describe, and becomes flat, and to a certain degree uninteresting; yet the Wye, when shorn of its bolder features, of its cataracts, rocks, and picturesque dingles, is ever lovely, and at almost every part of its course presents an inviting appearance. HAY, or Tregelli*, in the county of Brecon, is delightfully situate on the banks of the Wye, near its confluence with the Dulas, which separates Brecon from Herefordshire. It stands on the declivity of a hill, and consists of one main street divided into a fork near the middle. In 1794 Hay was deprived of its handsome stone bridge, by a tremendous flood, which entirely swept it away; at present a fine structure spans the stream. The remains of the ancient castle consist of a Gothic gateway covered with ivy, which frowns in venerable dignity upon the town beneath. A dwelling-house has been constructed out of part of the materials of the old edifice. The founder of the castle is uncertain; it has been ascribed to Sir Philip Walwyn, but afterwards being possessed by Maud de St. Valleri, tradition has attributed to her the building of the walls and castle. Leland, speaking of it in his time, says, "there is a castel, the which some time hath been righte stately." Hay, it would appear, was well known to the Romans, as coins have been frequently found; and some vestiges of a Roman fortress may be traced on a bank near the church. The church of St. Mary, a small plain building, romantically situated on an eminence almost precipitous on the north-west, close to the river, consists of a nave and chancel, with a tower at the west end, containing only one bell. A very ancient silver chalice, on which is engraven "Our Ladie of the Haia," is shown here. The view from the churchyard is very rich and diversified. About two miles below Hay, on the east bank of the river, stand the "auncient ruins" of CLIFFORD CASTLE, where once bloomed "Fair Rosamond," a daughter of one of the Earls of Clifford. She was celebrated in the chronicles of her time for her amour with Henry the Second, the story of which is well known. Dryden says her name was Jane Clifford, as the following lines testify: Jane Clifford was her name, as books aver, All writers concur in stating her to have been a girl of "peerlesse beautie," and of much sprightliness and wit. She died, it is supposed, at Woodstock, in 1177, and was buried in the Nunnery of Godstow. Some authors say that she was poisoned by Queen Eleanor in the Labyrinth at Woodstock, where she was confined by Henry; others, that she retired to Godstow, and there died. But the particulars of her melancholy history are involved in much obscurity. Camden says that the castle is recorded in Doomsday-book to have been originally built by Thomas Fitzosborne, Earl of Hereford. It afterwards came to Walter de Ponce, whose father Richard came over to England with William the Conqueror. Walter appears to have taken the name of Clifford, from this castle, and from him afterwards descended the Earls of Cumberland. The castle is seated on a commanding eminence, overlooking the Wye; and its ivymantled walls, surrounded by trees, form a highly picturesque object in a richly-wooded and wellcultivated country. At Rhydspence, about a mile below Clifford, the Wye leaves Cambria, and turning in an easterly direction, enters the fertile plains of "Merrie England." Here we must pause. * Signifying in Welsh, "the town among hazels." SUMMER. THEY may boast of the spring-time when flowers are the fairest, And birds sing by thousands on every green tree; Oh, the joy of the green-wood! I love to be in it, And the water-rat plunging about in his mirth; And where are the flowers that in beauty are glowing In the gardens and fields of the young merry spring; Like the mountain-side wilds of the yellow broom blowing, And the old forest pride, the red wastes of the ling? Then the garden, no longer 'tis leafless and chilly, But warm with the sunshine, and bright with the sheen Oh, the beautiful flowers, all colours combining, HE that will allow exquisite and endless happiness to be but the possible consequence of a good life here, and the contrary state the possible reward of a bad one, must own himself to judge very much amiss, if he does not conclude that a virtuous life, with the certain expectation of everlasting bliss which may come, is to be preferred to a vicious one, with the fear of that dreadful state of misery, which it is very possible may overtake the guilty, or at best the terrible uncertain hope of annihilation. This is evidently so, though the virtuous life here had nothing but pain, and the vicious, continual pleasure; which yet is for the most part quite otherwise, and wicked men have not much the odds to brag of, even in their present possession: nay, all things rightly considered, have, I think, the worse part here. But when infinite happiness is put in one scale, against infinite misery in the other, if the worst that comes to the pious man, if he mistakes, be the best that the wicked attain to, if he be in the right, who can without madness run the venture? Who in his wits would choose to come within a possibility of infinite misery, which if he miss there is yet nothing to be got by that hazard? whereas, on the other side, the sober man ventures nothing against infinite happiness to be got, if his expectation comes to pass. If the good man be in the right, he is eternally happy; if he mistakes, he is not miserable, he feels nothing. On the other side, if the wicked be in the right, he is not happy; if he mistakes, he is infinitely miserable. Must it not be a most manifest wrong judgment that does not presently see to which side in this case the preference is to be given.LOCKE. No entertainment is so cheap as reading, nor any pleasure so lasting.-LADY M. W. MONTAGUE. WE are led to the belief of a future state, not only by the weaknesses, by the hopes and fears of human nature, but by the noblest and best principles which belong to it, by the love of virtue, and by the abhorrence of vice and injustice -ADAM SMITH, CHAPTERS ON CORONATIONS. No IV. CORONATION VESTMENTS. In this chapter we shall describe the garments of state with which the sovereigns of England are invested by the archbishop of Canterbury and his assistants during the ceremony of the coronation. The chief of these, the IMPERIAL PALL, called also the Dalmatica, Mantle, or Open Pall, was at one But it was also worn by bishops, as we learn from the acts of St. Cyprian, the celebrated martyr of the third century, who being about to suffer death, delivered his dalmatic to his deacon, leaving the rest of his dress to his executioners. At present the proper dalmatic forms part of the under-dress of Romish bishops, when they officiate pontifically, being made of thin light silk. But as the outer and distinctive vestment of their deacons, it is richly embroidered, and has a sort of large open wings attached to it, as substitutes for sleeves. period richly embroidered with golden eagles, but having been destroyed, with the rest of the Regalia, in the time of the Commonwealth, a very rich gold and purple brocaded tissue is used in its stead, encircled with gold and silver trails, and large flowers of gold frosted. All the ornaments are edged round with purple, or a deep mazarine blue. The pall was originally part of the imperial habit, being a rich robe of state, reaching quite to the ground. It is said that Constantine the Great granted the use of this vest to the bishops of Rome, and that the same honour was subsequently granted to other patriarchs by his successors. The pall at length became the badge of episcopal dignity, and hence, when prelates were deprived of their sees, or quitted them voluntarily, they resigned their palls to the emperors. When the popes first assumed the power of granting this honorary badge, which they did previous to the pontificate of Gregory the Great, A. D. 590, they did not presume to do so without the permission of the emperor; but in process of time they usurped the privilege of conferring it according to their pleasure, and raised exorbitant sums from all the prelates of Europe, whom they compelled to purchase this ensign of dignity. They also made a canon, enacting, that a metropolitan, until he have received the pall, cannot consecrate bishops or churches, or receive the archiepiscopal title; and they compelled archbishops to purchase a new pall on every translation. Tertullian informs us, that the pallium, or pall, was assumed as a dress by the Christians, to distinguish them from the heathens, who used the toga. The pall is used at the coronation of monarchs, because they are supposed by this ceremony to be invested with a sacred as well as a civil character. The name Dalmatica, is derived from an ancient clerical habit, so called because it was previously the ordinary dress of the people of Dalmatia. It covered the whole body, and had large loose sleeves; on which account it was thought to be convenient for the ministry of deacons. SUPER-TUNICA, OR SURCOAT. The SUPER-TUNICA, Surcoat, or Close Pall, which is worn under the imperial pall, is a straight coat with plain sleeves, of a thick and rich cloth of gold tissue, ornamented with gold flowers, brocaded and frosted, without either silk or velvet. The length behind is about four feet, and in front a yard and a quarter, having only one division, which forms it into two skirts, each skirt being a yard and a half, so that the whole width at the lower part is about three yards. To this belongs a belt, or girdle, made of the same cloth of tissue, lined with a white watered tabby, having a gold buckle and clasp, to which hangers are affixed for the sword with which the sovereign is girded. The ARMILLA, or Armil, should properly be called the Stole, and should always be connected with the Surcoat; but, by some strange and inveterate error in the ceremonial of English coronations, it has received the name properly belonging to the bracelets, and takes their place in the form of investiture. It is made of the same cloth of tissue as the SuperTunica, and is lined with elbows, and two a little higher, for tying it above them. The Stole, as this garment should properly be called, is strictly an ecclesiastical garment, and must always be worn by the Romish priests when celebrating mass. In Flanders and Italy the priests also wear it when preaching. Hence Sir Walter = Scott introduces Robert Bruce promising the Lord of Lorn, My first and dearest task achieved, Fair Scotland from its thrall relieved, Shall many a priest in cope and stole, Sing requiem for Red Comyn's soul. The COLOBIUM SINDONIS, or Surplice, is the last garment put upon the sovereign after the anointing; it is made of very white cambric, and is rather longer than the Super-Tunica; it is laced about the neck, round the arm-holes, or openings of the shoulders, down the breast, up the slits of the sides, and round the lower edge, with the finest Flanders lace, ruffled on very full. Both its names signify short linen garments, and Sindonis is sometimes used to denote the shroud for wrapping the dead. THE COLOBIUM SINDONIS. The ornaments already mentioned are for the most part clerical, but there is a second surcoat purely secular. It is made of crimson satin, and is lined with sarcenet of the same colour. In form and dimensions it is nearly the same as the Super-Tunica. U BUSKINS. The Buskins are made of the same cloth of tissue as the Super-Tunica, and lined with crimson sarcenet; the height of them is eighteen inches, the compass at the top fifteen inches, and the length, from the heel to the toe, is eleven inches and a quarter. The Sandals are made with a dark-coloured leather sole, and a wooden heel covered with red leather. There are three bands, two of which go over the foot, and the third behind the heel; they are made of cloth of tissue, lined with crimson taffeta, as is likewise the lining of the sole. The length of the sandal is ten inches. These portions of the royal dress are derived from the Cothurni purpurei, or purple buskins, which were a distinguishing cognizance of the Byzantine emperors. SANDALS, The sovereign's ROBES OF ESTATE consist of a Surcoat of purple velvet, and a large mantle of the same, furred with ermine, lined with sarcenet, and bordered with gold lace. The parliament robes are similar in form, but are made of crimson velvet. Peers of all ranks attend in their robes of estate, which are the same as their parliament robes, that is, crimson velvet mantles, furred with rows of ermine proportioned to their degree; a duke's has four rows, a marquis's three and a half, an earl's three, a viscount's two and a half, and a baron's two The distinctions of rank among the peeresses are marked by the length of their trains; a baroness may have a train of three feet on the ground, a viscountess a yard and a quarter, a countess a yard and a half, a marchioness a yard and three-quarters, and a duchess two yards. The following directions for the dresses of peeresses were issued by the Earl Marshal, by whose orders all robes are regulated, previous to the coronation of George the Second. The surcoats, or mantles, to be all of crimson velvet, close bodied, and clasped before, edged or bordered with minever pure, two inches broad, and scolloped down the sides from below the girdle, and sloped away into a train proportionable to the length of the robe or mantle for each degree; viz., about a third part thereof; the sleeves of the surcoats also to be of crimson velvet, about five inches deep, scolloped at the bottom, edged with minever pure, and fringed with gold or silver. The caps of their coronets to be all of crimson velvet, turned up with ermine, with a button and tassel of gold or silver on the top, suitable to the fringe of their sleeves. The petticoats to be of cloth of silver or any other white stuff, either laced or embroidered, according to each person's fancy. The mantles to hang back, being fastened on each shoulder with cordons of silver or gold, suitable to thei: fringe, with tassels of the same, hanging down on each side of the waist. The surcoats, or kirtles, to open before, that the petticoats may appear. Knights of the different British orders not being peers, usually wear the full-dress habits of their respective orders. Knights who are peers wear only the collar of their order over their velvet mantles. The dresses of the kings at arms, heralds, and pursuivants, add considerable splendour to the ceremonial of a coronation. The kings at arms wear tabards, or surcoats of velvet and cloth of gold, on which the royal insignia are emblazoned; these tabards resemble sleeveless gowns in form, but they are furnished with wings, which fold over the arms. They wear also collars of SS, that is, composed of links shaped like the letter S, made of silver gilt, with badges at the centre, containing the shamrock, rose, and thistle, enamelled in their proper colours. They are also entitled to wear coronets, or plain circles of gold, decorated with sixteen upright leaves, eight of which are long, and eight short. The words, "Miserere mei Deus," that is, "Have mercy upon me, O God," are enamelled round the circle. Within it is a crimson velvet cap, turned up with ermine, and surmounted with a tuft and tassel of gold. So important was the office of king at arms anciently held, that a solemn ceremony was appointed for their inauguration. In fact, it was the mimicry of a royal coronation, except that the unction was performed with wine instead of oil. In Scotland, Sir David Lindesay was crowned Lyon king of arms by his sovereign, with the ancient crown which the monarchs wore before they assumed a close crown, A. D. 1592. So sacred was this heraldic office held, that, in 1515, Lord Drummond was by parliament declared guilty of treason, and his lands forfeited, because he had struck with his fist the Lyon king at arms, when he reproved him for his follies. Nor was he restored but at the Lyon's earnest solicitation. The tabards of the heralds are made of crimson damask; they wear plain silver collars with badges similar to those of the kings at arms. The pursuivants wear tabards of satin. Two persons were usually appointed to represent the Dukes of Aquitaine and Normandy; they wore robes of estate of crimson velvet, lined with white sarcenet, with deep capes and broad facings, all richly powdered with ermine, and with hats or caps of estate of crimson and gold paduasoy, furred with ermine. The barons of the Cinque Ports, who support the canopy over the sovereign, are all habited alike; they wear doublets of crimson satin, scarlet hose, scarlet gowns, lined with crimson satin, black velvet caps fastened on their sleeves, and black velvet shoes. The gentlemen pensioners, who guard the canopy, wear coats of scarlet cloth, richly laced with gold, and black hats wreathed round with feathers; they carry gilt axes in their hands, and are preceded by the clerk of the cheque in the same habit. The ancient coronation robes which were destroyed in 1649, do not appear to have been very valuable, if we may judge from the enumeration given of them by the parliamentary commissioners, from which we have before quoted. In their report we find the following "Inventory of the Regalia, now in Westminster Abbey, in an iron chest," where they were formerly kept: One common taffaty robe, very old, valued at. £ s. d. 0 10 0 One robe of crimson taffaty sarcenet, valued at 0 One paire of buskins, cloth of silver and silver stockings, very old and valued at 00 0 10 0 0 5 0 The comb, which is here dismissed so contemptuously, was supposed to have belonged to Edward the Confessor, and was used in the ancient forms of coronation, to smooth the king's hair previous to the anointing. No special coronation robes are provided for a queen consort, but those used by a sovereign queen do not differ in any essential particular from those employed at the coronation of a king. Clerical and legal dignitaries wear their ordinary robes of state, and all military officers appear in their full-dress uniform. The earl marshal usually issues a proclamation forbidding any of the spectators to appear in mourning, and persons who occupy front seats are generally expected, if not required, to come in full court-dress. ON THE LANGUAGE OF ANIMALS. THE language of animals has at all times been a favourite subject of speculation; but this has been limited to poetry and fiction. No rational inquiry has yet been made respecting the possibility of what appears incapable of proof. We have reason to expect it; and we have no right to decide against it, if it can be shown that our faculties and observations are incompetent to discover what the fact is. Thus far the balance is, at the very least, in suspense; and it should turn decidedly in favour of such a conclusion, if we can find, in animals, actions which could not be conducted without language; still more if we can trace variety of sounds, and those accompanied by peculiar actions, though we should be unable to analyze them, and give their definite applications. On the subject of hearing, as being fundamental on this question, we are accustomed, not unnaturally, to give more credit to our own senses than they deserve. We decide on their perfection by an estimate drawn from themselves; which is as if he who is without ear for music should dispute the existence of refined harmonies. Even in the musical scale, which forms the most audible collection of discriminate sounds, there are tones at each extremity, which we cannot distinguish, as at length there are also notes that we do not hear. We know that they exist, from the visi ble vibrations and the measures of strings; but the ear has ceased to discern them. The snoring of a dormouse is so acute that the note cannot be assigned, as it is also on the very verge of inaudibility. In a string or an organ pipe, it is easy to produce indiscriminable, and even inaudible tones, at the opposite extremity of the scale. If now we take sounds that are not in the diatonic or chromatic scale, the difficulty of distinguishing them augments rapidly as the ratios approach nearer to each other, till at length, to imperfect ears, dissimi lar ones appear the same. This is the case, even if those sounds are single, or truly musical, belonging to fixed divisions of the scale; but if at all vacillating, as are the sounds of speech, there is no human ear that can follow and distinguish them, however widely sundered they may be. Our ears are not calculated for such distinctions: in many persons, they cannot distinguish even among neighbouring enharmonic tones, except in the case of a chord, where there is a fixed and known note of reference, or in that of a false unison. Hence it is probable, that however music may continue to improve under the increase of enharmonic chords, we shall never produce enharmonic melodies, because unintelligible to our orga nizations. Yet such melody is intelligible to the birds which produce it; since it is produced, definitely and intentionally, under finer organizations of the musical instrument, and of the sense of hearing. Thence may it be inferred that these, and other animals also, may both hear and discriminate those unsteady sounds produced by themselves which should constitute their own language, although we cannot; while to assume that they do not, is plainly to measure their faculties by our own defective ones. It is not less true that we have been accustomed to decide against the sensibility of these animals on false grounds, and under an ignorance of the very nature of music. We dispute it, because they do not produce and enjoy that which we term music; a succession and consonance of intervals in the diatonic and chromatic scale. But while this is the produce of an arbitrary law of nature, rendering that class of sounds pleasing, it is evident that instead of proving the high sensibility of our own ears, it is a proof of the exact reverse; since these pleasing sounds demand little effort of discrimination, from the distances of their ratios. Hence should the sensibility to sounds, in the birds at least, far exceed our own; since their power, with their pleasure, consists in producing intervals more minute, and thence demanding finer senses, that they may delight in what was appointed for them, as our own less refined ones were for us. That they hear and understand what they produce, is evident, since otherwise it could not be executed. In the nightingale and thrush, we distinguish a great number of sounds and articulations, because they belong, or approach, to that musical scale for which our sense of hearing is adapted. But we cannot doubt, that in these, and still more in birds whose tones are less musical and definite, there are sounds which we do not truly distinguish, and which we therefore neglect in favour of those to which we are most sensible. And there is no difficulty in believing that the song of a nightingale is better understood by itself than by us, or that it contains much more than we hear. If I were to suggest that it contains a definite set of phrases, with meaning, to the animal itself and its kind, there would be nothing absurd in the proposition; since it possesses, even to our ears, a greater variety of articulation than we can find in any language with which we are unacquainted: while, in confirmation of this general view, all who have attended to such subjects must know, that where these birds abound, long debates are often carried on among them, in tones and articulations quite distinct from the ordinary songs. When we decide otherwise, we are deciding from a prejudice, or assuming that it is not a language, because we do not understand it. We should be equally justified in thus deciding as to the Arabic. But there is another circumstance relating to sound, which may concern this question. This is the quality, or timbre. We distinguish this readily, in the several musical instruments; and even in the different qualities of human voices, which depend on this mysterious property of sonorous bodies. It requires far nicer ears to perceive the minute differences in the qualities of two instruments of the same kind, which are still differences of timbre: and if the ordinary ears which distinguish among singing-birds do this chiefly through the melodies, a finer one is fully sensible of the difference of timbre among many of them. And thus we may grant a still finer perception of this kind to animals of nicer sensibilities: of which indeed we have a proof in the fact, that the wild birds and the domestic fowls recognise the voices of their own partners and offspring, and that even the sheep knows the bleat of its own lamb. Thus can we grant again, that animals may possess means of discrimination for the purpose of language, where we can distinguish nothing. The human language, to those unacquainted with it, presents nothing but noises, or sounds, which we can scarcely perceive to be articulate ones. If not rigidly true of the European languages derived from a common root, of which we are familiar with one branch, it is notorious in that of a Greenlander or a Hottentot, or in that of the Celtic dialects of our own country. Not to speak ludicrously on a grave subject, the objurgations of an assembled multitude of Welsh do not exceed, in articulate and discriminate sounds, the noise of a rookery. We happen to know that there is language. but our ears do not give us that information. When we have learned the meaning of those sounds, we can also discriminate them, but not tell them: not even, easily, except under that slow and distinct articulation which allows us to study each. Thus, if animals have been taught by the Creator such languages as are necessary for their wants, since more cannot be expected, it is plain that they may perfectly understand each other, or be expressing even numerous and definite ideas, where we perceive nothing but noise, and probably never shall. There are valid reasons in the necessity of the case, and in the general conduct of the Creator, why animals ought to possess language. There is, or may be, language accompanying the means of language, for aught that we can decide to the contrary: so that the question remains suspended between a high probability, and an ignorance which has nothing to oppose. In evidence of this probability, a very few positive facts out of many may be selected. Communication is peculiarly necessary among the gregarious and social animals; and we accordingly see that many of those do act together under peculiar sounds. Let us not, however, be misled by the term language, since it is in terms that our difficulties often lie. The communications of animals are not the language of the fabulists. The range of their ideas is limited, and so must be the modes of their expression. And, as a natural language, or a gift to those which are incapable of educating each other, it is probably fixed, or incapable of extension: though there are reasons for believing, that where educated by us, they increase its range. But if this inquiry is limited to a language of sounds, it must not be forgotten that the social animals do understand each other, as some different kinds also probably do, by means of some physiognomic or pantomimic signs, equally taught by nature. Familiar examples of various and vocal language exist in the duck tribe, followed by correspondent actions, in marshalling their flights, and in much more. The sounds and articulations of the domestic duck and goose in particular, are so numerous and marked, that they are not equalled by any human language; while it is not difficult to learn the definitę, if the general, meaning of many of them. It is not easy to see how else the decoy duck can perform its treacherous office. It is the same notedly with the hog: while if we see the effects in many of the proceedings of this animal in society, I need only note, that thus it will collect its companions to ravage a field, as the dog conducts its own to the chase, and as the rat and the mouse assemble and lead their tribes to a discovery of food. If we do not know that the beaver has similar means of communication, we cannot comprehend the possibility of its conduct in society without some language. In the endeavours of birds to persuade their progeny to fly and to dive, we can scarcely avoid believing that we hear a definite language; so unusual, and varied, and marked, are the articulations and the tones. The quarrels of sparrows are more articulate, and the noises more varied, than those of a human contest. The sounds of a domestic fowl under the approach of a hawk, the intention to sit, the calling its young to feed, and much more, equally familiar, are not less various and definite. However disagreeable the sounds of the cat may be to us, they abound in variety of expression: and in the rook, the comparison of actions. and sounds renders it scarcely possible to avoid concluding that the latter constitute a language. The destruction of a rook's nest, occasionally proceeding to the slaughter of the animal, is preceded by a congregation of the society, and a great noise; as all |