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characters, which will bear a comparison with those of any preceding period. Of living excellence it becomes us to be silent, from a regard to the precept which enjoins us not to sacrifice to heroes till after sun-set. But upon the graves of Tobin, Worgan, and Roberts, posthumous reputation already sheds its radiance: in the muchlamented, because premature, termination of their career, they are compeers, if in merit unequal; and since you, Sir, have commenced a species of civic criticism, I shall indulge the expectation that you will not pass them over in silence.

Your's, &c.

U.

THE PONDERER. No. 16.

Oh! I have lov'd from earliest youth
To climb the mountain-tracks sublimely wild,
And range with keenest extacy of soul
Among the woody windings of the bills,
Whence, o'er the distant precipice is heard
The sound of falling waters.

IT has often fallen to my lot, when rambling through the country, to have trodden almost on the very threshold of scenes that would have inspired me with tenderness, transported me with admiration, or filled me with awe, without the least knowledge of having been near them; and it has not been till I have travelled on so far, as to make it either impossible or inconvenient to return, that I have been told of the mountain-cataract, the glen, the mouldering abbey, or the soft, green, pastoral vale, that would almost rival in loveliness the beautiful landscapes of Arcadia.

Some months ago, on my return from a watering place on the Somersetshire coast, I called at the house of a clergyman, who, on hearing the route I had taken, asked if I had seen BrockleyCoombe; and replying that I had never heard of

it before, he added that the sight of it would have afforded high gratification to my feelings; and on entering into a more particular detail of its beauties, I resolved at no very distant period to visit this interesting spot. This I have since done, and the impression the visit made upon my mind, induces me to devote this essay to a description of its scenes, in the expectation that as they become better known, they will be more fre-quented.

In my excursion to this little scene of rural attraction, my friend Mr. H*****, who to an enthusiastic fondness for whatever is great or beautiful in nature, adds the enviable talent of transferring the images of that greatness and beauty to canvas, was so obliging as to accompany me. The morning was foggy, but brightened as it advanced. The road to the village of Brockley, which is about nine miles from Bristol, leads through Long-Ashton, and access to the Coombe is immediately obtained from the main road, through a large gate, almost opposite the mansion of its wealthy proprietor. I do not know how to give a better general idea of the place than by saying, it is an immense chasm in the mountain, winding for a mile and a half, or somewhat more, and terminating on a range of fine heathy downs

One

But what constitutes the principal charm of this delightful glen, is the circumstance of its being so abundantly enriched with wood. It is a kind of paradise, which the sylvan deities would be pleased to call their own. Trees of all shapes and characters, are here scattered in the most interesting confusion. The young aspiring ash mixes its elegant foliage with that of the oak; whilst the ivy, and the more gay and flowering shrubs, by wreathing their tendrils round the trunks and branches of the more naked trees, bestow an additional grace on the whole. side of the Coombe is a lofty mass of limestonerock; yet this rock is so profusely ornamented with vegetation, as to resemble a garden fantastically suspended in the air. Some of the rocks on the summit of these cliffs were finely illuminated, resembling, in detached portions, the fortifications of a city in the distance. The rays of the Sun broke in through several openings amongst the trees, and cast upon the variegated foliage, on the ground, on the broken masses of stone, and on whatever object they chanced to fall, a beautifully transparent golden light, which the painter knows how to appreciate in nature, perhaps, better than other man, and to appropriate to the purposes of art.

If I were disposed to indulge in the speculations of many learned and ingenious men, by concontending for the perceptivity of vegetables, I should (after adducing as proofs, the various species of the Mimosa, the Flores Solares, and the celebrated American plant, Dionoa Muscipula, which is said not only to catch flies, but to absorb their juices for nutriment) strengthen my arguments by the phenomena observable in Brockley-Coombe. The perpendicular rocks, I have already said, are profusely adorned with verdure; and amongst this variety there are several trees of different dimensions shooting from the fissures of the precipice, and which, from their increasing size, cannot in that barren situation supply themselves with the common means of support; but, as if conscious that they must soon wither and perish, it is curious to behold them casting out fresh roots down the sides of the rock; some of which, notwithstanding a variety of obstructions, and from a considerable height, have reached the ground. The love of life is a living energetic principle, pervading the whole system of animated nature; and shall we deny to plants and brambles, the attributes of intelligence, merely because they are plants and brambles; and especially when we behold them making use

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