ON A PICTURE,

REPRESENTING AN ITALIAN CONTADINA AND HER FAMILY.

BY MRS. HEMANS.

I.

Nor for the myrtle, and not for the vine,

Whose grape, like a gem, is the sunbeam's shrine;
And not for the deep blue heaven, that showers
Joy on thy spirit, like light on the flowers;
And not for the breath of the citron-trees,
Fair Peasant! I call thee not blest for these.

II.

Not for the beauty spread over thy brow,
Though round thee a gleam, as of spring, it throw;
And not for the lustre that laughs from thine eye,
Like a dark stream's flash to the summer sky,

Though the south in its riches nought lovelier sees—
Fair Peasant! I call thee not blest for these!

III.

But for these breathing and loving things

For the boy's fond arm that around thee clings;
For the sunny cheek on thy lap that glows,

In the peace of a trusting child's repose;

For the hearts whose home is thy gentle breast--
Oh! richly I call thee, and deeply blest!

A MORNING

IN KENSINGTON GARDENS.

BY MRS. ALARIC WATTS.

Fair scene for Childhood's opening bloom,

For sportive Youth to stray in;

For Manhood to enjoy his strength,

And Age to wear away in.-WORDSWORTH.

AMONG the many and heavy charges which our travelled countrymen are apt to bring against their native land, one of the most common, and certainly the most plausible, is, that we have none of that delightful out-of-door kind of existence, which is so highly valued and so rationally enjoyed by our Continental neighbours.

For the absence of these cheap pleasures, which are there shared in common both by the rich and the poor, the nature of our climate is usually made chargeable; and certainly we are, in this particular,

far less happily circumstanced than they.

And yet

I think it may be fairly questioned whether the dissimilarity of our habits in this respect, is not rather the result of the different character of our minds and feelings, than of any atmospheric impediment; and whether this national distinction may not be briefly summed up in two words, namely, the diffusiveness of the French, and the exclusiveness of the English character.

It would, I think, be a matter of no great difficulty, to assign a sufficient reason for this want of sympathy in the inhabitants of two nations placed by nature itself in such close approximation, did the discussion of such a question form any part of my present object. It is enough that such discrepancy does exist, and that its influence is perceptible in every thing that has relation to the two countries. No sooner do we step across the Channel, than we see the result of this expansiveness of feeling, if I may be allowed the expression, in the very face of the country itself. the manners of the people; in their domestic relations; in their habits of business; in their business of pleasure; in their institutions-royal, scientific, domestic, and even religious. In all these their expansiveness of spirit is apparent, and forms a singular contrast to the more selfish characteristics of our own country,-in which we are accustomed to carry our spirit of exclusiveness into the very temple of God himself; where the closely curtained pew seems to utter words, which

In

with a slight variation we might adopt as our national motto as it regards each other; Stand off, for I am holier than thou.'

It is from this want of geniality in ourselves, I think, rather than from any want of geniality in our climate, that our public gardens present so different a spectacle from those on the Continent. It is true that ours cannot boast the groves of orange-trees, the marble fountains, the antique statues of the Tuileries, —but then they are not disgraced by that mixture of the mean and the magnificent, which is there so apparent; where the huxter's stall derives its support from the walls of a Royal palace; and seats which would disgrace the humblest cottage, are provided for the repose of its belles dames, under the very eyes of the Muses and Graces themselves! In extent, the gardens of Paris will bear no comparison with those of our own metropolis; neither in natural advantages, if we rank among them the seclusion which that extent affords-in their affluence of noble forest trees-nor in their eligibility as places of promenade, when we compare the arid sand of the Champs Elysees and Tuileries, with the emerald greensward and well-rolled gravel-walks of our own parks and gardens. Truly they require nothing save to be peopled by an equal number of happy faces, to make them eclipse not only these, but the far-famed Sans Souci of other days.

I have been led to make these reflections on calling

to mind the deserted appearance which our own Kensington gardens presented on one of the most delightful days of the early part of July. That any of the élite of the fashionable world should be there at such a time, was not of course to be expected; for the number of weeks had already expired, in which the fickle goddess has pronounced it admissible in any of her votaries to be seen within their walls. Still this cause of exemption applies comparatively to few people, since a large body of the aristocracy still exist,

Who have not flattered its rank breath, nor bowed
To its idolatries a patient knee;

and who, as they can derive no consequence from its smiles, can well afford to be indifferent to its frowns. Whilst the class immediately below them, whose situation in life leaves the disposal of their time at their own command, cannot be supposed to be much influenced by the dicta of a power to whom they profess no allegiance. No! a deeper cause exists; and for its solution we are compelled to revert to the principle with which we set out; namely,—that we are an exclusive people. We are not gregarious; in fact, we do find it difficult to persuade ourselves to enjoy even the pure air of heaven in common with our fellow

creatures.

That these delightful gardens, the gracious bequest of her Majesty Queen Charlotte, of happy memory, to