-Thy muffled friend his nectarine-wall pursues, Who boasts of more (believe the serious strain)
What time the sun the yellow crocus woos, Sighs for a home, and sighs, alas ! in vain.
Screened from the arrowy North ; and duły hies! Thro' each he roves, the tenant of a day,
To meet the morning-rumour as it flies ;

And, with the swallow, wings the year away !”
To range the murmuring market-place, and view
The motley groups that faithful TENIERS drew.

When Spring bursts forth in blossoms thro' the
And her wild music triumphs on the gale, [vale,

NOTES.
Oft with my book I muse from stile to stile ;?
Oft in my porch the listless noon beguile,

Page 20, col, 2, line 25.
Framing loose numbers, till declining day

Oft o'er the mead, at pleasing distance, pass, Thro' the green trellis shoots a crimson ray; Cosmo of Medicis took most pleasure in his Apennine Till the West-wind leads on the twilight hours,

villa, because all that he commanded from its windows And shakes the fragrant bells of closing flowers. was exclusively his own. How unlike the wise Athenian, Nor boast, 0 Choisy, seat of soft delight,

who, when he had a farm to sell, directed the crier to proThe secret charm of thy voluptuous night.

claim, as its best recommendation, that it had a good Vain is the blaze of wealth, the pomp of power !

neighbourhood !–Plut. in Vit. Themist. Lo, here, attendant on the shadowy hour,

Page 21, col. 1, line 8.
Thy closet-supper, served by hands unseen,
Sheds, like an evening-star, its ray serene,

And through the various year, the various day, To hail our coming. Not a step profane

Horace commends the house, longos quæ prospicit Dares, with rude sound, the cheerful rite restrain;

agros."

Distant views contain the greatest variety, both And, while the frugal banquet glows revealed,

in themselves, and in their accidental variations. Pure and unbought 3—the natives of my field ; While blushing fruits thro' scattered leaves

Page 21, col. 1, line 34. invite,

Small change of scene, small space his home requires, Still clad in bloom, and veiled in azure light ;- Many a great man, in passing through the apartments With wine, as rich in years as HORACE sings, of his palace, has made the melancholy reflection of the With water, clear as his own fountain flings, venerable Cosmo: “Questa è troppo gran casa à si poca The shifting side-board plays its humbler part,

famiglia."-MACH. Ist. Fior. lib. vii. Beyond the triumphs of a Loriot's art.

“Parva, sed apta mihi,” was Ariosto's inscription over

his door in Ferrara ; and who can wish to say more? “I Thus, in this calm recess, so richly fraught

confess," says Cowley, “I love littleness almost in all With mental light, and luxury of thought,

things. A little convenient estate, a little cheerful house, My life steals on ; (0 could it blend with thine !)

a little company, and a very little feast."-Essay vi. Careless my course, yet not without design.

When Socrates was asked why he had built for himself So thro’ the vales of Loire the bee-hives glide, so small a house: “Small as it is,” he replied, “I wish I The light raft dropping with the silent tide ; could fill it with friends."-PHÆDRUS, iii. 9. So, till the laughing scenes are lost in night,

These indeed are all that a wisman can desire to The busy people wing their various flight,

assemble ; “ for a crowd is not company, and faces are

but a gallery of pictures, and talk but a tinkling cymbal, Culling unnumbered sweets from nameless flowers,

where there is no love."
That scent the vineyard in its purple hours.
Rise, ere the watch-relieving clarions play,

Page 21, col. 1, line 37.
Caught through St. James's groves at blush of day;
Ere its full voice the choral anthem flings

From every point a ray of genius flows !
Thro' trophied tombs of heroes and of kings.

By these means, when all nature wears a lowering counHaste to the tranquil shade of learned ease, 4

tenance, I withdraw myself into the visionary worlds of art; Tho' skilled alike to dazzle and to please ;

where I meet with shining landscapes, gilded triumphs, Tho' each gay scene be searched with anxious eye,

beautiful faces, and all those other objects that fill the

mind with gay ideas.--ADDISON. Nor thy shut door be passed without a sigh.

It is remarkable that Antony, in his adversity, passed If, when this roof shall know thy friend no more,

some time in a small but splendid retreat, which he called Some, formed like thee, should once, like thee, ex- his Timonium, and from which might originate the idea Invoke the lares of his loved retreat, [plore ; of the Parisian Boudoir, that favourite apartment, où l'on And his lone walks imprint with pilgrim-feet ; se retire pour étre seul, mais où l'on ne boude point. Then be it said, (as, vain of better days,

STRABO, 1. xvii. Plut. in Vit. Anton. Some grey domestic prompts the partial praise) “ Unknown he lived, unenvied, not unblest ;

Page 21, col 1, line 13. Reason his guide, and Happiness his guest.

At GUIDO's call, &c. In the clear mirror of his moral page,

Alluding to his celebrated fresco in the Rospigliosi We trace the manners of a purer age.

Palace at Rome. His soul, with thirst of genuine glory fraught,

Page 21, col. 1, line 60.
Scorned the false lustre of licentious thought.

And still the Few best loved and most revered
-One fair asylum from the world he knew,
One chosen seat, that charms with various view !

The dining-room is dedicated to Conviviality; or, as
Cicero somewhere expresses it, “Communitati vitæ atque

victûs." There we wish most for the society of our friends ; 1 Fallacem circum, vespertinumque pererro and, perhaps, in their absence, most require their portraits. Sæpe forum.--HOR.

The moral advantages of this furniture may be illus2 Tantôt, un livre en main, errant dans les préries

trated by the story of an Athenian courtesan, who, in the

BOILEAU. midst of a riotous banquet with her lovers, accidentally 3 Dapes inemtas.

-Hor.

cast her eye on the portrait of a philosopher, that hung 4 Innocuas amo delicias doctamque quietem.

opposite to her seat; the happy character of wisdom and

At every meal an empty chair

St. Pierre sat by, nor saw nor smiled. Tells him that she is not there;

His eyes were on his loved Montaigne ; She, who would lead him where he went,

But every leaf was turned in vain. Charm with her converse while he leant;

Then in that hour remorse he felt, Or, hovering, every wish prevent;

And his heart told him he had dealt At eve light up the chimney-nook,

Unkindly with his child. Lay there his glass within his book;

A father may awhile refuse; And that small chest of curious mould,

But who can for another chuse ? (Queen Mab’s, perchance, in days of old,) When her young blushies had revealed Tusk of elephant and gold ;

The secret from herself concealed, Which, when a tale is long, dispenses

Why promise what her tears denied, Its fragrant dust to drowsy senses.

That she should be De Courcy's bride? In her who mourned not, when they missed her, -Wouldst thou, presumptuous as thou art, The old a child, the young a sister?

O'er Nature play the tyrant's part, No more the orphan runs to take

And with the hand compel the heart? From her loved hand the barley-cake.

Oh rather, rather hope to bind No more the matron in the school

The ocean-wave, the mountain-wind; Expects her in the hour of rule,

Or fix thy foot upon the ground To sit amid the elfin brood,

To stop the planet rolling round. Praising the busy and the good.

The light was on his face; and there The widow trims her hearth in vain.

You might have seen the passions driven She comes not--nor will come again.

Resentment, Pity, Hope, DespairNot now, his little lesson done,

Like clouds across the face of Heaven, With Frederic blowing bubbles in the sun; Now he sighed heavily; and now, Nor spinning by the fountain-side,

His hand withdrawing from his brow, (Some story of the days of old,

He shut the volume with a frown, Barbe Bleue or Chaperon Rouge half-told

To walk his troubled spirit down : To him who would not be denied ;)

-When (faithful as that dog of yore? Not now, to while an hour away,

Who wagged his tail and could no more) Gone to the falls in Valombrè,

Manchon, who long had snuffed the ground, Where 'tis night at noon of day;

And sought and sought but never found, Nor wandering up and down the wood,

Leapt up and to the casement flew, To all but her a solitude,

And looked and barked, and vanished thro'. Where once a wild deer, wild no more,

“ 'Tis Jacqueline ! 'Tis Jacqueline !" Her chaplet on his antlers wore,

Her little brother laughing cried.
And at her bidding stood.

“I know her by her kirtle green,
She comes along the mountain-side;
Now turning by the traveller's seat,-

Now resting in the hermit's cave,-
The day was in the golden west;

Now kneeling, where the pathways meet, And, curtained close by leaf and flower,

To the cross on the stranger's grave. The doves had cooed themselves to rest

And, by the soldier's cloak, I know In Jacqueline's deserted bower;

(There, there along the ridge they go) The doves—that still would at her casement D'Arcy so gentle and so brave! peck,

Look up—why will you not?” he cries, And in her walks had ever fluttered round

His rosy hands before his eyes ; With purple feet and shining neck,

For on that incense-breathing eve True as the echo to the sound.

The sun shone out, as loth to leave. That casement, underneath the trees,

“See_to the rugged rock she clings ! Half open to the western breeze,

She calls, she faints, and D'Arcy springs ; Looked down, enchanting Garonnelle,

D'Arcy so dear to us, to all; Thy wild and mulberry-shaded dell,

Who, for you told me on your knee, Round which the Alps of Piedmont rose,

When in the fight he saw you fall,
The blush of sunset on their snows:

Saved you for Jacqueline and me!"
While, blithe as lark on summer-morn,
When green and yellow waves the corn,

And true it was! And true the tale ! When harebells blow in every grove,

When did she sue, and not prevail ?
And thrushes sing “ I love ! I love !”.
Within (so soon the early rain

Five years before—it was the night

That on the village-green they parted,
Scatters, and 'tis fair again ;

The lilied banners streaming bright
Though many a drop may yet be seen
To tell us where a cloud has been)

O’er maids and mothers broken-hearted;

The drum--it drowned the last adieu,
Within lay Frederic, o'er and o'er
Building castles on the floor,

When D'Arcy from the crowd she drew. And feigning, as they grew in size,

“ One charge I have and one alone, New troubles and new dangers;

Nor that refuse to take, With dimpled cheeks and laughing eyes,

My father-if not for his own, As he and Fear were strangers.

Oh for his daughter's sake!"

II.

III.

Inly he vowed_-'twas all he could ;

They gather as they goAnd went and sealed it with his blood.

Sabot, and coif, and collerette, Nor can ye wonder. When a child,

The housewife's prayer, the grandam's blessing! And in her playfulness she smiled,

Girls that adjust their locks of jet, Up many a ladder-path 1 he guided

And look and look and linger yet, Where meteor-like the chamois glided,

The lovely bride caressing;
Thro' many a misty grove.

Babes that had learnt to lisp her name,
They loved—but under Friendship’s name; And heroes he had led to fame.
And Reason, Virtue fanned the flame,
Till in their houses Discord came,

But what felt D'Arcy, when at length
And 'twas a crime to love.

Her father's gate was open flung? Then what was Jacqueline to do?

Ah, then he found a giant's strength; Her father's angry hours she knew,

For round him, as for life, she clung ! And when to soothe, and when persuade;

And when, her fit of weeping o'er, But now her path De Courcy crossed,

Onward they moved a little space, Led by his falcon through the glade

And saw an old man sitting at the door, He turned, beheld, admired the maid;

Saw his wan cheek, and sunken eye And all her little arts were lost !

That seemed to gaze on vacancy, De Courcy, Lord of Argentiere!

Then, at the sight of that beloved face, Thy poverty, thy pride, St. Pierre,

At once to fall upon his neck she flew; Thy thirst for vengeance sought the snare. But—not encouraged-back she drew, The day was named, the guests invited;

And trembling stood in dread suspense, The bride-groom, at the gate, alighted;

Her tears her only eloquence! When up the windings of the dell,

All, all—the while—an awful distance keeping; A pastoral pipe was heard to swell,

Save D'Arcy, who nor speaks nor stirs ; And lo, an humble Piedmontese,

And one, his little hand in hers, Whose music might a lady please,

Who weeps to see his sister weeping. This miessage thro' the lattice bore,

Then Jacqueline the silence broke. (She listened, and her trembling frame

She clasped her father's knees and spoke, Told her at once from whom it came)

Her brother kneeling too; “ Oh let us fly—to part no more !"

While D'Arcy as before looked on,
Tho’ from his manly cheek was gone
Its natural hue.

“ His praises from your lips I heard, That morn ('twas in Ste. Julienne's cell,

Till my fond heart was won ; As at Ste. Julienne's sacred well

And, if in aught his Sire has erred, Their dream of love began)

Oh turn not from the Son !That morn, ere many a star was set,

She, whom in joy, in grief you nursed; Their hands had on the altar met

Who climbed and called you father first,
Before the holy man.

By that dear name conjures-
--And now, her strength, her courage spent, On her you thought-but to be kind !
And more than half a penitent,

When looked she

up,
but
you

inclined ? She comes along the path she went.

These things, for ever in her mind, And now the village gleams at last ;

Oh are they gone from yours? The woods, the golden meadows passed,

Two kneeling at your feet behold; Where, when Toulouse, thy splendour shone, One-one how young ;--nor yet the other old. The Troubadour would journey on

Oh spurn them not—nor look so coldTransported—or, from grove to grove,

If Jacqueline be cast away, Framing some roundelay of love,

Her bridal be her dying day. Wander till the day was gone.

-Well, well might she believe in you ! “ All will be well, my Jacqueline !

She listened, and she found it true.” Oh tremble not-but trust in me.

He shook his aged locks of snow ; The Good are better made by Ill,

And twice he turned, and rose to go. As odours crushed are sweeter still;

She hung ; and was St. Pierre to blame, And gloomy as thy past has been,

If tears and smiles together came ? Bright shall thy future be !"

“Oh no-begone! I'll hear no more.” So saying, thro' the fragrant shade

But, as he spoke, his voice relented. Gently along he led the maid,

“ That very look thy mother wore While Manchon round and round her played :

When she implored, and old Le Roc consented. And, as that silent glen they leave,

True, I have done as well as suffered wrong. Where by the spring the pitchers stand,

Yet still I love him as my own; Where glow-worms light their little lamps at eve, – Nor canst thou, D'Arcy, feel resentment long ; And fairies revel as in fairy-land,

For she herself shall plead, and I atone. (When Lubin calls, and Blanche steals round,

Henceforth,” he paused awhile, unmanned, Her finger on her lip, to see;

For D'Arcy's tears bedewed his hand ; And many an acorn-cup is found

“ Let each meet each as friend to friend, Under the greenwood tree)

All things by all forgot, forgiven. From every cot above, below,

And that dear Saint-may she once more de

scend 1 Called in the language of the country Pas-de-l'Echelle.

To make our home a heaven !