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PREFACE.

Point out the green lane rough with fern and flowers,
The shelter'd gate that opens to my field,
And the white front through mingling elms reveal'd
In vain, alas, a village-friend invites

EVERY reader turns with pleasure to those pas-
sages of Horace, and Pope, and Boileau, which de-
scribe how they lived and where they dwelt; and To simple comforts, and domestic rites,
which, being interspersed among their satirical writ-
ings, derive a secret and irresistible grace from the
contrast, and are admirable examples of what in
Painting is termed repose.

We have admittance to Horace at all hours. We enjoy the company and conversation at his table; and his suppers, like Plato's, “non solum in præsentia, sed etiam postero die jucundæ sunt." But when we look round as we sit there, we find ourselves in a Sabine farm, and not in a Roman villa. His windows have every charm of prospect; but his furniture might have descended from Cincinnatus; and gems, and pictures, and old marbles, are mentioned by him more than once with a seeming indifference.

When the gay months of Carnival resume
Their annual round of glitter and perfume;
When London hails thee to its splendid mart,
Its hives of sweets, and cabinets of art;
And, lo, majestic as thy manly song,
Flows the full tide of human life along.

Still must my partial pencil. love to dwell On the home-prospects of my hermit-cell; The mossy pales that skirt the orchard-green, Here hid by shrub-wood, there by glimpses seen; And the brown pathway, that, with careless flow, Sinks, and is lost among the trees below. Still must it trace (the flattering tints forgive) Each fleeting charm that bids the landscape live. His English Imitator thought and felt, perhaps, more Oft o'er the mead, at pleasing distance, pass (1) correctly on the subject; and embellished his garden Browsing the hedge by fits the pannier'd ass; and grotto with great industry and success. But to The idling shepherd-boy, with rude delight, these alone he solicits our notice. On the ornaments Whistling his dog to mark the pebble's flight; of his house he is silent; and he appears to have re- And in her kerchief blue the cottage-maid, served all the minuter touches of his pencil for the With brimming pitcher from the shadowy glade. library, the chapel, and the banqueting-room of Far to the south a mountain-vale retires, Timon. "Le savoir de notre siècle," says Rousseau, "tend beaucoup plus à détruire qu'à édifier. On censure d'un ton de maitre; pour proposer, il en faut prendre un autre.”

Rich in its groves, and glens, and village-spires:
Its upland-lawns, and cliffs with foliage hung,
Its wizard-stream, nor nameless nor unsung:
And through the various year, the various day, (2)
What scenes of glory burst, and melt away!

It is the design of this Epistle to illustrate the virtue of True Taste; and to show how little she requires to When April-verdure springs in Grosvenor-square, secure, not only the comforts, but even the elegancies And the furr'd Beauty comes to winter there, of life. True Taste is an excellent Economist. She She bids old Nature mar the plan no more; confines her choice to few objects, and delights in Yet still the seasons circle as before. producing great effects by small means: while False Taste is for ever sighing after the new and the rare; and reminds us, in her works, of the Scholar of Apelles, who, not being able to paint his Helen beautiful, determined to make her fine.

ARGUMENT.

An invitation-The approach to a Villa described-Its situation-Its few apartments-furnished with casts from the Antique, etc.-The dining-room-The library-A cold-bath-A winter-walk-A summer-walk-The invitation renewed-Conclusion.

WHEN, with a Reaumur's skill, thy curious mind
Has class'd the insect-tribes of human kind,
Fach with its busy hum, or gilded wing,
Its subtle web-work, or its venom'd sting;
Let me, to claim a few unvalued hours,

Ah, still as soon the young Aurora plays,
Though moons and flambeaux trail their broadest blaze,
As soon the sky-lark pours his matin-song,
Though evening lingers at the mask so long.

There let her strike with momentary ray,
As tapers shine their little lives away;
There let her practise from herself to steal,
And look the happiness she does not feel;
The ready smile and bidden blush employ
At Faro-routs that dazzle to destroy:
Fan with affected ease the essenced air,
And lisp of fashions with unmeaning stare.
Be thine to meditate a humbler flight,
When morning fills the fields with rosy light;
Be thine to blend, nor thine a vulgar aim,
Repose with dignity, with quiet fame.

Here no state-chambers in long line unfold,
Bright with broad mirrors, rough with fretted gold,
Yet modest ornament, with use combined,
Attracts the eye to exercise the mind.

Small change of scene, small space his home re- When from his classic dreams the student steals,'

quires, (3)

Who leads a life of satisfied desires.

What though no marble breathes, no canvas glows, From every point a ray of genius flows! (4) Be mine to bless the more mechanic skill, That stamps, renews, and multiplies at will; And cheaply circulates, through distant climes, The fairest relics of the purest times. Here from the mould to conscious being start Those finer forms, the miracles of art; Here chosen gems, imprest on sulphur, shine, That slept for ages in a second mine; And here the faithful graver dares to trace A Michael's grandeur, and a Raphael's grace! Thy Gallery, Florence, gilds my humble walls, And my low roof the Vatican recalls!

Soon as the morning-dream my pillow flies,
To waking sense what brighter visions rise!
O mark! again the courses of the Sun,

At Guido's call, (5) their round of glory run!
Again the rosy Hours resume their flight,
Obscured and lost in floods of golden light!

But could thine erring friend so long forget
(Sweet source of pensive joy and fond regret)
That here its warmest hues the pencil flings,
Lo! here the lost restores, the absent brings;
And still the Few best loved and most revered (6)
Rise round the board their social smile endear'd?

Selected shelves shall claim thy studious hours; There shall thy ranging mind be fed on flowers!' There, while the shaded lamp's mild lustre streams, Read ancient books, or dream inspiring dreams; (7) And, when a sage's bust arrests thee there, (8) Pause, and his features with his thoughts compare. -Ah, most that Art my grateful rapture calls, Which breathes a soul into the silent walls; 2 Which gathers round the Wise of every Tongue, (9) All on whose words departed nations hung; Still prompt to charm with many a converse sweet; Guides in the world, companions in retreat!

Though my thatch'd bath no rich Mosaic knows, A limpid spring with unfelt current flows. Emblem of Life! which, still as we survey, Seems motionless, yet ever glides away! The shadowy walls record, with Attic art, The strength and beauty that its waves impart. Here Thetis, bending, with a mother's fears Dips her dear boy, whose pride restrains his tears. There, Venus, rising, shrinks with sweet surprise, As her fair self reflected seems to rise!

Far from the joyless glare, the maddening strife, And all the dull impertinence of life, These eye-lids open to the rising ray, And close, when nature bids, at close of day. Here, at the dawn, the kindling landscape glows; There noon-day levees call from faint repose. Here the flush'd wave flings back the parting light; There glimmering lamps anticipate the night.

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Grata carpentis thyma- Hor.

2 Postea verò quàm Tyrannio mihi libros disposuit, mens addita videtur meis ædibus.-Cic.

Amid the buzz of crowds, the whirl of wheels,
To muse unnoticed-while around him press
The meteor-forms of equipage and dress;
Alone, in wonder lost, he seems to stand

A very stranger in his native land!
And (though perchance of current coin possest,
And modern phrase by living lips exprest)

Like those blest Youths, (10) forgive the fabling page,
Whose blameless lives deceived a twilight age,
Spent in sweet slumbers; till the miner's spade
Unclosed the cavern, and the morning play'd.
Ah! what their strange surprise, their wild delight!
New arts of life, new manners meet their sight!
In a new world they wake, as from the dead;
Yet doubt the trance dissolved, the vision fled!

O come, and, rich in intellectual wealth,
Blend thought with exercise, with knowledge health!
Long, in this shelter'd scene of letter'd talk,
With sober step repeat the pensive walk;
Nor scorn, when graver triflings fail to please,
The cheap amusements of a mind at ease;
Here every care in sweet oblivion cast,
And many an idle hour-not idly pass'd.

No tuneful echoes, ambush'd at my gate, Catch the blest accents of the wise and great. (11) Vain of its various page, no Album breathes The sigh that Friendship or the Muse bequeaths. Yet some good Genii o'er my hearth preside, Oft the far friend, with secret spell, to guide; And there I trace, when the grey evening lours, A silent chronicle of happier hours!

When Christmas revels in a world of snow, And bids her berries blush, her carols flow; His spangling shower when Frost the wizard flings Or, borne in ether blue, on viewless wings, O'er the white pane his silvery foliage weaves, And gems with icicles the sheltering eves; -Thy muffled friend his nectarine-wall pursues, What time the sun the yellow crocus wooes, Screened from the arrowy North; and duly hies 2 To meet the morning-rumor as it flies; To range the murmuring market-place, and view The motley groups that faithful Teniers drew.

When Spring bursts forth in blossoms through the
vale,

And her wild music triumphs on the gale,
Oft with my book I muse from stile to stile;"
Oft in my porch the listless noon beguile,
Framing loose numbers, till declining day
Through the green trellis shoots a crimson ray;
Till the West-wind leads on the twilight hours,
And shakes the fragrant bells of closing flowers.
Nor boast, O Choisy! seat of soft delight,
The secret charm of thy voluptuous night.
Vain is the blaze of wealth, the pomp of power!
Lo, here, attendant on the shadowy hour,
Thy closet-supper, served by hands unseen,
Sheds, like an evening-star, its ray serene, (12)

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To hail our coming. Not a step profane
Dares, with rude sound, the cheerful rite restrain;
And, while the frugal banquet glows reveal'd,
Pure and unbought,'—the natives of my field;
While blushing fruits through scatter'd leaves invite,
Stil' clad in bloom, and veil'd in azure light!
With wine, as rich in years as HORACE sings,
With water, clear as his own fountain flings,
The shifting side-board plays its humbler part,
Beyond the triumphs of a Loriot's art. (13)

Thus, in this calm recess, so richly fraught
With mental light, and luxury of thought,
My life steals on; (O could it blend with thine!)
Careless my course, yet not without design.
So through the vales of Loire the bee-hives glide, (14)
The light raft dropping with the silent tide;
So, till the laughing scenes are lost in night,
The busy people wing their various flight,
Culling unnumber'd sweets from nameless flowers,
That scent the vineyard in its purple hours.

Rise, ere the watch-relieving clarions play, Caught through St. James's groves a blush of day; (15) Ere its full voice the choral anthem flings Through trophied tombs of heroes and of kings. Haste to the tranquil shade of learned ease,2 Though skill'd alike to dazzle and to please;

agros." Distant views contain the greatest variety both in themselves and in their accidental variations. Note 3, page 21, col. 1.

Small change of scene, small space his home requires. Many a great man, in passing through the apart. ments of his palace, has made the melancholy reflection of the venerable Cosmo: "Questa è troppo gran casa à si poco famiglia."-MACH. Ist. Fior. lib. vii.

"Parva, sed apta mihi," was Ariosto's inscription over his door in Ferrara; and who can wish to say more? "I confess," says Cowley, "I love littleness almost in all things. A little convenient estate, a little cheerful house, a little company, and a very little feast."-Essay vi.

When Socrates was asked why he had built for himself so small a house, "Small as it is," he replied, "I wish I could fill it with friends."-PHÆDRUS, 1. iii, 9.

These indeed are all that a wise man would desire to assemble; "for a crowd is not company, and faces are but a gallery of pictures, and talk but a tinkling cymbal, where there is no love."

Note 4, page 21, col. 1.

From every point a ray of genius flows! By this means, when all nature wears a louring countenance, I withdraw myself into the visionary

Though each gay scene be search'd with anxious eye, worlds of art; where I meet with shining landscapes, Nor thy shut door be pass'd without a sigh.

If, when this roof shall know thy friend no more, Some, form'd like thee, should once, like thee, explore; Invoke the lares of this loved retreat, And his lone walks imprint with pilgrim-feet; Then be it said, (as, vain of better days, Some grey domestic prompts the partial praise) "Unknown he lived, unenvied, not unblest; Reason his guide, and Happiness his guest. In the clear mirror of his moral page, We trace the manners of a purer age. His soul, with thirst of genuine glory fraught, Scorn'd the false lustre of licentious thought. -One fair asylum from the world he knew, One chosen seat, that charms with various view! Who boasts of more (believe the serious strain) Sighs for a home, and sighs, alas! in vain.

Through each he roves, the tenant of a day,

gilded triumphs, beautiful faces, and all those other objects that fill the mind with gay ideas, etc. ADDISON.

It is remarkable that Antony, in his adversity, passed some time in a small but splendid retreat, which he called his Timonium, and from which might originate the idea of the Parisian Boudoir, that favorite apartment, où l'on se retire pour être seul, mais où l'on ne boude point.—STRABO, l. xvii. PLUT. in Vit. Anton.

Note 5, page 21, col. 1.

At Guido's call, etc.

Alluding to his celebrated fresco in the Rospigliosi Palace at Rome.

Note 6, page 21, col..1.

And still the Few best loved and most revered.

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

And, with the swallow, wings the year away!" (16) atque victus." There we wish most for the society

NOTES.

Note 1, page 20, col. 2.

Oft o'er the mead, at pleasing distance, pass.

Cosmo of Medicis took most pleasure in his Apen

of our friends; and, perhaps, in their absence, most require their portraits.

The moral advantages of this furniture may be illustrated by the pretty story of an Athenian courtesan, "who, in the midst of a riotous banquet with her lovers, accidentally cast her eye on the portrait of a philosopher, that hung opposite to her seat: the happy character of temperance and virtue struck her that she instantly quitted the room; and, retiring with so lively an image of her own unworthiness,

nine villa, because all that he commanded from its windows was exclusively his own. How unlike the home, became ever after an example of temperance, wise Athenian, who, when he had a farm to sell, as she had been before of debauchery." directed the crier to proclaim, as its best recommendation, that it had a good neighborhood.-PLUT. in Vit. Themist.

Note 2, page 20, col. 2.

And through the various year, the various day.

Note 7, page 21, col. 1.

Read ancient books, or dream inspiring dreams. The reader will here remember that passage of Horace, Nunc veterum libris, nunc somno, etc. which was inscribed by Lord Chesterfield on the frieze of

Horace commends the house, "longos quæ prospicit his library.

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Note 8, page 21, col. 1.

And, when a sage's bust arrests thee there. Siquidem non solum ex auro argentove, aut certe ox

ere in bibliothecis dicantur illi, quorum immortales Hence every artist requires a broad and high animæ in iisdem locis ibi loquuntur: quinimo etiam light. Hence also, in a banquet-scene, the most quæ non sunt, finguntur, pariuntque desideria non picturesque of all poets has thrown his light from traditi vultus, sicut in Homero evenit. Quo majus the ceiling.-Æn. i, 726.

(ut equidem arbitror) nullum est felicitatis specimen, quam semper omnes scire cupere, qualis fuerit aliquis-PLIN. Nat. Hist.

Cicero speaks with pleasure of a little seat under Aristotle in the library of Atticus. "Literis sustentor et recreor; maloque in illa tua sedecula, quam habes sub imagine Aristotelis, sedere quàm in istorum sella curuli!"-Ep. ad Att. iv, 10.

Nor should we forget that Dryden drew inspiration from the "majestic face" of Shakspeare; and that a portrait of Newton was the only ornament of the closet of Buffon.-Ep. to Kneller. Voyage à Montbart.

In the chamber of a man of genius we
Write all down:
Such and such pictures;-there the window
-the arras, figures,

Why, such and such.

Note 9, page 21, col. 1.

Which gathers round the Wise of every Tongue. Quis tantis non gaudeat et glorietur hospitibus, exclaims Petrarch.-Spectare, etsi nihil aliud, certè juvat.-Homerus apud me mutus, imò verò ego apud illum surdus sum. Gaudeo tamen vel aspectû solo, et sæpe illum amplexus ac suspirens dico: O magne vir, etc.-Epist. Var. lib. 20.

Note 10, page 21, col. 2.

Like those blest Youths.

See the Legend of the Seven Sleepers.-GIBBON,

e. 33.

Note 11, page 21, col. 2.

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Note 13, page 22, col. 1.

Beyond the triumphs of a Loriot's art.

duced those admirable pieces of mechanism, after At the petits soupers of Choisy were first introand the Servante; a table and a side-board, which wards carried to perfection by Loriot, the Confidente descended and rose again covered with viands and wines. And thus the most luxurious Court in Europe, after all its boasted refinements, was glad to return at last, by this singular contrivance, to the quiet and privacy of humble life.-Vie privée de Louis XV, tom. ii, p. 43.

Between 1. 10, and 1. 11, col. 1, were these lines, since omitted:

Hail, sweet Society! in crowds unknown,

Though the vain world would claim thee for its own.
Still where thy small and cheerful converse flows,
Be mine to enter, ere the circle close.
When in retreat Fox lays his thunder by,
And Wit and Taste their mingled charms supply;
When Siddons, born to melt and freeze the heart,
Performs at home her more endearing part;
When he, who best interprets to mankind
The winged messengers from mind to mind,
Leans on his spade, and, playful as profound,
His genius sheds its evening-sunshine round,
Be mine to listen; pleased yet not elate,
Ever too modest or too proud to rate
Myself by my companions, self-compell'd
To earn the station that in life I held.
They were written in 1796.

Note 14, page 22, col. 1.

Catch the blest accents of the wise and great. Mr. Pope delights in enumerating his illustrious guests. Nor is this an exclusive privilege of the poet. The Medici Palace at Florence exhibits a long and imposing catalogue. "Semper hi parietes columnæque eruditis vocibus resonuerunt." Another is also preserved at Chanteloup, the seat of France and Piedmont.

of the Duke of Choiseul.

Note 12, page 21, col. 2.

Sheds, like an evening-star, its ray serene.

At a Roman supper, statues were sometimes employed to hold the lamps.

-Aurea sunt juvenum simulacra per ædeis,
Lampadas igniferas manibus retinentia dextris.
Lucr. ii, 24.

A fashion as old as Homer!-Odyss. vii, 100.
On the proper degree and distribution of light, we
may consult a great master of effect. Il lume grande,
ed alto, e non troppo potente, sarà quello, che ren-
derà le particole de' corpi molto grate.-Tratt. della
Pittura di LIONARDO DI VINCI, c. xli.

So through the vales of Loire the bee-hives glide. An allusion to the floating bee-house, or barge laden with bee-hives, which is seen in some parts

Note 15, page 22, col. 1.

Caught through St. James's groves at blush of day.
After this line in the MS.

Groves that Belinda's star illumines still,
And ancient Courts and faded splendors fill

Note 16, page 22, col. 1.

And, with the swallow, wings the year away!

It was the boast of Lucullus that he changed his climate with the birds of passage.—PLUT. in Vit Lucull.

How often must he have felt the truth here in culcated, that the master of many houses has no home! 31

Jacqueline.

I.
"T WAS Autumn; through Provence had ceased
The vintage, and the vintage-feast.
The sun had set behind the hill,
The moon was up, and all was still,

And from the convent's neighboring tower
The clock had toll'd the midnight-hour,
When Jacqueline came forth alone,
Her kerchief o'er her tresses thrown;
A guilty thing and full of fears,
Yet ah, how lovely in her tears!

She starts, and what has caught her eye?
What-but her shadow gliding by?
She stops, she pants; with lips apart
She listens to her beating heart!
Then, through the scanty orchard stealing,
The clustering boughs her track concealing,
She flies, nor casts a thought behind,
But gives her terrors to the wind;
Flies from her home, the humble sphere
Of all her joys and sorrows here,
Her father's house of mountain-stone,
And by a mountain-vine o'ergrown.
At such an hour in such a night,
So calm, so clear, so heavenly bright,
Who would have seen, and not confess'd
It looked as all within were blest?
What will not woman, when she loves?
Yet lost, alas, who can restore her?—
She lifts the latch, the wicket moves;
And now the world is all before her.

Up rose St. Pierre, when morning shone ;
And Jacqueline, his child, was gone!
Oh what the madd'ning thought that came?
Dishonor coupled with his name!
By Condé at Rocroy he stood;

By Turenne, when the Rhine ran blood;
Two banners of Castile he gave

Aloft in Notre Dame to wave;
Nor did thy Cross, St. Louis, rest
Upon a purer, nobler breast.

He slung his old sword by his side,

And snatch'd his staff and rush'd to save;
Then sunk-and on his threshold cried,
"Oh lay me in my grave!

-Constance! Claudine! where were ye then?
But stand not there. Away! away!
Thou, Frederic, by thy father stay.
Though old, and now forgot of men,
Both must not leave him in a day."

Then, and he shook his hoary head,

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And, as she pass'd her father's door,
She stood as she would stir no more.
But she is gone, and gone for ever!
No, never shall they clasp her never!
They sit and listen to their fears;
And he, who through the breach had led
Over the dying and the dead,
Shakes if a cricket's cry he hears!

Oh! she was good as she was fair;
None-none on earth above her!
As pure in thought as angels are,
To know her was to love her.
When little, and her eyes, her voice,
Her every gesture said "rejoice,"
Her coming was a gladness;

And, as she grew, her modest grace,

Her down-cast look 't was heaven to trace
When, shading with her hand her face
She half inclined to sadness.

Her voice, whate'er she said, enchanted
Like music to the heart it went.
And her dark eyes-how eloquent!
Ask what they would, 't was granted.
Her father loved her as his fame;
-And Bayard's self had done the same

Soon as the sun the glittering pane
On the red floor in diamonds threw,
His songs she sung and sung again,
Till the last light withdrew.
Every day, and all day long,
He mused or slumber'd to a song,
But she is dead to him, to all!
Her lute hangs silent on the wall;
And on the stairs, and at the door
Her fairy-step is heard no more!
At every meal an empty chair
Tells him that she is not there;

She, who would lead him where he went
Charm with her converse while he leant;
Or, hovering, every wish prevent;

At eve light up the chimney-nook,
Lay there his glass within his book;
And that small chest of curious mould,
(Queen Mab's, perchance, in days of old,)
Tusk of elephant and gold;

Which, when a tale is long, dispenses
Its fragrant dust to drowsy senses.

In her who mourn'd not, when they miss a ner
The old a child, the young a sister?
No more the orphan runs to take
From her loved hand the barley-cake.
No more the matron in the school
Expects her in the hour of rule,
To sit amid the elfin brood,
Praising the busy and the good.
The widow trims her hearth in vain,
She comes not-nor will come again!
Not now, his little lesson done,

With Frederic blowing bubbles in the sun;

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