ters
by whom it has been adorned--how must the first glance that he catches of
thy hallowed height make his heart throb with endearing thoughts of the
friends he left under thy shade, and absorb for the moment all feelings of
ambition in the recollection of the boyish days passed within thy ken--but
now, alas, departed for ever! May the fires of heaven, and the tremblings
of earth, never injure thy venerable beauty; but may thousands, and tens
of thousands, in time to come, as in time past, gaze upon thee--as I, an
obscure, nameless stranger, have done--with thoughts too deep for words!

During the evening I have alluded to we were accompanied by the
accomplished Miss ----, whose talents must be well known to many of our own
artists who have visited Antwerp; and this being her native place, her
conversation gave us those kindly associations of home, without which no
scenes, however beautiful or however uncommon, can penetrate the inmost
recesses of the soul.

W.G.

Our Correspondent, in a few introductory lines, modestly, though
somewhat unnecessarily, apologizes for the enthusiasm of the reflective
portion of the previous sketch. He will perceive that we have ventured upon
a few slight alterations. He concludes his note to us with an assurance
that "the feelings were sincere, however trifling the thoughts, or
inadequate the expression." Of his sincerity we have no doubt; and where
the feelings of a writer are so honourable to his heart as are many in this
paper, we are not fastidious enough to quarrel with inadvertencies of the
head. All have felt the overpowering effect produced by the contemplation
of the sublimities of art, but comparatively few are aware of the
difficulty of embodying these first impressions in descriptive detail.--ED.

* * * * *

THE GATHERER.

A snapper up of unconsidered trifles.
SHAKSPEARE.

* * * * *

Vivian Grey pronounces school ushers execrable wretches, because they wear
pepper and salt pantaloons; Lady Morgan improves upon him, declaring the
man who wears a white waistcoat in the morning, or the woman who curtsies
at a drawing-room door, out of the pale of society. It is surprising that
people will write such rubbish as this--more surprising that others will
print it-- most surprising that folks buy it--and as Cobbett would say,
what surprises us "most of all," is that people read it.

Q.

*