"Though many a gifted mind we meet,
Though fairest forms we see,

To dwell with them is far less sweet

Than to remember thee."

No neglect can destroy the natural beauty of the Leasowes, but the glory of the place, as planned and reared up by Shenstone, has long since departed. The walks are overgrown with weeds, the cascades have ceased to flow, and all the urns and vases, on which he squandered much classical taste and good money (which he could ill spare), have been thrown down, mutilated, or carried off. The scene is an instructive lesson-a homily on the vanity of worldly hopes and ambition.

In Birmingham we went to see the celebrated pictures of Adam and Eve, by the French artist, Dubufe, which have been exhibited in most of the large towns. They are certainly exquisite works of art. Nothing can surpass the delicacy and perfection exhibited in the representation of Eve, as she presents the apple to Adam

"The fruit

Of that forbidden tree, whose mortal taste
Brought death into the world, and all our woe."

The figure of Adam, however, seems deficient in dignity. He is too young and sentimental-with dark hair, and an Italian cast of countenance. All our ideas of Adam are derived from the description of Milton, who invests him with "fair large front and eye sublime," and also with "hyacinthine locks," that hung clustering, parted in front, to his shoulders. The French artist has been no student of Milton: he has given a totally different expression to the features, and has fallen below the conception of the poet.

Our next journey was to Coventry-also by the railway -where there is little to detain the stranger, except a few remains of antiquity, and two very high church spires, that are seen over all the country to a great extent. Five miles southwards bring him to Kenilworth, chiefly remarkable for its ancient castle, the seat of Dudley, Earl of Leicester, Queen Elizabeth's favourite, and now associated with the genius of Sir Walter Scott. A more splendid ruin can hardly be conceived. It covers a large extent of ground, standing on an elevated situation, below which is a range of fair green meadows, once a lake, that spread around the princely mansion. The towers still remain, covered with ivy; the banqueting hall, eighty-six feet long and forty-four wide, with its finely ornamented windows, is also seen; and part of the buildings-a mere fragment-has been converted into a comfortable, and even magnificent dwelling-house for a farmer. The memorable visit of Queen Elizabeth to Kenilworth is the most remarkable event in its history, and has been immortalised by the genius of Scott. Dudley's entertainment of his royal mistress is said to have cost him a thousand pounds a-day (fully five or six thousand of our money), and it lasted seventeen days, during all which time the great clock on the tower was stopped, and the hand kept constantly pointing to two o'clock, the hour of banquet! Truly, as old Chaucer has said, it must have snowed of meat and drink during the period of the revelry. Then there were, for the especial gratification of the queen, the amusements of bearbaiting, morice-dancing, boxing, and tumbling; and a regatta on the lake lent its more polished and pleasing attractions. A circuit of twenty miles comprised the park, diversified with woods and lawns, and a "goodly chase;" and under its old trees the courtly groups might be discerned, lingering, in their antique dresses and costly attire. Now the plough may be seen where once was the lake and the

deer-park. Dudley and all his magnificence has departed, leaving only the name of a proud, unprincipled, and unhappy courtier: Cromwell's soldiers destroyed the castle which he spent such enormous sums to adorn and improve; and the gilded carvings and marble ornaments of his hall and presence-chambers serve for the accommodation of a farmer, who, tending his fields, and drinking his home-brewed ale, is a happier man than the lordly earl, or even the haughty queen whom he was so proud to entertain.

Leamington, Warwick, and Stratford-on-Avon all lie within a few miles of each other, and may be easily visited and explored in one day. The first is a very gay and handsome town-a sort of miniature new town of Edinburghand is still half-supported by Dr Jephson, the quack doctor. Crowds of dyspeptic patients fill the fine houses, and saunter about under the noble elm trees, or drink the waters. The country on all sides, though flat, is richly wooded and cultivated, and the climate seems deliciously mild and genial. Warwick is an old town, irregularly built, with ancient churches and gateways. Its castle, the seat of the Earl of Warwick, is the chief attraction of the place. George the Fourth is reported to have said that it was the only castle in England he envied for a royal residence; and the saying proves his good taste. The approach to this splendid baronial pile is partly cut out of the solid rock, the sides of which are covered with shrubs and evergreens; and the castle bursts suddenly on the view, with two huge towers, one as ancient as the Norman conquest, and the other erected in the reign of Richard the Second. The rough old grandeur of the castle is fitly accompanied by some trees of equally venerable aspect, among which are two noble firs, that seem to transport the Scottish tourist to the "banks and braes" of the north. In the grounds are a collection of cedar trees of gigantic dimensions, the largest in England, and some fine chesnuts.

S S

The river winds through the park and pleasure grounds, and adds greatly to the effect. The interior of Warwick Castle is not unworthy of its external appearance and situation. The hall is an immense room, with oak roof and marble floor, and its walls are decorated with ancient armour, spears, gloves, and other insignia of former ages. When the doors are thrown open there is a vista of three hundred feet from one end of the castle to the other, terminated at each extremity by windows of painted glass. Another passage is closed by a large picture of Charles I., on horseback, by Vandyke; and, as you approach it, the horse and rider seem instinct with life and motion. Among the fine collection of paintings in the castle is a portrait of Ignatius Loyola, founder of the Jesuits, by Rubens-a magnificent picture. There are also originals of Henry VIII. and Anne Boleyn, by Holbein ; various portraits by Vandyke, Titian, and Lely; and landscapes by Salvator Rosa. The castle is richest in historical portraits; and to traverse its rooms seems like walking in a gallery with those distinguished personages— the glory or wonder of the past—who have amused our daydreams with images of feudal power, female loveliness, and chivalrous devotion. One of the apartments is wainscotted with cedar wood, which emits a pleasing fragrance; and all the windows look out on the smooth shaven lawn, towering trees, and sparkling waters, that form a picture not less beautiful than any which the genius of ancient or modern art has embodied on canvass. Visitors are directed to the Green-house-a plain new building, with a Gothic front, in which is placed the celebrated antique vase-a noble remnant of antiquity-found at the bottom of a lake, near Adrian's Villa, by Tivoli, about fourteen miles from Rome. The vase is of a white marble, somewhat injured by time, as the smooth and polished surface of the marble has been worn off. But nothing can be more exquisite than the sculp

tures on this gigantic punch-bowl. The handles are formed in the shape of vine-branches; and satyrs, with ivy-bound hair, smile round its ample proportions. The thyrsus, the spear of Bacchus, the head of a panther, and other classical devices, are also carved on the vase. There is "ample room and verge enough" for ornament, for the vase is calculated to hold one hundred and sixty-three gallons! Burns has made much of the small black punch-bowl of Inverary marble, in which he, William Nicol, and Allan Masterton -the "three blithe lads" of his famous bacchanalian song -celebrated the "lee-lang night" in which they met at Nicol's house-heating in Laggan; but if this antique vase had been erected in all its "pride of place" before them, with what enthusiasm would the poet and his mirthful compeers have surveyed the noble bowl! It might regale the whole poets of Great Britain; and if the Earl of Warwick were to summon the tuneful band to his ancient castle, we have no doubt that Moore would grace the classic symposium with another of his matchless melodies.

When Napoleon dreamed of conquering England, he intended sending to the Louvre some of the choicest works of art in Britain, and the Warwick vase is one of the objects that he enumerated among his anticipated spoils. Here, however, it still remains, while Napoleon himself has

"Gone, glittering through the dream of things that were."

It is a curious fact that the old armour found in these baronial castles is generally too small for the existing generation of men. This was first discovered at the Eglinton tournament, when so many rusty suits were furbished up, nearly all of which had to be enlarged. The mail-clad warriors of former times would thus seem to have been worse fed than their luxuriant descendants, or worked down to mere bone and muscle.