zon, the usual termination of Welsh landscapes. The castle has a gallery 100 feet long, with shining oak floors and wainscotting, state-beds and furniture of the 16th or 17th century, and a number of bad pictures. We walked in the groves, where roses and honeysuckles wasted their sweetness on the desart air. The proprietors of this paradise, three sisters, are at this moment enjoying the heat and dust of London, and are not expected for a long time to come. At Chester we visited the court-house and prison of the county,-a new building of classical appearance, the interior of which is on a plan of the celebrated philanthropist, (not of that sort who made the French revolution) Howard. This is its plan: The windows of the keeper's apart - ments overlook the rooms or cells of the prisoners, which are disposed in a semicircle, opening two and two on a small court or garden, to which they have access all day, and are only shut up at night. A list, placed on the balcony before the windows of the keeper, informs you of the name of each prisoner, his crime, &c. The court forms also a semicircle ;-the judge and jury in the centre, the spectators on the stone amphitheatre all around. The prisoner is brought by a subterraneous passage to his place before the judges. The court is lighted by a sky-light, with ventilators to renew the air. The front of the building is adorned by a Doric portico, the columns of which, three feet in diameter, and twenty high, are each formed of a single piece, and the whole building of the same stone, in large blocks, of a fine yellow colour, from a quarry near at hand. The funds have been drawn from the surplus produce of a canal in the neighbourhood beyond a certain per centage stipulated in the charter. What pleased us most was, to find that this excellent house had so few inhabitants; and the jailor, who appeared to be a respectable man, informed us further, that there had been only three executions in the county of Chester in nine years. The city of Chester has an antique physiognomy, not exactly of classical, but rather barba A rous antiquity. The streets are in the houses ;the ground-floor is hollow and open to the public, a sort of covered gallery, dark, dirty, and crooked, and up and down, with unexpected steps, down which you run the risk of falling every moment. The origin of this singular style of architecture is traced back to the times when the neighbouring Welsh made inroads on the frontier town of Chester, when the inhabitants defended themselves to advantage from their galleries. They are still of great use against an enemy, to whose attacks they are as much exposed as ever,-frequent rains. The city has a thick wall, on the top of which is a public walk-the country on one side, and the town on the other. The houses of the modern part of Chester have no galleries, and resemble those of the rest of England; that is to say, that they are very clean and convenient. The country we saw to-day was cultivated like a garden. We finished our day's journey by crossing the river, or rather arm of the sea, at Liverpool, a long, inconvenient, and expensive ferry, (28s.), and we have been landed on the quay of this great town with our carriage without horses, without knowing where to find any, where to go, or to whom to apply. After some unsuccessful attempts to procure private lodgings, we were obliged to put up at the Liver pool Arms, a sort of Noah's Ark, like all great inns in sea-port towns. ... August 1.-Mr G. of London, whom I had the pleasure of meeting sometimes at Sir Joseph Banks's, but on whose attentions I had no sort of claim, sent me, the day before our departure from London, letters to some of his friends at Oxford, Liverpool, and Edinburgh. I take pleasure in mentioning here this instance of kindness (for it surely deserves a higher name than politeness) to a mere stranger. One of these letters was for Mr Roscoe, well known as the historian of the Medici. I was surprised to find him at the head of one of the first banking-houses in Liverpool, a great agriculturist,-an architect, and a lover of the fine arts;-these are points of resemblance with his hero. Mr Roscoe has a numerous family, seven sons, but none of them will be Pope, the trade being now good for nothing. We breakfasted yesterday at his house in the country. His family is remarkable for culti vation of mind and simplicity of manners. In stature and physiognomy, Mr R. bears some resemblance to Washington. There is a manifest antipathy between men of business and men of letters; yet they are surely not rivals, and I do not see why those who seek after fame should complain that they do not find fortune, or those whose object is wealth, that they do not get renown : Chacun se doit contenter de son bien, Tout uniment sans se vanter de rien. It is uncommonly fortunate to have run both races at once, and gained both prizes. Mr R. has a few good pictures, and had just acquired a new one; the history of which I understood to be as follows: Raphael had painted the portrait of his patron Leo X. On the second Medicis coming to the pontifical chair, the Duke of Florence having desired to have that portrait, the new Pope gave orders accordingly; but either with his knowledge, or without, a copy was substituted. After a few years, the trick was discovered, and the Duke complaining, the original. was sent. A second copy was, however, previously made, and perhaps again sent to the Duke, deceiving him a second time. Whether the one taken at Florence, and now at Paris, is the original or not, or which ever of the three Mr Roscoe's is, it is, at any rate, a fine picture ;-great simplicity in the attitudes, and much of the expression one would attribute to Leo;—a liberal, well-informed gentleman, without extraordinary genius. His relation standing by him, the future Pope, has more mind and vigour. Leo is as large |