moralization of large cities, pure, strong, and honest hearts yet exist, ready to do, venture, and sustain all things, for their Queen, their Country and their God.

We

After travelling over a very difficult country and through very severe weather; among mountains where the mere tourist never travels, and least of all, that kind of tourist called Cockney, who is generally accompanied by a number of boxes, neat carpet bags, an umbrella, a silk covering to his hat, an India rubber cloak, a neat ebony walking stick (think of such a stick among mountains), a comforter, provender, cigars, a hat brush, an ear-pick, and other numerous luxuries;-after beholding the sources, no larger than a rivulet, of the huge Severn, the Wye, and other rivers; we at length began to decline into a large, open, and beautiful vale, which was the termination of our journey for that day. had walked thirty miles since the morning, and had fishing besides, and it was late in the evening, therefore, when we arrived at Lanidloes. A change of dress, and a good supper (or in reality a dinner) had, however, the usual effect of setting us all to rights, and a more comfortable evening, and a more quiet and philosophical one, I never spent in my life, than that in the little, solitary, half-seen, half-known village of Lanidloes, in South Wales. At such times, and under such circumstances, with a cigar to inspire one, and one's eyes half shut, a man has a delicious opportunity of looking back on his past life, on his errors, on his pleasures, on his

To roam with thee along the gentle Seine,
'Mid pleasant vineyards, bright with summer rain,
Pace the gay Boulevard-Palais Royale-

Jardines des Plantes-Champs-Elysee—and all
The festooned walks, rich parks, and temples free,-
Majestic Louvre, gorgeous Tuilleries.

No more the clanging trumpet frights each street,
No more is heard the furious war-steeds' feet;
Riot and red rebellion, sunk to rest,

No longer stir each palpitating breast:
But cheerful smiles and laughter-beaming eyes,
Will greet thee oft with sympathising sighs,

And love-adoring whispers kiss the air,

Wondering from what blest sphere sprang one so fair.

And thou wilt view majestic and divine,
Immortal, glorious, ever-honour'd Rhine,
Rolling right onward beautiful and bold,
Tinged with cerulean hue, or evening's gold,
Mayence's proud towers, Cologna's spire-wreath'd town,
And lofty Ehrenstein's flower-mantled crown,

Grim forests spectre-haunted, dark and dun
And vineyards gleaming in the setting sun.

The silvery waters of Geneva's lake
Seraphic music in thy heart shall make;
The simple cottage, and the homes of old,

with every comfort-and we had nothing to complain of. There is also a very fair circulating library which much surprised me.

Whilst we were at the inn, the Duke of Newcastle drove up, accompanied by two fine and intelligent looking children, his sons. They were passing through to the Duke's splendid property, (by splendid I refer to the natural scenery, not to the quantity,) at the Devil's Bridge, which he purchased of the late Mr. Johnnes. The Duke seemed very kind and affable to all, and was favourably received by the townsmen, notwithstanding the insolent and savage vituperation which has been hurled against him by the hireling mercenaries of the Morning Chronicle, and the rest of that atrocious brotherhood of the Whig-radical press. He is an intellectual looking nobleman, though the lower part of his face is rather feebly formed :—the whole of his countenance is instinct with kindness and benevolence.

CLEVELAND SKETCHES.

THE FIRST SONG OF SPRING.

To M

Let not the morning sun ascend the sky,
For thou art brighter in thine own calm sphere,
The fairest star that hath its throne on high

Thou dost surpass, love, in thy heaven here.

The dusky cloudlet circling round the moon,
Cannot compare, love, with thy raven hair,
Nor silver beams that spangle midnight's crown
Match with the glances of thine eyes so fair.

The Spring hath spread fresh flowerets at our feet,
Fresh buds upon each fragrant almond-tree ;
But violet of the dell is not so sweet,

Nor almond-blossom beautiful like thee.

The mountain streams are rich with emerald light,
Loud sing the birds in every leafy grove;
Whilst thou as mountain streams art pure and bright;
Sweet as the lark's thy warbled strains of love.

The bowers are budding, green each woodland dell,
The hawthorn blooms invite us to their shade,
O'er hill and dale soft genial raptures swell,
And greet with notes of joy my dearest maid.

Come to mine arms, beloved,-o'er the sea
Come,-in thine everlasting beauty come-
The voices of the Spring-time call to thee,
And I am here, thy welcome and thy home!

LINES.

"A thing of beauty is a joy for ever."-KEATS.

The primrose-shaws of Kilton grove

Are balmy-soft, and fragrant fair,

But she the floweret of my love
Surpasses them beyond compare.

The violet on the castle wall

The hawthorn-tree that blossoms nigh

O, she is fairer than them all,
And meek in maiden modesty.

I gaz'd upon the heavens so clear,

One lovely star illum'd the scene,— Behold, a fairer gem is near

Star of my heart, my bosom Queen!

I saw the glinting of her eye

That fell with soft and mellowed light,