of the human mind, some of whose very earliest recollections are not connected with Shakspeare? One of the most distant things that I can remember is coming from behind the window-curtain, after dinner, with a Scotch bonnet and a wooden sword, to act the last scene of Macbeth with my sister,-who (I suppose by some latent associations of idea between a kilt and a petticoat) was made male into Macduff. Of the later times, when I used to conjure my father's park into the forest of Arden, merely because there was a Rosalind, to whom "all the pictures, fairest limn'd, were but black" in my esteem,-I shall not speak ;-but they serve, as may be supposed, to deepen the recollections of early fondness for poetry with those of youthful passion. The locale, too, of this picture added to its other causes of interest. I know Stratford well, and Charlcot too; the scene, as is well known, of Shakspeare's deerstalking exploit, which caused his leaving his paternal fields, and, by which, to use the words of a favourite writer," Stratford lost an indifferent wool-comber, and the world gained an immortal poet." I lived, in my youth, in that part of the country, and Stratford was familiar to me as Shakspeare's birth and burial place, and as the abode of Lord Middleton's hounds. Many is the time that I have visited it on both accounts-drawn thither by the natal house, and the last home, of the poet, and the kennel of the noble sportsman. These pilgrimages, however, were never united-I should have found, indeed, little sympathy in those of a poetic nature from the members of the Warwickshire-hunt. Sooth to say, they have but little in common with the figures which rise in that world of ideality, which is conjured up by visits to a scene of moral attraction and sentimental beauty. The last time I ever was at Charlcot, was on a morning that the hounds met there. We drew the covers in the park, and, as we were some time before we found, I had full time to gaze around me. As Shallow is known to be meant to shadow forth Sir Thomas Lucy, so, I conclude, Charlcot to have given the outline of the Justice's abode.-It is, indeed, " a goodly dwelling, and a rich "—the "lands" are still fair and broad-spreading, and the "beeves" thickly studded and sleek. The park is remarkably well-wooded, abounding with avenues of trees, of an age evidently far beyond Shakspeare's time. It is, indeed, the boast of the present possessor, that every thing remains in exactly the same state as then. I gazed on the tall ancient trees, and the swelling undulations of ground which were before me, presenting, in the sameness of slow-changing Nature, the very scene upon which Shakspeare had looked. I thought of him and his companions coming in the summer nights, with their quaint-looking cross-bows, their picturesque doublets and hose, and the stately stag for their gameand I contrasted with this the appearance of our modern hunt-the men in their stiff, square-cut coats-their breeches and boots, the very opposite to every thing of nature or sightliness-their horses, with docked tails, short and wagging, instead of waved and flowing,—and thinned, if not hogged manes,-the animating and romantic horn, according to modern custom, almost unused, -and a stinking vermin for the object of the chase!While I was moralizing on the contrast, and sitting with that curl of lip which speaks inward contempt,—of a sudden the hounds burst from cover, there was a cry by the dogs, and a shout and a rush by the men.-I dashed off at full speed, and thought no more of Shakspeare, Charlcot, and shooting deer, than if such a person, place, and pursuit had never existed. 124 INSIDES AND OUTSIDES. Moth. By Woden, God of Saxons, From whence comes Wensday, that is Wodensday, CARTWRIGHT'S Ordinary. INSIDES AND OUTSIDES. What a vast field for specu- . lation do these two words present!-How many observations occur, as we contemplate their significations!— The philosopher immediately thinks of the mind-the libertine of the person;—the literary man recollects the stores of information contained in the pages-the idler ponders on the binding;—the wit recurs to the brain-the peruquier to the hair;-The wealthy hug themselves with the idea of blazing fires, Turkey carpets, and wellcovered tables;-the poor and houseless shiver in the remembrance of cold and hunger, and fruitless glances from the outside at the warm gleam which bespeaks the comfort within. Such are the various ways in which the title of this paper may be considered; but what will the grave philosopher say, when he finds that it merely relates to those vehicles which are licensed to carry six of the one and thirteen of the other, to the great detriment of four poor animals, who, after having carried their earlier masters to the chase-borne them nobly to perilous encounter-pranced in their cabriolet-or won them thousands on the turf,-are condemned, in the last stage of their existence, to be daily lashed twelve miles out and twelve miles in, to gratify the cupidity of the proprietor, and the impatience of the traveller. Yes, gentle reader, for so must you be called, even though, at this very moment, yon may be giving violent proofs of the misapplication of the epithet, the insides and outsides which this paper will introduce to your notice, are neither more nor less than the passengers of a stage-coachwhile the sentiments it contains, are merely the lucubrations of a man, to whom, from his sedentary habits, customary affairs had acquired the attraction of novelties --and every-day-incidents assumed the interest of uncommon events. Let a man be ever so habituated to loco-motion, he can seldom commence a long journey entirely uninfluenced by some regrets attached to the spot he is quitting, or by some anxiety as to the place to which his steps are to be directed;-and bad as it has pleased many of our sage philosophers, from Diogenes downwards, to depict this poor world of ours, I have seldom known a spot in it that I have not parted from with some degree of regret; and still seldomer have approached a place in which I have not anticipated some portion of pleasure. Whether these regrets have been well founded, or these anticipations realized, is not now the question: every man has his own little world of pleasures and regrets in the circle of his own mind, with which few, if any, of his fellow-creatures can sympathize. Much of the alacrity or unwillingness with which a journey is commenced, depends upon the circumstances in which he who undertakes it is situated, or upon those which lead to the undertaking. The soldier, starting from the embrace of his family, can find relief in the hour of parting, and a sufficient inducement for the exertion of departure, in the anticipated honours of a successful campaign, and jumps into his chaise and four, unsaddened by those anxieties for his safety which he leaves behind him. The merchant, lured by the hope of gain, seems with every mouthful of his parting meal to calculate the profit which is to accrue from his expedition; and when his head clerk announces that the coach is ready, he takes the last draught of his allowance of port with the same tenacity that he would settle an account to the last farthing; kisses his wife and children with the precision that he would make an entry in his day book, and takes a kind of L.S.D. leave of the comforts of his Turkey carpet, coal fire, and snug parlour, with a determination to post them on the debit side of his ledger of life, in the hopes that the credit side of profit may more than counterbalance the loss. The young and ardent traveller, fresh from classics and college, glowing with enthusiasm to tread upon the land of the Cæsars-to pace the deserted floors of the Vatican-or mourn over the spirit of departed greatness-or whose curiosity leads him to Marathon and Thermopylæ, to witness the scenes of those acts of devotedness and valour, which had swelled his young breast with martial ardour, in spite of the difficulty with which they had been construed from the well-thumbed Herodotus, and the birch and ferula which had been the ignoble accompaniments of the noble thoughts they had inspired,-in short, the traveller who, too young in life yet to have met with serious disappointment, spends the first moments of enfranchisement from school-discipline, in attempts to realize the dream of youthful imagination in the contemplation of countries rendered sacred to enthusiasm by the remembrance of all that was once great in patriotism and virtue-all that was once brave in the field-elegant in art, or brilliant in poetry-starts upon his journey, with the fresh-born delight of the new-wing'd butterfly-which as it |