siderably, and I shall not easily forget the prodigious step and grasp with which she wheeled me down the stonestaircase of Mr. Morton's house the other day at dinner. Agnes Morton, younger than either her brother or sister, is one of those sweet little fairy creatures which we seem to recognize as the realization of some dim poetic dream, or favourite beauty of the fancy. Her light blue cyes, softening beneath the shadowy yet even tracery of her eye-brows, gleam upon you with a modesty and tenderness almost unearthly :-and the airy figure, ever simply attired, seems framed only to be lighted about by such gently radiant eyes. Her very motion has feeling in it and her voice is quite Shakspearian, being low and sweet, an excellent thing in woman. Indeed her elf-like shape, melodious tones, and retired looks, seem contrived by nature as contrasts to the gigantic figure, vehement voice, and vampire gaze of Miss Prudence. Agnes, worthy owner of that innocent appellation, hath the sweetest and simplest wisdom in the world: Agnes with her lamb-like heart, and "those dove's eyes," by gentleness carries all before her. She rules all hearts, as by some fairy spell. Her soft exclamations of attachment, disregard, or wonderment, are potent as acts of parliament, or wills of princes. You must not imagine, Russell, that I am heart-stricken more than becomes a respectful friend, though I fear my description rather borders on the style of the last new novel :-my affections are, as you know, wedded to books and life, and I see no very great probability of my ever deviating into the lover. Thomas Morton, the nephew, or Tom, as he is more familiarly and affectionately called by his near acquaintance and friends, (and I always think that pleasant monosyllabic appellation is a species of short-hand for kindheartedness,) is the life, delight, and perplexity of the household;-spirited, volatile, effervescing in health, and twenty years of age; he is at once the source of mirth, affection, and disorder. When you enter the house he, like Latimer's peculiar bishop, "is never idle;" either the foil is in his hand, and he is pinking away at an old portrait of a great great uncle, whose canvass countenance he has already converted into a frightful rival of the nutmeg-grater; or with muffles on his knuckles, he is dipping away scientifically at the day-lights of a pier glass, or getting considerably the best of a corner-cupboard. One while you shall leave him reading one of Plutarch's lives, or burying his brain in the dark soil of Bishop Andrewes' Divinity; but leave the room for ten minutes, and you will find him on your return trying the latest quadrille with six chairs and a plate warmer; or exercising his legal powers of oratory, and convincing a green baize table of the strength of his talents and his hand, and the inveterate justice of his cause. He has a fine manly person, which, however, he a little distorts by the decisive cut of his coat, and the Corinthian roundness of his collar,-but it is not at all unpleasant to behold his light lithe person disdaining the restraint and imprisonment of dress, and dancing about under the Merino and the buckram with all the loose liberty of a boy at school. His spirits, when excited, run riot, and trample upon fashion in their freedom. Buttons, stay-tape, and button-holes are set at defiance; and the natural man bursts through all his envious clouds, and asserts his untameable glory. Tom is intended for the law, if it shall please his volatile spirits to suffer such intention to run its unshackled course; but there is no vouch-. ing for so heedless and unreliable a mind, which at a moment's warning, or even none at all, might waste its sweets behind a grocer's counter, or inspire crossed-legs and a thimble on a raised board under a dim sky-light. He reads poetry to please Prudence; but he occasionally tries her patience by the vehemence and sameness of his quotations. He has an ill knack of wrenching a profound or romantic passage from its original beauty and meaning, and of applying it to some unlucky and ludicrous circumstance, to the utter dismay of his elder and more inspired sister. She looks upon him with her tragic eyes, a look of learned remonstrance; and he receives her re be called, of this mighty city. At evening, we discuss the wonders we have seen, and many and various are the observations we make-each admiring, or severely commenting upon, the events of the day, after his or her own peculiar turn of mind. We were all sitting one afternoon over our fruit,-sipping it might be a temperate glass of Mr. Morton's particular, which leapt into the glass buke with a burst of triumphant laughter, which sinks him only deeper in Miss Prudence's displeasure. To Agnes, Tom is all that is respectful, gentle, and sincere, recognizing her unobtrusive manner and exquisite softness of heart with all the generous and sensitive regard of his nature. The affectations and enormities of Prudence sit uneasily upon him; but the pretty manners and engaging looks of Agnes disarm his ridicule and tame his heed-" with all its sun-set glow," ever at the lessness. Mrs. Morton is continually same interval, and ever in the same annoyed at the follies and bursts of rash moderate quantities; our discourse was gaiety in Tom, but her inimitable at its meridian, and we sat basking in discernment into character makes her the warmth of bright talk, and could* perceive a virtue under all, which will have been satisfied to have ever so yet surmount its present impediments. sunned ourselves. Mrs. Morton was Prudence, with all her temporary af- in the full plumage of wisdom,-Miss fictions, sets a proper value upon his Prudence had laid aside those two diservices at theatres and parties,-Ag- lating eyes, so wont to expand over a nes loves him for his marked and un- whole company,-Agnes sat with her ceasing gentleness and affection,—and little white hand in Mr. Morton's, and old Mr. Morton silently delights to see smoothing with the other the scanty how fine spirited a lad Tom is, and silken hair which scarcely shadowed though often worn with his noisy mirth, his forehead. Tom was cutting out an and suffering in his furniture from orange into a sick alderman, and findTom's turbulent exercises, still he never ing in his labours their own exceeding fails to take a pride in the boy, and to great reward; for he could procure no say "Aye, aye, let him be young-we one to eulogize his sculpture in fruitage were all young ourselves, and have all had our troublesome days. I myself, (he will sometimes continue, to the regular astonishment of Agnes) I myself was once dangerous to the glasses, and had my boisterous propensities. Tom is a kind nephew." And Tom is kind. He is kind even to me, Russell, who sometimes venture to sift advice over his fleeting failings. There, I have given you a picture of the Mortons, and it is not "done in little," I think, but manufactured after the style of poor Dr. Primrose's family group,huge, awkward, and unsatisfactory. Tell me, when you write to me, whether you detect in my poor language Mr. Morton from Mrs. Morton, or Tom from Agnes. I own I pique myself on Prudence. Many of my days, my dear Russell, are passed, as you will readily conjecture, in the society of this excellent family; and one or other of them generally accompanies me on my excursions in search of the picturesque, as it may 3A ATHENEUM VOL. 10. all present having often been treated with a sight of the same specimen of the ideal in art. I had the forefinger of my right hand pertinaciously hooked round the stem of my glass. We were all peculiarly happy, alternately talking, alternately listening,-when the perfect blue of the sky, and the intense lustre of the sun, carried our thoughts to the country, and I know not how it was that they travelled to Greenwich. One ignorant question of mine led on to one sweet remembrance of the ladies, and another, another and my mind became excited in the narration I heard---and curiosity led to uttered desires-and desires grew to projected realizations, till in due course of scheming, we arrived at a determination to visit Greenwich Hospital on the fol-. lowing day. Mrs. Morton would fain a have gone that very afternoon, that her best half (in her estimation) might partake of the pleasure; but Mr. Morton protested against it, declaring that he had seen the building many years ago, and that the evening damps were much against the journey home. The visit accordingly was postponed until the morrow; and the evening subsided into a quiet tea, and a patient rubber, in the course of which I led a small diamond that forced Mr. Morton's king of trumps, and crowned my misfortune by omitting to lead through the honour, which lost us the game, and which abducted from Mr. Morton a kindly and monitory moaning till I left the house for the night. But on shaking my hand at parting, he told me that he believed we could not have won the game; and he begged I would not think more about it, although indeed any card would have been better than the diamond. I wish I could begin this paragraph with the explosion of some such eloquent gun as commences the deep tragedy in the Critic; and thus convey to you a perfect and an instantaneous idea of the rich "saffron morning," without the usual flourish of sun and clouds, and all the established finery of blue firmament, and "gilding the eastern hemisphere," and singing birds and fresh zephyrs; but I have no way of breaking all this splendour to you, Russell, without having recourse to these popular terms: you will therefore have the kindness to imagine one of the brightest days that ever shone in the first chapter of a novel, and you will approach within thirty degrees of that admirable morning on which it was our fate to visit Greenwich Hospital. Our company fell off rather in the morning. Mr. Morton, as usual, came down to breakfast (I was invited to that meal, and was punctual) in his easy slippers, but otherwise neatly armed in cleanliness for his City duties. He shook my hand, and slightly occurred to our misfortunes the night before by hoping that I had thought no more of the diamond, as it was really not worth caring about. He rejoiced in the fineness of our day, and begged me to admire particularly Sir James Thornhill's paintings at Greenwich Hospital, which he remembered were very blue and very beautiful; and he then wondered whether this Sir James Thornhill was any relation of the Baronet in the Vicar of Wakefield, for he never lost the impression, made in youth, that this tale was a true one, and that all its characters had lived precisely as Goldsmith has so exquisitely described them. When we were all assembled at the breakfast-table, Prudence broke the ice of an apology, by hinting that she doubted whether the day "would last;" and, indeed, that she took no peculiar delight in seeing a great old building, full of lame uncultivated old men; and that, indeed, she expected Miss would call with the lines; and, indeed, that she could not altogether think herself well, for she had heard the clock strike two, and could not see very clearly with her eyes in the morning, giving them at the same moment a profound roll, as though they were revolving like satellites around her head, to convince us that her sight was affected. Mrs. Morton, foreseeing no great advantage from Miss Prudence's society under her then state of mind, very wisely begged her not to think of venturing in so dire a state of health; and Miss Prudence, with a sigh that seemed "to shatter all her bulk, and end her being," consented to give up the pleasure of Mr. Herbert's company, with the same species of reluctance that Richard displayed to receive the crown at the hands of the pertinacious Lord Mayor. Agnes looked pale, and was evidently affected with a head-ache, though she made no complaints, and was anxious to assure us that it would be removed by the ride and the fresh air. Tom would have accompanied us, but he had some other engagement, which I guessed, by his shrewd winks and nods, was not of that order that, in the opinion of ladies, ought to supersede a visit to so noble a building as Greenwich Hospital. He wished he could make one with Herbert, but (squaring with his clenched hands, and scientifically touching at the tea-urn) he had business in hand that must be taken by the forelock. He took an opportunity, while the ladies were gone up to attire, to let me into the secret of 66 a bull-bait down the Edgeware Road, near the four mile slab," which would be worth whole pailfuls of pensioners, and he was desirous of fleshing a young ring-tailed and tulip-eared puppy, of which he had the most extravagant expectations; not but that I should be entertained where I was going. In less than a quarter of an hour from the period of this assurance our breakfast party had separated; Mrs. Morton, Agnes, and myself were seated in the carriage, rattling through the stonyhearted streets. Mr. Morton was steadily walking towards his counting-house, with a placid heart, and an umbrella under his arm, (for he never was betrayed by a fine morning into an abatement of this salutary provision against the malice of the clouds.) Miss Prudence had arranged herself over a volume of Wordsworth, and a lace-frill, and sat like Lydia Languish over the Tears of Sensibility, ready for any one that should come: while Tom, with a blue neckerchief, and a white hat, was shaking his way down the Edgeware Road, in the taxed cart of one of the cognoscenti, discussing the breed of pied and brindled, and sitting with his two hands round the lugs of his little tulip-eared puppy, which sat up in restless state between his legs. I shall not detain you, Russell, over the common adventures of the road; you will know that the principal incidents were the paying of turnpikes, a tax which those who prize smooth roads and easy riding seldom think an evil. How shall I give you an idea of the beauty of the far-famed Hospital of Greenwich, rising with its fair domes and stately walls, by the side of one of the noblest rivers in Europe ?-In no way, I fear, save by sending you the "perspective view," sold by the boatswain in the painted Hall, done in a very masterly manner by some one, if I recollect rightly, connected with the Hospital. The beautiful park rises gradually on the larboard side of the building, to speak professionally, and seems to protect it from all rude storms, and tempests; as it, in turn, shields its old glorious inmates from the blasts and billows of the world. There are four divisions, all stately and majestic; and the court yards and kingly statue speak, like an English history, of the reign of George the Second. The very dress of the pensioner appears a sober record of the fashion of that day, and removes the wearer from the modern manners and look of the foolish mankind of this round-hatted generation. Every old sailor appears coeval with the foundation of the charity, and walks the deck of the building under his three-cornered beaver, more like a formal gentleman out of one of Sir John Thornhill's pictures, than the living hulk of a man of war, laid up in the blessed harbour of his country. All the arrangements of this admirable charity are so well ordered that the sailor has his life embalmed in comfort, and preserved as much in its original shape and appearance as possible. The watches are set-the food is portioned out-the cooks are of the crew-the lieutenants preside-the bed-rooms are like cabins the wainscotting is of oak-the very cloth of the dress is blue. It is life in a stone ship,-on an untroubled sea,— with no end to fresh meat and water,— a naval romance! There is no more to do than to take care of their munificent vessel; and I will do them the justice to say, that they are ever washing the decks. You can hardly go over the rooms without finding one man at his Bible-another at a sea voyageanother looking through a telescope at the vessels in the river: they are a silent, contemplative race, made so, it may be, by the eternal and higher noise of the sea, which has unfitted them for the lighter voices of their kind. But from this general character for reserve and retirement let me exempt honest Master Ball, as comely a man as ever wore checked shirt,-as conversational a man as ever piped all hands,-as cheerful a man as ever brake biscuit, or damped a tobacco-tinted tooth with a tumbler of cold grog. He is, if I mistake not, the boatswain of one of the long rooms, and sits there as jolly as though he should never be old; smiling on all comers, and looking over two shining bronzed cheeks with the most easy and winning assurance in the world. Mrs. Morton well remarked, that he looked as if he would give sickness no more quarter than the enemy. His forehead shone insufferably bright, and quite dazzled the eyes of the beholder; and his hands were crossed over the lower button of his waistcoat, which fastened as convex a little garment as ever bent round a comfortable body. Agnes thought the forehead was like that of Mr. Morton; but we all negatived her opinion, and left her to the solitary possession of it; which, however, woman-like, she tenaciously held. But I know not how it is, I am getting out of order, and am describing a character with which, at present, I have clearly no business. shrewd cock of his tri-cornered beaver, probing, with his gimlet eye, the rusty hole in the bottom of a worn-out skiff. He stood sideways, peering into it with all the sagacity of the magpie's marrowbone survey-now ogling it on this side-now contemplating it on that,— and appearing to see in it something far deeper than our poor optics could discern. He looked closer and closer, and twined his glossy antiquated fingers upon the small of his back,-and gave his head a more intense twisttill I really thought the hole might not be a mere hole, and that I ought not, as Mr. Puff says, to be "too sure that he was a beef-eater." Five minutes elapsed, but the inquisition was not over ;—indeed, it deepened and deepened, and just as I was satisfied the scrutiny was ripening to a purpose, and that the old man was arriving at his conclusion, he suddenly dispersed all our expectations by loosening his hands, giving the silver buckle of his right leg an easy elevation into the sun, and, whistling off the last notes of some ricketty tune, he left us with an empty stare at ourselves, the building, and the river. And this is, with these charming old men, an incident-a sample of life. Thus do they dwell, thus exist in doing nothing with more industrious exactness than any other kind of idlers in the world. The terrace that runs along the whole range of the building, between it and the water, is pleasantly situated, but, as it does not much abound with pensioners, it is by no means a striking attraction in my eyes. But in the walk below it, at the edge of the water, narrow, inconvenient, and thronging with watermen, sailors, and other bronzed men, we all delighted to walk. There do the maimed and weather-tried tenants of the place saunter out their indolent and late holiday of existence. There do they sit for hours, like Crabbe's Peter Ghrimes, but without his crimes, looking upon the flood. There do they lean,--there stand, there recline, there sidle about. The passing of a packet,—the slow drifting of a merchantman,-the heavy slumber of a Dutch vessel,-the arrowy course of a wherry,―are all beheld and thought over with an unchangeable profundity and a deathless silence. It appears to me that words are of no use by the water side. The only object that calls up an extraordinary expression of surprise or distaste on the mahogany line of visages along the railing, is the aquatic innovation of a steam-boat;that elevates the bristles of twenty or thirty pair of rugged old eyebrows, and crumples up so many dark brown cheeks till they look like a row of bif-style is to my feelings always more asfens. But not a word passes. The long-rapid-smoking machine goes rattling by, convulsing the river, and agitating the lesser craft: but much as it offends the eyes of the oldest sailors, it is passed and passes in a dignified silence. I was much amused, and nudged my good friends on each side to share in my amusement, by watching one hale old man, with a peculiar and By the kindness of one of Mr. Morton's friends, who holds some place of trust in the Hospital, we were conducted to the chapel, one of the most beautiful places of worship I ever beheld, but possessing, perhaps, too much of architectural splendour for the sincerity and serenity of devotion. It had not the unobtrusive quiet of the little Oratory of Warwick Castle: but the gothic sociated with the sacred earnestness of prayer. A steady, sober pensioner, with a willow wand in his hand, marshalled us up to the extreme end of the interior, and pointing to a huge painting by West, over the communion table, began his daily labour of description. The Preservation of St. Paul from Shipwreck must be a brave subject for an old sailor to enlarge upon; |