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Miscellaneous Matters.-Forming a body of original and elegant Literature.---Edited by Tobias Merton, and assisted by various Literary Characters of the Day.--Parts 1 to 10 are now reprinted; also Vol. 1.-8s, bds. LONDON: -WILLIAM CHARLTON WRIGHT, 65, Paternoster The Portfolio, Comprising I. THE FLOWERS OF LITERATURE. II. THE SPIRIT OF THE MAGAZINES III. THE WONDERS OF NATURE AND ART. IV. THE ESSENCE OF ANECDOTE AND WIT. V. THE DOMESTIC GUIDE. VI. THE MECHANICS' ORACLE. There are some cases (and unfortunately not a few) in which reviewers of works of art are sadly condemned to praise with a sullen and sparing hand, and some in which we blame reluctantly, and even with real remorse; but we have also sometimes a lighter task, and a pleasant office, where our taste and our feelings, our judgment and our fancy, are alike gratified and join in unqualified approval and hearty praise. Amid the occasions of this description which gild our way, the Diorama stands eminently. Of the paintings, the acknowledged skill of the artist is unquestionably in both the pictures, and particularly because it is not obtrusive: too good an artist to seek for picturesque effects in the common arts of false light, extravagant contrasts, and unnatural colours, the painter has here represented objects as he saw them; clear, brilliant, and natural; and hence his views have an air of truth and accurate detail, satisfactory to the judgment, and particularly valuable when the subjects themselves are so interesting this picture has a peculiar interest with the architect and antiquary: the detail of the building is given with an accuracy of perspective, and minuteness of drawing, that leaves nothing to be desired. Chartres is an old and considerable town, 23 leagues from Paris, in a south westerly direction; it is in 50° 55 west longitude, and 489-26-54 north latitude; its situation, and its agricultural and commercial importance, have given it amongst towns of the second class that rank which, in the division of France into departments, is assigned to cities chosen for the residence of an administrative authority. Chartres is the seat of the prefecture of Eure and Loire. Its population amounts to about 14,000 inhabitants. The situation of Chartres, being built over, deep caverns, procured it the appellation of the city of Dens by Ptolemy. The church of Notre-dame, the subject of our painting, is one of the finest gothic remains still extant in France. The epocha of its foundation is not accurately known. Like all the edifices and institutions of ages long gone by, its history is surrounded with stories equally marvellous and incredible. In the circumference of the double row of pillars extending all round the closed choir, whose elegant enclosure is seen in the picture, seven chapels of various forms and dimensions occupy the places which each casement or compartment in the foreground of the church seems to have been designed to supply, in the distribution of the building. The position of the spectator is supposed to be at the foot of one of these chapels, or on the step which affords a means of communication with two adjoining chapels, in order that he may have a view of that part of the upper church, of which the representation stands before him. These two chapels are respectively called the Knights' Chapel, and the Penitentiary's Chapel, The Penitentiary's Chapel is within the space which is represented by the spot the spectators occupy; the entrance of the Knights' Chapel, is on the left side of the picture. The chapel of St. John the Baptist, adjoins the Knights' Chapel. The communication with it is through the double row of pillars, by a small flight of stairs with an iron balustrade, the slope of which forms, with the pavement, an angle of about twenty-five degrees. Further removed from us, we distinguish the Chapel of All Saints, closed by an iron grate ornamented with a pediment, the style of which is of no remote an tiquity. This grate, now used as an enclosure to the chapel, belonged in former times to the Church of St. Peter, one of the churches that were either de molished or suppressed in the course of the Revolution. In the direction of the pillar, against which is placed the standard of a brotherhood, and behind the most distant pillar, there is a small chapel, not within our view; it is named the Chapel of St. Lazarus. The Chapel of the Scourging is on the right of the spectator, near the large pillar. Another chapel, entirely concealed from our view, and standing between the Chapel of the Scourging and that in which several persons are seen kneeling at the foot of an image of the Virgin Mary, is called the Chapel of the Transfiguration. Its The enclosure of the choir, which takes up the centre of the picture, is a composition of a gothic style, worthy our best attention and admiration. architecture is of exceeding richmess,' and its ornaments are in the best taste. The same may be said of the figures which add to its splendour. Basso-relievos are inchased in the massive parts, and contained within the semi-circumference of the choir, uniformly represents subjects taken from the lives of Jesus Christ and of the Virgin Mary. The first basso-relievo perceived (the 19th of the collection) represents the THE LEGEND OF LOUGH-MORN. adultress; the second our Saviour restoring the blind man to sight; the third (which is the first on the right of the great pillar) the entrance of Jesus into Jerusalem; the fourth the inhabitants of Jerusalem rushing forward towards our Saviour, and strewing the ground with branches of palm tree. The subject of the fifth is, our Saviour in the Garden of Olives; the sixth represents the treachery of Judas, and Peter's violence towards Malchus. In the seventh and last, we see Jesus Christ tied to a pillar and scourged by his executioners. THE LEGEND OF LOUGH-MORN.* An Original. 199 appearance among them, and requested refreshments and shelter for the night. The manner in which he sought the kindness of strangers was ill calculated to produce the effects he desired; the tones of the mendicant were strangely mingled with the voice of one who commanded a duty, and the piercing grey eyes that sparkled beneath his white and overhanging eyebrows, were fitfully illumined with a wild and fearful brilliancy. The people gazed at him for a moment, and then, averse to his aspect, closed their hearth and door to his importunity. For some time the old man vainly wandered from gate to gate in search of hospitality, till at length, in the market-place, a person beckoned him, and besought him to put up with the accommodation of his humble abode. "On Lough Magh's bank, as the fisherman The pilgrim stopped, and, turning strays, When the clear cold eve's declining. He sees the round towers of other days In the wave beneath him shining!" IRISH MELODIES. FROM time immemorial authors are, through politeness or policy, invested with many peculiar privileges, among which is, even the bending time and circumstances to their views: but, in the present case, I waive this liberty, and have only, in adopting a foundling, given it the clothing that pleased me. I confess that the latter is not destitute of some little embellishments, for the existence of which it is indebted to imagination alone, but, speaking at once to the point, the ground-work of my story is said to be TRUTH! According to some ancient gossippers, there was, many centuries ago, a large and populous town near Carrickfergus in the north of Ireland. On the important heads of its name and origin, history has not deigned to illuminate us; and, indeed, I have good reason to believe, that they would baffle the research of the most profound antiquarian that ever existed; but, for my purpose, it is sufficient that tradition has recorded the town, and that no trace of it is now to be found. Having affirmed thus much, I will no longer delay the details of my story, aware that my fair readers must be as impatient as myself to begin them. Towards the decline of a day in autumn, as the inhabitants of this town were indulging themselves in gaiety after the close of their business, an old man, habited in a long dark cloak, and seemingly bent with fatigue, made his Vide Gamble's Tour in the North of Ireland, page 77; and Topograph. Hib. Dist. ii. c. 9., for the idea of this and similar legends. round, beheld the towers and steeple and houses glittering like gold in the rich radiance of a setting sun. A withering expression of revenge darkened his eye, as, smiling bitterly upon the said, "May the curse of an outcast and scene, he stretched forth his hands, and wanderer light upon yon proud city; and bright as ye are now, ye shine for the morning will come and find ye fled the last time in the sun-burst of day, for as a dream from the brain of the sleeper." malediction of the mendicant, and the The young man started at the stern deep shadowing of his brow; but time for reflection was not given him, for the evening was drawing on, and the stranger accepting his offer, prepared to follow him to his house. After passing through two or three long streets, the guide, whose name was O'Halloran, struck into a narrow lane, and stopping before the gate of a mean habitation, he lifted the latch, and invited the old man to enter. responded with the exterior of the house, The room he led s guest into, corwhose years appeared not to have dimiand was occupied by an old woman nished the natural gaiety of her heart. in a corner, and blythely singing as the Her grand-daughter was seated spinning merry wheel went round: her hair was and brilliant, sparkled from beneath her chesnut brown, and her eyes dark, blue, curling tresses, as she raised them on the entrance of her husband, who announced the traveller that had demanded, and been refused, the common rights of hospitality. In a moment the distaff was thrown by, and the board spread with the best that the humble dwelling produced; while the old man, having been disencumbered by O'Halloran of his cloak and cap, sat down with an urbanity of countenance that curiously contrasted with the almost supernatural expression of malice which had a few minutes before risen like a fire-flash on his features. After supper, O'Halloran brought a harp, one of which was then to be found in every house in Ireland, and placing it before his guest, waited in expectation of his playing. The stranger drew it on his knee, and, as his fingers wandered among the strings, he sung, in a low but energetic tone, the following verses :— The sun-light is streaming, And the soft mandolin, For the night-star that's coming, The minstrel repeated, in a deepened cadence, For the night-star that's coming Shall witness thy fall. And O'Halloran felt an emotion of dread steal over him as he gazed upon the mysterious being, and remembered the bitter curse he had in the market-place bestowed upon the town. The wanderer disregarded his agitation, and shortly complaining of fatigue, retired to the chamber set apart for his repose. When the stranger had withdrawn, O'Halloran and his wife and mother drew round the fire, and the singularity of their guest gave rise to many observations, which at length induced O'Halloran to impart to his wondering audience the circumstance of the traveller's rejection by the neighbours, and the fearful rage he had expressed on the occasion. The old woman's vivacity forsook her, and the gertle Kathleen crossed herself repeatedly, as she sat in awful expectation of the issue. The moments were wearing on, when suddenly the old woman cried out, that the apartment was sinking. O'Halloran started on his feet,-it was a fact; the hearth had already given some inches, and the pure water was welling up in the interstices, while black and silvery eels coiled upon the stones. A shriek of dismay broke from the lips of all present, and at that instant the door was burst open. and the old man ap peared before them: his aspect was as that of a demon, and his eyes shone with exultation. "Fly! fly!" cried he, "fly from the destruction ye have not merited! Rise, and follow me, and, while time is left ye, seek safety on the mountains." Saying this, he hurried them, without further speaking, to the door. O'Halloran supported his trembling wife and mother in their forced progress through the streets, which were now above ancle deep in water. Every minute it rose higher and higher. "Hurry, hurry!" exclaimed the old man," or the hour of favour will be past." He was leading to the outskirts of the town, when O'Halloran's mother, skrinking from the reptiles that came in contact with her feet, declared she could proceed no further: his wife hung heavily upon his arm, and the stranger's intricate windings through the town were now difficult to follow; but delay was not to be thought of; the water was rising in every part, and the newt and the eft, and slippery eel, were meandering on the pavement. "For God's sake bear up awhile," said O'Halloran, "and we may yet reach a shelter." He doubled the support of his arm, and the party renewing their exertions, in a short time gained the steep ascent of a mountain, which raised its stupendous height above the steeples of the town. The old man halted not; but with an agility that was surprising, commenced to thread the mazes of the hill, ever and anon turning his head, and urging his companions to speed. The night was calm and clear, and the heavens were of a deep, deep blue, studded with a myriad of stars, that seemed as innumerable lamps of silver burning and brightening in the sky. In the distance, on the skirts of the horizon, was traced, amidst the darkness of the surrounding clouds, many a gleam of pale and visionary hue; and against these rose the far-off hills, and the large black masses of the town, in which now all noise, all light, all revelry, were fast sinking into that still, still gloom and quiet, which proclaims the interval of repose. The shades of night hung upon every object, and the breezes that came from the shores of the ocean, swept chillingly round the steep, and to a fanciful ear might have appeared to wail and lament for the approaching work of desolation. At length, when O'Halloran and his weeping family were seated on a projection of |