ly otherwise than desirable; and the motion and sound of lightly falling water give liveliness to a spot, however secluded, that is not readily obtained in its absence. mains, and demonstrates the ex- || forced use of them. Water is raretraordinary countenance they once received; for even lawyers were induced to become tasteful, and admit them in their courts. It was an effort that speedily subsided, but in the change that occurred they were not removed; and the Temple and Lincoln's Inn are now embellished each by portions of a fountain, the latter having all the columnal and sculptural appendages, however dilapidated, and the former all the water. Time has banished the impression that was fatal to such designs, and its beauties are again proper subjects for garden embellishment, when circumstances permit an un The present design represents the front elevation, and below it a perspective view, of a fountain, suited to the head of a piece of water, and which would apply to the basin near Piccadilly in the Green Park, in substitution for the present rusting iron pipe, that conspicuously and offensively is protruded there, on royal ground, and in one of the finest approaches of London. MISCELLANIES. CORRESPONDENCE OF THE ADVISER. Mr. ADVISER, I AM the niece and ward of a maiden lady of fifty-five, who is always boasting of the great offers she has refused; and protesting, that she shall be as nice in choosing a husband for me, as she was in selecting one for herself; because the men are such abominable wretches, that one ought to take years to ascertain the true character of a man, before one marries him. I am now, sir, about nineteen, and I have listened to her talking in this way with great patience for the last three years; but I protest, Mr. Adviser, I begin to be of opinion, that if she goes on, I shall never get a husband as long as I live, for every day makes her more and more unreasonable in her ex resuscitated, he would be hardly good enough, in her opinion, to make a Benedict of. She has refused three offers for me already, from gentlemen of unexceptionable character; but as I had no preference for any of them, I let her do as she liked. I begin now, however, to be sorry that I did not take the rejection of these lovers on myself, because then my character would be understood by a person whom, I will frankly own, I am desirous to please. You must know, sir, there is a young gentleman in this neighbourhood, who has, in my opinion at least, all the qualities necessary to enable a || man to make a good husband; and if I may judge from his looks and his attentions to me, he is very pectations; and I really think, that desirous to call me his wife: I fanif Sir Charles Grandison could be "cy my guardian is of the same opinion, by the particular care || speaking of, always reads it; and if that does not untie his tongue, I shall try to think no more about him: though, to say the truth, I do not know, in that case, whether I shall ever marry at all. However, I shall make no rash resolutions, at least at present; but I assure you, sir, that if you will grant me the favour I have just requested, you may depend upon it, that, during the rest of my life, your advice shall always be sedu FELICIA FRANKHEART. I believe my fair correspondent will excuse my publishing her letter, when she reads the following, which I received at the same time: Mr. ADVISER, which she takes, when in his company, to dwell upon all the perfections which she expects my future spouse to possess. Now, sir, as all these rare qualities hardly ever did meet in one man, I am afraid, as he is naturally modest, he will take it for a hint to keep silence, and that he will give up all thoughts of me, and look out for a help-mate less difficult to please. If this should happen, Mr. Ad-lously sought, and carefully atviser, it would mortify me exces- tended to, by your very humble sively; and yet I do not know how servant, to prevent it. I can't tell him, I think my guardian's expectations are very unreasonable, though that is really the case, because he would perhaps fancy, I was throwing out a lure to bring him to my feet; and although I do not mind owning to you, Mr. Adviser, that I have more than half a liking for him, yet I am determined not to compromise the dignity of my sex an inch. No, sir, "I will be wooed, and not unsought be won."other respect also: but unfortuBut, then, I shall be content to be wooed and won by a being like myself; that is to say, a human crea-through her own folly, prevented ture, compounded, as I believe all from becoming a wife, seems demankind and womankind have been termined that my charmer shall since our first parents, of faults bear her company in leading apes and virtues. I insist positively hereafter. In order to effect this but upon two things: he must be pious purpose of hers, she proan honest man, and sufficiently at- tests that my mistress shall never tached to me, to bear my failings have her consent to marry, till she with as much patience as I promise finds a man of unexceptionable to shew to his. Now, Mr. Adviser, character. But pray, sir, what do if you could contrive, without en-you think she calls an unexceptering into particulars, to state my tionable character? Why, an assemcase and my expectations in your blage of virtues such as even the paper, you might be of great ser- heroes of romance are scarcely vice to me; for I know that the possessed of; and these must not young gentleman I have been | be diminished by the appearance I am over head and ears in love with one of the prettiest and best girls in the world; I am a suitable match for her with regard to birth and fortune, and perhaps I might without vanity say, in every nately, sir, she is under the care of an old maid, who having been, WILLIAM WELLWORTH. Happy would it be for every married pair, if they were as rational and well disposed as the correspondents whose letters I have just given to my readers. I hope soon to be informed of their union, and I have only to advise them, never to lose sight of the sentiments they now profess, if they wish for rational and permanent happiness. S. SAGEPHIZ. of a single failing, even of the shall immediately try to recover most trifling nature. my liberty; and entre nous, Mr. AdI am not coxcomb enough, Mr. viser, it is high time for me to set Adviser, to suppose, that, accord-about putting the gipsy out of ing to the old lady's estimate of my head, for I am afraid she has merit, I can have the smallest already got too great a hold of my chance of success; and yet, sir, as heart. I trust my happiness, good the world goes, I am not the worst sir, to your kindness, and am your among the bad. I never, to my most obedient, knowledge, was guilty of a mean or dishonourable action; virgin honour, or conjugal fidelity, has never been invaded by me; and if I know my own heart, I am sure that I should make a good husband to a woman who would love me well enough to study my happiness, and to make a generous allowance for my faults. I would take an opportunity of explaining my sentiments to the dear girl on this subject, if she gave me any encouragement; but I do not know how to interpret her behaviour. She is the most diffident, modest, unpretending creature on earth in appearance; but it is impossible to ascertain the value which she sets upon herself, because she never contradicts the extravagant harangues of her guar-least prospect of relief. I am, sir, dian: yet, at times, I have thought that I could read in her eyes, and she has very speaking ones, her dissent from the old lady's fantas-I tical notions. Now, my good Mr. Sagephiz, if you will write a paper on the folly of people who cherish the hope of finding perfection in their mates, you will break the ice for me, for I shall then take courage to enter upon the subject; and I shall easily ascertain by her manner in speaking of your paper, what her sentiments are. If I succeed, I shall be indebted to you for my happiness; if I fail, I shall still be obliged to you, because I Mr. ADVISER, I am emboldened to address you, because I have not a friend on earth to whom I can relate my sorrows, or from whom I have the an orphan; my mother died in giving me birth, and I had but just attained my seventeenth year, when had the misfortune to be deprived of my father by sudden death. His income was only for his life, and as he had lived up to it, I was left in a truly desolate situation, for I had not a relation upon earth to whom I could apply. Heaven, however, raised me up a friend at the very moment in which I was sinking under my sorrows. A lady, who had been my schoolfellow, and was a few years older than myself, was touched with compassion for me; she generously invited me to I her house, and told me to consider it as my future home. From that time, which is now two years ago, she has treated me in every respect as a sister. For eighteen months I was the happiest of the happy. strove by every means in my power to repay the kindness and protection I received, and I had the pleasure to see that my endeavours were acceptable to both my friend and her husband; the latter, who is a good many years my senior, used to call me his daughter, and I can truly say, that I looked upon him with the reverence due to a parent. But, alas! Mr. Adviser, within the last six months he has given me but too much reason to regard him with far other feelings, from the pains which he has taken to effect my ruin. Think, sir, what horror and astonishment I felt when I first discovered his infamous design. I was slow to believe that he could wish to destroy the innocence, which every law, both of hospitality and religion, bound him to protect; and when I was at length convinced that such was his base purpose, I hoped that the scorn and contempt with which I repulsed him would have made him abandon it. Alas! I was mistaken; he takes every opportunity to insult me privately, while in public his behaviour is so guarded, that no soul but myself entertains the least suspicion of his vile pas sion. ledge of it would for ever destrov her happiness. I had determined to leave his house privately, and trust to Providence for a provision; but he foresaw that this might be the case, and he has assured me, that if I did, he would wholly blast my reputation, by bringing forward, what must be regarded as positive proof, that I had absented myself in consequence of having engaged in a low and infamous intrigue. Thus surrounded on all sides with dangers, I know not what is to become of me. I have intimated to my friend a wish to go into the world, and endeavour to gain my own livelihood; but she received the hint with so much surprise and grief, and opposed it so vehemently (without, as she said, I had any good reason to give for it), that I, who did not dare to give the true reason, was obliged to abandon the subject. Yet to remain where I am, liable every day to such vile solicitations, is not to be thought of. Oh, sir! pray, if possible, advise me for the best, and be assured of the everlasting gratitude of the poor, forlorn, and almost distracted FIDELIA. I am certain that this letter cannot be perused by my fair readers without exciting a strong interest for the unfortunate writer. I should be truly happy, if this artless statement of her situation induces some benevolent female to bestow upon You may believe, Mr. Adviser, her that protection, which, as a that I would not have remained a man, it is impossible for me to of moment under his roof if I could fer. I think she ought not to lose have avoided it; but I dare not a moment in withdrawing from the betray his baseness to his wife, for family she is now with. I respect so fondly does she dote upon him, her grateful scruples about disturbthat I am well assured the know-ing the peace of her benefactress, residence, I shall take measures ef- but I have thought of a way to ob- || will intrust me with his name and viate them if she leaves the family without disclosing her motives, she may trust to me to silence her unworthy calumniator. Guilt is ever cowardly, and he who would not shrink from offering the greatest injury to an unprotected orphan, will be afraid to pursue his diabolical design of destroying that orphan's reputation, when he knows he will assuredly expose himself to public shame: and this shall be the case; for if Fidelia A celebrated poet of the Lakes remarks, that "similitude dissimilitude" is one of the chief sources of the sublime in poetry: this principle once admitted, Mazeppa and John Gilpin are sufficiently like in character and situation in life, and we will next look at the two gentlemen when they are fairly mounted. The description of John is probably familiar to our readers, and we will merely remind them, that "John Gilpin, at his horse's side, JOHN GILPIN AND MAZEPPA. In this age of parody, we cannot help suspecting Lord Byron, in the poem of Mazeppa, has been aiming a sly hit at the bard of Olney. His lordship's intention seems to have been to shew, what John Gilpin's feelings would have been were he placed in circumstances different from those in which he found himself on the anniversary of his marriage with Mrs. Gilpin; and surely our imaginative readers will allow the noble lord has attained this difficult object. Cowper introduces John Gilpin to our acquaintance as a mar- and that afterwards, ried man, with a considerable family and a thriving trade. Mazeppa, on the other hand, involves himself early in life in a very improper intrigue. Human nature is the same in all countries, and we feel convinced, had John Gilpin's stars permitted it, he was just the man to have become the monarch of the Ukraine; and, vice versa, that Mazeppa, but for the accident of his birth, &c. might have established a highly respectable firm in Cheapside. "Then over all, that he might be Equipp'd from top to toe, His long red cloak, well brush'd and neat, Lord Byron is more minute in "Bring forth the horse-the horse was In truth he was a noble steed, John Gilpin's horse was an Irishman, having been imported from |