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we jumped from the coach, I saw her there ready for a start, and knowing that we didn't want her, I hastened down the path, quite upon the run at length; but she came in ahead at the critical point, when the falls burst in sight, and then stopping short, her costume, headgear, &c., scarcely obeying the command of the will to halt, she lifted up her hands, and outroared the cataract with exclamations, “Beautifull beautiful!” Guides are usually privileged persons, holding their situation from the proprietor of the grounds or the curiosities they exhibit. At the Matlock Cave, however, I found there was a double tax, I purchased a ticket down below for a sight of the cave, and that, I supposed, was the end of it. But when we came out, my guide, a very pretty young woman, who with a very naïve manner and accent had pointed out all the curious crystals and spars, fluor, dog teeth, lead, zinc, &c., said, with an equally naïve manner, “Please to remember the guide, sir?” By-the-by, one of the peculiarities here is, that women do a thousand things that men do with us. They not only tend shop, but butchers' stalls, barrooms, and offices of the stage coach in the capacity of agents; they are often guides to waterfalls and other spots which are visited : and nearly half

LICHFIELD. 111

of the people that I see in the streets of the villages and towns, are women.

• Wellesley Castle near Matlock is a fine building in simple but very good taste, consisting of a main building, and wings set off a little from it, and small towers at each corner of both the main building and the wings. It is situated on a bold bank, east of the Derwent. Behind it, is a fine hill of cliffs and woods, laid out with beautiful walks; before, the Derwent, and over the river, in front, a noble range of cliffs; beyond these, a swell of rich and cultivated country, seen above them ; and on the south, one of the finest prospects of valley and hill ever spread out to the eye.

LICHFIELD, AUGUST 8. It is curious that the moment you leave Derbyshire you leave the picturesque country, the country of hills and valleys, for a level tract, far more rich, though far less beautiful—a tract whose whole broad surface seems to be loaded with the wealth of agriculture. This is Staffordshire. What legacies do men leave after them, that

they little think of There are certain spots, about which, in my wanderings through a strange land, I have felt as if they were a kind of home. Such is Lichfield, because Johnson was born here. So

I felt about the lakes, from the residence of living,
familiar authors.
The cathedral here is not so large as the York
Minster; it is not so sublime : but the interior is,
if possible, more beautiful. It has not indeed so
much exquisite carving, and the stained glass is
mostly modern, though very rich: but there is a
keeping about the whole interior, a unity of design
and similarity of finish, that are very grateful to
the eye. The west front is very rich in sculpture,
and the three spires, very delicate and beautiful.
I visited the house, and saw the room in which
Johnson was born; and went to the schoolhouse,
where Johnson, Addison, and Garrick were taught
the rudiments: and where, if what Johnson says
be as universally true as he makes it, “Latin was
whipped” into Joseph, and Samuel, and David.
BIRMINGHAM, AUGUST 9. Visited the pin manu-
factory, the button, the japanning—so have others,
who can tell you about them better than I can.
The royal Clarence vase, made by the Lockharts
here, was on exhibition: the mammoth of all bau-
bles; a most splendid thing. Weight, eight tons;
fourteen feet high; twelve feet, the diameter of the
basin; capacity, nine hundred gallons; cost, ten
thousand pounds; when taken apart to be removed,
consisting of six thousand eight hundred pieces;

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MUSIC AND CONCERTS. 113

made of cut glass laid upon gold, inlaid with en-
amel; and appears like burnished gold, enriched
with jewels. It was expected that the late king
would purchase it, but he died before it was fin-
ished. You will ask, for what use? I answer, for
none, but that to which my eyes put it, for six-
pences
They are erecting in Birmingham a very large
building for a town house, which promises to be
one of the finest modern structures in the kingdom.
One of the uses to which it is to be put, is that of
furnishing accommodation for musical festivals.
For this purpose an immense hall is reserved.
We have no such places in America for music;
and it seems to me that our concerts are arranged
and carried on, in some disregard of that circum-
stance. We have too much noise. Our orches-
tras are too powerful for our buildings. I will not
say that they are too numerous; but it appears to
me that the object of numbers in this case is over-
looked. It is not to make a great noise—unless it
be in occasional chorusses, of a particular charac-
ter. It is, I conceive, that every performer may
give softness to his instrument or his voice, by
diminishing its strength. In buildings of an or-
dinary size, such as our churches, strength is the

quality least required. One voice—that of the preacher—fills the church, and that too while labouring under the impediments which distinct articulation and vocal utterance must throw in the way of loudness. Surely, then, one voice, in song, may fill a church. I do not deny that thirty sing: ers may make better music than three; but, as matters stand in our country, I had rather take my chance with three. Responsibility is weakened by diffusion, and three persons pledged to this duty would give me a better guarantee for good music than thirty. At any rate they could not put in danger the very organs of hearing. I know of few situations more painful or absurd, than to be seated at a concert, within ten feet of an orchestra of a hundred singers, and as many instruments, and to be obliged to stand the onset of one of their

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chorusses. I cannot describe it; but I wish that

Jack Downing would attend one of these concerts, and give an account of it. It is only to strip the occasion of the technical and conventional language in which it is usually described—wherein lies much of the humour of the Downing family, by-the-by-and it must appear to be one of the most ridiculous things in the world. What if one man had the strength of a hundred voices in him? Should we like to go to some one of our concert halls, and sit within ten feet of him, and listen to

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