy ; but this in him is more a virtue than a vice; for it springs entirely from affection, and has nothing mean or malicious in it.

One instance will suffice to show how he expresses this feeling. One day a little stray dog attached himself to me and followed me home; I took him into the house and had him fed, intending to keep him until I could discover the owner. For this act of kindness the dog expressed thanks in the usual way. Rover, although used to play the truant, from the moment the little stranger entered the premises, never quitted us till he saw him fairly off. His manner towards us became more ingratiating than usual, and he seemed desirous, by his assiduities and attentions, to show us that we stood in need of no other favorite or companion. But at the same time he showed no animosity whatever towards his supposed rival. Here was reason and refinement too. Besides the friends whom he meets in my house, Rover also forms attachments of his own, in which he shows great discrimination. It is not every one who offers him a bone that he will trust as a friend. He has one or two intimate acquaintances in the village whom he regularly visits, and where in case of any remissness on the part of the cook, he is sure to find a plate of meat. Rover is a most feeling, sweet dispositioned dog;-one instance of his affection and kindheartedness I cannot omit. He had formed an attachment to a laborer, who worked about my garden, and would frequently follow him to his home, where he was caressed by the wife and children. It happened that the poor wife was taken ill and died. The husband was seriously afflicted, and showed a feeling above the common. At this time I observed that Rover had quite lost his spirits, and appeared to pine. Seeing him in this state one day, when in company with the widowed laborer, and thinking in some measure to divert the poor fellow's thoughts from his own sorrows, I remarked to him the state that Rover was in, and asked him if he could guess the cause. "He is fretting after Poor Peggy," was his reply, giving vent at the same time to a flood of tears.

GARDENS.

WELL do we remember our early love and the common favorite of public and of gardens. Our enthusiasm was then private men; a pleasure of the greatunaffected and uninfluenced by great est, and the care of the meanest; and, examples; we had neither heard nor indeed, an employment and a possesread of Lord Bacon nor Sir William sion, for which no man is too high or Temple, nor any other illustrious writ- too low." Gerade asks his courteous er on gardening; but this love was the and well-willing readers-" Whither pure offspring of our own mind and do all men walk for their honest reheart. Planting and transplanting creation, but where the earth has were our delight; the seed which our most beneficially painted her face tiny hands let fall into the bosom of with flourishing colors ? and what the earth, we almost watched peeping season of the year more longed for through little clods, after the kind and than the spring, whose gentle breath quickening showers of spring; and we entices forth the kindly sweets, and regarded the germinating of an up- makes them yield their fragrant turned bean with all the surprise and smells?"-Sir William Temple says curiosity of our nature. As we grew Epicurus studied, exercised, and in mind and stature, we learned the taught his philosophy in his garden. loftier lessons of philosophy, and Milton, we know, passed many hours threw aside the "Pocket Gardener," together in his garden at Chalfont ; for the sublime chapters of Bacon and Cowley poured forth the greatness of Temple; and as the stream of life his soul in his rural retreat at Chertcarried us into its vortex, we learned sey; and Lord Shaftesbury wrote his to contemplate their pages as the liv- "Characteristics" at a delightful spot ing parterres of a garden, and their near Reigate. Pope, in one of his bright imageries as fascinating flow- letters, says, "I am in my garden, ers. As we journeyed onward through amused and easy; this is a scene the busy herds of crowded cities, we where one finds no disappointment ;" learned the holier influences of gar--and within the same neighborhood, dens in reflecting that a garden has been the scene of man's birth-his fall-and proffered redemption.

It would be difficult to find a subject which has been more fervently treated by poets and philosophers, than the love of gardens. In old Rome, poets sang of their gardens. But the passion for gardening, which evidently came from the East, never prevailed much in Europe till the times of the religious orders, who greatly improved it.

Lord Bacon appears to have done more towards encouraging the taste for gardens than any other writer, and his essay is too well known to admit of quotation. Sir William Temple has, however, many eloquent passages in his writings, in one of which he calls gardening the "inclination of kings, the choice of philosophers,

Thomson

"Sung the Seasons and their change."

Beauty and health are the attributes of gardening. In illustration of the former, we remember a passage from Gervase Markham, thus: "As in the composition of a delicate woman the grace of her cheeke is the mixture of red and white, the wonder of her eye blacke and white, and the beauty of her hand blew and white, any of which is not said to be beautifull if it consist of single or simple colors; and so in walkes or alleyes, the all greene, nor the all yellow, cannot be said to be most beautifull; but the greene and yellow, (that is to say, the untroade grasse, and the well-knit gravelle) being equally mixt, give the eye both lustre and delight beyond comparison." Abercrombie lived to the age of eighty,

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