about twelve feet long, and nine broad, which was the prison of the ancient religious sect termed Lollards.

'Where deep within,

Spoke prisoner's moan, and fetter's din,

Through rugged vaults, where, loosely stor'd,
Lay wheel, and axe, and headsman's sword."

The first thing which engages the attention, is the large iron rings fastened to the wainscot, which lines the walls. There are several of these rings still firmly fixed. A small chimney is on the north part, and upon the sides are various scratches, half sentences, names, and other memorials, cut out with a knife, which may, with a little difficulty be traced. The exterior of the Lollards' tower has a fine venerable appearance, and is the only part of the Palace remaining that is built entirely of stone. It consists of a large tower fronting the Thames, and a smaller square projection on the south side; the building is five stories high. The large tower has in front a number of fine windows, which give light to the several apartments it contains; the smaller one, is plainer and heavier in its appearance. Between the two windows of the third story of the principal tower, is the niche in which originally stood the statue of St. Thomas à Becket. The lower stories of these towers are now used as cellars. The whole is finely shaded by the venerable trees of Bishop's Walk, In the gallery is a rare collection of portraits of the prelates and primates, and among the rest, one of Pole, its founder. Here is a beautiful portrait of Warham, painted by Holbein, and presented by him to that prelate, together with the head of Erasmus. Also a likeness of archbishop Parker, said to be by Holbein, and presented to archbishop Potter, by Benjamin West, Esq. the late president of the royal society; besides innumerable others equally choice and valuable. The library contains a multitude of scarce books.

The hall of the Palace was no doubt an appendage to it from its first foundation, but when, or by whom origi nally built, it is not known.

The presence chamber is an ancient room, thirty feet by twenty. The precise time of the erection of this part of the palace is likewise not to be ascertained.

THE ELOQUENCE OF MUSIC.

'Music resembles Poetry; in each

Are nameless graces which no methods teach,
And which a master-hand alone can reach.'

THE eloquence of music is seldom more forcible than in WEBER'S overture to Der Freischutz; it is in itself a tale of romance and horror; supernatural creatures are leaping from every chord; tones combat tones, and the sense becomes conscious of a complete history in sound : we may even give a character and motive to every instrument. Thus, the bass startles us into a recognition of Zamiel in all his wildness and devilish attributes; Caspar has the deep and sullen purpose of the basoon; the fitful starts of Rodolph are in the clarionet, and the gentle Linda breathes her timid love in the plaintive notes of the flute; the whole purpose of the opera is told before the curtain rises. A composer should ever make this his principal object; to raise, and at the same time to gratify anticipation-but this is rarely achieved; the "sound" is not "an echo to the sense: a mystical succession of never-ending cadences is made the chief care, and when music should interpret the emotions of the heart, when it should be the only means of expressing the sweetest affections of our nature, it is made subservient to a useless flourish of science, without carrying the simple expression of the mind or breast. It may be said, that of all compositions, the music to Der Freischutz has the least of this -to which may be replied, that WEBER gives the music of dæmons, and of men under dæmoniac agency, and thus considered, does not the overture to Der Freischutz fearfully accord, as far as sound and personation can be associated, with our imaginings of spectral potency, and whether did it really and avowedly exist, would it not yield such music? Doctor Johnson, speaking of the contempt with which some people affect to treat the reality

of a supernatural world, says, "it is useless to deny with the tongue, that which man gives credence to with the heart." On this argument it would be vain to deny the superior power of the overture in question, as yielding to our sense those perfect sounds, of which a few fitful vibrations have trembled though our brain, as associated with the thought of supernatural beings. WEBER conveys us into the kingdom of spirits, all function is spellbound, and we witness the mirth, madness, and despair of wicked spirits and of wicked men; our imagination is, for a time, frightfully appalled, and it is not until the orgies have for some time ceased, that we are re-instated in our every day existence; and this is the Composer's triumph; the curtain draws up, and we instantly recognize those with whom the overture has so magically united us; we know their feelings and their motives; nothing is new; all has been auticipated. This may truly be called "the eloquence of music." A few words may here be said of our modern English composers. All opinion of native talent should not be sacrificed at the shrine of foreign genius; there is probably too much of this injustice; but it is the misapplication of this talent which should be deprecated. What WEBER has so greatly triumphed in, is the cause of many of his cotemporaries' disgrace. WEBER composes for a romance, his music is of the land of fiends, and we have owls, spectres, skeleton_hunts, &c.; but other composers are fain to indulge in the same monstrosity of sound, when their is no supsequent endeavour to warrant it. Hence, we hear drums roll, trumpets sound, and the combined clashings of a whole orchestra; by this we are taught to expect mighty deeds; the piece commences, which probably contains the important loves of a metropolitan tradesman, and the ward of a stock-broker; a storm of music but precedes the pert dicta of girlish disobedience, and an elopement to Gretna Green is heralded by an effort, which by its clamorous attempt at loftiness, is fitter for a jubilee at the "pit of Acheron," or the triumphal entry of a Cæsar. In these things, we want simplicity without monotony, or if elevation, divested of much tumult. WEBER gains his fame by the gratification he gives to the mind, when vividly elevated by supernatural imagining; he has, in a great degree, produced a new sphere of en. joyment for the imagination; the starting tones of fancy find a pealing echo in his strains, and the heart and miud own the eloquence of music.

TO ANACREON MOORE.

BY LORD BYRON.

MY boat is on the shore,

And my bark is in the sea; But e're I go Tom Moore

Here's a double health to thee.

Here's a health to those I love,
And a smile to those I hate;
And, whatever sky's above,
Here's a heart for any fate!
Tho' the ocean roar around me,
It still shall bear me on:-
Tho' a desert should surround me,
It bath springs that may be won!
Were it the last drop in the well,
As I gasped on the brink,
E're my fainting spirits fell

'Tis to thee that I would drink.

In that water, as this wine,
The libation I would pour-
Should be-peace to thee and thine,
And a health to thee Tom Moore.

WOMAN.

HONOUR let the soldier chuse,
Let the drunkard call for wine,
Devotion suits the dull recluse,
But be lovely woman mine.
What's the friendship of the world?
What the gold or diamond's shine?
Let misfortune's darts be hurl'd,
If but lovely woman's mine.

What to me is Adam's fall,

Or his loss of state divine?
I could freely give up all,

Was but lovely women mine.
Let the wreck of nature come,
Let its fatal fires shine;
I could smiling meet its doom,
Were but lovely woman mine.

L. M.

BY MISS BAILLIE.

UP! quit thy bower, late wears the hour;
Long have the rocks caw'd round thy tower;
On flower and tree, loud hums the bee:
The wilding kid sports merrily:
A day so bright, so fresh, so clear,
Shineth when good fortune's near.

Up! Lady fair, and braid thy hair,
And rouse thee in the breezy air;

The lulling stream, that sooth'd thy dream,
Is dancing in the sunny beam;

And hours so sweet, so bright, so gay,
Will waft good fortune on its way.

SONG.

WOULD you know what's soft?
Not bring you to the down or air;
Nor to stars to show what's bright;
Nor to snow to teach you white.

I dare

Nor if you would music hear,
Call the orbs to take your ear;
Nor to please your sense bring forth
Bruised nard, or what's more worth.
Or on food were your thoughts placed,
Bring you nector for a taste;
Would you have all these in one,
Name my mistress, and 'tis done.

THERE is a kind of people in the world, which may, think, be justly called the lucky.' I do not mean those born to superior fortunes, or endowed with elevated