I have visited it in summer, when the warmth of a mid-day sun has rendered the "_frigus amabile_" of the interior doubly inviting, and on such occasions, have quite revelled in local enthusiasm. I remember, some years since, visiting the Duke of Devonshire's beautiful villa, at Chiswick, in company with a friend, whose sentiments on the subject of local impressions are similar to my own. While I was admiring books and paintings in the library, my companion was contemplating in mute emotion, the bed upon which Charles Fox breathed his last. That one object engrossed all the powers of his soul; every other was forgotten! C. J. * * * * * THE HUMBLE SPARROW'S ADDRESS TO T. S. A. (_For the Mirror._) My dearest Sir, how great a change Has pass'd upon the groves I range, Nay, all the face of nature! A few weeks back, each pendent bough, The fields, the groves, the mountain's brow, Were bare and leafless all, but now How verdant ev'ry feature! Each little songster strives to raise Its highest warbling notes of praise, For all these blessings given:-- Ere Sol emerges from behind The eastern hills, the lark we find Soars, as it were on wings of wind, With grateful notes to heaven. A thousand others catch the strains, Each bush and tree a tongue contains, That offers up its praises. From morn till the meridian day, From noon till Sol has sunk away, One ceaseless song, one grateful lay, Each feather'd songster raises. And when Night's grim and sable band, Spreads her dim curtains o'er the land, And all our prospect closes; Then Philomela, queen of song, The sweetest of the feather'd throng, Takes up the theme the whole night long, While nature all reposes. Then surely I, the humblest bird, That e'er among the groves was heard, Should aid the thankful chorus; With _chirping note_ I'll join the sound, For not _a Sparrow_, 'twill be found, Without HIS will falls to the ground, Who high above reigns o'er us. But what avail my feeble powers, When softer notes descend in showers, Mine are not worth regarding; No honour'd title gilds my name, No dulcet notes I e'er could claim; So worthless I, you may obtain _Two Sparrows_ for a farthing. Besides, I ne'er was form'd to _sing_, And so must soar on humbler wing, Since nature saw it fitter; But yet my feeble powers I'll try, And sound my _chatt'ring_ notes on high, For I am sure you'll not deny To hear my simple _twitter_. My gratitude is doubly due, For all the hedges[2] in my view, Afford a verdant cover; I now can build my nest once more, From childhood's prying glance secure, And from the hawk's keen eye, tho' o'er The sacred bush he hover.