tively little benefit from the royal bequest; an administration which but ill accords with the spirit of the sovereign, who was what many influential persons of his time were not an avowed friend to the diffusion of education, and, certainly, not afraid that his subjects would be made either more difficult to govern, or worse in any other respect, by ail classes, from every individual of them, being taught to read and to write.

After the death of Queen Charlotte, Buckingham House continued a solitude of dust and decay: the surviving King lived in unhappy seclusion at Windsor until his death in 1820; and soon afterwards, the royal library was removed, as we have explained. There was little or nothing in the quiet regality of " the Queen's House" to attract the garish taste of the Prince Regent in his decoration of Carlton House; and there was less to tempt George the Fourth, or to reconcile him to his palace in Pall-mall. Pictures, at once costly and portable, were, doubtless, carried off; but the old red brick mansion itself was abandoned for some five years; or, rather, it was left as a sort of "nest egg" for a more ambitious scheme. Dry rot, or, perhaps, satiety on the part of the royal occupant, led to the pulling down of Carlton House. It was then proposed to Parliament to alter Buckingham House, so as to fit it for the residence of the sovereign; the task being confided to Mr. Nash, the architect favoured by George the Fourth, and who had, unquestionably, shown great skill in carrying out the royal taste in the formation and construction of the palatial connexion of the site of Carlton House with Portland-place now known as Waterlooplace, Regent Circus, Quadrant, and Street. The" alteration" of Buckingham House, by Nash, was commenced in 1825, and was apparently completed by 1828; when the wings were found to require raising, these alterations being estimated to cost 50,000l., and the whole palace, 432,9267. The money was, however, grudgingly voted by Parliament, a Committee of the House of Commons expressing its dissatisfaction with such alterations, "not originally contemplated, for the purpose of rectifying a defect which scarcely could have occurred, if a model of the entire edifice had previously been made, and duly examined." A more artistical critic observes: "the wings, when first built, were found too small, and, in consequence, had to be pulled down and enlarged; the attic, from a similar cause, had to be raised, and thus we have lost what would have been the one picturesque feature of the pile, the pediment of the central portico standing out strongly relieved against the story; and, it may also be added, the architect committed such a solecism as to build a dome which he afterwards acknowledged he was not at all aware would Le visible from the park."

We suspect this failure in remodelling "the Queen's House" was unjustifiably attributed to Mr. Nash, the architect; we believe, with more justice to be ascribed to the king, who repeatedly interposed his royal will and pleasure in matters architectural, until a design reminding one of a house built of court cards was the result. There came out a grand Government project, not for what Lord Bacon calls "a brief model of a princely palace," but for a scheme of cumbrous yet petty magnificence. The proposition was somewhat cunningly linked with the relaying out of the site of Carlton House, and of the enclosure in St. James's Park, to which latter, when disposed as a landscape-garden, the public were to be admitted. Thus, a boon was given to the people with the one hand, and a largeish grant for the palace was asked on the other. There followed all sorts of patriotic grumbling at the proposed expenditure, and criticism on the plans, more especially the addi tional plantations and flower gardens in the palace grounds; and the dug surfaces, the basin, fountains, and lake of several acres. Meteorologists shook their heads, and grave gardeners quoted the fragment of Baconian philosophy: "fountains that sprinkle or spout water, or convey water, as it never stays in the

bowls or the cistern, are a great beauty and refreshment; but pools mar all, and make the garden unwholesome and full of flies and frogs." The great object was to conceal the palace windows from view of the stables and the surrounding houses: and in doing this by the above plan, it was maintained, that, by thickening the marginal belts on both sides of the hollow, to shut out London, Buckingham palace would be rendered a dam to a pond of watery vapour; and that a man must be something less or more than a king to keep his health in that place for any length of time. Then the locality was otherwise beset with nuisances: the smoke of several factories in the newly-built portions of Pimlico, rolled over the palace in huge volumes, and filled its courts: the King is known to have offered many thousand pounds for the removal of an individual nuisance, yet in vain; and, to this day, its fumes continue to float over the nursery of royalty, much to the discomfiture of those who are destined hereafter to sway the sceptre of the British empire.

However, the King came to the nuisance; and there was no royal road for its riddance. The grant of money was obtained, and the "remodelling" was proceeded with; it should, however, be termed rebuilding, for we believe the only portion of "the Queen's House" left standing was the ground floor, which accounts for the low-pitched and dark rooms in this portion of the present palace.

George the Fourth did not live to see this pet work completed; though, at about the period that he passed from sublunary suffering, the grand arch-for the especial entrance of the sovereign and the royal family to the palace was completed. This arch is the greatest work of mere ornament ever attempted in England. It has a centre gateway, and two side openings, and is of the size and general design of the arch of Constantine, at Rome; but is, by no means, so richly embellished, and is altogether a very blank affair compared with the Government design. The sculpture is omitted in the attic; and, in place of the reversed trusses above the columns, were to have been figures of warriors and panels of sculpture intervening; indeed, the fascia was to have been, altogether, far more highly enriched, the attic carried considerably higher, and crowned with an equestrian statue of George the Fourth, flanked with groups of military trophies, vases at the angles, &c. As it is, the sculpture is confined to a pair of figures and a key-stone on each face of the central archway, panels above the side openings, and wreaths at the ends: these are by Flaxman, Westmacott, and Rossi. The statue of George the Fourth was ordered of Sir Francis Chantrey, for 9,000 guineas; the Government put him to the expense of 100l. for parchments, and then were two years after the time agreed upon for the first payment! The statue, if we mistake not, is that which has been placed at the north-east angle of Trafalgar square.

We may here complete the description of the arch. The material is white marble, now discoloured by smoke and damp, and in appearance resembling a huge sugar erection in a confectioner's shop window. Upon the attic platform of the arch is a flag-staff, the crown of which is eighty feet from the ground; and from it, during the abode of the sovereign at the palace, the royal standard floats from sunrise to sunset; the silk standard, for state occasions, is thirty feet long, and eighteen feet deep, and cost nearly 2001. it was first hoisted at the coronation of Queen Victoria, June 28, 1838. The gates were not put up until the summer of 1837; the central gates, designed and cast by Samuel Parker, are the largest and most superb in Europe; not excepting those of the Ducal palace, at Venice; or of the Louvre, at Paris: they are of a beautiful alloy, bronzed, the base of which is refined copper. Although cast, their enriched foliage and scroll-work bear all the elaborate finish of the finest chasing; the design consists of six compartments, in each of which is a circle: in the

length he muttered, 'Yes, that will be better, better in all respects, and turning on his heel, he was about to quit the room, leaving his hat on the table, when I ventured to hand it to him, saying, 'You are going without your hat, Mr. Oaklands.' He started at the sound of my voice, and, seeming for the first time to recollect that I was in the room, he took the hat from me, beg- | ging pardon for his inattention, and adding, 'You must allow me to postpone our Italian lesson till! till tomorrow, shall we say? I find there is a gentleman waiting to see me.' He paused as if he wanted to say more, but scarcely knew how to express himself." You saw,' he continued, 'that is-you may have observed that that in fact there was something in that note which annoyed me--you need not say anything about it to Mrs. Fairlegh; she is rather given to alarming herself unnecessarily, I think,' he added with a faint smile; 'tell Frank I shall not be at home till dinner time, but that I shall see him in the evening. He then shook my hand warmly, and holding it for a moment in his own, fixed his eyes on my face with a strange half-melancholy expression that frightened me, and once more saying good bye,' he pressed his hat over his brows, and springing across the lawn, was out of sight in an instant. His manner was so very odd, so unlike what it generally is. Dear Frank, what is the meaning of all this? I am sure there is something going to happen, something"

"You silly child," replied I, affecting a careless composure I was far from feeling, "how you frighten your self about nothing. Harry probably received a threatening letter from a Cambridge dun, and your lively imagination magnifies it into a-(challenge, I was going to add, but I substituted)-into something dreadful." "Is that what you really think?" questioned Fanny, fixing her large blue eyes upon my face inquiringly. I am the worst hand in the world at playing the hypocrite, and with ready tact she perceived at once that I was deceiving her. “Frank,” she resumed, "you have seen but little of me since we were children together, and deem, possibly, that I am a weak, silly girl, unfit to be trusted with evil tidings; but indeed, dear brother, you do me injustice; the sorrows we have gone through," (her eyes filled with tears as she spoke,) "and the necessity for exertion in order to save mamma as much as possible, have given me a strength of character, and firmness of purpose, beyond girls of my age in general; tell me the truth, and fear not but that power will be given me to bear it, be it what it may; but, if I think you are trying to hide it from me, (and do not hope to deceive me, your face proves that you are as much alarmed at what you have heard as I am myself, and probably with far better reason,) I shall be unable to forget it, and it will make me miserable."

"Well then," replied I, "thus far I will trust you; I do fear from what you have told me that Oaklands has received some evil tidings relative to a disagreeable affair in which he was engaged at Cambridge, the results of which are not fully known at present, and which I am afraid may yet occasion him much care and anxiety."

And I had fancied him so light-hearted and happy," said Fanny, thoughtfully; "and is this all I am to know about it then?"

"All that I feel myself at liberty to tell at present," replied I; "recollect, darling, it is my friend's secret, not my own, or you should hear every thing." "Then you will tell me all your secrets, if I ask you?" inquired Fanny, archly.

"Whom should I trust, or confide in, if not my own dear little sister?" said I, stroking her golden locks caressingly. "And now," continued I, rising, "I will go and see whether I can do any good in this affair, but when Master Harry is in one of his impetuous moods, he gets quite beyond my management."

"Oh but you can influence him," exclaimed Fanny, her bright eyes sparkling with animation; "you can

calm his impetuosity with your own quiet good sense and clear judgment,-you can appeal to his high and generous nature,-you can tell him how you love him with more than a brother's love; you can, and will do all this,-will you not, dear Frank?"

"Of course I shall do every thing I can, my dear child,” replied I, somewhat astonished at all this sudden outburst; "and now go, and be quiet, this business seems rather to have excited you-if my mother asks for me, tell her I am gone up to the Hall."

"What warm-hearted creatures women are !" thought I, as I ran rather than walked through the park; "that little sister of mine, now-no sooner does she hear that my friend has got into a scrape, of the very nature of which she is ignorant, (a pretty fuss she would be in, if she were to know that it was a duel of which I am afraid!) than she becomes quite excited, and implores me, as if she were pleading for her life, to use my influence with Harry, to prevent his doing something, she has not the most remote notion what. I wish she did not act quite so much from impulse-it's lucky she has got a brother to take care of her, though it does not become me to find fault with her, for it all proceeds from her affection for me; she knows how wretched I should be if any thing were to go wrong with Harry-" and then I fell into a train of thought, as to what it could be which had so suddenly excited him at our house something connected with Wilford, no doubt, but what? my fears pointed to a challenge, and my blood ran cold at the thought.-He must accept it; neither my influence, were it increased a hundred fold, nor that of any one else could make him apologize; besides it is not very easy to imagine a satisfactory apology for horse-whipping a man till he cannot stand. And what course likely to be of any use could I take? on one point I was resolved-nothing should induce me to become his second. What would be my feelings in case of a fatal result, were I to reflect, that I had made all the arrangements for the murder of the friend I loved best in the world? that I had actually stationed him opposite the never-failing pistol of his most bitter enemy, and placed in his hand a deadly weapon, wherewith to attempt the life of a fellow-creature, when the next moment he might be called upon to answer before the Judge of all mankind for the deeds which he had done in the flesh? No! I could not be his second. As my meditations reached this point, I overtook the groom who had brought the eventful note, and who was leisurely proceeding on foot towards the Hall, with that peculiar gait observable in men who spend much of their time on horseback, which consists of a compromise between walking and riding, and is strongly suggestive of their inability to realize the fact, that they have not at all times and seasons a perpetual and coexistent horse between their legs.

Have you seen Mr Oaklands, Harris?" inquired I, as the man touched his hat respectfully.

Yes, Sir, I may say I've seen him, and that's all," was the reply. "I brought him a note to the cottage, and was a waiting for orders, when he came tearing out, desired me to get off, sprang into my saddle, and without stopping for me to let down the stirrups, drove his heels into Tom Trat,' (that's the new grey horse, Sir, if you please,) and was out of sight like old boots."

Not having time to institute an inquiry into the amount of velocity with which the ancient articles referred to by Mr. Harris were accustomed to vanish, I asked if he knew who brought the note.

"A groom in a dark claret-coloured livery, mounted on a splendid coal-black mare, nearly thorough-bred, but with more bone and substance about her than you generally see in them sort, and as clean on her pins as an unbroke colt. Sir John aint got such a horse in his stables, nor Mr. Harry neither," was the reply.

This was conclusive evidence; the livery and the mare were alike Wilford's.

Leaving the groom to conjecture what he pleased, I

hurried on, and, reaching the Hall, inquired of the old butler, whether Harry was at home.

"No Sir," was the reply, "they aint any of them at home. Mr. Harry came home a horseback, about a quarter of an hour ago, and called Mr. Archer into his own room, and they had a confab, and then Mr. Archer went out a riding on the same horse Mr. Harry came back upon, and would not take any o' the grooms with him--and afore that, Sir John had ordered the phaeton, and, Mr. Henry being come home, he asked him to go with him, so you see, Mr. Fairlegh, they're none of 'em at home, Sir."

"I'll go into the library, and write a note, Edmonds," said I, as a new idea entered my head; " you know Sir John is kind enough to let me order a horse whenever I like it, will you tell Harris to have one saddled for me in ten minutes time?"

"Certainly, Mr. Fairlegh; we all of us have Sir John's orders to attend to you, Sir, the same as to Mr. Henry, and you're a young gent as it's a pleasure to serve too, if you'll excuse me taking the liberty of telling you so," replied the good old man, as he showed me into the library.

The idea which had come into my head, (and it was more for the sake of doing something that I deter mined on it, than from any great hope I entertained of its proving of much avail,) was to ride over to Hillingford, and consult Freddy Coleman on the subject. Perhaps his clear head and quick wit might enable him to devise some scheme by which, without betraying Harry's confidence, or bringing the slightest imputation on his honour, this duel might be prevented. What else could I do? It was quite clear to me, that the note Harry had received was a challenge from Wilford, and that the gentleman waiting at the inn was some one whom he had prevailed upon to act as his second, probably Wentworth. Harry's first impulse had evidently been to come to me, and ask me to be his second; but, doubtless guessing the distaste I should have to the office, and reflecting on the difficulties in which, if anything serious should ensue, I might be involved, he had determined on asking Archer instead. Archer, by instantly setting off on horseback alone, had clearly agreed to his request, and was gone to make the necessary arrangements, and Harry had gladly accompanied Sir John, in order to be out of the way, and so avoid my questions, and any attempts I might have made to induce him to alter his purpose. Were I to inform Sir John on his return, it would be an unpardonable breach of confidence towards Harry were I to give notice to the authorities, so as to enable them to take measures for preventing the duel, it would always be said by Wilford, that I did so with Harry's connivance, because he was afraid to meet him thus my hands were tied in every way, and, as I said before, I could think of nothing better to do, than riding over to consult Coleman, whose powers of getting out of a scrape I had seen pretty well tested in the affair of the bell ringing. I therefore scrawled a hasty note to my mother, telling her that I was going to take a long ride, and she had better not wait dinner for me; and, leaving a message for Oaklands with the servant who announced the horse, that I should see him in the evening, flung myself into the saddle, rode quietly till I was out of sight of the house, and then started at a gallop for Hillingford. Unwilling to meet any of the Coleman family, I left my horse at the inn, and, pulling my hat over my brows, to avoid if possible being recog nised by their servant, rang the bell, and desired him to tell Mr. Frederic that a gentleman wanted to speak with him.

:

PISCATOR'S SKETCHES.

CHAP. I.

THE ANGLER.

"When with his lively ray the potent sun Has pierced the streams, and roused the finny race, Then issuing, cheerful, to thy sport repair." THERE are many Piscators, but very few expert anglers. Why? The multitude eschew the angler's occupation, because, to be successful, the angler must confide in skill which, perhaps, is difficult of attainment. Indeed, the angler has many things to study;-the seasons in which certain species of the finny tribes are fit to be taken the various atmospheric changes:-he must wait until the wind shift into the favourable quarter-he must use only this tiny hook, or that delicate line, this species of fly, or that particular bait And there is also another requirement not less important -we mean patience, which ranks as one of the cardinal virtues.

We need hardly perhaps observe too, that a code of honour exists in piscatory as in other pursuits; the use of the rod and line is the only legitimate mode of capturing the denizens of the waters. The sportsman. worthy the name, never yet discovered what is called "sport" in the vulgar operation of sweeping the streams with nets, and clearing the deeps, at one swoop, of their inhabitants. Because, independently of the pleasure resulting from rambles by the sides of refreshing streams, the great essential to the gratification of the true sportsman is the successful exercise of his skill, in hooking, and in landing, the wary tenant of the deep. It is this which calls him forth from the crowded city; it is this which forms the true zest of his enjoyment.

But how many are the delightful associations of the angler! Why, we hardly ever meet with a true brother of the craft who is not an enthusiastic lover of the 1 beauties of nature. Many have we known famed for their entomological lore, and for their botanical researches. Indeed, the intelligent angler in the clear streams, as they wind their course through the summer meads, is the man to recognise and to appreciate the beauties of luxuriant nature; the gay insects which sparkle in the sun; the groups of wild flowers that scatter their fragrance on every side. Nor did we ever know an angler who was not what is termed "a good fellow." For amongst the brethren of the angle a sort of freemasonry exists; they meet, not in the stiff and formal style of steam-boat or stage-coach acquaintances, but with the frankness and single-heartedness of honest Englishmen; and many has been the time, when, at the close of the day's sport, the best parlour of the clean and comfortable village inn has resounded with the song and chorus of some merry band of piscators,—

the brimming wave that swam
Through quiet meadows round the mill,
The sleepy pool above the damn,
The pool beneath it never still."

It was in the year 1806, that we were invited by a plain, substantial, and honest yeoman, located in one of the shires, to a piscatory excursion through the grounds he occupied under a good old 'squire of the Sir Roger de Coverley school.

We could not have selected a lovelier morning for our rambles: indeed, a lovelier never dawned upon the world.

The old city in which we dwelt was about six miles from the domicile of our friend. We were up and stirring with the lark. The sun had shown his ruddy disk above the horizon; his golden beams soon irra diated the spires of the old churches; long wreaths of mist were rapidly undergoing the process of evaporation, and disappearing before the balmy breeze which had sprung up from the climes of the sweet south.