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thee, W――, and thy lectures upon the ideal of art-unintelligible from the redundancy of thy illustration,"dark with excess of light?" I may be mistaken—one is apt to indulge in a strange, overweening estimation of a first love-but this was in my mind the most delightful lounge I have known. There was a raciness, originality, and variety, about the members of the coterie there assembled, which I have found nowhere else. John deserves to be indicted for breaking up such a union by flitting.

The palace of Constable I., in the High Street, reminded me of the Cretan labyrinth, with its dark and intricate suites of apartments. I knew little about its internal arrangements. The house of Constable II. is a house of business, and that is apt to scare away loungers. Where the one partner is always at the ledger, and the other at his miscellaneous labours, there is little to attract =us idlers. There is not light enough for our moth-like #propensities. It is, however, principle, not inclination, that keeps A-—— such a stern and indefatigable writer of letters and reviser of proofs-naturally, no man is more inclined for a mouthful of gossip, or more able to do it justice. His delicate taste-his indefatigable search after what is curious—his wide correspondence-furnish him with the happiest subjects for small-talk. And when he sways himself about on his stool, to a sidelong position beside his desk, and with an “ Oh, man !" gives holyday to his imprisoned propensity, it is—no easy matter to get away from him.

Passing westwards along Prince's Street, we come to one of the most flourishing resorts of loungers now extant. At the corner of Hanover Street, just opposite to the Grecian bandbox, inhabited by the Royal Institution, it stands in the common centre, where the streams of the old and new town population mix and commingle. Towards this centrical situation-as towards Virgil's Temple of Rumour-all reports, in whatever quarter of the city they originate, float in obedience to a law of their nature. And thither do men of all professions and principles resort, to have their ears tickled with the g-and harmony which so many conflicting sounds produce. This strange wind-instrument has all the wildness of the Eolian harp, joined to all the compass and sostenuto of the organ at Haerlem. The master of the shop-the genius lociis exactly the person fitted to play the part of Eolus amid such a congregation of winds. Strongly suspected of radical propensities, he looks the character of the radical nobly. His broad shoulders, and his gait, with the least possible degree of a swagger in it, are indications of a man conscious of his own energies, and not likely to pay much respect to any one deficient in the qualities he feels himself to possess. I have never known a man who knew better to divide his time between his ledger and his visitors. If busied with accounts, the mending of a pen gives him time to snatch a relishing morsel of chat. The motley crew of loungers who frequent him,-antiquarians, politicians, lawyers, musicians, quidnuncs, and physicians, would require the pen of a Le Sage to do them justice.

Blackwood's-methinks he must be a bold and profane man who dare enter his Grecian Temple for any such mundane purpose as to make a purchase. Seriously, the Bailie's portico is the most chaste and beautiful piece of architecture in Edinburgh. His shop has not merely been translated from Prince's Street-it has undergone an apotheosis—it has become a deified shop. No. 17 was a place where any person might enter and buy a book; No. 45 is an Olympus, whence THE MAGAZINE is monthly showered down upon mortals, and thankfully received. Nor is the interior unworthy of this outward show. The Temple is divided into three compartments. The extremes are nearly identical. The mean is of a circular form; and there at times may be seen Christopher North, sitting enthroned with the "Standard" [newspaper] in his hand-the sceptre of his power.

"Beware, beware!

His flashing eyes, his floating hair.
Weave a circle round him thrice,
And close your eyes with holy dread;
For he on honey dew hath fed,

And drank the milk of Paradise."

There is a literary domicile in St Andrew Squarethe birth-place of the Waverley Novels, and (second only to them) the works of the Author of Marriage-the domain of a man, blunt, indeed, but honest, and capable of a generous action—which passers by are nevertheless apt to view with a shudder. The long-vaulted entry through which it is approached, is like the entry to the cave of some anchorite. It strikes awe into the soul. We feel chilled, and hasten back from its silence, to the sunshine and bustle of the world without.

Our feelings in passing through the entry to Oliver and Boyd's establishment are different, although that too has an appearance of loneliness and seclusion. The whole of the square into which it ushers us belonging to these gentlemen, and being apportioned to the different departments of their extensive business, the effect produced is somewhat akin to that of which we are sensible when entering some old baronial hall. The analogy goes further. Blood hath been spilt there in the olden time. That close is the scene of Begbie's murder. In seclusion from the world, and in completeness within themselves, however, these premises are perhaps still more like some old hall or college in Cambridge, or stately Oxford. And the workings of Messrs Oliver and Boyd have been allied in spirit to those of England's twin-gems of learning. They have brought forth no glaring, trashy, popular, evanescent works, but good, solid, useful books, which, received with no shouts of rapture, have more or less lei-' surely worked their way into public estimation, and when once fairly known, have retained it. Their abode, the reader will see, is too sober a place to become the resort of the lounger: but, in my graver hours, I have felt a tranquil pleasure in the conversation of the short, stout gentleman in the green jacket, who sits in the little back parlour.

My taper has nearly burnt down to its socket, and I must hasten to a close. Not, however, without a tribute to the memory of a star which has lately set-of a kind and gentle heart, whose loss will be long and deeply felt by our lounging fraternity. Robert Miller wast once the Chesterfield and the Sheridan of booksellers. He was never without his story, good and new. His backshop was like himself, always "á quatre épingles." His smile was urbane-his bow the perfection of that graceful salutation. He was the devoted slave of the ladies-so much so that he could never devote himself to one. The graceful devotion with which he received his fair and talented friends at their coach-door, and ushered them into his sanctum sanctorum, could only be equalled by, that with which he again bowed them out. Every woman of genius who visited his shop gave it a new sanctity in his estimation." Mr Miller," said I to him one day, while one of our most gifted living poetesses was residing in the neighbourhood of Edinburgh, "have you seen Mrs Hemans yet?" With silent dignity he seized me by the arm, led me into the inner apartment, and pointing to a chair which stood rather nearer the end than the centre of the room, completely isolated from the rest of the furniture, said in a low voice, highly expressive of affectionate awe, "There she sat, sir! on that chair." Miller was the only man from whom I ever could endure to hear a long story. Then, how he did chirrup over a moderate and cheerful glass! Really, Mr Editor, you must call upon some of your contributors who are better able to do justice to his memory. If, in what I have said, any person thinks he discovers a tone of undue levity, unsuited to the occasion, I am heartily sorry, but must beg leave to tell him, be has misunder

stood me.
If I have dwelt upon the amiable faibles of
our late friend, it is because I feel that they were the
redundancy of a kind and gentle disposition. They served
to enhance, instead of diminishing, the love which his
sterling worth inspired.

Of beauty. 'Midst them like a star she shone,
Or a pure lily born in dewy air;

Or rose the moment of its opening-None
Could look on her, but wish'd to look on her alone.

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The dust of life's long, dark, and dreary road,

DIARY OF A JOURNEY FROM MADRAS TO
MASULIPATAM.

Monday,

PARTED at four in the afternoon from my

Sept. 27, 1824} dear aunt, and drove six miles out of Madras with my uncle in his carriage, On coming up to my palanquin and servants, who had set out before me, I of 300 miles from the Presidency, surrounded by natives took leave of him, and set out for Masulipatam, a distance only. Bearers had previously been posted for me all the way, and each collector sent his Pions to guard me through his district, and procure any thing I wanted at the choultries, where I had to pass the day. I was accompanied by a native female attendant, the only one of

the party except myself who could speak English. She

was conveyed in a dooley, which is an inferior sort of palanquin, in which all my provisions were stowed; and

And from this gross earth rise, and give themselves to also her daughter, a girl of fourteen, whom she crammed

God.

The warning bell hath o'er the parish rung,

in, and who proved afterwards not the least useful of the company.

My separation from those dear friends, who had so

Grove, glade, and glen, sound with the solemn strain. completely won my affections, and the novelty and strangeWide at the summons every door is flung, And forth devout walks many a hoary swain, Their meek wives with them; while, a gayer train, Their daughters come and gladden all the road, Of laughing eyes, ripe lips, long ringlets vainYoung men, like lambs upon spring's sunny sod, Come light of foot and heart, and seek the house of God.

I loved much in my youth down dale and glen,
Upon the morn of the Lord's day, to look;
For all the land pour'd forth its stately men,
Its matrons with staid steps and holy book.
Where'er a cottage smoked, or flow'd a brook,
Or rose a hall, or tower'd a castle gray,
Youth left its joys, old age its care forsook,
Meek beauty grew, and look'd sedately gay,
Nor at her shadow glanced as she went on her way.

Lo see yon youth-clad as the season's clad
In homely green-he loves with aged men
To come conversing-hears sedately sad
Tales from their lips, which 'scaped historic pen,
And linger still in dale and pastoral glen.
O much they talk, upon their kirk ward way,
Of holy martyrs, who by flood and fen
Fell 'neath the persecutors' swords a prey-

ness of my situation, so distracted my thoughts on the evening of my departure, that I could fix my attention to no occupation. I did not, indeed, even make the attempt, but allowed my mind to pursue its reveries. About six o'clock, when it became dusk, I had my palanquin set down, and ordered away the Pions, bearers, and the musalchee (torch-bearer.) I then performed my ablutions; had my hair combed, brushed, and curled; usdressed; made up my palanquin, and went to bed for the night. When all this was accomplished, which was just done in the road, the ayah called the people together, and again I pursued my journey. During that night, I travelled sixty-one miles, with two sets of bearèrs, but the same Pions all the way; and, about ten this Tuesday, morning, reached the Nayour Choultry, where the 28th. I am just now seated.

A choultry is merely an open building for the use of travellers; and as few have more than one room, (if, indeed, it deserves the name,) all who come seek shelter in it during the day from the burning rays of the sun, I am lucky enough to find this one empty to-day; but know that a Sir Ralph Rice, to whom I have been introduced, is going part of my way, and intended to leave Madras on the same day. I expect him, therefore, every moment, and have bathed and dressed in a great hurry, lest he should have come whilst I was thus engaged. All is now over, however. I have finished my toilet, put every thing in order, taken my breakfast, and am quite

They point toward their graves, and seem in thought to ready to receive him-though where I shall go while he is

pray.

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dressing, I know not. I suppose I must just stay in my palanquin, and shut all the doors and windows, which will be much the same as stewing myself in an oven.

The country through which I passed in the night was, as far as I could see, much the same as in the neighbourhood of Madras-flat, sandy soil, without a vestige of vegetation on it, but some rows of palm-trees, which have much the same effect as Scotch firs, giving the country all that bleak and barren appearance which they do. Here and there I saw a few fine banyan and tamarind-trees, the shade of which the natives seemed willing to take advantage of, by raising under them some mud cottages, or by planting their moyable ones there, which are optstructed of cocoa-nut leaves, and are quite light, and easily transported wherever they go.

The only thing I do not like in Indian travelling, is the little use you can make of your pencil. The only time when it is cool enough for sketching, is that in

which you must be hastening to get your night's journey finished, before the sun becomes too powerful; so that, unless you can sketch rapidly, as the palanquin goes on, It is impossible to do it at all. Here is a slight sketch of the Nayour Choultry.

I had these leaves put up in front, to keep the people -om seeing me.

vednesday, I had not written more than a sheet to the 29th. my uncle and this journal, when Sir Ralph arrived. Finding that I had taken possession of the , choultry, he made the best dressing-room he could of that large tree; and then paid his respects to me. I found he had only had a biscuit and some wine and water for his breakfast; so opening my coffers, I made and supplied him with one of a more suitable kind, which, of course, he gallantly pronounced to be the best he had ever tasted. I was much vexed at his remaining with me the remainder of the day, as I had planned out so much for the occupation of each hour. It was however some consolation that he was an agreeable companion. I took out my work and employed myself in that way while he chatted and amused me. When the dinner hour came, the scene was most amusing. We both took out our stores, and made a dinner table of the top of my palanquin. I was much better supplied with good things, such as fruit, biscuit, and the like, than he was; but on his part were produced the more substantial eatables, cold beef and mutton. After a sumptuous repast, seasoned with good appetites and much merriment, we got into our palanquins, and, about five in the afternoon, started together for Nellore.

My book was not neglected so much this evening as the preceding; and, for nine miles, I had enjoyed the companionship of Johnson's Lives of the Poets, when an impediment came in my way which threatened to stop my journey. On arriving at a small village called Naidoopot, where I expected a new set of bearers, I found those posted for me had set off with themselves to a native feast, and my old ones could go on no farther. Sir Ralph with much spirit harangued the whole multitude which had gathered around us, and had emptied every cottage of man, woman, and child. Unfortunately, although he knew a few words of every Oriental language, in not one could he make himself intelligible. The natives bawled out, as is their custom, every one at once; so that had my old champion been able to explain what he meant, his voice must nevertheless have been drowned amidst the clank of voices: for, as he remarked, no Tower of Babel could equal this confusion of tongues.

While there was yet some hope of my bearers making their appearance, I had set about making myself comfort able for the night; and I was now in my nightcap and nightgown the latter covered with a long dressing-gown -my body half out of the palanquin, hallooing (loudly of course) to Sir Ralph; intreating that he would speak to one person at a time, and that through an interpreter, for as yet no one knew what he wanted, and the people must have taken him for a madman. At last, after summoning the amildar (native magistrate) of the vil

lage, he succeeded in making known what he wanted, and though the just number of twenty-four could not be procured, sixteen undertook to carry me and my ayah to the next place where bearers were posted. By slow degrees we reached the next station, and then Nellore, with no other inconvenience than the delay obliging us to be two hours longer exposed to the heat, which was this morning excessive. We have, however, got into a good house instead of a choultry. A Mr S, a friend of my uncle, has received us. I part company this evening from my fellow-traveller, who is quite done up with fatigue, while I am quite fresh, and able to pursue my journey.

Nellore is a small station, consisting of about four European habitations; without any beauty of scenery to boast of, but neat and comfortable. Last stage I passed a range of rather pretty hills, called Naggery: it is the only rising ground I have yet met with, and therefore the more grateful to the eye. Some other parts of the country looked as if they would have been pretty but for the want of rain, which has not fallen in this district for two years. The variety of shrubs and trees was so great I could almost fancy I was travelling through a shrubbery, laid out with studied negligence, and a very pretty one it would have been. Thursday, I wish my dear friends at home had a peep the 30th. S of me just now. I am seated in a pretty little choultry, so comfortable, though far from a human creature of my own country, engaged in writing in my palanquin-which is quite a house in miniature, containing every thing I have any occasion for, with a shelf before me on which stand,-my drawing box and materials for sketching, my work-box, a long range of books, and my desk. With this pleasing sight, I do not dread any want of occupation, and, though alone, am not in solitude.

I left that kind family, the S-s, last night, at six, and again passed through a country devoid of every beauty. It is astonishing to me how the bearers find their way, as there are no roads, and merely a half-worn path here and there to direct them. I came to a river last night, so deep as to come to the men's shoulders, through which, they waded, placing the palanquin on their heads, and landed me in safety on the opposite side. I should have been much alarmed, had not my uncle warned me beforehand to keep quiet and fear nothing, as no accident had yet been known to happen to those who trusted themselves to the care of these people. I arrived here this morning-Ramipatam Choultry, it is called. Here is a sketch of it.

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I here found Pions waiting to forward me. cured milk, eggs, and butter, which, added to my own provisions, made a breakfast not to be despised by a less keen appetite than mine then was. After a refreshing bath in water really almost as cold as if it had been iced, and after finishing my dressing and breakfast, I sat down, as usual, to my desk, and have been busy writing ever since. My Pion has just announced dinner, and there is laid out on the top of my palanquin, curry and rice, made by my ayah, a cold fowl, a mango tart, two different sorts of biscuits, sweet cakes, dried tamarinds, dates and figs, oranges and plantains, and my bottle of wine. I shall not starve this day at least.

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The country surrounding the choultry is a monotonous plain of sand. The building itself stands on a slight eminence-not a bush or a tree near it; but, compared with that in which I spent the day with Sir Ralph, it is quite a superb building. How repugnant to the feelings of a Briton is the sight at present before me! There are some dozens of people lying all their length prostrate before me on the ground. They are beggars, and seem, indeed, objects for charity; they look as if they had not tasted food for a week.

Friday, I am now at Ongale, which I reached October 1st. this morning by three o'clock; being only a run of thirty-three miles. I remained in my palanquin, within the choultry, and slept till five; when, after dressing, I took a pretty long walk into the village, and returned to breakfast at seven, quite ready to do it all justice. This is the prettiest place I have come to, being well wooded, and not so barren as the other districts I have passed through; but I see the country to great disadvantage, as it has not had any rain for two years, and is consequently almost completely parched up-so much so as to put a stop to agriculture all over the Carnatic last season, and, in all probability, for this one too, if the Monsoon, now expected, should fail them.

I met last night with an instance of Indian politeness which I must recount. About ten I was awakened from my slumbers, by a great, consequential-looking butler, accompanied by several Pions and boys, (equivalent to footmen at home,) who had prepared, at their master's orders, a magnificent entertainment for me. On the road was a table, with a display of tea, coffee, fruits, cakes, and wine, on the one side, and a supper of cold meat and different things on the other. It was with the utmost difficulty I could get away without partaking of some of these good things; but I was already so well supplied, that there was no occasion for more. I knew nothing about the gentleman; and should have wondered

Saturday,

on.

After some trouble, and a good deal of annoythe 2d. ance I am safely landed at Guntoor, at the house of a Mr W. Captain M. has just arrived, to return and accompany me the last stage of my journey. Yesterday evening I left Ongole at three, in order to be here early this morning; but was delayed on the road by my second set of bearers, who seeing a female alone, were determined to take advantage of it, and get what money they could of me. Perceiving some demur among them, and that they were not preparing to go on with me, I asked the cause of the stoppage, and was answered that they had had no rice for two days, and that unless " Mistress please give them some money," they could not go I saw what was their object, and felt, that if they succeeded, they would have the upper hand. This I was in no wise disposed to allow, and therefore resolutely refused their demand. For a whole hour and a half I lay in my palanquin on the road, with a crowd of people round me; till at last, fearing I might be left there all night, and not have a place to go to during the day, although determined not to yield, I saw it was necessary to get on. Threatening the boys, by telling them I would write to the collector of their district, who has the power of punishing them, I found to be of no avail; not one would move till I gave them money. I therefore, as a last expedient, sent a man to the first village, for the cutwall of the place, (this is the designation of the native who has the most influence,) and to him I made my complaint, desiring him to procure other boys for me, since these would not go on. But that was unnecessary

the sight of the cut wall was sufficient to set my friends in motion. They took up my palanquin, and set off, jolting me at a great rate by way of revenge; but as I gave no indications of annoyance, and as they quickly found this method of testifying their spite troublesome to

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themselves, they gave it up. The remainder of this stage I got over, without any further adventures, but did not arrive here till past mid-day-a long time to be exposed to the sun without one's breakfast.

The country between this and Ongole, is quite changed from that which I had previously passed through. Rain seems to have fallen in this neighbourhood lately; the land is covered with rich pasturage, and the cultivation of it is not neglected. It is richly wooded-chiefly with the tamarind-tree, which grows most luxuriantly, and has a most beautiful form. There is a fine range of hills in sight, and the scene is altogether very pretty, without any thing to mark its being Indian.

The up-country houses are, in my opinion, fully as comfortable as those at the Presidency, and the style of living much more so.. The want of society to those who are fond of it, is the only disadvantage of living at an out-station. Europeans are more thinly scattered over India than I had supposed: between Madras and Masulipatam there are only two stations where they reside. At Nellore there were only-the collector, with two assistants, the surgeon and his assistant, and the commanding officer. At Guntoor, there are the collector and one assistant, the surgeon, and commanding-officer. The commandant and the assistant are at present absent. I dined in company with the other two to-day at three o'clock; but, as I am the only lady, did not give them much of my presence. Nor was I in spirits for conversation, owing to a letter of ill news I had just received from home. Were it not for these afflictions I should be too happy, and rest satisfied with the enjoyments of this world, without thinking of a better.

Sunday, Captain M.'s bearers not having been posted

There was a

the 3d, in time, I have been obliged to pass the night here. I walked this morning into the village, and was struck with the resemblance of the view from it to Mr Thomson's (of Duddingstone) pictures of scenes on the lakes of Cumberland and Westmoreland. very large tank, about two miles in circumference, surrounded by magnificent trees, and in the distance the Coudarud hills. The sweetness of the scene, and the Sabbath stillness of the morning, was as if hushed and beautified in the presence of its Creator. I felt the quiet happiness, which the letters of the preceding day had disturbed, again settle down upon my soul. To feel that here is a God watching over those we love when in Hanger, tranquillizes most effectively.

Monday,? At eight o'clock this morning, I reached the 4th. Massulipatam, the end of my journey.

FROM THE FRENCH OF CHATEAUBRIAND.
LE ROI DON JUAN.

KING Juan rode forth
O'er the hill and the plain,
He saw on the mountain

Granada of Spain;

"O, gem of my kingdom,
Fair city!" he cried,

"My heart will I give thee,
I wed thee as bride.

"I wed thee, fair city,

I bring to thy side,
Cordova and Seville,
As gifts to my bride;
Rich garments of velvet,
With pearls from the tide;
All these will I give thee,
Be thou but my bride!"

"O, Monarch of Leon,"
Granada replied,

"The Moor is my chosen,
To him I am tied.

I need not thy presents,
I number with pride
The gems of my girdle,
The sons by my side."

Thus boasted the false one,
Thus boasted and lied;
O! shame on the perjured!
O! woe to the pride!
The Christian accursed
Inhabits our bowers,

The halls of the Prophet,
The homes that were ours.

No more from Medina
The camel shall bear
The haji to Mecca,
To penance and prayer.
The Christian accursed
Inhabits those bowers,
The halls of the Prophet,
The homes that were ours.

O! palace where Allah
Himself might abide!
O city with fountains!
O! smooth-flowing tide!
The Christian accursed

Now roams through thy bowers,
The halls of the Prophet,
The homes that were ours.

MILITARY MEMORANDA.

By an Amateur.

DUTCH COURAGE.

"Vous voyez, sire, à quoi tiennent les batailles," said Marshal Saxe to the King of France, when the furious charge of the Irish brigade had decided the fate of the day at Fontenoy; and, in fact, the winning or losing of a battle often depends upon some small, unimportant accident, which never entered into the calculation of the general, because no human sagacity could foresee its occurrence, or divine consequences so disproportionate to the apparent cause. Of this, many examples might be. selected from the history of almost all wars; but the most singular and amusing instance we have met with is con

tained in Von Brettschneider's relation of the battle of Kollin, and particularly of the circumstance which ultimately produced a complete peripeteia in the fortune of the day.

"The great discovery," says he, "which I have here. to communicate to the world, more than fifty years after it took place, is nothing less than the cause why the battle of Kollin was gained. I was at that time with the Saxon chevaux légers; we stood in order of battle, on this said day, from morning till noon; on a rising ground, indeed, but, however, a little covered by. the extensive summit of a mountain, behind which we could no more see the enemy than they could see us. On our right flank, the cannon roared so incessantly, that we could hear but little of the fire of small arms. Immediately near us, a village was set fire to, which the Croats had occupied; we, however, remained quite at rest, and without any occupation. Before me, as I stood in the ranks, was a shady tree, under which Colonel Von Benkendorf, of Prince Charles's regiment, had established his dinner table. This circumstance made a deep impression on my memory, because the ham which the colonel was eating, and the garde-du-vin which he emptied, appeared to me of more importance than any thing else. Scarce had he finished his bottles, when, behold! the aide-de-camp of Field Marshal Daun rode along the front, bringing an order to all commanders of brigades and

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