Intrat

Ten, A.M.-woke and wondered what o'clock it was heard my hall clock strike and counted-doubted whether I had counted right, was sure it could not be ten-heard my fat house-keeper, Jane, trembling along the passage, and rap at my door-recollected how Ariosto describes silence.

"Ha le scarpe di feltro, e'l mantel

bruno."

I wish Jane had le scarpe di feltro, i. e. felt slippers-sleep fairly frightened, and at last driven away by the bell of a confounded manufactory at the back of the house-resolved to rise, and put out my foot on one side of the bed to feel the state of the weather; just as Mr. Green or Mr. Graham sends up a pilot-baloon ere they let go the large one-found it half-frozen, and drew it in again -determined to make an effort, and, after having counted ten, jumped up with as much magnanimity as Cæsar did into the Rubicon-shivered a little, but determined not to think it cold - determined not to be bullied by an element, or frightened by frost-found a thin coat of ice over the water-pitcher-did not care a tobacco-stopper-peeped out of the window curtain-every thing cer tainly looked frosty, and people went about blowing themselves, and breathing like tea-urns-such effeminacy is disgusting!-shaved-found my hand so benumbed, that I gave myself a gash about two inches long -put a piece of sticking plaister on it, and went down to breakfast with very Munchausen-like appear

a

ance.

Eleven, A. M.-Cannot see the use of grates in summer and autumn -merely recalling unpleasant recollections-told Jane to take the straw out she asked me whether she should light a fire-"No," said I, "not for this month,”—Jane bounced out of the room, and banged the door to so hard, that she flew

Twelve. Just as I was going out, in came Ned Chilly-"Dear me," said he, "hav'nt you got a fire! Good bye, I had rather walk than sit in the cold."-Ned is a mere chicken-I wonder people can sit over a fire in the way they do, stewing themselves, making their cheeks purple, their eyes bloodshot, their noses mealy, singing their shin bones, and rendering their whole skin nervous and irritable-No, give me the natural glow that springs from hardy exercise-let me "sweat in the eye of Phœbus," and feel all my limbs in full play, and my muscles in full tension.-Went out-stepped upon a boy's slide a yard froin the door, grazed the skin from my ancle, and smashed my nose against the round iron knob of the cover of the coal-cellar-great rejoicing and riot amongst the little boys-limped back again, told Jane to bring me some brandy and brown paper, to strew some ashes all over the steps and pavement, and wrote a letter to the Morning Post on the wickedness of these young urchins

hesitated whether to sign it "Peripateticus," or Tumble-down-Dick, but resolved upon the former to make it more solemn.

One, P.M.-Had a weak wish for a fire, so determined to try again my walk crumpled over the ashes without injury, and walked into St. James's Park-a great nuisance in autumn-the stunted trees poking out their deformed branches without leaves, which fill the wet walk

-tried to get warm-flung my arms about, hackney-coachman-like, but could not succeed-saw a man sitting on one of the benches, in a pair of faded nankeen trowsers, he certainly looked devilish cold--went out of the park at a half trot, and so on to the Strand.-Met a friend at Northumberland House "Very cold, is'n't it?" said he, "Do you find it so ?""I don't feel it cold at all," said I, shivering. "Don't yon, ," "replied he, "you look like a blue icicle! good bye!"-set him down for a rude fellow. Two, P.M. Walked into my bookseller's a set of old women of both sexes, huddled round the fire, roasting their pantaloons and petticoats-magnanimously set myself at the other end of the room-kept blowing my fingers-took up a volume of Shakspeare-opened it by chance in Richard III.

"Now is the winter of our discon tent"

threw it away in a rage, and took up a paper-nothing but advertisements of lamb's-wool gloves, comforters, fleecy blankets, and receipts for curing chilblains-News from Spain, "Winter is now beginning in all its horrors"-threw it away in disgust, and walked out of the shop.

Three, P.M.-Walked down to the Temple to an old friend's chambers-quite deserted-"all messages to be sent to the Porter"-cursed myself for having come up so soon from the country, and my friend for not having done so-in the country a man can do fifty things, ride, conrse, shoot, hunt, but in London all he can do to amuse himself is to watch"the faces in the embers,"

Five, P.M.-Went to the ordinary-every body remarking how cold it was, and three or four of the party coughing ready to kill themselves -conversation about the King and Windsor-Knights of the Garter and the nights drawing in-the price of coals, and enquiries about my fall and patches-the usual abuse of the dinner and determinations to set up another table-my hands were quite red, and I could scarcely cut up the goose-every body I observed had great coats-recollected that obstinacy was as bad as effeminacy, and resolved to wear one tomorrow-took coffee.

Seven, P.M.-Did not care to return to my fireless parlour, and went to the play-could find none of my friends in the house-scarcely twenty persons, who had paid their five shillings-all orders-nothing but apprentices, who kept a continual chattering-and so did my teeth-walked into the saloonnever saw any thing look so melaucholy-these large rooms should certainly always have a fire-returned to my box, which I found occupied-walked out of the house in high dudgeon-extremely cold it must be confessed-could not stand it, and called a coach-jumped in, drew up both the windows, and drove home-stumped about the parlour, then rang the bell, and gave Jane the following directions:

“Get me a glass of strong brandy and water, quite warm, do you hear --tell Betty to light a fire in my bedchamber, and to warm the bed immediately and, Jane, have the kindness to air a flannel jacket for me in the morning."

LAUNCE.

THERE is not a greater absurdity in modern art than that of representing the principal figure on monuments naked, the ostensible pretext for which is the formality of modern costume; but the real one is to gratify the artist's vanity in shewing how well he can draw the figure now, as Englishmen neither live, fight, or die naked, it is too glaring a falsity to represent them so in their own portraits; every artist knows that the dress a person usually wears becomes a part of his portrait, and it would therefore be almost as great an untruth to paint the King bald-headed, as it would be to place a wig on the Duke of York. With respect to the formality of modern costume, let any one look at the common little bronze figure of Buonaparte in his regimentals, and with the military cloak on the supporter, and say whether it is not both graceful and dignified; let him look at Flaxman's monument of Lord Mansfield, in his robes in Westminster Abbey, or at Chantrey's spirited and graceful representation, in St. Paul's, of General Hoghton, in his regimentals, and then contrast them with specimens of the opposite taste around him; every traveller, almost, has seen in Canova's workshop a colossal figure of Buonaparte quite naked, which was immediately rejected as too familiar, out of character, and as having no meaning but that of shewing a fancied display of skill in anatomy; no sculptor can be answerable for fashion, it is his business to contend with, and overcome these little difficulties in his profession, to make the best of them and be satisfied with that; he may shew his individual taste in his own compositions, and exhibit them in the Academy where they will meet with the admiration they deserve; but let him design professed portraits in the habits and dress of Englishmen. The public have a right to have their taste con

sulted a little; it is true that they in general are no judges of the principles upon which a portrait or landscape is painted, nor can it be expected they should, but they are always judges of what looks natural and interests their feelings; if the story is well told it will be interesting, though the language may not be the most elegant or classical'; would any one now wish Chantrey to strip General Hoghton, or Flaxman to alter Lord Mansfield, because a judge's wig happens to be ridiculous and his robes heavy and ungraceful, and some artists would wish that he had nothing on but their usual fig-leaf and towel; they seem to forget sometimes how near the sublime is to the ridiculous ; setting aside the glaring falsity of the circumstance, is the death of Wolfe or of Nelson rendered more or less pathetic by their being represented stark naked, and yet that is the case, the former being in Westminster Abbey, and the latter in the Exchange-square, Liverpool: artists may study anatomy as much as they please, but this is making a learned parade of their skill on all occasions, whether called for by the circumstances or not-few persons would have expected that Nelson's figure would bear being stripped under any pretence; the English dress being tight would surely have shewn his figure sufficiently, and where the figure is colossal the error is magnified, and the absurdity only made more manifest-it looks like nothing human, and the public, skilled or unskilled, are not to be surprised into admiration, either by a monster, angel, or Neptune; they may stare at them as they would at a sphinx, and be just as much interested about one as the other. Another apparent absurdity is, that of designing one person in the character of another, as the portrait painters used to draw lusty ladies in the character of Diana, &c.

W. R. H.

GENERAL VON LINDENKRON had given up his commission, and retired to his estate. His residence, Lindenkron, the ancient mansion of the family, lay in an enchanting situation; the peasants were prosperous and happy, and distinguished themselves by their morality and good conduct above other country people. This superiority was the work of their pastor, an exemplary man, who, for the space of twenty years, had laboured faithfully at the improvement of his little flock. For nearly so long a period had the General been separated from his tenantry by campaigns, journies, and the pleasures of the Capitol but his feeling heart, which had neither hardened in battle nor cooled at court, remained fully alive to the beauties of nature. His estate, therefore, at which he arrived with blooming May, afforded him a grateful and happy retirement.

Nevertheless, in a few weeks time, a certain apathy stole imperceptibly upon him, which he knew not what to make of or how to describe. He took it to be a bodily disorder, and sent for his physician. "Your pulse is regular, General," said the Doctor; "it is probably nothing more than an attack of the country epidemic, ennui. Divert yourself; invite some of your friends in the Capitol to visit you, and the medicine of your accustomed society will speedily restore your mind to its proper tone. A man of the world, like you, who has scarcely passed his fiftieth year, is not yet ripe for a hermit."—" Nor do I in tend to become one," answered the General, "but I have bid adieu to the court life for the whole summer at least."-"Then amuse yourself in some way among your country folks," rejoined the physician; "give them rural fètes and amusements."

The proposition pleased the General; he had always considered the Rose-fêtes as a pleasing invention, and he resolved instantly to establish one.

Eur. Mag. Oct. 1823.

The following day he called the chief personages of the little village together, and addressed them to this effect. "My dear friends and countrymen, I am resolved to establish an annual Rose-fête in the village. This_custom_comes originally from France, but has already been adopted here and there in Germany. It consists in this:the most virtuous maiden of the place is publicly crowned with roses and rewarded with a handsome

present. The latter I take upon myself alone; but it rests with you to decide who is most deserving of this great honour, and I give you and your wives three days to determine the point. Then we will hold a festive election. Every respectable house-keeper is entitled to a vote, which he must give according to conscience. The majority decides it."

With hasty steps the fathers hied them home to their wives and daughters, and announced, breathless, the important news. Conceit and scandal now established their courts in the most wretched hovels. Every girl, who had not been guilty of a notorious aberration from the right path, reckoned upon receiving the reward of virtue; every mother held her favourite daughter singly and solely deserving of the Crown of Roses."

When the election was proceeding under the auspices of the General and the Minister, the first voter, following implicitly (as in duty bound) the command inculcated by his wife, timidly, and with downcast eyes, uttered the name of his own daughter. The good man, however, was given to understand that parental love had here no right. of vote, but that each must give his suffrage in favour of some maiden not related to him. This declaration caused no small confusion and perplexity, for many others, among the voters, had the names of their own daughters upon their tongues. This small error being rectified, Evelina, the schoolmaster's adopted

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