The Sun.
London, England, 1827-07-02 00:00:00

times on his ,favourite- topic of verbal criti-
cism. But his mina hag no digestive power;
the aliment infused into it is poured forth in the
Same crude raw state in which it entered, and re-

quires judgment to dissolve, recompose, and form
it into healthy chyle. But notwithstanding this
defect, Mr. Taylor's classical attainments are
extraordinary, and we would sooner hear him
quote, in his fine sonorous manner, wholesale
passages from his favourite " Plato," than see
Kean, in his best manner, go through the third
act of " Othello." " Whitsun Eve," a village
sketch, by Miss Mitford, is in that lady's happiest
and most rustic manner.—Exempli gratin

WHITSUN-EVE.
The pride of my heart and the delight of my eyes is my
garden.. Our house, which is in dimensions very much
like a bird-cage, and might, with almost equal convenience,
be laid on a shelf, or hung up in a tree, would be utterly
unbearable in warm weather, were it not that we have a
retreat out of doors—and a very pleasant retreat it is. . To
make my readers fully comprehend it, I must describe our
whole territories.

Fancy a small plot of ground, with a pretty low irregu-
lar cottage at one end; a large granary, divided from the
dwelling by a little court running along one side ; and a
long thatched shed open towards the garden, and supported
by wooden pillars on the other. The bottom is bounded,
half by an old wall, and half by an old paling, over which
we see a pretty distance of woody hills. The house, gra-
nary, wall, and paling, are covered with vines, cherry-
trees, roses, honeysuckles, and jessamines, with great clus-
ters of tall hollyhocks running up between them ; a large .
elder overhanging the little gate, and a magnificent bay
tree, such a tree as shall scarcely be matched in these parts,
breaking with its beautiful conical form the horizontal
lines of the buildings. This is my garden ; and the long-
pillared' shed, the sort of rustic arcade which runs along one
side, parted from the flower-beds by a row of rich gera-
niums, is our out-of-door drawing-room.
I know nothing so pleasant as to sit there on a summer
afternoon, with the western sun flickering through the
great elder tree, and lighting up our gay parterres, where
flowers and flowering shrubs are set as thick as grass in a
field, a wilderness of blossom, interwoven, intertwined,
wreathy, i-arlandy, profuse beyond all profusion, where we
may guess that there is such a thing as mould, but never
see it. I know nothing so pleasant as to sit in the shade
of that dark bower, with the eye resting on that bright
piece of colour, lighted so gloriously by the evening sun.
now catching a glimpse of the little birds as they fiy
rapidly in and out of their nests—for there are always two
or three birds'-nests in the thick tapestry of cherry-trees,
honeysuckles, and China roses, which cover our walls—
now tracing the gay gambols of the common butterflies as
they sport around the dahlias ; now watching that rarer
moth, which the country people, fertile in pretty names.,
I call the bee-bird ;* that bird-like insect, which flutters in
the hottest days over the sweetest flowers, inser'Cing its
long proboscis into the small tube of the jessamine, and
horsning over the scarlet blossoms of the geranium, whose
bright colour seems reflected on its own feathery breast ;
that insect which seems so thoroughly a creature of the
air, never at rest, always, even when feeding, self-poised
and self-supported, and whose wings in their ceaseless mo-
tion have a sound so deep, so full, so lulling, so musical.
Nothing so pleasant as to sit amid that mixture of the
flower and the leaf, watching the bee-bird ! Nothing so
pretty to look at as my garden ! It is quite a picture ; only-
unluckily it resembles a picture in more qualities than
one—it is fit for nothing but to look at. One might as
well think of walking in a bit of framed canvass. There
are walks to' be sure—tiny paths of smooth gravel, by
courtesy called such—but they are so overhung by roses
and lilies, and such gay encroachers—so over-ran by con-
volvolus, and heart's-ease, and mignonette, and other sweet
stragglers, that, except to edge through them occasionally,
pcaSseSses
for the purposes of planting, or
.weeding, or watering,
there might as well be no paths at all. Nobod) thinks of
walking- in my garden. Even May glides along with a
delicate and trackless step, like a swan through the water ;.
and we, its two-footed denizens, ate fain to treat it as if
were really a saloon, and go out'for a walk towaidst seas-
set, just as if we bad not been aitting, In the open air ar, day,
The " Carlton lious
every merit as a eritici,..,l, except a knowledge of
the subject. Win..
does the writ •
el mean by
asserting that
-An Rembrandt's noble " Adoration
of the ;agi," the Pictures
M are "
dap, —al, a set of pampered,
griiss feeding, carnivorous looking persons."
Does not this Zoilus know, that both for posi-
tion anti expression they are the redeeming
beauties of the picture ? Is he not aware that
Sir Joshua Reynolds (who knew almost as
much about painting as himself) recommend-
ed these very " carnivorous-looking pea-sons" as
models of the highest excellence in painting ?
We would advise this gentleman, when he next
ventures on " the Fine Arts," to remember
Dean Swift's admonition :—"Always," said that
profound judge of human nature, " bear in mind,
that in writing on any particular subject, it is
necessary to know some little about the matter."
The article headed " Notes of the Month," are
lively and anecdotical, and include a good story
of Liston, which we are sorry our limits prevent
us from extracting.
Sphinx ligustri, privet hawk-moth.