est the reader to enjoy with us the delightful repose--the cool
and calm retreat--of the Engraving. Be he never so indifferent a lover
of Nature, he must admire its picturesque beauty; or be he never so
enthusiastic, he must regard with pleasure the ingenuity of the artist.
To an amateur, the pursuit of decorating grounds is one of the most
interesting and intellectual amusements of retirement. We have
worshipped from dewy morn till dusky eve in rustic temples and "cool
grots," and have sometimes aided in their construction. The roots,
limbs, and trunks of trees, and straw or reeds, are all the materials
required to build these hallowed and hallowing shrines. We call them
hallowing, because they are either built, or directed to be built, in
adoration of the beauties of Nature; who, in turn, mantles them with
endless varieties of lichens and mosses. In the Rookery adjoining John
Evelyn's "Wotton" were many such temples dedicated to sylvan deities:
one of them, to Pan, consists of a pediment supported by four rough
trunks of trees, the walls being of moss and laths, and enclosed with
tortuous limbs. Beneath the pediment is the following apposite line from
Virgil:

Pan curat oves oviumque magistros.
Pan, guardian of the sheep and shepherds too.

Yet the building is not merely ornamental, for the back serves as a
cow-house!

Pope's love of grotto-building has made it a poetical amusement. Who
does not remember his grotto at Twickenham--

The EGERIAN GROT,
Where, nobly pensive, ST. JOHN sat and thought;
Where British sighs from dying _Wyndham_ stole,
And the bright flame was shot through Marchmont's soul.
Let such, such only, tread this sacred floor,
Who dare to love their COUNTRY, and be poor.

--The Grotto, has, however, crumbled to the dilapidations of time, and
the pious thefts of visiters; but, proud are we to reflect that the
poetry of the great genius who dictated its erection--LIVES; and his
fame is untarnished by the canting reproach of the critics of our time.
True it is that the best, or ripest fruit, is always most pecked at.

* * * * *

FAIRY SONG.

(_For the Mirror._)

Slowly o'er the mountain's brow
Rosy light is dawning;
See! the stars are fading now
In the beam of morning.
Yonder soft approaching ray
Bids us, Fairies, haste away.

Fairy guardians, watching o'er
Flowers of tender blossom,
Chilling damps desc