wild-fowl that shelter along the banks of the Burn. There are spots in Suffolk shown still as having been selected by this charming transcriber of nature as his sketching-points; and truly, above all others, his landscapes are English. For this we dearly love him! He felt his country's beauty, and made others feel it-he was a PAINTER-PATRIOT! and this deserves our gratitude. Where can be found more bosky dells, more deep rich valleys, than in our own beloved England?—where cultivation beautifies, where the earth displays her tangled treasures-tangled in their abundance; soft gentle waters and blue eddying pools, round whose margins the deep green moss sleeps in sunshine and the rush bends her tasseled blossom. There you are sure to find some ancient pollard willow, still sending forth tufts of green sappy stems, where reed-birds and finches hide; the knarled trunk shelters countless multitudes of curious insects, creeping and winged; the merry wood-pecker taps the old bark, while from some rooty hole the silent kingfisher darts across the stream. Sweet English scenes! which Gainsborough so exquisitely rendered, feeling and depicting every little beauty, and imbibing the fragrance of nature into his own being. His kindred bear testimony to his being a kind and generous relative, who anticipated the wants of others, and bore his prosperity with the ease of a gentleman who feels that he is not indebted to affectation or display for his position in society. His memory is beloved, and his name recals the music of soft waters, that fertilise and beautify without storming the senses or bewildering the imagination. The freshness of spring, the fulness of summer, the peopled abundance of autumn-our glens, and forests, and cottagers-life and lifeloving scenes were all given to him for an inheritance; he was, and is -OUR OWN-a pure English painter. Such scenes were, in truth, the studios of Thomas Gainsborough.

While attending the trial of Warren Hastings, Gainsborough was suddenly seized with a pain in his neck, which eventually proved to be cancer: at that time he was residing in Pall Mall, though he had previously occupied houses at Kew and Richmond. His bodily sufferings were augmented on his deathbed by a terror which took possession of his mind, that after his wife's death his daughters would be left without provision, as his thoughtless extravagance and generosity never allowed him to lay by any portion of his earnings. On this point his gentle wife soothed him

by the information, that As he always threw his money about, leaving it at the mercy of every one, she had taken, in the course of twenty or thirty years, as much as had enabled her to secure 10,000l. in the funds; and with that, and the sale of "The Woodman," and other pictures, doubtless their children could subsist in comfort.' He thanked and blessed her warmly, saying, 'She had done perfectly right; that it was true he had sometimes thought he had more bills than he found, and been puzzled about it, but never suspected that any one had made free with what now made his deathbed one of tranquillity and peace.'* He then sent for Sir Joshua Reynolds, resolved that he would cherish no unkindness in his last moments towards any one: and these great men were reconciled in the eighth week of his affliction; Gainsborough exclaiming with much joy, 'We are going to heaven, and Vandyke is of the company.' He is buried in the spot he loved best-at Kew.

*This anecdote we have received from an old and beloved friend of the family. The honours of the Arts have been continued in the line. Mr. Richard Lane is one of the grandnephews of Gainsborough. Another of his nephews-Mr. Edward Lane-has been equally distinguished as a traveller and a man of letters. His publications concerning Egypt rank among our standard English works; and his translation of the Arabian Nights' has obtained a reputation throughout Europe. Their sister also-Mrs. Poole-is known and respected as the author of several very valuable books, and as a lady of most accomplished mind.

THE TOWN OF JOHN KYRLE.

Na rocky eminence overlooking the Wye, stands the town of Ross. Nothing can be more picturesque than its position; it is seen to most advantage from the Hereford Road, from whence our view is taken. The church stands upon an elevated ridge of rock; and the town occupies the rising ground; while behind are wood-crowned hills, as grand in their character and as beautiful as many more celebrated continental scenes. The view from the walks beside the church, and from other parts of the town, is singularly fine; and the curve of the Wye, which flows at the base of the hills, is lovely in the extreme. It would be difficult to point out a more fascinating stream-flowing as it does through a rich and well-wooded country, abounding in natural beauties, and over which the eye may rove untired for days, the prospect is so rich and ever-changing, as it is sun-lit or shadowed by the passing cloud. It is a scene which Turner would have loved, and one that must be studied on the spot to be fully appreciated. The country is Arcadian; the river rapid and clear, forms a curve of the most graceful form, wending its way among the Welsh hills; the prospect has that most perfect union of grandeur and beauty, of pastoral simplicity and mountain sublimity, which, when combined, become the perfection of landscape scenery: but all these advantages-all these beauties-are to be found in various districts of our glorious country. Perhaps it is because the rich valley, the swelling hill, the fertilising river, the smiling village,

are scattered so abundantly throughout England, that we only note them by their loss when we visit other countries, where, however novel, all things must seem barren by comparison.

6

Ross has been rendered remarkable: it has a reputation that will live as long as our land's language; a reputation created by the actual as well as the ideal; an immortality founded by a good man, and celebrated by a man of genius, who honoured himself while honouring the right.' Yet it can boast of little historic interest; but for the Man who has made it worldfamous, it would have no other claim to celebrity than that which it derives from beauty of situation. The streets are all more or less upon acclivities, and are narrow and antique-looking, with many a gabled roof and bit of old carving or ornamental plaster-work upon time-worn fronts. The market house is a study worthy of the artist; it is in a very decayed state, and is supported by columns of red sandstone, which have succumbed to the

action of the weather so considerably that it looks as if it had been erected in the time of the Saxons rather than that of Charles II., in whose comparatively modern days it was constructed. Upon a market-day, when it is crowded with the peasantry from the neighbouring forest of Dean, that primitive and almost unvisited district, the scene is most picturesque and unsophisticated. No railways run near the town, and the heavily laden coach, as it winds its slow way up the street beside the market-place, does not jar with the old-world association of a scene which seems rather to belong to the last century than to our own.

*

The town of Ross is celebrated for the especial purity of its air, and for the longevity of its inhabitants; and the visitor who rambles in its church-yard will meet with many inscriptions, recording the memory of those who had attained their eightieth, ninetieth, and even one hundredth year.

The entire aspect of Ross is that of a quiet mountain home. The shopkeepers seem to conduct their business in the simplest and plainest manner, without bustle, but with a due amount of attention. Carts jog quietly up and down the inclined planes called streets. People walk on the kerb or in the road at their own sweet will,' and encounter none of the dangers of the tumultuous thoroughfares of London. There is a serenity

*The church is a spacious and beautiful building, with a tower and elegant spire, for which it is indebted to the Man' whose body rests within its walls. Beside the pew which he used, trees have forced their way beneath the window in the wall, and grow with great luxuriance withinside the church, nearly covering the glass. They are two slight and elegant elms which wave their branches over his pew, and which are regarded with much veneration. The local legend is, that some years ago a rector impiously cut down some of John Kyrle's favourite trees, with which he had adorned the churchyard, and which grew outside the window and immediately opposite to his pew, and that thereupon they threw out fresh shoots, which forced their way withinside the church, under the wall, and grew in the pew of him who planted them, where they have been suffered to remain and expand. Not a branch of these trees grows without the church, but they luxuriate within it; reaching nearly to the ceiling, and closely clinging with their branches to the window-glass. They are carefully preserved and venerated; and the singularity of their position and history is remarked by all. The other windows contain many fragments of old glass. There are several fine monuments in the church to the Rudhall family, who were the ancient proprietors of the manor of Rudhall, in this neighbourhood. The recumbent figures of Judge Rudhall and his lady, of the time of Henry VII., and the martial effigy of Sir Richard Rudhall, who was knighted at Cadiz in the reign of Elizabeth, are fine specimens of the art of sculpture in those days.