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and bring up her family in peace- ding in the vasty deep," and drop what has she to do with any other intelligence in sea-shells from farsciences, when that one is rendered off lands in ocean's girth, to be gaso difficult to acquire ? Is she to thered by the pure, the faithful, and captivate her lover, or retain the the gifted ? affection of her husband, with bis. Sketcher. What think you of this muth or manganese ? If he ask for being the cave of Proteus, whose ina song, is she to trouble him with defatigable care of his Phocæ has categories; if he ask for a kiss, re- something so strange in it, tbat, if ceive but cold pity for his igno- the sea-god were not gifted with rance ?

prophecy and power of metamorSketcher. I must say we have phosis, would be but whimsical; but chosen an admirable theatre for our being what he was, it is wild and lectures, and it would seem as if we poetical. Now evening is coming had turned our whole audience into in, and you may expect his return; stone.

but he will only just look round the Pictor. And with as little chance corners of the rocks, for he is shy, of moving any, as the “ uncouth and seeing us, will be quickly off, swain,” that

and you will hear the plash of his " Thus sang the uncouth swain to th' herd into the sea again. oaks and rills."

Pictor. Where would you place a But it is time to indulge in such choir of mermaids more satisfactoideas as this scenery should more rily than on that smooth sand? It naturally give rise to.

is the mystery and wonder about all Sketcher. Yet such conversation these imaginary beings that delight may have its use; it may confirm the us. We may soon go into the compainter in his resolution what to

mon world, where there is no myspursue, and that he should not be tery, no wonder, but all is bare, and ashamed before the world of bis ig- is in such places as this one really

here we exercise a new faculty. It norance of that which is of no use to him. It is, therefore, a lesson of enjoys the sea, not in noted and freart.

quented watering-places, where the Pictor. This should be a scene

hiding shells are poked out of their for moonlight, when the waters are

sandy beds by regiments of walkingstill, or give only a sound that is of

sticks and parasols. the same character as, and more ex

Sketcher. Sitting here, as we are, pressive than, stillness, an intermite we enjoy this scene before and ting lazy sound, that leaves medita- around us; but how difficult would tion free.

it be, by any sketch, to convey the

subject! The fact is, it is in no one “Ob, had I a cave on some wild distant point of view. We cannot be in shore !"

the cavern and paint it, and the sea The“ distant shore” of the poet con- too, and the rocks on all sides, facing veys well the seclusion of ihis. the sea; the surrounding enclosing

Sketcher. Now, this would be a fit cbaracter must be lost. It is of little scene for the nymphs, the daughters use to sketch here. This is a place of Ocean. Here might they come, wherein to imbibe ideas, to impress and having hung up their Æolian a general something, which the forms, lyres on the rocks, lie in the light of as they are placed, in any one view, the silver moon, and listen to the will not give. The most faithful rewild and fitful strains of pain and presentation of such a spot would passion, and sympathize with the be the ideal. suffering Prometheus, whom they Pictor. The eye, they say, retains have recently visited, and left chain- for a time the images of objects after ed to the appalling Caucasus. This they are removed, and the mind's scene would well suit the tenderness eye, without doubt, retains them of commiseration, if under such a longer still, so that after we have light that would soften all that is looked about us at any beautiful rugged in it.

scenery, we have painted to us and Pictor. Yes, by moonlight. Or, for us, a whole which we can never would it not do for those strange see from any one position. The reimaginary creatures, bodies and sult and combination is the great spirits, the Ariels, that “ do bide beauty, and this picture is made for

mass.

us; it requires some natural power, scene in such a manner, that they and much practice, to be able to become personifications of earth or catch it; and we may be convinced air. The magic has gifted them from this how unsatisfactory are any with power, and they preside over accurate given views.

all. You can never visit the spots Sketcher. And besides this com- again, even in idea, without beprehensiveness, sound is blended ing sensible of their presence. We with sight. The impressions are wound our way to the top, and, ere Nature's greatest truths, searched long, were again in the “ Valley of out or combined by a peculiar fa- Rocks." This is a very desolate culty, but they are instantly acknow- barren spot, and of little or no granledged.

deur, to divert the mind from the abWe now left the cavern, and be solute and detestable melancholy it gan our ascent of the steep pass by must inspire. The castellated rocks which we had reached it. Pictor, on this sight are not imposing, but turning round, was much struck with seemed piled there just to shut out the exact cast of a human counte- the cheerful light, and the channel of nance, designated in the form of the escape, fit residences for evil-boding rock before us. It occupied, per- fowl, and bats obscene; mere dreahaps, about one-third of the great riness, without the dignity of being

Pictor resembled it to the commanding Somewhere within head of Memnon, waiting the stroke reach might have been the very cave of the sunbeam. There is something of despair, for it was the entire terin the accidental forms assumed by ritory of Melancholy. The wretch rocks and clouds, that appeals di- might dwell somewhere by that uprectly to the imagination, which in- right grey cliff to the rightstantly combines them with the whole

“ Low in an hollow cave,
Far underneath a craggie cliff ypight,
Darke, doleful, drearie, like a greedie grave,
That still for carrion carcases doth crave:
On top whereof aye dwelt the ghastly owle,
Shrieking his balefull note, which ever drave

Far from that haunt all other chearefull fowle;

And all about it wand'ring ghostes did waile and howle.” It is surprising this place should might be the Valley of Lynmouth; have been so long spoken of, not and the little bay beyond it gave you only as a beauty, but as the beauty the idea as if it had been erected for of Linton and Lynmouth. It was a the temporary purpose of some very fine July evening, and we were spectacle of deadly combat, perwilling to lengthen our walk on our chance with the monsters that in return. Instead, therefore, of keep the days of the Seven Champions ing our path through the Valley of infested every region, and had since Rocks, we ascended a steep hill to become habitations of the lowly, rethe left, which gave us a very com- gardless of such sights, and unmanding view. Linton, which itself knowing of such things. stands so high above the Valley of We soon reached the summit of the Lyn, was now below us; we the hill we were ascending, and the were perhaps eight or nine hundred view before us was very magnifi. feet above the sea. Linton, with the cent. We had a very high horizon, haze and depth of the valley behind and a great expanse of water, over it, and the bold cliffs based in the which the sun, yet distant from channel, had a singular appearance. his setting, spread a broad line of The white houses, whose tops and most brilliant light, from the exsides were touched by the sun, made treme point of sight to our very it very conspicuous in the centre of feet. the scene. There were circular walls Pictor was delighted, and stood about it, that seemed placed there to some time motionless, and silent, shut it out from the Valley of Me- then made a frame, as it were, with lancholy, and left it as an inner line his hands, as if composing or rather of an amphitheatre, whose arena framing in his picture. We looked down on the left upon the tops of sion to wait their approach in sithe cliffs, that, shooting out into the lence. channel, formed within or between Pictor. How little is there here to them the inlets, one of which we sketch, and how much to admire! had just left. To the right we could What materials could we use that just see the low land of the opposite would give any adequate idea of this coast, here distant. The horizontal sublime scene, before its beauty line of the water was scarcely dis- would vanish? Does it not look as tinguishable from the sky, except. if the glorious sun had passed over ing at the termination of the broad the earth, and over the sea, and had road of light made on it by the sun, left on the waters the light of his which, as I observed, ran the whole chariot-wheels ? length of the perspective line of the Sketcher. The great high-road of water, nearly from the base on which the gods, such track as they made we stood. The body of the sun was when they went to feast with the not visible, being behind a long distant Ethiopians; and how won. band of cloud, above and below drously must the celestial steeds which its immediate brilliant golden have bounded over the gorgeous golcolour was spread, intercepted at

den road-for the moment we forget some short distance below by bluish the liquid! Homer saw then, when grey voluminous clouds, that rose he was sitting on a hill, looking over directly above the water, and above the great expanse as we are now. blended with the cooler tints of the sky, Hear his wondrous Greek, as it till it was lost over our heads in that burst from the mouth of the great beautifully intense ultramarine grey. Improvisatore, of which Longinus ish purple, into which one delights remarks that it measured the bound to look, lying on the earth, face up- of the immortal horses by the space wards, to watch the coming of the of the world, and that another bound stars; but as they would not imme- would find no space for them. diately appear, there was no occa

Οστον δ' ήεροειδές ανήρ δεν οφθαλμοίσιν
“Hμενος έν σκοπιή, λεύσεων επί οίνοπα πόντου:

Τόσσον επιθρώσκεσι θεών ύψαύχινες ίπποι. .
As much aerial space as a man is wont to behold with his eyes,
Sitting on a high hill looking over the purple sea,

So far bound the lofty-neck'd horses of the gods. Pictor. But is it not the domain of Neptune ? linagine him passing, as when he took three strides from Ida, and with the fourth arrived in Ægæ, and then

“ He to his chariot join'd his steeds,
Swift, brazen-hoof'd, and maned with wavy gold.
Himself attiring next in gold, he seiz'd
His golden scourge, and to his seat sublime
Ascending, o'er the billows drove; the whales,
Leaving their caverns, gambol'd on all sides
Around him, not unconscious of their king :
The sea clave wide for joy; he lightly flew,

And with unmoisten'd axle skimm'd the flood.” Sketcher. And all the pageant is Pictor. What vessel would not depassed, and he has left behind him light to sail upon that glorious path, the light of all his golden self, and of under Neptune's license of protecbis “ dazzling incorruptible abode.” tion? Such was the use the grand old Gre- Sketcher. So thought Homer; and, cian bard made of his sketches from I dare to say, after the vision had Nature; and, I doubt not, he saw passed, composed a hymn to the some such scene as this, shut his God of Sea. 'Let us sing it; and let eyes, and, composing the grand spec- it be-I forget what number it should tacle, poured it instantly forth in his be of “ Homer's Hymns”-and thus own golden Greek.

I venture to translate it. VOL, XXXY.

NO, CCXVIII.

N

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Of Neptune, shaker of the earth, the awful god, I sing,
The shaker of the solemn sea, the wondrous Öcean-King
Thine Ægæ broad and Helicon, that with thy praises ring
Shaker of earth, a twofold power the gods have given thee,
Thou tamer of the stubborn steed, and ruler of the sea,
When ships do walk their perilous ways, their guardian thou shalt be.
Hail thou, whose dark locks floating far behind the surges sweep,
As with thine arm the mighty waves thou liftest in a heap,

And makest broad from land to land a pathway in the deep.” Pictor. Worthy the venerable heathen; but let us rather sing a nobler hymn. 1. “Praise the Lord, O my soul; O Lord, my God, thou art become

exceeding glorious ; thou art clothed with majesty and honour. 2. Thou deckest thyself with light as it were with a garment, and

spreadest out the heavens like a curtain. 3. Who layeth the beams of his chambers in the waters; and maketh

the clouds his chariot, and walketh upon the wings of the wind." The homage was paid. “A change Sketcher. “ The rude forefathers came o'er the spirit of the dream;" of the hamlet” were little akin to the clouds closed; the light depart- him. He was a stranger to these ed; the large expanse before us be- parts; and though in truth like Gray's came of one hue. We left the hill,

genius-one“ to fortune and to fame and had little conversation until we unknown,” yet not altogether undereached Linton. “I think,” said I to serving of being known-had he Pictor,“ it is about six years ago, that been a practicable man.

He was we were four of us standing in this strange, possessing some genius, but churchyard, looking in admiration at scarcely was it under dominion of the scene before us. It is now as it judgment. He may rather be said was then; but of us-two out of the to have been possessed of or by his four are no more. One of the de- genius; and it was wayward; even parted was a very dear friend, of ex- his manner of working was peculiar quisite taste, a high and noble mind, to himself. Were you to see only endeared to me by many ties, and his sketches in their first uncouth still by many recollections. With

state, you would have pronounced the other departed I had only some them the veriest daubs, plastered few months before become acquaint- with dabs of white and grey. But ed. I recollect when we were stand- he would work them up so as to ing on that spot, just on the other side

surprise you. There was occasionof this wall, hearing him express a ally some poetry, but in general such wish that bis bones might lie in such a scorn of detail. He would glaze a spot. And there they lie. He was his pictures in a manner quite his then in good health. I never saw own; and before he would put the him from that evening. Let us go last tone, which was generally a and look at his grave; it is in the glazing of burnt sienna, there was very corner of the churchyard, and always something to admire, even last year stood quite apart from all where the work was a failure. I other graves. Let us visit it, for it have seen one little picture of his, is the grave of a Painter."

an old woodman or rustic, with his Pictor and I entered the churchyard dog, returning at sunset, that was --the grave was now no longer alone. extremely brilliant and vigorously

Sketcher. I see they have laid an- painted. This little piece (the best other beside him.

I ever saw of his) was ordered by a Pictor. Whatever Gray may say gentleman, at a very trifling, sum, in his Elegy of the "mute inglorious who rejected it; the artist, in his Miltons," (why did he omit the indignation, would have destroyed painters ?) it is probable there lies here no other painter, where

his work; but it was saved, and he

gave it away. He painted every The rude forefathers of the hamlet

thing, all sorts of subjects, animals, sleep."

landscapes, old men and maidens, . and sometimes in a manner unlike did not ascend directly into it, withhis own. I have seen old white- out the precaution of a landing-place, headed men worked in with loads I saw, after his death, a highly ornaof colour, yet with great truth.mented and probably valuable organ. There is or was a white-headed But as to furniture, I believe there rustic about these parts that must never was at any time much more have been his companion many an than a bed, a chair, and a table: hour, for the studies from him are Every thing without the man, and without number.

belonging to him, was somehow or “ Haply that hoary-headed sage may say,

other characteristic of the man withOft have we seen him at the peep of in. But there he lies-peace be with dawn.”

him. Then again would he delight to Pictor. And what are become of paint some youthful village beauty, his sketches? with a true feeling of her simple Sketcher. I know not; they were innocence, and touch in the delicate not such as to be much valued. hues and features with a nice dis. Whatever was good in them, in the cretion, that would make his other state in which I saw most of them, works appear the more strange; and would not be understood but by arlooking over his room, your eye tists; but unless in a rather advanced would be directed from some gentler state, little beauty would be percepbeauty to a powerful sketch of the tible. And, latterly, when he was inWeird Sisters. He came here, not volved in building, and its expenses so much for the scenery, as to paint, and annoyances, he painted but little. for a few months, in a quiet and in- I should be inclined to think the expensive place. But he became sketches are destroyed. charmed with the spot, took a lease I now left my friend in the Churchof some ground, and built, or began yard, while I went to the Valley of to build, for it remains still unfinish- Rocks Inn, to make enquiry of Mr ed, that odd-looking house, apart Litson, a very civil and liberal landfrom the village, which you saw to lord, respecting letters, and to make the left of the road to the Valley of some other arrangements for the Rocks. The interior, by all accounts, comfort of our party below. On my shewed the man-rude unplastered return to the Churchyard, I found walls, and rooms whimsically form- Pictor sitting opposite the grave, with ed, and the whole building oddly pencil and paper.

“ What is your planned and constructed. In a place sketch ?” said I. He rose to meet me, that was intended for, and might and put the paper into my hand. It have been called a room, if the stair contained the following lines.

THE PAINTER'S GRAVE.
Where shall the sunbeams play?

Where shall the moonbeams light?
For him who bade them stay,
With hand of power and might

Upon the Painter's grave.
Where the stormy pageant rise,

And the harmless lightnings fly?
Where the magician lies
That fix'd them in the sky-

Before the Painter's grave.
Where shall the flowrets shed

Sweet odours ? O'er his earth
Who from their lowly bed
Gave them immortal birth-

Upon the Painter's grave.
Where shall the aged rest,

And own one friend he found,
That thought grey hairs were best,
And age like holy ground ?

Upon the Painter's grave.

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