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TURNHAM-GREEN.

ment to mankind. The lines, therefore, on his tomb, written by Mr. Garrick, are very expressive:

Farewell, great painter of mankind,
Who reach'd the noblest point of art;
Whose pictur'd morals charm the mind,
And through the eye correct the heart!
If genius fire thee, reader, stay!
If nature move thee, drop a tear;
If neither touch thee, turn away,

For HOGARTH's honour'd dust lies here!

In this neighbourhood may be seen the handsome house of the late Lord Burlington, bearing a strong resemblance to an Italian Villa.

Turnham-Green, the next village, boasts of a small seat once the residence of Lieutenant General Lord Heathfield, whose defence of Gibraltar, in the American war, has rendered his name memorable in the annals of this country. Gunnersbury-House, likewise, is not far distant from this little village. It was built by the son-in-law of Inigo Jones, of architectural celebrity. Here resided her late Royal Highness the Princess Amelia, aunt to his present Majesty.

At Turnham-Green also, close to the road, is the elegant mansion of R. Griffiths, Esq. present proprietor of the Monthly Review. His venerable father first established that most respectable literary journal; and he was the patron of learned men for upwards of half a century. A history of the literati of this country for several years past, would have come with great propriety from the

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pen of that gentleman, (lately deceased at an advanced age) and proved an acceptable present to the literary world.

Thus leaving London it is impossible not to touch upon some of these objects, which, standing on or near the public road, by their very prominency invite attention. In receding from the metropolis, however, these subjects of curiosity gradually lessen; but in exchange for these confined specimens of art, we are introduced to the more simple and uncontrolled beauties of the country.

After passing through the villages of Knightsbridge, Kensington, Hammersmith, and Turnham-Green, we came to Brentford, the county town for Middlesex. Here, therefore, elections are held, and this was, of course, the spot where the turbulent business of John Wilkes took place; as well as the more recent bustle of Burdett and

Mainwaring, still fresh in our memory. The hustings are erected on the right of the town, in a kind of grove well fitted for the purpose; but how is the silence of the hallowed recess violated by these tumultuous transactions! The town itself has been famous for its length and filth, which Thomson, in his Castle of Indolence, has thus humorously recorded:

Behold, through Brentford town, a town of mud,
An herd of bristly swine is prick'd along!

The filthy beasts that never chew the cud,

Still grunt and squeak, and sing their troub'lous song,
And oft they plunge themselves the mire among;

SION-HOUSE.

But ay the ruthless driver goads them on,
And ay of barking dogs, the bitter throng
Makes them bemoan their unmelodious moan,
Ne never find they rest from their unresting fone!

Brentford, containing a good many inhabitants, has a church, a chapel, and some dissenting places of worship, of which the Presbyterian is remarkable for its neatness and simplicity. In the church the celebrated John Horne Tooke once officiated as curate, though it is well known he has long ago renounced every thing which belongs to the clerical profession. Here resides Mrs. Trimmer, a lady to whom the rising generation are highly indebted.* The vicinity of Brentford, lying on the Thames, is particularly pleasant. A bloody battle was fought here in 1016, between Edmund Ironside, and Canute the Dane, who was defeated. To this town the unfortunate Charles the First retired after the battle of Edgehill in 1642, which opened a civil war between him and his parliament, when he of course meditated the prosecution of those hostilities which terminated in his destruction.

A little beyond Brentford, on the left, the entrance into the Duke of Northumberland's park may be seen, adorned with a lion, sphinxes, and other sculptured embellishments. Sion-House, within the park, is not perceived from the road. It is a plain antique structure, chiefly remarkable for its great gallery, which extends the whole

* This lady is lately deceased: she was revered for her benevolence and piety.

SIR JOSEPH BANKS.

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length of the east front, over the arcades. There is also a quantity of old china vases, of different forms and sizes, crowded together in almost every apartment; and the Pedigree picture here is one of the greatest curiosities of its kind in England, exhibiting the noble and royal connections of the Percies, now united in the present Duchess of Northumberland. But, alas! how little reason we have to pique ourselves on the honours of ancestry, and to look down with supercilious contempt upon those who are beneath us. Neither talents nor virtues arise from the temperature of the blood..

His Grace the present Duke of Northumberland, almost a martyr to the gout, was at an early period of life in the army. He was present at the battle of Bunker's Hill, and one of the few officers who escaped on that dreadful occasion.*

On the right, before we entered Hounslow, is the seat of Sir Joseph Banks; a neat mansion, with considerable gardens, where curious plants are reared with care and assiduity. The proprietor accompanied Captain Cook round the world, is now president of the Royal Society, and has long been distinguished for his researches into every branch of knowledge connected with natural history. His house, in town, is on certain days the resort of the learned, both of this and of foreign countries. The object is mutual improvement..

* This nobleman died July, 1817, leaving behind him im mense property.

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At Hounslow we just stopped to change horses, a place remarkable only for its numerous inns. Immediately upon our entrance on the heath, about a stone's throw from the road, there is to be seen a wooden monument, shockingly marked by a bloody hand and knife, with this inscription:"Buried, with a stake through his body here, the wicked murderer, John Pretor, who cut the throat of his wife and child, and poisoned himself, July 6, 1765!" The sight of such an object instantly conjure up in the imagination all those cruelties which have been perpetrated on this secluded spot by wretches in the last stages of depravity. Of late years, however, the traveller has met with fewer interruptions, though still we hear, not unfrequently, of robberies in that quarter during the winter season of the year; a proof of which is exhibited by a gibbet, erected not far from Belfont, on which we saw suspended the body of Haines, generally known by the designation of the wounded Highwayman. He was, apparently, a large tall man; his irons were so constructed that his arms hung at some little distance from his body, by which means the hideous sight was rendered more terrific and impressive. The skirts of his coat waved in the wind, and, together with other parts of his appearance, suggested, with full force, the horrible idea of a fellow-creature deprived of the honours of sepulture, and consigned, with every mark of execration, to the grinning scorn of public infamy! Another body occupies the other part of the gibbet; he was a comrade of Haines, and is

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