They'll find some peasant girls, drawn by M'Clise,

That would be rivals to the maids of Greece. Small eyes, and short, sharp noses, and great mouth,

Show northern blood,- -an oval face, the south.
The reason of such difference, he discovers,
Who finds their mothers had some Spanish
lovers.

Which, though amusing it may be to you,
Did put their fathers in-an Irish stew.

For when they saw their daughters' raven hair, And jet black eyes-it made them strangely stare;

They could not but their own red hue compare.
And long they ponder'd, but no clue could get,
How gold and grey should turn to brown and
jet;

At length cries one, who, wiser than the rest,
Thought that a question settled is the best-
"You saw the midwife take your little daughter,
And wash her carefully in pure warm water.
But should the water boil by her neglect,
Then will it take an opposite effect
Upon her skin, as on the lobster's shell,
Changing from red to black."-" "Tis well,

WHEN We say that the beautiful and interesting views in this work are by the pencil of Mr. Roberts, that they are engraved with spirit and correctness, and that the narrative is by the practised and skilful pen of Mr. Roscoe; we need add nothing more in its praise, and it would be almost superfluous to recommend it by any eulogy of our own. The views are principally of the old cities of Spain, many of them famed in ancient as well as modern history, some for learning and some for arms; and almost all for their rich and imposing masses of architectural grandeur. The plates of Saragossa, Valentia, Seville, and those of Morocco and Constantina, seem to swell in the beauty and nobleness of their majestic forms, out of the narrow proportions in which they are depictured. The narrative is well written throughout, and occasionally parts of superior interest are to be found; but the continuous nature of its composi tion prevents it being easily taken to pieces and transferred to our pages. We will extract a short passage on the change taking place in the Spanish character. (P. 157.)

"There is more society kept up, more bustle in the streets than formerly; while the mildness and salubrity of the climate, as well as motives of economy, induce many families of influence to make Valentia their residence during great part of the year. The more opulent characters no longer lavish the income they possess without doing good to others, or credit to themselves. War and change, especially a change in the destiny of their country, in its commerce, trade, and landed property, with the loss of their richest colonies, have operated favourably in reclaiming them from old vices and errors. Low obscene amours, vain parade, and emulation in outvying each other in servants, mules, and equipages, have ceased to be esteemed the one grand object of life. While a new class of citizens are springing up, the men of family, the old hidalgos, or sons of somebody as they are called, are no more to be seen without a shirt in hired capas, sending out for a pint of wine, whenever their confidential servant was fortunate enough to levy the purchase-money on the charitable community. These truly ludicrous personages drawn in the old Spanish novel have almost wholly disappeared,-those who afforded such fine scope for the satirical powers of the writer in describing the singular kind of war they carried on against the community, especially hosts and hostesses, to the very knife, as far as a dinner was concerned, and who possessed only a single suit of clothes, serving to accommodate those who took it in turn to levy alms."

Of the situation of the city of Morocco, the author says:

"Viewed from hence, Marraksh (Morocco) appears a truly magnificent city, inclosed by lofty walls of great extent, flanked with towers, square and massive, and pierced by numerous gates of imposing architecture. The grandeur and capaciousness of the buildings are exaggerated to the imagination by the interposing masses of foliage, which, contrasting strikingly with their colour, and partly concealing their dimensions, distract the mind pleasingly by suggesting ideas of indefinite beauty and extent. But much of the effect produced by this extraordinary place is borrowed from the sublimity scarcely be surpassed. It has all that arof the site, which, in some respects, can tists understand by breadth in painting. It seems to grow up out of the plain, to form an integral part of it, and to partake of its immensity, which the eye loses sight of on the limits of the horizon to

the east and to the west. But the grandeur is not in this. Many capital cities, Madrid and Rome for example, occupy the centre of vast plains, but are not on that account sublime. What here strikes the eye and fascinates it, is the vast mountain ridges on the north and south, towering bold, broken into innumerable peaks, covered with an eternal weight of virgin snow, propping the superincumbent clouds. Every where stupendous mountains produce a powerful effect upon the mind. They almost appear to be pur posely piled up to direct the thoughts towards heaven, and inspire even the dull and earthly with that poetical feeling which melts and ripens into religion. But here, the classic halo that encircled and rendered doubly bright their luminous peaks, for on these the starry Atlas was domiciliated by the Hellenic mythology, amounted to something more thrilling and religious still. The lower and nearer layers which interpose between the eye and the foot of the snowy chain, like the rocky curtain of the Savoy and Alps, where one views Mont Blanc from the Pays de Vaud, only rendered the spectral snowy cones rising behind them more startling. They seemed like clouds and were not; and then how smooth, how fertile, how richly wooded, and thickly peopled was the plain! I cannot express what I felt."

We recommend the whole narrative of the tour to our readers' attention.

The Book of Beauty. (New Series.) Longman.

We must consider this as among the most beautiful and interesting of the Annuals. The portraits of Lady Chesterfield and Mrs. Wombwell are lovely specimens of female beauty, and we hope and trust that the husbands of these two enchanting and virtuous ladies fully estimate the value of the prizes they have received. "Would you on this fair mountain leave to feed," &c. says the poet; but he is speaking of Hamlet's mother, and it does not touch us. The poems and prose tales are more than ordinarily good with few excep. tions, such as the Lämmergheyer and a few more. Prose tales, however, we cannot meddle with; they can be no more represented by a short specimen, than a house can by the single brick, which the harlequin, in one of Goldoni's farces, brings as a specimen ; but Mrs. Norton's Monk of La Trappe

is worthy of her talent; and "My Convent Days," by Miss L. H. Sheridan, is pleasing. We shall do no injustice, we think, to the other authors by selecting the lines to Mrs. Lane Fox, by James Smith, Esq.

The book that in your lap reclines, Where many a leaf like zephyr wavers, Within its ample case combines

The skill of Britain's best engravers. Fishers are there with humid nets,

Dutch boors intent upon their duties; And Egypt's mendicant brunettes,

And wild Circassia's snowy beauties. Mountains whereon the clouds recline,

Whence many a Tuscan bravo sallies; Castles that crown the rapid Rhine,

Cots that repose in Arno's vallies. Divers, o'er Indian surge reclined, [ness,

When Phoebus glows with added brightDelving for pearls, ordain'd to find,

On arms like yours, a rival whiteness. Great painters here their colours strike:

Rubens no longer feeds on roses; In sober brown, in lines Vandyck,

Untinted Titian here reposes.

Artists, whose palettes to the sight
Present a gay prismatic olio,
Array'd in modest black and white,
Repose within this huge portfolio.
Yet not e'en Bartolozzi's school
Can give all copies equal spirit;
Vainly the graver plies his tool

To give to all impartial merit.
Each with what skill, however plann'd,
Grows near its predecessor fainter;
Falls faded from his jaded hand,
And disappoints the peevish painter.
Would he a gainful trade pursue,

His now superfluous labour saving;
Let the glad artist learn of you,

Lady, the art of true engraving. You, who at every glance awake

A portrait teeming with expression, And cleverly contrive to make

Where'er you go,—a proof impression!

Portraits of the Children of the Nobility; from Drawings by Chalon, M'Clise, &c. Edited by Mr. Fairlie. Longman.

SOME of these designs we think are extremely elegant, and some, we must confess, fail in producing the intended effect. Among the most suc cessful, we reckon the first plate, of

the Duke of Beaufort's daughters, the Miss Copleys, by M'Clise, and per. haps, the Baroness Le Despenser; but the children of the Duke of Beaufort and of the Earl of Wilton might as well be with the "Children in the Wood," eating blackberries, as showing their little wooden legs and stumping toes in these tasteless designs. As for Lord Canterbury's daughter, we must think that,

Of her fair legs she shows too much by half,

The small of both, and almost all the calf.

Miss FitzClarence has a pretty cottage air about her; and the Duke of Buccleuch's children are well and pleasingly grouped. The plates are well engraved; and the verses, which are by most esteemed authors, all that could be expected. We will give as a specimen those on Eliz. J. Somerville, daughter of Sir William Somerville, by H. L. Bulwer, M.P.

How many days of good and ill
Have pass'd, my old friend Somerville,
Since you and I, as truant boys
Shared the same follies, fear, and joys!
Our sternest thought to bound the ball
With crafty hand against the wall;
Or, careless of its groans, to glide
Across the scarcely frozen tide;
With gun and hound by sunrise seen
Scudding across the dewy green;
Or creeping forth by soft twilight,
To drink milk-punch with Goody White.
Well skill'd to merit or escape
The classic stroke which scorns the scrape,
We did amidst that gallant crew,
And did, unscath'd, what few could do.
Vain boast they're gone, those days of
fun,

Of floggings miss'd, and prize-books won;
They're done! they're gone! and here

are we

As grave as wiser men should be.

I with petitions in my band,

And "Sir," as on my legs I stand;
You with the most paternal air,

And Nurse, pray take the greatest
You pity me, I pity you:
[care."

That's what two friends are bound to do.
But still I own if this dear child
Had only once as gaily smiled
On me, as now she gaily smiles,
I might have loved her infant wiles,
And half recall'd the vows I vow'd
Against that little squalling crowd,
Which, now with doll, and now with
drum,

Proclaim that Hymen's reign is come.

The Scenic Annual for 1838; edited by Thomas Campbell, Esq. sold by G. Virtue.

We were most agreeably surprised by the sight of this Annual, with which our splendid series now closes. In selection of scenery, in skill and elegance of composition, and in pleasing and picturesque effect in the engravings, it yields to none of its rivals; while, in the splendour of the editor's reputation-magno nomine gaudens— it far surpasses all. Switzerland and Scotland, the lands of lakes and mountains, furnish most of the views; among which a few others of interest are interspersed, as that of Niagara, Wyoming, &c. Mr. Campbell has condescended to write some of the descriptions, and has adorned the volume with several small poems-one or two of which we must extract; for it is as unexpected to us to see an Earl or a Marquis driving a stage coach, as one of England's greatest poets, become the editor of an Annual: and first for CORA LINN.

The time I saw thee, Cora, last,

'Twas with congenial friends; And calmer hours of pleasure past My memory seldom sends.

It was as sweet an autumn day

As ever shone on Clyde,
And Lanark's orchards all the way
Put forth their golden pride.
Ev'n hedges, busk'd in bravery,

Look'd rich that summer morn,
The scarlet hip and blackberry

So prank'd September's thorn.-
In Cora's glen the calm how deep!
Its trees on loftiest hill
Like statues stood, or things asleep
All motionless and still.
The torrent spoke as if his noise
Bade earth be quiet round,
And give his loud and lonely voice
A more commanding sound.
His foam, beneath the yellow light
Of noon, came down like one
Continuous sheet of jaspers bright,
Emblazon'd by the sun.

Dear Linn let loftier falling floods

Have prouder names than thine;
And, king of all, enthroned in woods,
Let Niagara shine :

Barbarian! let him shake his coasts
With reeking thunders far,
Extended as th' array of hosts
In broad embattled war.

His voice appals the wilderness;
Approaching thine, we feel
A solemn, deep melodiousness,
That needs no louder peal.
More fury would but discrepant
Thy dream-inspiring din:

Be thou the Scottish muse's haunt,
Romantic Cora Linn !

Our next shall be

Lines suggested by a Picture of the Statue of
Arnold Von Winkelricd.

Inspiring and romantic Switzer's land,
Tho' mark'd with majesty by nature's hand,"
What charm ennobles most thy landscapes
face?

Th' heroic memory of thy native race,
Who forced tyrannic hosts to bleed or flee,
And made their rocks the ramparts of the free;
Their fastnesses roll'd back th' invading tide
Of conquest; and their mountains taught them
pride:

Hence they have patriot names in fancy's eye,
Bright as their glaciers glittering in the sky:
Patriots, who make the pageantry of kings
Like shadows seem and unsubstantial things;
Their guiltless glory mocks oblivion's rust,
Imperishable for their cause is just.

Midst these see Winkelried's memorial stoneHelvetia's peasants claim him as their own: But say he won the star and name of knight, He fought-died-conquer'd for the peasant's

right:

Nor needs he scutcheon of heraldic art
Whose name is quarter'd in his country's

heart.

Heroes of old! to whom the Nine have strung
Their harps, and spirit-stirring anthems sung-
Heroes of chivalry! whose banners grace
The aisles of many a consecrated place-
Confess how few of you can match in fame
The martyr Winkelried's immortal name?
He, self-devoted, fell in Sempach's strife;
His country's welfare dearer than his life.
He gather'd to his breast the levell'd steel
Of Austria's spear-men, mail'd from head to
heel:

"Protect my orphans, countrymen," he cried; Grasp'd to his heart the fatal sheaf, and died.

Chivalric times, and long shall live around
Thy castle, the old oaks of British birth,
Whose gnarled roots, tenacious and profound,
As with a lion's talons grasp the ground.
But should thy towers in ivied ruin rot,
There's one-thy inmate once, whose strain
renown'd

Would interdict thy name to be forgot,
For Chaucer loved thy bowers, and trode this
very spot.

Chaucer-our Helicon's first fountain stream,
Our morning-star of song-that led the way
To herald the long-after coming beam
Of Spenser's light, and Shakspere's perfect day.
Old England's fathers live in Chaucer's lay,
As if they ne'er had died--he group'd and drew
Their likeness with a spirit of life so gay,
That still they live and breathe in Fancy's
view,

Fresh beings fraught with Truth's imperishable hue.

A Postscript to a Memoir of the Life and Works of William Wyon, Esq. A.R.A. Chief Engraver of the Royal Mint. (Privately printed.) 8vo. pp. 63. — This pamphlet discloses a literary controversy of so grave a complexion, and the discussion of which is already so prevalent, that it appears incumbent upon us to take some notice of it. The parties are Mr. Carlisle, one of the Secretaries of the Society of Antiquaries; and Mr. Hamilton, one of the Vice-Presidents of that learned body. The latter is the same gentleman who has advocated the sacrifice of English

to Grecian architecture in the New Houses of Parliament: and in the present discussion he assumes a somewhat similar position, as the encourager of foreign to the exclusion of native art.

Here, let us not be misunderstood; for, with the writer before us, we would give all the encouragement worthy of Englishmen, to the best works of Art, from whatever quarter they come; but still we think with him, that that encouragement should be left to individuals, and that, in national works, the public money should be expended in fostering native skill.

At

It appears that Mr. Carlisle, having undertaken to write a Memoir of Mr. Wyon, applied to Mr. Hamilton for information and assistance, but was not encouraged by the latter to pursue the task. However, Mr. Carlisle proceeded in his "labour of love," and produced the excellent Memoir which was fully noticed in our number for April last, p. 389. this essay Mr. Hamilton has taken dire offence, considering it as injurious to the professional reputation of his friend Mr. Pistrucci; and in the most unmeasured terms he has accused Mr. Carlisle of gross ignorance of facts; asserting,-" I do not believe that there is one sentence in your Memoir referring to the connection of the present Chief Engraver at the Mint, as affected by Mr. Pistrucci's situation and duties there, which is not a direct, or wilfully indirect, misstatement of the real facts ;" and in a second letter Mr. Hamilton proceeds to enumerate 30 instances in which he thinks Mr. Carlisle has betrayed his ignorance of the facts relative to the subject in question. The object, therefore, of Mr. Carlisle in the present pamphlet is, to answer Mr. Hamilton's round assertions, which he does very dispassionately and satisfactorily. In our former article, we noticed the leading circumstances in the life of Mr. Wyon; we shall now glean a few particulars relative to his rival, in connection with the Mint.

"In noticing the name of Mr. Pistrucci, I publicly avow that it was only incidental to my narrative. I have merely spoken of him in connection with the large sum he has received, and the little duty he has latterly performed in his official capacity. I have arraigned none of his works; I have said nothing of his private character; I have barely treated his professional conduct with that freedom to which every public man is, or ought to be, amenable."

Mr. Hamilton asserts that the little Mr. Wyon knows of modelling was gratuitously taught him by Mr. Pistrucci. Mr. Carlisle answers, that Pistrucci never gave Wyon any instruction; and that he obtained his appointment in the Mint in 1816, before he knew the name of Mr. Pistrucci; in the same year Pistrucci occasionally visited the Mint, but did not reside till Sept. 1817,-and one of his first works on steel was an alteration of the half-crown die of George III. originally engraved by T. Wyon,-this he made with the diamond and wheel, tools he had been accustomed to in cutting gems. The art of sinking dies in steel with the graver was gratuitously taught Mr. Pistrucci by Mr. Wyon and

his cousin, with which mode of engraving he was previously entirely unacquainted.

Mr. Hamilton asserts that Mr. Pistrucci brought out the whole of the New Coinage after the Peace in an incredibly short space of time; whereas it appears the first issue of the new coin was several months before Mr. Pistrucci entered the Mint. Mr. W. Wyon was appointed second engraver in 1816; and in Sept. 1817, Mr. Pistrucci succeeded as chief on the death of Mr. T. Wyon. "In those departments of art, where alone Mr. Pistrucci comes into competition with our native artists, they have no cause of jealousy or fear from his skill or industry. Mr. Wyon need not turn pale at his coins or medals,-Chantrey and Westmacott need not shrink from his sculpture in marble." In 1822, Mr. Pistrucci's services were discontinued, in consequence of his declining to copy a bust made by Mr. Chantrey for George IV. which the King had commanded should be copied on the coinage. But Mr. Pistrucci continued to enjoy 5007. a-year till 1828, when Mr. Tierney divided the united salaries of the chief and second engravers, between Mr. Wyon and Mr. Pistrucci, giving to each 3501. but conferring the title of Chief Engraver on Mr. Wyon. In 1827, Mr. Pistrucci was permitted to take the title of "Medallist to the King," an office created for him, with permission to carry on private works; and he has since enjoyed an extensive sale of cameos, intaglios, and precious gems, as well as sculptures in marble, in the Royal Mint. It appears that Mr. Pistrucci received 13251. for three jasper heads, and has received 17807. on account of the Waterloo Medal, which is not yet finished, if ever it will be.

With respect to our coinage,-to Mr. Pistrucci we are indebted for "The George and Dragon," a beautiful productionbut here ends our praise. The heads of George III. and IV. by Mr. Pistrucci have done nothing to elevate our coinage : and the half-crowns of Mr. Wyon in 1826, are much superior to those executed by Mr. Pistrucci in 1821; the fidelity of the portrait in the whole coinage of William IV. is highly creditable to Mr. Wyon.

The medals of Mr. Pistrucci are as follow :-the public may compare them, both in number and excellence, with those of Mr. Wyon:

GEORGE IV.-Rev. Trident.
DUKE OF YORK.-Rev. Inscription.
A very minute Medal.
- Rev. Inscrip-

LORD MARYBOROUGH.

tion.