I shall never forget the delight I felt on entering my own house, after enduring her thraldom for two months. I absolutely re velled in disorder, and gloried in my litters. I tossed my hat one way, my gloves another; pushed all the chairs into the middle of the room, and narrowly escaped kicking my faithful Christopher, for offering to put it "in order" again. That fearful" spirit of order!" I am sure it is a spirit of evil For my own part, I do so execrate the phrase, that if I were a member of the House of Commons, and the order.of the day were called for, I should make it a rule to walk out.

omen to

Since my return home, I have positively prohibited the use of the word in my house; and nearly quarrelled with an honest tradesman, who has served me for the last ten years, because he has a rascally shopman, who will persist in snuffling at my door (I hear him now from my parlor window), "Any order this morning?"

Confound the fellow! that is his knock. I will offer him half-a-crown to change his phrase!

SELECT POETRY.

THE FIRST SORROW.

BY ALARIC A. WATTS.

Suggested by a Statue, by Patrick MacDowell, Esq. R.A., in the "Exhibition of the Industry of all Nations."

"TIs her first sorrow; but to her as deep

As the great griefs maturer hearts that wring, When some strong wrench, undreamed of, bids us weep

O'er the lost hope to which we loved to cling! The Bird is dead;-the nursling of her hand, That from her cup the honied dew would sip,That on her finger used to take his stand,

And peck the mimic cherry on her lip. The willing captive that her eye could chain, Her voice arrest, howe'er inclined to roam,The household god (worshipped, alas! in vain), Whose radiant wings flashed sunshine through her home,

Pressed to her bosom, now can feel no more

The genial warmth of old he used to love; His sportive wiles and truant flights are o'er:When was the falcon tender to the dove? ""Twas but a bird;" but when life's years are few, How slight a thing may make our sum of bliss! Cold is the heart that needs be taught anew,

Trifles oft form the joys that most we miss! The soft, pure wax of Childhood's ductile breast, Will yield an impress to the gentlest touch; They err who make its little griefs their jest, Slight ills are sorrows still, if felt as such. "'Twas but a bird," the world's stern stoic cries, "And myriad birds survive as fair to see; ""Twas but a bird to some," her heart replies, "But playmate, friend, companion-all to me !"

'Tis her first sorrow-and she feels the more That sorrow's name she scarce hath known till now;

But the full burst of keener anguish o'er,

A softer shade hath settled on her brow. The bitter tears that would not be repressed, Are dried, like dew-drops on the sun-touched leaf;

The deep, wild sobs that lately stirred her breast, At length have yielded to a tenderer grief. She weeps no more,-her very sighs are stilled.A tranquil sadness breathes from her sweet face;

As though her mind, with soothing memories filled,

Had nothing left of sorrow-but its grace! The Sculptor marked the change with earnest

eyes;

He knew the phase whence fame might best be won; And when her grief assumed its loveliest guise, He struck her chastened beauty into stone! There let it live, 'till Love and Hope decay; To test this truth, through many an after day,— The type of sorrow, unallied to sin;

"ONE TOUCH OF NATURE MAKES THE WHOLE WORLD KIN!"

ORIGINAL POETRY.

LOVE AND FRIENDSHIP. "Love is strong as death."

BY HELEN HETHERINGTON.

WHEN FORTUNE FROWNS, and worldly cares
Press heavily on every side,
How sweet to know we claim the prayers
Of ONE in whom we can confide!
Yes! in affliction's darkest days,

When sorrow claims us as its own,
ONE tear of sympathy repays

The fears, the anguish we have known.
When joy and pleasure fill our hearts,
Pure as the light that shines above,
How soon each shade of doubt departs
When memory dwells on those we love!
And oh, what happiness is ours,

When passing through this world of care,
To find our path is strew'd with flowers,-

TO BLESS THE HAND that strew'd them there! E'en in the trying hour of death,

The purest joy to us is givenIn yielding up our latest breath, We meet with those we "love,"-in Heaven! Wealth, Honor, Power, I resign;

If this my highest joy must end, Oh, be the bliss for ever mine

TO KNOW I HAVE "ONE" FAITHFUL FRIEND!

LONDON: Published for WILLIAM KIDD, by WILLIAM SPOONER, 379, Strand, (to whom ALL Letters, Parcels, and Communications, Addressed to "the Editor,' and BOOKS FOR REVIEW, are to be forwarded); and Procurable, by order, of every Bookseller and Newsvendor in the Kingdom. Agents. Dublin, John Wiseheart; Edinburgh, John Menzies; Glasgow, John M'Leod.

stable, a walk of little more than a mile across the fields brings us to Houghton Regis, where, as we have said, the Lea rises. There is nothing remarkable in its source; the water, as at the source of mary rivers, spreads out into a sort of pond, and there is little in it, or in the scenery about it, to claim attention. The village of Houghton Regis is one that may deserve some regard; the scenery is of a cheerful rural character in itself, and scattered about it are many clusters of picturesque cottages, with goodly thatched roofs covered with deep-colored mosses, and enlivened with many a noisy group of rosy children about their doors. The church, too, is a fine old building, somewhat improved by modern taste but a fine building still; and in it is an ancient monument, with the effigies of a knight in armour, under a rich Gothic arch, which will well repay the attention of the antiquary. On the arch is a coat of arms, "a chevron between three butterflies," which, according to Lysons, are those of the Sewells, an ancient family who possessed the manor of Sewell, mentioned in Doomsday Book. Houghton Regis, as its name implies, was anciently a part of the royal demesne: it now belongs to the Duke of Bedford, by one of whose ancestors it was purchased, with the manor of Sewell, in 1750.

It would be idle to follow our stream yet awhile step by step. For some distance from its source it is only a sort of a ditch, and skirts ploughed fields; and though it flows past a village or two, we do not remember anything worth noticing till it reaches Luton. Before it arrives at Luton it has, however, swelled into a brook of fair size, and sometimes lays the neighboring marshes under water; indeed, throughout its course, its banks are for the most part marshy and liable to be flooded. Luton lies low, and has at times suffered severely from inundations. Its name is derived from the river, which was "in British Luh." (Morant.) It is a neat, clean town, and from the number of straw hat and other factories, has much of that business-like air the city dweller so much misses in most second-rate country towns in agricultural districts. Dr Waagen was much struck with its appearance:"The little town of Luton," he says," is very pleasantly situated in a rather hilly country. What a difference between that and places of a like extent in Germany! In the principal streets there is a good flag pavement, such as but few of the largest towns of Germany can boast." Luton has few buildings of interest; the church is almost the only one. This is of large size and unusual beauty. It is of Gothic architecture, but of various periods; the chancel was built by John Whethamsted, Abbot of

St. Alban's, in the fifteenth century, and is deserving inspection. There is an air of grandeur about the whole building; but it is to be regretted that its venerable character has been greatly injured by modern barbarians-worse than Goths-who have covered the whole body of the church with a thick coating of lime-wash. The tower, which is built of stone and flints in alternate squares, is the only part that has escaped the tasteless infliction; and its time-worn aspect appears to frown more darkly upon the sickly hue of its appendages. Unfortunately the evil is not confined to a distant survey; the details of the architecture are almost hidden by the vile wash: and what is perhaps most provoking is, that it has only been perpetrated within a few years, when we might have expected that a better feeling would have prevailed. The interior of the church contains several interesting monuments. At the west end of the nave is an elegant Gothic baptistry of an octagonal form, which is described more at length and figured in Lyson's " Magna Britannia-Bed. fordshire," p. 31. On the south side of the chancel are four richly-carved stone seats. Other objects of interest, which we have not time now to notice, will repay examination.

The making of straw-plait is quite a feature in the villages as well as in the towns round about this neighborhood. In fine weather, as the women and girls sit or stand about the cottage-doors plaiting the straw in the sunshine, by the porches gay with bright flowers, they present groups such as painters might delight to seize and embody. We wonder that they have not oftener been transferred to canvass: portrayed in true and characteristic form and color, they would, we think, yield hardly, if at all, in rustic grace and piquancy to the often-painted distaff spinners.

After passing by Luton, the Lea flows through the park, which is extensive and well wooded.

After it quits Luton Park, the Lea runs close alongside the Whethamsted Road till it reaches that place. The scenery is in many parts pretty, but very little varied, and the banks are low. Two or three watermills are worked by it, but, like nearly all the mills on the Lea, they are not very attractive in their appearance. Whethamsted is a cheerful little town. The church is rather a curious structure, something in the form of a Maltese cross, with a tower and somewhat dumpy spire rising from the intersection of the nave and transept. It was at Whethamsted that the barons who confederated against Edward II. and his favorite Pierce Gaveston, assembled their forces. From Whethamsted the scenery is more picturesque. The traveller may make his

way along the meadows by the river side without much difficulty, yet it is hardly worth his while; the road, which is rather a pleasant one, leaves the river a little on the left, and following it for about two miles we reach Brocket Hall and park, the seat of Lord Melbourne. Brocket Hall was erected about a century since by James Paine, who has given elevations and plans of it, and of the bridge he here built across the Lea, in his work entitled " Views, Plans, &c." The house is a brick edifice, of a somewhat striking appearance, and the Lea spreads out before it into a spacious lake. Altogether it is well fitted to afford a refreshing retreat from the care and strife of political contests.

The Lea runs through a corner of Hatfield Park, leaving Hatfield considerably on our right. There is nought in the town to call us out of the way. Hatfield Park is of vast extent, and though rather level, is considerably diversified in its aspect by the prosaid to be some of the finest oak, elm, and ash trees in the county. At a corner of one of the avenues on the northern side of the park is an old oak, called the Queen's Oak," from a tradition that when Elizabeth was a prisoner here, it formed the boundary of her daily walks. It is much decayed, only one of its main branches remaining; but the decayed part has been carefully covered with a cement, and a railing has been placed around it to preserve it from

fusion of noble trees it contains. In it are

curious visitors. Hatfield House is the

property of the Marquis of Salisbury, and is of enormous size. One of its wings, it will be remembered, was destroyed by fire a few years back, when the dowager marchioness was burnt to death. The part then destroyed has been rebuilt, and we believe large alterations have been made in various parts of the mansion by the present marquis, who has an inclination for building. The place possesses much historical interest; Elizabeth, as we have said, was a prisoner here; after her accession to the throne she gave Hatfield House to Lord Burleigh, the ancestor of the present Marquis of Salisbury Charles I. was also for a short time confined in it. The interior of the mansion is said to be very splendid, and it contains a good many excellent pictures; but it is to be regretted that the public are excluded from seeing them, or from inspecting the building By this time the Lea has become a river of tolerable size, and from Hatfield Park to Hertford is much more beautiful than in the earlier part of its course; and it increases in beauty till it enters the latter town. The grounds on either side are hilly and well wooded, and handsome houses, rustic cottages, with ever and anon a distant spire

peeping from among the trees, relieve the way from everything like monotony.

A short distance before we reach Hertford, the Lea is joined by the river Maran, a lovely little stream, which has its source a few miles from King's Walden. About two miles before its union with the Lea it passes through Panshanger Park, whither we will retrace it. Panshanger is not near so large as Hatfield Park, but from the greater variety of surface much more beautiful. Indeed there is so much that is attractive about it, and altogether it is so delightful a spot for a day's visit from London, that we shall extend our notice of it a little beyond our usual limits.

insect.

A brief converse with the works of

At least we

Panshanger belongs to the Earl Cowper, who, with a liberality deserving grateful notice, permits the most free access not only to his park and grounds, but to his picture gallery, and both contain more than enough gallery, let us saunter awhile along these to repay a pilgrimage. Before we enter the slopes, and among these groups of lofty and picturesque trees, and then beside the flowery banks of that clear, bright, and rapid little stream, and watch its silvery tenants poising themselves against the current, or darting briskly after some luckless nature will form no unfit preparation of the mind for an enjoyment of those works of man we are about to examine. There is a rich and varied succession of views all over the park, but the main attraction is the famous oak. This is a most majestic tree, surpassed perhaps in size by many, but equalled in beauty by none. never saw, nor remember to have heard of, any that can be compared with it. It stands bottom," in the private garden, and its wide branches spread out unobstructArthur Young, in his "Survey of Herts," it edly in every direction. According to in his "Sylva Britannica," fol., 1822, says it was called the Great Oak in 1709. Strutt, contains one thousand feet of timber, and is nineteen feet in circumference at a yard from the ground. The trunk rises from its roots with a graceful curve, and the main branches separate from it in a regular yet varied and free manner, such as to render it quite a model of form as an oak. Its remarkable symmetry causes it, as is the case tectural edifice, to appear smaller than it in a fine statue, or well-proportioned archireally is. All who see it, express surprise at its largeness when they stand beside its trunk. When clothed in the full luxuriance of its foliage, nothing in the shape of a tree can surpass the harmonious grandeur of its appearance. Even when denuded of its leaves, it is a noble object; in some respects more noble than before.

alone in a 66

The gardens are tastefully laid out; there are, too, some pleasant terraces, and some of those walks (or alleys) bounded by tall evergreens, such as we read of in old books and see in the paintings of Watteau and Laneret. We need not stay to notice the external appearance of the house. It is one of those heterogeneous jumbles well named "Modern Gothic." The interior is designed with much more judgment. But we must turn to the picture gallery, as there are works there that will need all the time we can devote to

them the productions of Raphael and Bartolomeo are not to be understood at a hasty glance. The gallery is a noble room, well lighted by two or three lanterns, and also by a large bay window that looks over a richly cultivated scene. The walls are hung with a bright scarlet cloth, which, with the gilt cornices and other ornaments, and the rich furniture of the room, has a brilliant effect too brilliant indeed, for the sober character of the pictures, which would better accord with a more sombre tone of color in the fittings. The ante-room, through which we pass into the gallery, is chiefly hung with family portraits; among others is that of the celebrated Chancellor Cowper, who looks as if the cares of state sat lightly on him.

As we have suggested a visit to Panshanger as one of the most agreeable day's excursions from London, we will just point out how it may be easiest accomplished. By the North-Eastern Railway, the visitor can at once reach Hertford, from whence a pretty walk of little more than two miles will bring him to Panshanger. The way is by the north road for about a mile beyond Hertford, and then along a very rural road on the left of the main one, till the lodge is reached. Dr. Waagen says, that, "being a great walker," he managed to reach it on foot from Hertford by the aid of a guide; but the most feminine of our readers need not fear being tired by the length of the way, or be deterred by its difficulty. As we have hinted, the collection is not of a kind to be hastily examined, and the visitor is allowed to remain as long as he pleases in the room, especially if the family is absent. Still by a little management, and leaving London by the halfpast nine o'clock train, time enough will be afforded for a stroll through the park, which should not be omitted; and there are many walks beyond its limits of remarkable beauty, particularly up some of the lanes to the west of it. The stranger should not, however, wander too far. Hertfordshire ways are very crooked, and Hertfordshire directions still more crooked; he might therefore perchance find himself too late for the last train.

BIRDS OF SONG.

No. XXIV.—THE BLACK-CAP.

THE HIEN BLACK-CAP differs from the male, in the color of her head-dress; which, instead of being jet black, is a dusky brown. She is, too, of a more sombre Quaker-like aspect. She is often mistaken for the gardenwarbler at a distance, though the latter has a much longer and fan-like tail; also a more taper and genteel neck. The nests of both these birds are firmly and strongly built, and of the same materials. They are composed externally of dry grass, twigs, and the fibres delicate blades of grass, and soft, pliant of roots, and are lined within with fine hair,

moss.

The number of eggs laid by each is from four to six. Those of the black-cap are of a yellowish-white color, with brown spots; whilst the eggs of the garden-warbler have in addition a mixture of pale grey spots upon

them. Their nests are seldom built at a

height exceeding three feet from the ground. They are usually found in a Hawthorn. The notes of distress uttered by both during the season of incubation, are greatly alike, being harsh and discordant. Those of the blackcap are the loudest, and fall most gratingly The notes of the garden-warbler are soft, on the ear. In song, these birds differ widely. gentle, and quietly sweet. The song of the black-cap is loud, bold, clear and distinct.

While the

this bird and the nightingale, much judgWhilst instituting a comparison between ment should be shown. They are both equally excellent in degree. quality and power of the nightingale's voice cannot be over-rated, yet he sings for a very limited time only; and is subject to great depression of spirit. The rapidity of his while he is in song, place him certainly execution, and the "value of his notes, highest in the scale of excellence; and, so far as this extends" Palmam qui meruit ferat." When, however, we weigh well the comparative tempers of the birds, their general deportment in a cage, and the unceasing attention they require,-it then becomes a matter of question how to choose between them. Both are equally robust in at the same time, and both are heartily point of constitution; both arrive here nearly welcomed when they do come. Of all the summer warblers, these are "the" two, par

excellence.