those who have greater pretensions to admiration:

Beauty, indeed, can point the dart
'Tis neatness guides it to the heart.

-

Greatly as the expansive views from Cliefden may excite our wonder, the various beauties of Taplow will delight as often as they are seen. The corn-mills, with their foaming waters-the farms and cottages scattered about—the cattle in the meadows-the fishermen in their boats, or the anglers on the banks of the riverthe winding stream—these and many other objects produce an effect not easily to be forgotten.

We trust that the amiable proprietor of Taplow Court will excuse this short notice of his charming place, which we cannot quit without referring to the great liberality which he shows to strangers in allowing them the gratification of seeing it. The remarks we have made were intended to evince our admiration of the place, mixed with a little regret that its natural beauties had not been more improved. It is, however, well for the world that all tastes are not alike. Some take pleasure in scientific or mechanical researches others in horticulture. Some cultivate their lands, and think that the hay-harvest,

as Shenstone did, is the nunc formosissimus annus; while others delight in pinks, woodbines, and jasmines; in the gorgeous tulip, or the fascinating rose.

Nor can we leave this charming neighbourhood without remarking that the beauty of its scenery has assembled in a small locality many elegant villas, which are surrounded by parks and gardens, and each possessing some peculiar attraction of its own. The grounds of the Marquis of Thomond, at Taplow, are distinguished for the elegance of their decorations, and the splendour of the flowers; but particularly for a tulip-tree which rises to the unusual heighth of eighty feet, with a stem of about twelve feet in circumference. Its foliage is of the brightest verdure, and sweeps over the turf below with equal grace and beauty. The late Mr. Loudon considered this tree to be the largest specimen of the Liriodendron in England, except, perhaps, one near Taunton in Somersetshire. There is a remarkable fine tree of this species at Petworth. But it is time to bid adieu to Taplow

Ever charming, ever new,

When will the landscape tire the view!

The fountain's fall, the river's flow,

The woody vallies, warm and low,

The windy summit, wild and high,
Roughly rushing on the sky!

The pleasant seat, the ruin'd tow'r,
The naked rock, the shady bow'r;
The pretty village, cot, and farm,
Each give each a double charm;
While often, by the murm'ring rill,
We hear the thrush when all is still.

DYER.

BRAMSHILL.

Far rising 'bove the foliage of the wood,
An antique mansion might you then espy,
Such as in days of our forefathers stood,

Carved with device of quaintest imagery;

Long terraces and rich arcades were there,

And stateliest galleries made for walks and converse fair.

Within the court a marble fountain stream'd

It showers of silver radiance night and day;
Above the linden grove the wild heron scream'd,
And in the lake the swan's bright shadow lay;
While, glancing through trim hedge and thicket green,
The peacock's jasper neck and emerald plumes were seen.

Stretch'd in the shade the giant mastiff lay,

Whose midnight bay his faithful guard declar'd,

The aged hunter roam'd the pasture gray,

And here secure the timid pheasant pair'd.

How soft the foot of Time had pass'd along,

Guarding his lov'd domain from injury and wrong.

The gilded vanes were glittering in the sun,

Turning, as Beauty turns to Flattery's breath;

And hark! the turret-clocks, one after one,

Tell out the ceaseless hours, with voice like death
Startling the silent noon; o'er wood and hill
Their iron knell is heard, and all again is still.

J. M.

I AM not sure that I was ever more struck with the first view of a place than I was with Brams