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Soon shall arrive the resening hour,
That yields thee up to Nature's power,

Nature, that so late doth greet thee,
Shall in o'erflowing measure meet thee..
She shall recompense with cost
For every lesson thou hast lost.
Then wandering up thy sire's lov'd hill,*
Thou shalt take thy airy fill
Of health and pastime. Birds shall sing
For thy delight each May morning.

Mid new-yean'd lambkins thou shalt play,
Hardly less a lamb than they.
Then thy prison's lengthened bound
Shall be the horizon skirting round.
And, while thou fillest thy lap with flowers,
To make amends for wintery hours,
The breeze, the sunshine, and the place,
Shall from thy tender brow efface
Each vestige of untimely care,

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That sour restraint had graven there; And on thy every look impress A more excelling childishness." There is also, in the same measure, a "Farewell to Tobacco," which combines the humorous with the graceful, the mock-heroic with true majestical, in a piece of the noblest harmony. But we must hasten to say a few words of Rosamond Gray," that sweetest of mournful stories.

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or he sees the wretched destroyer of his. young hopes, and ministers to him in his dying agonies, But no outline or ana lysis can give our readers any idea of this exquisite tale. The effect is the result of touches so minute, of colouring so ethereal, and gleams of feeling so pro found, yet so delicately harmonizing with the general sentiment, that abridgment or extract can avail but little. We know of nothing to which we can liken it, but the story of Ruth in the Bible. One might almost fancy it, from its style, a newly discovered piece of Scripture history. The meeting of the historian with Allan, who is represented as the friend of his school-days, on the scenes of their early joys, years after the fate of Rosamond had crushed them, is depicted in colours of such sweet sadness, as makes the soul run over with cordial sympathy. Never surely in a space so limited, has pensive imagination found a picture more lovely, or more complete, on which it might repose. The old lady, with her confident leaning on Providence, her old-fashioned mainte nance of an authority rooted in love, and her little frailties of temper, which her affection can afford so well, and which so beautifully set off the submissions of her lovely favourite-the timid beauty of Rosamond, her charming blushes and well-restrained joys-and the young lover, so angelic in disposi tion, so modest in his hopes, so delicate in his raptures-form a group which might for ever fix, in delight, that " inward eye, which is the bliss of solitude." The air of old simplicity pervading the whole, gives to it a certain venerableness, which renders its griefs more gentle, and its joys more holy. It is like an ancient picture brought from some recess where it had been hidden for ages

This delicious romance in miniature, is, like Mr. Lamb's tragedy, exceedingly simple in its construction. A most beautiful and sweet-natured girl, who bears meekly with the infirmities, and supports the age of her blind grandmother in a little cottage, whither she had retired from the pressure of misfortune, is loved, by a youth of most noble and affectionate spirit. In the "very springtime of their love," a ravisher meets the sweet maiden as she wanders, in her youthful enthusiasm, through the moonlight walks and glades, among which she had roamed with Elinor, the sister of him whose heart was in hers. On the same sad night the old lady is found on her knees lifeless, with "a smile on her face in death." Rosamond can never hold up her head after hearing of this last disaster, but languishes for a time, and then expires, uncomplaining, in the arms of Elinor, "quiet, gentle as she livedthankful that she died not among strangers and expressing, by signs rather than by words, a gratitude for the most trifling services, the common offices of humanity." Elinor soon after follows her gentle friend to her rest; and her brother Allan, thus seemingly desolate, finds a wayward pleasure, which he refuses to name a virtue," in solacing with kind attentions the sufferers in hospitals. In one of these visits of mercy,

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* Hampstead.

with all its colours as fresh as at the first-and with the beauty, looking as for ever young, amidst the old foldings of the drapery, and the antique magnificence of the setting.

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"Mr. H." a farce produced at Drury Lane theatre, was, as the prefatory notice informs us, "damned." Its fate, with all its delicate pleasantry, can scarcely be regarded with surprise. Made out of the watery moonbeams of wit, it would not endure the glare of stage chandeliers. Founded solely on the fantastical distress of a hideous appellation which the hero seeks to disguise under his initial, it is necessarily defici ent in the interest which is elicited from the old and palpable sorrows of duns,

bailiffs, and double-locks, without any great expense of invention or of humour. The distress, however, is diversified with singular skill, until the disclosure of the name, like the unveiling of the waxen figure in the Mysteries of Udolpho, necessarily breaks the spell. This piece inculcates more philosophically than is done elsewhere, the value of a good name. It makes the destiny of man seem to hang on a sound, and tremble on a letter. It is the very apotheosis of the alphabet. The public thought this little world of letters too airy for an afterpiece; but it will remain an exquisite proof what elegant fantasies genius may construct from the most frail and slender materials.

The chief of Mr. Lamb's critical essays have for their subjects, the tragedies of Shakespear in relation to their fitness for the stage, the works of Hogarth, and the old English dramatists. In the first of these, he aims at shewing that the plays of Shakespear are rendered, by their excellencies, unfit for the theatre. He has proved, doubtless, that these beauties for which we love them most, are far too subtle and airy, or too deep and internal, to be embodied by the aid of machinery and of actors. But it scarcely follows that they are, therefore, less calculated to afford gratification to spectators than inferior works; since they may, and we think do, possess those lower qualities of incident, situation, breadth of design, and rapidity of movement, which delight the most superficial observer. Even, however, if it be thought that Mr. Lamb has a little too far extended his theory, we cannot help rejoicing that he has done so, since he thus, in his progress, sets in new yet in clearest light, some of the sacredest beauties of Shakespear. The passionate eulogy on Lear-imbued with something of the high intellectual earnestness which pervades that work---is the finest of all. It is the worthiest commentary on the noblest of human texts. In the essay on Hogarth-where our author combats the idea that this great and truly English painter necessarily belongs to a class inferior to the historical -he has opened to us the hidden soul of beauty, and made us feel how independent the imagination is of external pomp and circumstance, for its most genuine and exalted productions. The criticisms on the dramatic writers of Shakespear's age, which were originally appended to the specimens, are full of profound views of the art of poetry and

of the strengths and the weaknesses of our nature. There is one peculiarity in these, and in all other essays of this author, which distinguishes him from most popular writers of the present time. It is the exceeding genuineness of all that he has written. There are in it no exotic metaphors-no rhetorical flourishes-no mere pomp of language. All is full of real feeling or thought; a sentiment and a meaning is every where; the ideas in proportion to the words are pressed down and running over. They excite no astonishment at first, which vanishes on a second perusal. New gleams of sentiment seem to glimmer on us tenderly at every reading; and the beauties which enchanted us at first, are better loved the longer they are dwelt

on.

Of the exquisite pieces of humour which were inserted in the Reflector under assumed and characteristic signatures, we have left ourselves no room to expatiate, But we cannot pass over without a word these sacred reminis cences, by the author, of his early days, which are so naturally, and so sweetly breathed forth in his article on Christ's Hospital. These young and precious blossoms of hope and joy, on which time so often sheds a killing frost, are with him as fresh and as fragrant as ever. The affections of childhood have not withered while his deep-searching intellect has expanded. In his fresh remembrances of youthful gladness, and his more serious ponderings on early innocence and love, he ever awakens in the soul "thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears." And here we must take leave to allude to a lady, the sister of the author, who has contributed several charming little pieces to the collected volumes of his works, and who, if we mistake not, has a large claim on the gratitude of children for the nourishment which, in other pieces, she has prepared for the opening affections. All that she has written is full of genuine humanity rendered even gentler by the most delicate and feminine grace. Her lessons are not those of a calculating morality or refined selfishness-they teach the imagination to glow and the soul to kindle, and give that precious and undying boon

"The first mild touch of sympathy and thought, In which we feel our kindred with a world Where want and sorrow are.”

The world has, until lately, felt, far more than it has acknowledged, the in fluences of Mr. Lamb's genius. He is,

at length, beginning to enjoy a wider fame. Even now, however, he has attained some rare and indisputable successes. His admiring remarks on the elder dramatists have been expanded by more ambitious writers, and have gradually led the people to these old springs of delight which they had almost for gotten. In an age where " envy and all uncharitableness" have been active in our literature, he has been gently counteracting their tendencies, and breathing a spirit of good-will and kind ness into criticism. He has deprived witty malice of its sting, and shaken the seat of the scorner. In some measure, has he stopped the progress of that love of mere strength in writing before which the humanities of poetry were

declining, by delighting us with glimpses of a new and fresh beauty, and disclosing lovely nooks in the calmest regions of imagination, where hitherto none had invited us to repose. There are those to whom his happiest creations have long been "personal themes" most dear, and who have felt the benign influences of his genius in their inmost souls. They think of his works as the sweeteners of their moral and intellectual natures they blend the idea of him with their most genial trains of thought, and their sweetest remembrances, which he has awakened in their hearts and never can they become cold to his merits or indifferent to his fame, until the inmost affections of the soul shall cease to warm them. T. N. T.

LETTER III.

ON ANGLING.

Praise of the River Thames-Angling for Carp--Description of the Carp, &c. TO discourse on the subject of rivers is as delightful to an Angler, as for a connoisseur to talk of a gallery of pictures, or a collector to commend a ca

binet of minerals. I shall however be gin our piscatory pleasantries, not with rehearsing the praises of the foreign rivers of Europe, such as the Danube, the Rhine, the Loire, the Garonne, or the Po, all renowned for excellent fish, but with one that in all respects is as worthy to be celebrated, and that is the river Thames. For that stream you must of course suppose me to cherish the greatest partiality, as I was born and educated upon its banks; so that I cannot express myself in a manner more congenial with my feelings of predilection for it, now like our favourite poet Gray I revisit the scenes of my boyish days, and contrast them with the cares of my succeeding age, than by repeating part of his delightful Ode to Eton College:

"Ah happy hills, ah pleasing shade,
Ah fields belov'd in vain,

Where once my careless childhood stray'd,
A stranger yet to pain!

I feel the gales that from ye blow,

A momentary bliss bestow,

As waving fresh their gladsome wing,
My weary soul they seem to sooth,
And redolent of joy and youth,

To breathe a second spring."

What beauties does the Thames display as you pursue its winding course from Lechlade to London! What noble towns, what pleasant villages, and ele

gant mansions, adorn its banks: at this mere allusion to them, I doubt not you immediately picture to your imagination Windsor, Richmond, Kew, and all their Oxford, Reading, Henley, Maidenhead, rich attendants of varied and enchanting

scenery.

bosom!

How numerous the vessels

adapted both to business and to pleasure that are continually gliding upon its that connect its shores, particularly those How grand are the bridges that have been lately constructed in the metropolis! And more than all, when consider the Thames in a commeryou forests of masts that extend from Loncial point of view, and observe the don bridge to Limehouse, and the ships that enliven the majestic and widening stream as it flows towards the ocean, bringing to our island the produce of tion must be raised to the highest pitch, the most remote countries, your admiraand you must pronounce the Thames to be the noblest river, as London is the noblest metropolis, in the world.

Thames a more than common tribute of But we brothers of the angle owe to the praise, for it produces most of the freshwater finny race, and perhaps their excellent quality is owing to the excellent nature of its water. Does it not appear as if Denham had written for the information of us anglers, when he describes the Thames,

"Though deep yet clear, though gentle yet not dull,

Strong without rage, without o'erflowing full.”

Yet there are many shallows in it that are equally conducive to our sport, as I shall one day inform you.

I shall now proceed to tell you, thai

I thought the Thames deserving all this praise, in consequence of having been gratified with very unexpected sport whilst angling in it." Know that near Isleworth myself and some friends caught some very fine carp. The evening was warm, the sky was cloudy, and the Western wind gently fanned the surface of the deep near the bank. This circumstance suggested to me the subject of this letter: I shall therefore proceed to give you some account of the carp, and to instruct you in the most likely methods to catch him.

The common English carp (cyprinus carpio) is thus described: the yellowisholive carp, with a wide dorsal fin, with the third ray serrated behind. When in high season, and at his full growth, he is a very noble fish, not less the delight of the angler than of the epicure. He is leather-mouthed, his teeth are in his throat; he is so subtle, shy, and strong, that the full exercise of an angler's art and patience are necessary to catch him. On dissecting the head, you will find that a carp has a much larger proportion of brains than other freshwater fish; and this may account for his superior sagacity, docility, and other qualities.

Carp differ very considerably in size and colour according to the water in which they are found. The lively deep gold scales distinguish the river carp from those kept in ponds. In some ponds they do not exceed sixteen inches, but in warm climates they reach two, three, or even four feet in length, and weigh from twenty, thirty, to forty pounds. They are so wonderfully prolific, and the quantity of roe is so great, that it is said sometimes to exceed the weight of the emptied fish itself.

River carp are more delicious than those bred in ponds. They vary much in taste, according to the soil and water they have been accustomed to. There is much the same difference between carp, and other fish bred in ponds, in point of flavour, as there is between stallfed deer, and those that have had the range of parks and forests. I quote the observation of old R. Franck, in his "Northern Memoirs," a scarce, quaint, and curious work published in 1694, as it confirms this remark. "River fish excel those bred in a pond: though peradventure travel mitigates growth, yet it most generously compensates the gusto, for every fish that comes cautiously by his commons, is by so much the

more confirmed delicious, and, if I mis-s take not, as nutritious also."outq tesb

Carp bred in ponds with sandy mud bottoms, supplied by running streams, are far better than those bred in standingTM waters supplied only by rain.

Anglers maintain that carp will takės all kinds of baits, such as pastes, green peas, gentles, cad-baits, bees, grasshop pers, live minnows, gudgeons, and even artificial flies. I find, however, that no baits are better than well-scoured worms.

Carp are fond of still deeps, and the most quiet parts of rivers and ponds. They love to lie under roots of trees and hollow banks, and near great beds of reeds, weeds, and rushes. The best method of angling for them is to use two or three strong rods with silk lines, and suitable hooks. Bait their favourite holes, the night before you intend to fish, with fresh grains, or bread chippings, and plumb the exact depth of the water, that you may not scare the fish by plumbing the depth when you come to angle. The next morning early, according to the season, proceed to the baited holes with all possible silence and caution, recollecting that you have one of the shyest and most subtle of fish to deal with. Have no lead upon your line; let your baits fall gently into the water, without making any noise or circles on the surface, if possible. Place your rods at a proper distance from each other on the bank, and keep out of the fishes' sight, so as just to command a view of the floats. When the fish bite, restrain your impatience, creep to your rods very cautiously without making a noise, and strike your carp before he runs out, and draws your line to a stretch. Play him as long as you can in the deep water, and when you have fully exhausted his strength, have your landing-net ready to introduce him to

the shore.

A very likely method to catch a carp is thus described by the author of "The Innocent Epicure," a curious old Poem, republished in the year 1713. "With a small float unleaded near the side,

Near to the place he plays in, gently guide
Thy rolling bait, which on the ground must lie,
Not in the depths, but almost surface high;

Decoy'd he thus imagines it to crawl

From neighbouring sods, or its too oozy hole:
The float extended gives him no distrust,
And appetite betrays him not, but lust.”

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In Polish Prussia and some parts of Germany the sale of carp constitutes ats part of the income of the nobility and

gentry! Of the methods practised there a description was sent to the Royal Society, and inserted in their Transactions for 1771, by Dr. Forster. He relates that he had seen carp, treated according to the German methods, above a yard long, and of 25 pounds weight, but had no method of ascer taining their age. In the pond, how ever, at Charlottenburg, a palace belong ing to the King of Prussia, I saw, said Dr. Forster, more than two or three hundred carp between two and three feet long; and I was told by the keeper they were between fifty and sixty years standing: they were tame, and came to the shore in order to be fed.-Dr. Forster vouches also for another extra ordinary fact. He relates that carp will not only live for a long time out of the water, but will grow fat in their new element. He thus writes like a true epicure: "I saw the experiment tried in a nobleman's house in Anhault Dessau; and during a fortnight I visited myself every day the fish, which, after it had been kept in fresh wet moss spread upon a piece of net, and fed with bread and milk, was dressed and served up at dinner, and every one present found it excellent in its flavour."

Have you ever observed that the gills and bodies of carp are covered with an oily substance, a kind of mucus? This prevents their external surface from becoming dry, and therefore they can bear a longer exposure to the air when they are taken out of the water. May not this be one cause of their being able to live so long out of their own element ?

The carp is with good reason called the river fox, as he exercises an instinctive craft similar to that wily animal. Sometimes he leaps over the nets, and escapes; or, like the tench, he drives his head so deep into the mud, that the net is drawn over him. Of whatever kind the net is that is used for taking carp, you must let it rest at the bottom of the water for some time before you draw it up, or you may labour in vain.

Carp and all other fish taken out of ponds or pits that have muddy bottoms, may be made more sweet and palatable by keeping them alive a few days in a large cistern, or other large vessel, in pure water, which ought to be changed twice a day.

As a confirmation of the great age that carp will reach, I give you the authority of Buffon "When I was with

the Count de Maurepas, I saw, said he, in the moat of his castle of Ponchar train, some carp that were at least 150 years old, as was well attested. They appeared as active and lively as common carp."

By being constantly fed, they may be made so familiar as to come for food to the side of the pond where they are kept. Dr. Smith, in his sketch of a Tour to the Continent, speaking of the Prince of Condé's seat at Chantilly. says, "The most pleasing thing about it was the immense shoals of very large carp, silvered over with age, like silver fish, and perfectly tame, so that when any passengers approached their watery habitation, they used to come to the shore in such numbers, as to heave each other out of the water, begging for bread, of which a quantity was always kept at hand, on purpose to feed them. They would even allow themselves to be handled."

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From what has been observed of the quantity of roe, which a carp produces, it is evident that it is a very prolific. breeder. From their rapid growth as well as their great increase, they are the most valuable of all fish for stocking ponds; and if the breeding and feeding them were better understood, and more generally practised, the advantages and profits would be considerable. A pond stocked with them would be as valuable to its owner as a garden.

As an excellent method to fatten your pond carp, rake the mud round the outside of the pond about the month of April, when the water is low, and sow, some hay-seeds thereon, because in the winter when flooded, the produce will afford excellent food for the carp, and will make them grow very fat. Mr. Cherry of Birmingham says, "that a friend of his does this every year, and by that means obtains excellent fish."

Many persons are as fond of exagge rating the size and weight of fish, as others are of romancing with regard to ladies' fortunes, and ecclesiastical preferments: I shall report to you only what I have seen. The largest carp. ever saw caught was taken out of Blenheim lake by Beckley, the Duke's fisherman. It weighed 13 pounds. The bigger the carp, the better; in this respect they differ from other fish. The Roman epicures, who had the most refined taste for the luxuries of the table, esteemed the mouth the most delicious part of the carp. The moderns are equally partial

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