equal them in richness and beauty of colouring, nor in the distinctnes of pictorial design. These remarks apply with still more justness to the stained glass of the East Window, which though seventy-five feet by thirty-two feet, is so divided into two hundred compartments, great and small, and subdivided by the painter almost indefinitely, as to give to no portion of it a clear and satisfactory effect! The designs are taken mainly from scriptural subjects, and the glazier, one John Thornton, is said to have been occupied, during many years, commencing in 1405, with the mere manipulation of inserting in the leads, the numerous pieces of glass of various colours, and designs, that compose the entire work! If the original, as it came from master Thornton's hands, did not almost wholly vary from what it now exhibits, (which can scarce be the case, as I have now before me Drake's ponderous folio, with his numerous engravings, which sufficiently unfold its state in palmy days,) it must ever have been a mass of confused devices! We are told, indeed, that the artist had in his mind's eye very many curious and distinct fancies, which embraced nearly the whole of Bible history; and the engravers, with much pains, have been able to delineate some crude outlines thereof; but no eye, as we think, can trace them with the coup d'œil a traveller must accord to it; and the painful attention of an artist who designs to commit the result to paper, is out of the question, as this would require some days, at least! The Armorial, and the West Window, are far more satisfactory, as they are less complex, are more transparent, and yield the designs to the eye, with infinitely more clearness and certainty. The traditional praise, then, so uniformly accorded to this East Window, over all others, has probably resulted from regarding magnitude, variety, complexity, toil, and expense, as per se just sources of great commendation. It is the province and privilege, however, of every traveller, to look with his own eyes, and to judge with his own mind, regardless of time sanctioned praises. The new pavement, also, which has been, not very inappropriately, called mosaic, has been greatly extolled, and with little justice. About a century ago, Lord Burlington prevailed on the dean and chapter to remove the old pavement, composed of innumerable grave stones, many of which, as the antiquarian Francis Drake informs us, 'formerly shone like embroidery, being enriched with images, &c. in brass, of bishops and of other ecclesiastics represented in proper habits.' This sacrilege was somewhat mitigated by the fact that all the old marble grave stones, though entirely robbed of their identity, were carefully wrought up, and used in the formation of the new pavement, thus having respect to economy, if not to taste, and to the memory of the honoured and lamented dead! And the act would have been still further expiated had the 'mosaic' fancy of my Lord Burlington been more worthy the noble pile it was designed to grace. But we have to quarrel with the new pave ment, not only for these reasons, but for the removal of the eighty-eight circles curiously wrought into the old one, as so many stations for the dignitaries of the church to stand in, during the pomp and circumstance attendant upon the installations, and on other solemn occasions! These ecclesiastics, 'habited according to their proper distinctions, and clad in their copes and vestments, must have made a glorious appearance,' says Drake-who gave to the world his massive folio, in the very year that this work of destruction by the tasteful Lord Burlington, was going on. I have now given, tediously I fear, as is nearly unavoidable in such details, my notions of this famous cathedral, and some brief reasons for dissenting in part, from the customary language indulged in-such as, 'the cathedral appears like a vast mountain starting out of a plain'-'it is the most august of temples'—'its vastness and beauty impress the observer with awe and sublimity'-'the glory of the kingdom'—'it is the summit of scientific perfection and excellence, not to be surpassed'— 'the finest window in the world''the highest, lightest, and most extensive arch in the world,' &c. &c. These, as it seemed to me, are rather inordinate expressions, excusable enough, when flowing from the hasty and ardent pen of a patriotic Englishman, but essentially wrong in one really in search of truth, and especially so, when looking after the elements of comparative excellence. The fact is, this noble pile has too much solid worth, and real beauty, to need such indiscriminate and untruthful praise; and, like the loveliness that flows not from regular features, but which shadows forth the riches of a fine intellect within, the Minster of York must ever command our sober veneration for much intrinsic worth; though, when examining its features, we may be compelled to pronounce them often 'rudely stamped,' and cast into a 'perverse mould.' NOTE XVIII.-AN OLLA-PODRIDA. THE Spaniards have a dish of much note among them, consisting of many meats, and other savoury things, stewed together with little regard to homogeneity; and it is sometimes convenient for authors thus to deal à la cuisinier, when one knows not exactly what he means to write about. What I have now to say is yet all in nubibus—it may be one thing, various, and any thing, just as my pen shall vouchsafe. I do remember an old French cook, whose master loved good things, but kept so tight a string over his purse, and doled out to his faithful Jacques, the viands and the condiments, with so niggard a hand, that his dinners always seemed the result of accident, and surprised the servant and master, quite as much as was Dr. Brewster, when, from a few fragments of stones, of glass, and of tinsel, all the varied beauties of the kaleidoscope arose to his astonished view. And so it is with an author sometimes; the results are essentially accidental-they have nothing to do with calculation-the reckless experimenter is as ignorant of what may follow, as are the brute materials with which he may operate; and how I shall come out of my Olla-Podrida, I can no more say, than can my standish and its black contents, or the steel pen, its vehicle-on all of which I am so slavishly dependent for the avails. These matters premised, proceed we now to the intended pot pourri. I have just returned from a walk, among some of the most beautiful of Nature's works, over the Apennines, between the little town of Frejus, and the old, walled, and fortified city of Antibes. When I descended from my carriage to pluck flowers on the way, and to survey all around me the many lovely prospects that enchanted my view, the sun was fast declining, and many floating clouds cast their shadows upon the boundless forests, the towering rocks, and the small valleys that reposed in luxuriance between the mountains. These all filled my soul with such a crowd of images, that on reaching the locanda, I fell into a kind of dreamy reverie upon the beauties of nature-I then glanced over my note book, and found that some similar reflections had been there recorded long before. I then seized my pen, and poured forth some more of these feelings-and such a melange! 'Happy he Whom what he views of beautiful or grand Prompts with the remembrance of a present GOD;' |