happy epocha in the history of the day, so away, beloved readers and contributors, in a posse comitatus to Rothay Bridge. Turn in at a gate to the right hand, which, twenty to one, you will find open, that the cattle may take an occasional promenade along the turnpike, and cool their palates with a little ditch grass, and saunter along by Millar-Bridge and Foxgill on to Pelter Bridge, and, if you please, to Rydal mere. Thus, and thus only, is seen the vale of Ambleside. And what a vale of grove, and glade, and stream, and cliff, and cottage, and villa, and village, and grass-field, and garden, and orchard, and-But not another word, for you would forthwith comparc our description with the reality, and seeing it how faint and feeble, would toss poor Maga into the Rothay, and laugh as she plumped over a waterfall. The sylvan-or say rather the forest scenery-(for there is to us an indescribable difference between these two words)—of Rydal Park, was, in memory of living men, magnificent, and it still contains a treasure of old trees. By all means wander away into those woods, and lose yourselves for an hour or two among the cooing of cushats, and the shrill shriek of startled black-birds, and the rustle of the harmless glow-worm among the last year's red beech-leaves. No very great harm should you even fall asleep under the shadow of an oak, while the magpie chatters angrily at safe distance, and the more innocent squirrel peeps down upon you from a bough of the canopy, and then hoisting his tail, glides into the obscurity of the loftiest umbrage. Although it may be safely averred that you are asleep, you still continue to see and hear, but the sight is a glimmer, and the sound a hum, as if the forest-glade were swarming with bees, from the groundflowers to the herons' nests. Refresh ed by your dream of Dryads, follow a lonesome din that issues from a pile of wooded cliffs, and you are led to a waterfall. Five minutes are enough for taking an impression, if your mind be of the right material, and you carry it away with you farther down the Forest. Such a torrent will not reach the lake without disporting itself into many little cataracts; and saw ye ever such a fairy one as that flowing through below an ivied bridge into a circular basin overshadowed by the uncertain twilight of many-checkering branches, and washing the rock-base of a hermitage, in which a sin-sickened or pleasure-palled man might, before his hairs were grey, forget all the guilt and the gratifications of the noisy world! There is nothing to be seen from the windows of the Salutation Inn but a sweet glimpse of hills and trees, so, after dinner, bring down stairs your albums, and portfolios, and journals, and pass the evening within doors, composing with pen and pencil, in present, and for future delight. You must not always be on the move the spirit in which you visit such a country, is a far higher one than that of mere curiosity" strange fits of passion you have known," no doubt, when some insupportable beauty shone suddenly on your soul; but the basis on which your feelings rest is affection, and you can be happy out of the sight of the beloved objects-just, sweetest of girls! as he who wins and weds thee will be happy-at least after one moon has waned-out of sight even of Thee, knowing that thou, while unseen, stilĺ art shining bright as a star in thy beauty, thy innocence, and thy happiness! Our hope was, that these our Hints for the Holidays would have turned out to be a complete Guide to the Lakes -but, afraid of being tedious, here we come to a close. Remember that we are still at Ambleside, and must not leave it till we have looked through the smiling face of the country into its very heart. No. II. will probably be a pleasanter article than even No. I.; and we modestly beg that none of our dear subscribers will visit the Lakes till it comes out. No. III. will be published on the 1st of September, and the Initial Day of October will rejoice in Number Four and Final. The Holidays of all sensible people will soon after that close for a season, and we must think of something at once amusing and instructive for Christmas. God bless you all! THE OWL. THERE sat an Owl in an old Oak Tree, He was considering, as well he might, For, in the hollow of that oak tree, There sat his Wife, and his children three! She was singing one to rest, Another, under her downy breast, And peer'd for his Dad, and said "You're long;" All was feasting and delight; Who most can chatter, or cram, they strive, What then did the old Owl do? Ah! Not so gay was his next to-whoo! For after his children had gone to bed, He slept outside the hollow tree. So when he awoke at the fall of the dew, Yet still unwilling to believe, And shutting out joy from his hollow tree, What then did the Father Owl? He sat still, until below He heard cries of pain, and woe, And saw his wife, and children three, In a young Boy's captivity. He follow'd them with noiseless wing, Not a cry once uttering. They went to a mansion tall, He sat in a window of the hall, Where he could see His bewilder'd family; And he heard the hall with laughter ring, When the boy said, "Blind they'll learn to sing,” Was echoed by his frantic cry, His scream rose up with a mighty swell, -But the Father Owl! He tore his breast in his despair, And flew he knew not, recked not, where ! But whither then went the Father Owl, For he thought he saw them ever there, And he scream'd as they scream'd when he saw them fall Dead on the floor of the marble hall. Many seasons travelled he, With his load of misery, But all in vain his wanderings were, He could not from his memory tear The things that had been, still were there. One night, very very weary, He sat in a hollow tree, With his thoughts-ah! all so dreary For his only company -He heard something like a sound Of horse-hoofs through the forest bound, A Stranger, and a Lady fair, Hid them, motionless and mute, From a husband's swift pursuit. The cheated husband passed them by, The Owl shrieked out, he scarce knew why; Sick grew the heart of the bird of night, Nought could cheer him !-the pale moon, He look'd at now reproachfully, That she could smile, and shine, while he He hooted her-but still she shone- The wheel of time went round once more, Again to the well-known forest tree, The Owl was dozing-but a stroke And saw again those wild eyes gleam And "Curse on the Fiend!" he cried, and flung His mattock up-it caught and hung The Felon stood a while aghast 'Then fled through the forest, fast, fast, fasi! The hardened Murderer hath fled But the Owl kept watch by the shroudless dead, Until came friends with the early day, And bore the mangled corse away-- Then, cutting the air all silently, Why is the crowd so great to-day, Night has fallen. What means that cry? His mortal foe is at his feet! LETTER FROM LONDON. Town and country-Sights and smells-Parliament prorogued-Town thinningRow at Epsom races— -Putting down of the lottery-Brighton-Waterton-Denham-"Sketches in Portugal"-Visit to Exeter 'Change-Lions fed-Vauxhall -Carl Von Weber. LONDON is to me the Tabernacle of Baal. Never write another word, if you love justice, in favour of landowners or farmers. A price is it they want for growing corn and cabbages? -they ought to pay a tax ratherthe unreasonable rogues!-for permission to live in any place capable of producing them. Blessed be the sun-the sky-the breeze-the grass-the wood-the water, and the day which carries me towards the sight of all these-which will be the day after to-morrow! The devil seems to possess, I think, more than usual, for the last fortnight, the people of this place:-or else it is that I am in an ill humour, for this last fortnight, more than usual. In the country, men, if they labour, seem, as it were, to labour at their leisure; or in their toils-ploughing and sowing in the open air-there is nothing that strikes one as painful or offensive. Man-the agriculturist -is always healthy and cheerful; but as the trader or manufacturer!-I protest I never see a face in town, rich or poor, that is not marked with some sort of care or anxiety! And for repose, even where the opportunity exists, it is an enjoyment of which the people are physically incapable. Every soul here will be doing! If he has no business of his own, he must attend to somebody else's. The first thing I saw when I went to my window this morning was a funeral. Some unhappy wretch was going to his grave and he could not go even there without everybody that he met in the street turning round to accompany him. About twelve o'clock, there was an alarm of "fire" somewhere, and an engine" passed. This seemed quite irresistible! A general scamper, male and female, took place from every quarter; and the only check upon the general delight seemed to be an apprehension that it might be "not a house, after all," that was going to be burned down, but " only a chimney." Walking out after this towards Covent Garden, I met the "prisoners' cara van" (that carries the thieves) coming away from Bow Street. The procession here was gradually dropping off, evidently with regret; but there was no more to be seen the malefactors had been deposited at the "office." But luckily, as it turned towards Drury-lane theatre, Mr Macready the actor, or Mr Wallack, came out-who went off, of course, with a "Tail" as long as a Highland chieftain's after him immediately. Getting higher up town, towards the New Road, I passed the Extinguisher Church, in Langham Place, and saw no one looking on there, though a carriage stood at the door, as if for a wedding. Such an extraordinary circumstance struck me; so I waited till the party came out-mentioning that I was an observer of nature-to see if I could find out the occasion of it; when the bridegroom politely explained the seeming miracle, by directing my attention to the squeak of "Punch," about a hundred yards distant, whose trumpet I had heard before, but had not attended to not be→ ing aware that he had been privately hired to perform there all the while of the nuptial ceremony ! "The fumes are infinite inhabit This here too!" Accum, the chemist, who analyzed everything, with all his skill never could have analyzed the smell that I smell at this moment. There is a gas-pipe-to begin with--has just burst below me in the street. accident has narrowed the passage in the road, and a soap-lees waggon is disputing with a scavenger's cart which shall go first, under my window. Meantime, a light breeze from the south accommodates me with all that can be spared from the mud at the bottom of the Thames, and from the coke-burners' yards on the farther bank of it. My opposite neighbour "pickles" to day-he is an oilman; and there is gin taking in, in cans, at the public-house next door to me. My own landlady pours as much musk and lavenderwater upon herself in two minutes as would serve to bring a whole nunnery out of hysterics for a month; and the |