then that the season for visiting the splendid and classic BATH becomes the universal place of resort, and the beau monde all upon the alert to reach its fashionable destination. Whether the foot-step of the gay "set out" of the barouche offers its ascent to the eager traveller,

"With spirits gay we mount the box, the tits up to the traces," or, the more accommodating ladder to mount the roof of the Regent,* to the coachy's "all right-ya-hip!" and the sounding of the bugle by the guard to quit the bustle of the White Horse Cellar, the journey to most minds commences with pleasure and delight: and, although he may not possess the talents of a STERNE to realize another "Sentimental Journey," he will, nevertheless, find the road far from "barren;" but, on the contrary, furnish him with abundant interesting objects for his attention and observation, more especially, if the passengers are truly English, (i. e. of that sort of quality which is so humourously depicted by MATHEWS in his "Mail Coach Adventures,") the traveller may possess the advantages of thinking; indeed, for instance, some hours often elapse before a single word can be thawed from your close-squeezed cold neighbour; and if you can provoke any conversation beyond the laconic "yes," or "no!" you are likely to be silenced after the mode of the following surly remark, to prevent any future attacks:-" Sir, I am remarkably well; I was very well when I left town, I am very well now, and if I should happen to be taken ill, sir, I'll let you know." Yet, perhaps, it is much more pleasant to endure even this reserve, than to be annoyed with the purse-proud importance of one of "Fortune's fools," who can talk of nothing else but the collection of his rents, and flatters himself he has a right to be listened to because he is a man of pro

*The name of a coach.

B 2

perty; or, in being bored to death by some uninformed cockney, who never lost sight of Bow-Church before, and whose intellectual sagacity scarcely points out to him the difference between grass and corn, and the sum total of his repeated inquiries amount to, "What house is that there," and "what is growing in this here field." But the journey is began; the coach is in full speed; and the "good bye" scarcely over, when the traveller is off the stones,-gone through KNIGHTSBRIDGE, and, before he has hardly time for a single reflection, arrived at KENSINGTON-GORE, (one mile.)

On the right stands the Palace, but now more famed for its delightful gardens and attractive walks for visitors on Sundays. Just through Kensington, also on the right, appears the antique mansion of the late Lord Holland, and father of that enlightened and illustrious senator, Charles James Fox. This venerable seat also lays claim to attention from the impressive death of that great, good man, and classic scholar, ADDISON, who departed this life in it. It was here where the above truly pious individual requested a young nobleman to behold "with what resignation a Christian could die."

The chamber where the good man meets his fate,

Is privileg'd beyond the common walk

Of virtuous life, quite in the verge of heav'n.

A lecture, silent, but of sov'reign pow'r!

To vice, confusion; and to virtue, peace.

HAMMERSMITH soon appears in sight, (3 m. 5 f.) and on the right of which stands the pleasant seat of R. Ricardo, Esq. On the left is seen, contiguous to the banks of the Thames, the beautiful mansion of the MARGRAVINE of ANSPACH, known by the name of Brandenburgh-House. The approach to it from the water is picturesque in the extreme; and art has been consulted and employed to render its appearance highly interesting to the spectator: the gardens are

laid out with great taste. The Margravine is a lady not only conspicuous for her eminent literary talents, her splendid private theatricals, performed in the theatre at Brandenburgh-House, in which her serene highness frequently delighted her auditory in the two characters of heroine and author; but was of great notoriety in the fashionable world. From her superior knowledge and facility in the French and Italian languages, her great taste for the arts of poetry and music, and considerable personal attraction, the Margravine was viewed as one of the most admired women of her time. Her highness has published several works in poetry, the drama, travels, and novels; and, as a traveller, since the days of Lady Mary Wortley Montague, no female ever made so enterprising, extensive, and masculine a tour as the Margravine. In short, few, if any, places of note upon the Continent were suffered to escape her notice or her pen, and frequently at the hazard of her existence. The following poem was written by this person of rank, when Lady Craven, on dreaming she saw her heart at her feet:

"When Nature, tir'd with thought, was sunk to rest,
And all my senses were by sleep possest;
Sweet sleep, that soft and balmy comfort brings,
Alike to beggars and despotic kings;"

I dreamt of peace I never felt before,

I dreamt my heart was lying on the floor.

I view'd it, strange to tell, with joyful eyes,

And stranger still, without the least surprisé !
Elated with the sight I smiling sat,

Exulting o'er the victim at my feet;

But soon with words of anguish thus address'd,
This painful, sweet disturber of my breast:-

Say, busy, lively, hoping, trembling thing,
What new disaster hast thou now to bring,
To torture with thy fears my tender frame,
Who must for all her ills thee only blame?

Speak now, and tell me why, ungrateful guest,
For ten years past hast thou denied me rest?
Then in my bosom thou wast nurs'd, 'tis true,
And with my life and with my stature grew.
At first so small were all thy wants, that I
Vainly imagin'd I could ne'er deny
Whate'er thy fancy ask'd. Alas! but now,
I find thy wants my ev'ry sense outgrow;
And ever having, ever wanting more,
A power to please, to give, or to adore.
Say, why, like other hearts, thou dost not bear,
With callous apathy, each worldly care?
Why dost thou shrink at Envy's horrid cries?
In thee Compassion Hatred's place supplies.
Why not with malice treat malicious men?
Why ever pity where thou should'st condemn?
Why, at the hearing of a dismal tale,
Dost thou with sorrow turn thy beauty pale?
Why, when distress in any shape appears,
Dost thou dissolve my very soul in tears?
Why, in thy secret folds is Friendship bred?
In other hearts its very name is dead.
Why, if keen Wit and learned Sense draw nigh,
Dost thou with emulation beat so high?

And while approving, wish to be approv'd,
And when you love, wish more to be belov❜d?

Why not, in cold indifference ever clad,

Alike unmov'd, regard the good and bad?
Why dost thou waste my youthful bloom with care,
And sacrifice myself, that I might share

Distress in others? Why wilt thou adorn
Their days with roses, and leave me a thorn?'

But here I saw it heave a heavy sigh,
And thus in sweetest sounds it did reply:
Ah! cease, Eliza, cease thy speech unjust;
Thy heart has e'er fulfill'd its sacred trust,
And ever will its tender mansion serve,
Nor can it from thee this reproach deserve:
Against my dictates murm'ring have I found,
Which thus has laid me bleeding on the ground.""

In the neighbourhood of Hammersmith stands also the estate of W. Hunter, Esq.

TURNHAM-GREEN, (5 m. 1 f.) Contiguous to this little place the following seats are to be met with :G. E. Griffith, Esq. Mrs. Stephens, Ware, Esq. Neale, Esq. and Mrs. Wildman. To the left, Sidebottom, Esq. and at Little

Sutton-Court,
Sutton, Mrs. Pratt, also Grove-House, Rev. Mr.
Lowth; Fairlawn-House, on the right, Thomson,
Esq. But, the most prominent mansion stands on
the left of Sutton, Chiswick-House, the residence of
the late and present DUKE OF DEVONSHIRE. The
slightest glance of this house cannot but awaken the
feelings of the passenger with some pleasing recollec-
tions concerning two of its dearest inmates, long
since consigned to that "bourne from whence no
traveller returns." And Chiswick-House will long be
remembered, not only for its political meetings under
the staunch Whig principles and influence of the
Duke, his strong and steady attachment to the Con-
stitution, and his amiability of character through life;
but equally renowned as the Temple of the Muses,
the abode of Wit, and the circle of elegant and polite
literature, under the patronage and taste of the
Duchess; whom NATURE and ART had united in
rendering one of the most beautiful, accomplished,
and superior females of her day. It is thus a cele-
brated bard invoked " Old Time," to ward off his dire
effects upon her lovely person :-

Know, should'st thou bid the beauteous Duchess fade,
Thou, therefore, must thy own delights invade;

And know, 'twill be a long, long while,

Before thou giv'st her equal to our isle-
Then do not with this sweet chef-d'œuvre part,
But keep, to shew the triumph of thy art.

The traveller is, at length, awakened from this reverie, by the long, stony, jolting town of

BRENTFORD, (7 m. 1 f.) consisting of upwards of