"Another extraordinary old man we have had here, but of a very different turn; the noted Mr. Whiston, showing eclipses, and explaining other phaenomena of the stars, and preaching the millennium, and anabaptism (for he is now, it seems, of that persuasion) to gay people, who, if they have white teeth, hear him with open mouths, though perhaps shut hearts; and after his lecture is over, not a bit the wiser, run from him, the more eagerly to C–r and W–sh, and to flutter among the loud-laughing young fellows upon the walks, like boys and girls at a breaking-up."

"Your affectionate and paternal friend and servant, S. RICHARDSON."

Richardson has mentioned only a few of the characters introduced in the Engraving. Johnson was at that time but in his fortieth year, and much less portly than afterwards. Cibber is the very picture of an old beau, with laced hat and flowing wig; half-a-dozen of his pleasantries were worth all that is heard from all the playwrights and actors of our day—on or off the stage: Garrick too, probably did not keep all his fine conceits within the theatre. Nos. 7, 8, and 9, in the Engraving, are a pretty group: Miss Chudleigh (afterwards Duchess of Kingston,) between Beau Nash and Mr. Pitt (Earl of Chatham,) both of whom are striving for a side-long glance at the sweet tempered, and as Richardson calls her, "generally-admired" lady. No. 17, Richardson himself is moping along like an invalid beneath the trees, and avoiding the triflers. Mrs. Johnson is widely separated from the Doctor, but is as well dressed as he could wish her; and No. 21, Mr. Whiston is as unexpected among this gay crowd as snow in harvest. What a coterie of wits must Tunbridge have possessed at this time: what assemblies and whistparties among scores of spinsters, and ogling, dangling old bachelors; with high-heeled shoes, silken hose, court hoops, embroidery, and point ruffles—only compare the Tunbridge parade of 1748 with that of 1829.

We have room but for a brief sketch of Tunbridge Wells. The Springs, or the place itself, is a short distance from the town of Tunbridge. The discovery of the waters was in the reign of James I. Henrietta Maria, Queen of Charles I. staid here six weeks after the birth of the prince, afterwards Charles II.; but, as no house was near, suitable for so great a personage, she and her suite remained under tents pitched in the neighbourhood. The Wells, hitherto called Frant, were changed to Queen's Mary's Wells: both have given place to Tunbridge Wells; though the springs rise in the parish of Speldhurst.

Waller, in his Lines to Saccharissa,1 celebrates the Tunbridge Waters; and Dr. Rowzee2 wrote a treatise on their virtues. During the civil wars, the Wells were neglected, but on the Restoration they became more fashionable than ever.3 Hence may be dated assembly rooms, coffee houses, bowling greens, &c.; about which time, to suit the caprice of their owners, many of the houses were wheeled upon sledges: a chapel4 and a school were likewise erected. The accommodations have been progressively augmented; and the population has greatly increased. The trade of the place consists chiefly in the manufacture of the articles known as Tunbridge-ware. The Wells have always been patronized by the royal family; and are still visited by some of their branches.

Our Engraving represents the Upper, or principal walk, where are one of the assembly rooms, the post-office, Tunbridge-ware, milliners, and other shops, with a row of spreading elms on the opposite side. It is not uninteresting to notice the humble style of the shops, and the wooden portico and tiled roofs, in the Engraving, and to contrast them with the ornamental shop-architecture of our days: yet our forefathers, good old souls, thought such accommodations worthy of their patronage, and there was then as much gaiety at Tunbridge Wells as at Brighton in its best days.

LOVE

(For the Mirror.)

Sing ye love? ye sing it not, It was never sung, I wot. None can speak the power of love, Tho' 'tis felt by all that move. It is known—but not reveal'd, 'Tis a knowledge ever seal'd! Dwells it in the tearful eye Of congenial sympathy? 'Tis a radiance of the mind, 'Tis a feeling undefin'd, 'Tis a wonder-working spell, 'Tis a magic none can tell, 'Tis a charm unutterable.

LEAR.

GRAYSTEIL 5

AN HISTORICAL BALLAD

(For the Mirror.)

Beneath the Douglas plaid, he wore a grinding shirt of mail; Yet, spite of pain and weariness, press'd on that gallant Gael: On, on, beside his regal foe, with eyes which more express'd Than words, expecting favour still, from him who once caress'd! "'Tis," quoth the prince, "my poor Graysteil!" and spurr'd his steed amain, Striving, ere toiling Kilspindie, the fortalice to gain; But Douglas, (and his wither'd heart, with hope and dread, beat high) Stood at proud Stirling's castle-gate, as soon as royalty! Stood, on his ingrate friend to gaze; no answ'ring love-look came; Then, mortal grief his spirit shook, and bow'd his war-worn frame; Faith, innocence, avail'd not him! he suffer'd for his line, And fainting by the gate he sunk, but feebly call'd for wine! The menials came, "wine? up! begone! we marvel who thou art! Our monarch bids to France, Graysteil, his trusty friend depart!" Blood to the Douglas' cheek uprush'd: proud blood! away he hied, And soon afar, the "poor Graysteil," the broken hearted, DIED!

M.L.B.

Note—Graysteil (so called after the champion of a romance then popular) had returned from banishment in the hope, as he was perfectly innocuous, of renewing his ancient friendship with the Scottish king; and James declared that he would again have received him into his service, but for his oath, never more to countenance a Douglas. He blamed his servants for refusing refreshment to the veteran, but did not escape censure from our own Henry VIII. for his cruel conduct towards his "poor Graysteil," upon this occasion.

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The Mirror of Literature, Amusement, and Instruction. Volume 14, No. 383, August 1, 1829

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LOVE

(For the Mirror.)

GRAYSTEIL 5

AN HISTORICAL BALLAD

(For the Mirror.)

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