the company and the converse of a contemplative rambler.

With

If you are a stranger to the neighbourhood. about Leamington, I hope you will not always remain so. Go to the place in the season of summer, for it will abundantly repay you. Wander through the by-paths and bridle roads, the upland slopes, the woods, and cool meadows; but go not alone! Secure, if you can, the advantage of a kind and Christian - hearted friend, fond of rural and retired scenery. him visit the shadowy nooks, rest on the stiles, and shelter beneath the umbrageous branches of the wide-spreading oak; and, when you come to the murmuring brook, pause awhile on the stepping stones, and muse on the rippling waters as they win their way over the pebbly shallows. Let it be an unbending hour of tranquil recreation; mark the glittering bubbles, that, like earthly expectations, shine so brightly one moment, and burst the next. Tear up a little paper, casting the fragments on the stream; that you may muse on man as a mariner, sailing down the current of time, and moralize especially on your own little bark, beset with many dangers. It may be that the young dragon-flies, with their net-work wings and long slender bodies, may flit rapidly over the surface of the

E

stream, settling, now and then, on the tops of the rushes; or the humble-bee may pursue his busy course, humming aloud while on the wing; but suspending his monotonous song, if song it may be called, the moment he alights upon a flower; or the butterfly may flutter up and down in the air with a companion, banqueting on pleasure in the sunny beams.

It is pleasant to describe objects while they are visible to us; but being now at a distance from the places which have called forth my present remarks, I must trust to a memory tolerably tenacious with regard to pleasant impressions, to assist me in the sketches of my pen.

Much of the Warwickshire scenery is of that cool, verdant, quiet, and secluded kind, which presents itself to the mind of the biblical reader, when he ponders on the twenty-third psalm: "The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want. He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: he leadeth me beside the still waters," ver. 1, 2.

It is of a cast calculated to minister to the mind's tranquillity, as well as to that of the body. There are no cloud-capped altitudes and fearful precipices to awe the spirit; no rushing floods and thundering cataracts to excite astonishment and terror. The character of the place is that of repose.

Every Leamington visitor, as a matter of course, frequents the libraries, the pump-room, and the different springs; drinks the waters, takes the baths, rambles in the pleasure grounds, listens to the band, and gazes on the company. But it is not of these things that I purpose to speak.

Nor have I time to describe that princely pile, Warwick Castle, though the pleasant remembrance of it tempts me to step aside for a moment, to gaze again on its goodly towers, and its picturesque approaches, cut through the solid rock, and fancifully adorned with ivy, lichens, and hanging plants.

The capacious hall is at this moment before me, with the enormous antlers and ancient armour that decorate its walls. The pictures, by Holbein, Rubens, and Vandyke, Poussin, Guido, Teniers, Murillo, and Salvator Rosa, are not forgotten; nor the oak floors, bright and slippery; nor the cedar chamber; nor the high-testered, damask-curtained bed of queen Anne.

In imagination, I am gazing from one of the projecting windows, on the broad sweeping branches of the towering cedars, the ruins of the old bridge, the sparkling water-wheel, and the clear ripple of the running waters. I have

walked with my friends across the extended lawn, and through the gardens; admired the giant geraniums in the green-house; and stand, even now, beneath the ancient bacchanalian vase, in discussion with a talented Italian, while the impatient gardener clanks his keys, to remind us it is time to depart.

But we will bid adieu to the castle, its stupendous towers and embattled walls, and leave the porter in the lodge to astonish the gaping group around him with an exhibition of the armour, prong, tooth-pick, and porridge-pot of the renowned Guy.

Scenes of a striking character that we have gazed on alone, frequently impress us deeply; but when associated with kind friends, and affectionate remembrances, they are graven in our hearts for ever.

Having spoken of a castle still in its glory, let me glance at one in its desolation. If Warwick Castle has its attractions, so has the venerable pile of Kenilworth, though they are somewhat of a mournful kind.

"If thou would'st see fair Melrose aright,
Go visit it by the pale moonlight."

And so may it be said of Kenilworth. I have visited the place in company, and mused there

alone, both at the midday and midnight hour; when the sun has lit up the extended ruin, and when the moon-beam has silvered its grey turrets and roofless halls.

Where are the wonted inmates of these walls?
The brawny arm of strength, the manly heart
That breasted danger, and the eye that flash'd
Indignant fire, with all the fairy forms

That oft have flitted through the festive dance;
The tongue that told, the ear that drank, the strain
Of love's inebriating melody?

Long have they moulder'd in the dust of death!

Illustrious ruin hoary Kenilworth !

I view thy noble relics with a sigh:

Thy grandeur and thy greatness are departed;
Thy tenants have forsaken thee, and hid
Their faces in the dust; and thou art left
A mouldering monument whereon I read,
Not only their mortality, but mine.

I must leave it for another to talk learnedly about the date of the castle, of Geoffrey de Clinton, and the monastery of black canons. The princely pleasures of Kenilworth, and the protracted revel given to Elizabeth, must be passed by; but go when you have the opportunity, and gaze on this hoary monument of former greatness, for it is calculated to call forth salutary reflection.

The area of the castle grounds is a fit place