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solation and ruin, startled me at first, almost as much as if the ghosts of her own royal train had risen before me. While I was wandering about the deserted walls and chambers, from that very hall the sound of a viol reached my ear: I heard music and dancing!" I inquired "what these things meant ;" and was told by the old guide, that he occasionally gave liberty to the young people of Bakewell to come and dance here. He seemed vexed, however, to have them come, as if he personated the genius of the place (his family indeed had lived here three hundred years, he told me): but for my part, I could not at all sympathise with him; for I was glad to feel this strange mingling together of death and life, of the past and present, of ruins and revels, of hoary decay and ever-flourishing and happy youth, which reminds us at once of the ever-passing fashion of this world, and the ever-present beneficence of heaven. A full-length portrait of Queen Elizabeth, in gorgeous costume, looked down from the head of the hall upon the passing show of this world's pleasures-passing, but not more transient than the joys and splendours of her own life.

The view southward from Haddon Hall, the bold wooded bank on the left, the windings of the Wye, the lovely valley, the hills rising in the distance, make altogether one of the most romantic and beautiful scenes in the world.

I

But Matlock-sweet Matlock! dare I talk of beauty when approaching thee? It certainly is a spot of rare, if not unsurpassed loveliness. I shall not undertake to describe it-only in general as a sweet little valley, watered by the Derwent, surrounded by cliff's the most romantic, of every form and position. But it is to be remembered that cliffs and precipices in this country are very different things from what they are with us. The moisture of the climate causes ivy, laurel, and every shrub and tree, to grow up their sides and to spring out from their very summits. The cliffs here, too, are of every shape; some of them rising perpendicularly like battlements or towers, bare in some places, covered with ivy in others, and waving out from their tops green banners of luxuriant foliage; while between and through them you see the soft, deep, blue sky-softer, deeper, bluer, than it appears elsewhere; and would that it oftener had this aspect in this country of clouds, and rain, and smoke-for in this respect it is not to be compared with ours. suppose this is the reason why Englishmen rave so much about the Italian sky. And I do not doubt, that when cultivation and good roads have gone up among the wild and craggy places of our own country, as many beauties will be unveiled as are found here. And even here, let it be remembered, for the comfort of you who stay at home, that all special beauty is but a small addition to the general beauty of nature. In another respect, you have the advantage. For sight seeing, travelling to see spectacles, is not favourable to that calmness of mind, so in unison with nature, and that leisure, that reverie mood of mind, which is necessary to "drink in the spectacle." This quotation from Wordsworth calls to mind what I heard a celebrated poet remark a few days ago, about some fine scenery he had lately been to visit. He was asked what he thought of it. He replied, that he hardly knew what to say, for he doubted whether he felt the scene; there was company; and there were ladies to be assisted; there was not time enough, and there was not silence and contemplation; and one of the

party wanted him to sit down in a certain place, in order to feel the

effect.

Sometimes, too, the guides vex one sadly. At the Giant's Causeway, I thought, at first, that they would have torn us to pieces, literally stripped us naked like robbers, with their kind offers of assistance; and when we had selected one to get rid of the rest, he stood up in the boat, and with loud vociferation attempted to direct our admiration, first to one, and then to another of the wonders of nature; till I was obliged peremptorily to silence him, that we might have leisure and liberty to admire for ourselves.

I wish I could give you a sketch in pencil of the woman at the falls of Stoney Byers on the Clyde. As we jumped from the coach, I saw her there ready for a start, and knowing that we did'nt want her, I hastened down the path, quite upon the run at length; but she came in ahead at the critical point, when the falls burst in sight, and then stopping short, her costume, headgear, &c. scarcely obeying the command of the will to halt, she lifted up her hands, and outroared the cataract with exclamations, "Beautiful! beautiful!"

Guides are usually privileged persons, holding their situation from the proprietor of the grounds or the curiosities they exhibit. At the Matlock Cave, however, I found there was a double tax. I purchased a ticket down below for a sight of the cave, and that, I supposed, was the end of it. But when we came out, my guide, a very pretty young woman, who with a very naïve manner and accent had pointed out all the curious crystals and spars, fluor, dog teeth, lead, zinc, &c. said, with an equally naïve manner, "Please to remember the guide, sir."

By the bye, one of the peculiarities here is, that women do a thousand things that men do with us. They not only tend shop, but butcher's stalls, bar rooms, and offices of the stage coach in the capacity of agents; they are often guides to waterfalls and other spots which are visited; and nearly half of the people that I see in the streets of the villages and towns, are women.

Willersley Castle near Matlock is a fine building in simple but very good taste, consisting of a main building, and wings set off a little from it, and small towers at each corner of both the main building and the wings. It is situated on a bold bank, east of the Derwent. Behind it is a fine hill of cliffs and woods, laid out with beautiful walks; before, the Derwent, and over the river in front, a noble range of cliffs; beyond these, a swell of rich and cultivated country seen above them; and on the south, one of the finest prospects of valley and hill ever spread out to the eye.

LICHFIELD, August 8.-It is curious that the moment you leave Derbyshire you leave the picturesque country, the country of hills and valleys, for a level tract, far more rich, though far less beautiful-a tract, whose whole broad surface seems to be loaded with the wealth of agriculture. This is Staffordshire.

What legacies do men leave after them, that they little think of! There are certain spots, about which, in my wanderings through a strange land, I have felt as if they were a kind of home. Such is Lichfield, because Johnson was born here. So I felt about the lakes, from the residence of living, familiar authors.

The cathedral here is not so large as the York minster; it is not so

sublime but the interior is, if possible, more beautiful. It has not, indeed, so much exquisite carving, and the stained glass is mostly modern, though very rich: but there is a keeping about the whole interior, a unity of design and similarity of finish, that are very grateful to the eye. The west front is very rich in sculpture, and the three spires very delicate and beautiful. I visited the house, and saw the room, in which Johnson was born; and went to the schoolhouse where Johnson, Addison, and Garrick were taught the rudiments: and where, if what Johnson says be as universally true as he makes it, “Latin was whipped" into Joseph, and Samuel, and David.

BIRMINGHAM, August 9.-Visited the pin manufactory, the button, the japanning-so have others, who can tell you about them better than I can. The royal Clarence vase, made by the Lockharts here, was on exhibition: the mammoth of all baubles; a most splendid thing. Weight, eight tons; fourteen feet high; twelve feet, the diameter of the basin; capacity, nine hundred gallons; cost, ten thousand pounds; when taken apart to be removed, consisting of six thousand eight hundred pieces; made of cut glass laid upon gold, inlaid with enamel; and appears like burnished gold, enriched with jewels. It was expected that the late king would purchase it, but he died before it was finished. You will ask, for what use? I answer, for none, but that to which my eyes put it, for sixpence!

They are erecting in Birmingham a very large building for a townhouse, which promises to be one of the finest modern structures in the kingdom. One of the uses to which it is to be put, is that of furnishing accommodation for musical festivals. For this purpose an immense hall is reserved.

We have no such places in America for music; and it seems to me that our concerts are arranged and carried on, in some disregard of that circumstance. We have too much noise. Our orchestras are too powerful for our buildings. I will not say that they are too numerous; but it appears to me that the object of numbers in this case is overlooked. It is not to make a great noise-unless it be in occasional choruses, of a particular character. It is, I conceive, that every performer may give softness to his instrument or his voice, by diminishing its strength. In buildings of an ordinary size, such as our churches, strength is the quality least required. One voice-that of the preacher-fills the church, and that too while labouring under the impediments which distinct articulation and vocal utterance must throw in the way of loudness. Surely, then, one voice, in song, may fill a church. I do not deny that thirty singers may make better music than three; but, as matters stand in our country, I had rather take my chance with three. Responsibility is weakened by diffusion, and three persons pledged to this duty would give me a better guarantee for good music than thirty. At any rate, they could not put in danger the very organs of hearing. I know of few situations more painful or absurd, than to be seated at a concert, within ten feet of an orchestra of a hundred singers, and as many instruments, and to be obliged to stand the onset of one of their choruses. I cannot describe it; but I wish that Jack Downing would attend one of these concerts, and give an account of it. It is only to strip the occasion of the technical and conventional language in which it is usually described-wherein lies much of the humour of the Down

ing family, by the bye-and it must appear to be one of the most ridiculous things in the world. What if one man had the strength of a hundred voices in him? Should we like to go to some one of our concert halls, and sit within ten feet of him, and listen to him three hours in succession? But why not?-if mere loudness is so expressive and pleasing, we might have a platoon of soldiers to fire blank cartridges before us all the evening. It would be a great noise, and give us a great idea of something or other. And that, I fancy, is all the idea that most persons get from most of these deafening choruses. The aspect of an assembly stunned, drowned, dumbfounded, with this visi tation of the elements (of sound)-sufficiently shows, that they have found the pleasure they sought very trying to bear. But when the soft solo or duet pours in its sweet melody, how does every heart thrill, and every eye kindle and melt! It is a trembling snatch of pleasure, however, held in instant dread of the thundering wave that is coming. I am ignorant and have not inquired, but perhaps that is the very design of the chorus-to enhance the effect of real music!

Save that which is imported-when shall we have real music in America? It is scarcely too much to say, that nineteen-twentieths of all the instruction and expense bestowed upon the art among us, is thrown away. Not one young girl in fifty, I am afraid, who is taught music, is ever taught or led to pour her soul into her song; and what music can there be without that? If music is a cultivation of the fingers only, not of the soul--if it is not at once the instrument and offspring of intellectual and moral refinement, it is nothing worth. I may be told that many of the best performers have been low-minded and vicious persons. There may have been that unfortunate contrariety, too often seen, between their practice and their sentiments. But it will not do, I think, to say that the highest efforts of music may be reached without a high susceptibility of this nature.

Germany has laid the only sufficient basis for a national taste and talent in this art, by introducing its rudiments into the system of popular education. Would that some of those many idle and weary half hours now passed in our common schools, might be employed in singing the sweet old ballads of England, and holy Psalms. What a beautiful form of worship would it be for a school of little children!

Kenilworth Castle-a very majestic ruin; the whole not in such good preservation as Conway or Caernarvon; but particular parts, ranges, and windows, much more perfect. It is curious that Leicester's part, the latest built, is in the most ruinous condition. The lake is drained, and the towers of the gateway, by which Elizabeth entered, on the great occasion of her celebrated visit to the Earl of Leicester, are fallen. It was not the principal gate of entrance; but was chosen that she might pass by the lake and receive the homage of the fantastic water gods. This lake was on the west side-a small stream now flows through its bed-and with that to diversify the scenery, it must, in that quarter, have presented a noble landscape. The park was formerly twenty miles round, but is now pasture and ploughed fields.

The walls of the buildings left standing are very lofty; but the ivy creeps to the very top, surmounts the loftiest towers, and spreads its living screen and soft curtaining over the richly carved windows. The banqueting hall was eighty-four feet long by forty-eight broad, and its

windows twenty-seven feet high. Alas! the feast and the song are gone; the gathering of nobles and the flourish of trumpets are here no more; but instead of them, I heard a single buglehorn at a distance that came softly up among the crumbling walls and mouldering arches, as if to wail over their desolation; and here and there, in the court-yards, I saw picnic parties, carelessly seated on the grass, as if in mockery of the proud and guarded festivities and grandeurs of former days. I thought with myself, that they must be more familiar with the spot than I was, to be able to sit down, and "eat, drink, and be merry.

Warwick Castle, the seat of the Earl of Warwick, is, in its appearance from the inner court-yard, far the most majestic, magnificent castle I have seen-altogether more imposing and impressive. Its range of building, its noble towers, and one of them particularly, rising amid embowering cedars and banks of ivy-must be seen, to be felt or understood. The walks, and grounds, and woods beyond, are in keeping with all the rest; not looking as if everything was handled, and shaped, and trimmed, and shaven down, with elaborate art; but full of nature's beauty, with just enough of man's taste and management to open that beauty to the eye. The celebrated marble vase dug up from the villa of Adrian, is in the greenhouse amid the grounds.

The interior of the place corresponds very well with the character of the whole establishment; a very grand hall of entrance, paved with marble, and hung round with ancient armour of the Warwick family; the rooms all supplied with very rich and massive furniture, and especially with many tables, stands, &c. of every form and fashion, in the style of work called pietra dura, i. e. a kind of coarse mosaic work, or inlaying of variegated marbles. A great number of really fine portraits -several Vandykes, some Murillos; and one Raphael-portrait of a lady-very Madonna-like and beautiful; some lions of Rubens; and a Henry VIII. of Holbein.

At the Lodge we were shown Guy of Warwick's porridge-pot, about as large as a common potash kettle; and his hook, a sort of pitchfork, to fish up dinner from the caldron; also, his two-handed sword; his walkingstick, big enough for Polyphemus; the armour of his horsebreastplate, headpiece or helmet, &c. &c.

STRATFORD-ON-AVON.-Shakspeare's house and tomb; and the site of the house (his own house) in which he died.

I have a strange feeling about Shakspeare, that I never heard anybody express. Though he is seated, by the admiration of mankind, upon an inaccessible height, yet there never was a being among the great men of the world, whom I have felt, if he were living, that I could so easily approach, and so familiarly converse with. He impresses me with awe, he fills me with a sort of astonishment, when I read him; yet he draws my love and confidence in such a way, that it seems to me I should not have feared him at all; but could have met him at the corner of the street, or have sat down with him on the first convenient rail of a fence, and talked with him as freely as with my father. What is this? Is it that the truly loftiest genius is imbued and identified, more than any other, with the spirit of our common humanity? Is it that the noblest intellect is ever the most simple, unsophisticated, unpretending, and kindly? Or, is it that Shakspeare's works were a household treasure-his name a household word-from