SPARE MINUTES.

MEDITATED RESOLVES AND RESOLVED MEDITATIONS.

THE speech of the tongue is best known to men; God best understands the language of the heart. The heart without the tongue may pierce the ears of heaven, the tongue without the heart speaks an unknown language. No marvel then, if the desires of the poor are heard, when the prayers of the wicked are unregarded. I had rather speak three words in a speech that God knows, than pray three hours in a language that He understands not,

Lase

MEDITATION is the womb of our actions, action the midwife of our meditations. A good and perfect conception, if it want strength for the birth, perisheth in the womb of the mind, and, if it may be said to be born, it must be said to be still-born. A bad and imperfect conception, if it hath the happiness of a birth, yet the mind is but delivered of a burthen of imperfections, in the perfection of deformity, which may beg with the cripple at the gate of the Temple, or perish through its imperfections. If I meditate what is good to be done, and do not the good I have meditated, I my labour, and make cursed my knowledge. If I do the thing that is good, and intend not that good that I do, it is a good action, but not well done. Others may enjoy some benefit, I deserve no commendations. Resolution without action is a slothful folly, action without resolution is a foolish rashness. First, know what's good to be done, then do that good being known. If forecast be not better than labour, labour is not good without forecast; I would Lot have my actions done without knowledge nor against it. Ir is the folly of affection not to reprehend my erring friend, for fear of his anger; it is the abstract of folly, to be angry with my friend for my error's reprehension. I were not a friend, if I should see my friend out of the way, and not advise him: I were unworthy to have a friend, if he should advise me (being out of the way) and I be angry with him. Rather let me have my friend's anger than deserve it: rather let the righteous smite me friendly by reproof, than the precious oil of flattery or connivance break my head. It is a folly to fly ill-will, by giving a just cause of hatred. I think him a truer friend that deserves my love than he that desires it.

HEALTH may be enjoyed; sickness must be endured: one body is the object of both, one God the Author of both. If then He give me health, I will thankfully enjoy it, and not think it too good, since it is his mercy that bestows it: if He send sickness, I will patiently endure it, and not think it too great, since it is my sin that deserves it. If in health, I will strive to preserve it by praising of Him: if in sickness, I will strive to remove it by praying to Him. He shall my God in sickness and in health, and my trust shall be in Him in health and in sickness. So in my health I shall not need to fear sickness, nor in my sickness despair of health.

Now

[ARTHUR WARWICK, 1637.]

and brag of thy present happiness, whosoever thou art; brag of thy temperature, of thy good parts; insult, triumph, and boast: thou seest in what a brittle state thou art, how soon thou mayst be dejected, how many several ways, by bad diet, bad air, a small loss, a little sorrow or discontent, an ague,&c., how many sudden accidents may prare thy ruin, what a small tenure of happiness thou hast in this life, how weak and silly a creature thou art. Humble thyself therefore under the mighty hand of God, know thyself, acknowledge thy present misery, and make right 1 of it. Let him that standeth take heed lest he fall. Thou dest now flourish, and hast goods of body, mind, and fortune; but thou knowst not what storms and tempests the evening may bring with it. Be not secure then; be sober and watch, if fortunate and rich; if sick and poor, moderate thyself I have said.-BURTON's Anatomy of Melancholy.

CLOUDS of affection from our younger eyes,
Conceal that emptiness which age descries;
The soul's dark cottage, battered and decayed,
Lets in new light, through chinks which time has made.
Stronger by weakness wiser men become,

As they draw near to their eternal home;
Leaving the old, both worlds at once they view,
That stand upon the threshold of the new.-WALLER.

APSLEY HOUSE,

THE TOWN RESIDENCE OF THE DUKE OF WELLINGTON.

THERE is no nation in the world of which the nobles and wealthier gentry inhabit mansions, both in town and country, within and around which all the elements of substantial comfort and useful elegance and true taste more perfectly abound than in England. In foreign countries you may find palaces, of which the exteriors offer far more elaborate ornament-and this remark applies especially to the Italian capitals, where, by the bye, such palaces are falling fast into decay. But in point of solid convenience-not unmixed, here and there, with exquisite specimens of architectural skill-commend us to the town and country-houses of our own aristocracy. A bare enumeration of the more distinguished of the former of these would recal to the remembrance of our London readers, visions of surpassing grandeur. But, as we write for the benefit of that larger circle of our friends to whom the scenes of fashionable life may not be quite so familiar, we think it best to treat this most interesting subject in detail.

The first mansion of note and character which attracts the attention of the stranger who may begin his survey of London from the west, is Apsley House-the town residence of him whom all England, and, indeed, the civilized world, delights to honour, the greatest man of his age; the most illustrious name in English history. Planted upon the edge of Hyde Park, so as to connect itself, in some sort, with the triumphal arch by which the park is entered, Apsley House bears testimony both within and without, to the admirable taste, as well as the sound architectural judgment of its illustrious owner. For, unless our memory be at fault, the Duke of Wellington may fairly lay claim to the distinction of having, to a great extent, planned his own noble palace; and the matchless comfort that prevails within, not less than the classic elegance which distinguishes the exterior of the pile, prove that had not fortune made him a great commander and a great statesman, he might have become, with very little study, a great architect.

Apsley House is separated from Piccadilly by a range of lofty bronze gates, which rest upon pillars of fine stone, of the simplest Corinthian order. These gates-three in number, though the outer one is seldom, we believe, opened, are all solid, the fluted pillars, or bars of each, being embayed in a shield of metal, and ending in chapiters of curious workmanship, such as give to the whole an air both of solidity and lightness. Towards the park there is a plain iron railing, within which a hedge of evergreens is planted; while from Hyde Park gardens the Duke's little domain is separated by an unostentatious wooden fence. Thus the princely palace stands-completely embedded within its own inclosure; insomuch, that, except by the few persons who may linger among the shrubberies that skirt the lawn in the rear, nothing of what passes in or around the mansion can, without a rude effort, be observed,

Having rung the bell, and had one of the gates rolled back, by a fine hale old soldier, whom his Grace has promoted to the situation of porter, you enter a narrow court-yard, paved, not with flags, but with common paving-stones, You obtain, at the same time, a perfect view of the whole front of the mansion-the simple elegance of which agrees well with your ideas of the habits and character of its owner, Opposite to you is the main entrance-a fine door-way, surmounted by a plain, but broad screen, which rests upon arches, and is itself the foundation from which the elegant portico that is visible from Piccadilly springs. This latter is of the Doric order, or rather of that composite style which unites the simplicity of the Doric with the lightness of the Ionic. You approach the great door by a flight of broad and low steps, and passing under the portal find yourself in it is extremely comfortable, being square, not over large, a hall, of which you are not tempted to say more than that and carpetted over its marble flooring. To the right of this again, is the waiting room, a commodious enough apartment, yet perfectly plain, from which, as well as by passing through a swing door in front, you are introduced into the suite of rooms that occupy the rest of the ground-floor.

The rooms in question are not more than three in number. That in the centre is usually occupied by his Grace's private secretary. That on the right, is the Duke's own room: that on the left, the state dining-room. The Duke's room is, according to his usual practice in such matters, by far the most unpretending of the whole. In point of size it is, doubtless, larger than his secretary's room; but its principal

From the John Bull.

ornaments are a bookcase at one extremity, and piles of boxes everywhere else, carefully docketed, and made upon a principle of which the Duke is the author. In each of these are stowed away a whole year's worth of letters, as well those received, as copies of all that have been despatched. His table is a large one, which folds up in the middle, and besides the usual garnishing of drawers which belong to things of the sort, is provided with a sliding cover, on drawing down which over his papers he is enabled, by means of a spring lock, to render all secure in a moment. There are, besides, two or three plain tables in the room, with chairs, sofas, and other pieces of necessary ornament, and over the chimney-piece is a likeness of Napoleon. In other respects, however, all is plain and without pretension. The carpet is, in pattern, the same that you find throughout the house. The window curtains correspond with those in the rooms beyond, and the look-out is upon the lawn behind, where his Grace is accustomed at times to take snatches of exercise. Of course the Duke's room has its own outlet, as well as a direct communication with that in which his secretary sits; and the good-humoured, yet sharp tone in which the word "Algy" is often heard in the latter, proves that the double doors that divide them are yet pervious to the human voice when rightly pitched.

In the secretary's room the objects most conspicuous are the china vases, elaborately painted and gilded, which were presented to the Duke at the close of the war, by the late king of Prussia. They are very beautiful things, and are seen to great advantage through the glass cases, which occupy one side of this apartment. In other respects the room is simple enough. Indeed, from its position as well as size, it would appear to have been originally intended as a sort of ante-room or hall, for there is a communication from it to the dining-room, by which, indeed, as often as the latter is used, the guests make their way to the festive board. A plain library table, an adequate supply of chintz-covered chairs, a proportion of boxes docketed like those in the Duke's sanctum, and green silk hangings, make up the sum of its furniture. Like every other apartment in the house, it is warm and comfortable. Its grate is of polished steel, its chimney-piece of fine white marble.

Of the large dining-room, which is never used except on occasions of more than ordinary state, a brief description is all that seems necessary to be given. Like the dining-rooms of our aristocracy in general, it is laid out more for comfort than show. To be sure, the profusion of foreign chinagifts from crowned heads, which, like that in the secretary's room, fills the glazed mahogany cases with which the walls are set round-offers an endless variety of objects that demand and secure attention. But were these removed, the stranger would come only to this conclusion, that the Duke's dining-room was of spacious dimensions, and every way fitted for the exercise of a princely hospitality. We cannot undertake to say what are the precise dimensions of this noble hall, but we do not think that we overrate its capacity when we say that eighty persons might dine in it without the smallest crowding or inconvenience.

Having thus taken a survey of the basement story, we pass to the grand staircase, of which we are bound to observe that, in its position rather than its construction, it exhibits the only glaring error that is observable in the construction of the house. It is quite obscured and hidden at its base. You do not know that you are approaching it till you open a door, either from the waiting-room or the Duke's own room, and then you come suddenly upon it. It resembles, in fact, the shaft of a well-you stand at the bottom and are surprised to see that a spiral and elegant staircase is twisting Yet there stands Canova's colossal statue of Napoleon-a piece of art which is, we suspect, without a rival in England, and we may venture to add, laying one or two statues aside, unsurpassed throughout the world. What a noble figure it is-how lifelike, how well-nigh divine! Had it belonged to Athenians in the days of yore, that imaginative people would have built a temple for its reception, and paid to it the same honours that they paid to Minerva herself.

over you.

we

We now ascend the light and elegant staircase, by which are conducted to a corridor, whence, all round the area of the mansion, branch off a suite of rooms, which have scarcely any parallel in London. These, opening one into the other, are the smaller dining-room, the ball-room, the drawing-room, and the picture-gallery, all of them furnished with admirable taste, in a manner perfectly uniform, and gilded and ornamented to a degree which dazzles, without oppressing the spectator. The drapery in these apartments

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is all of yellow silk, done up with rich gold tassels. The Brussels carpets are of a small and tasteful pattern; the couches, chairs, sofas, and ottomans correspond with the hangings, and the walls and ceiling, in spite of their elaborate gilding, are so coloured as to set off to the greatest advantage the masterpieces of painting which constitute the principal ornament of Apsley House. Nor can we undertake, within the limits that are at our command, to speak of these. You have four or five Murillos, of first-rate value. You have Rubenses, Correggios, a Titian or two, Annibal Carracci, Salvator Rosa, Vandyke, Wouvermans, and, in short all the great masters of the Italian, Spanish, Dutch, and Flemish schools, mixed up with the most exquisite productions of the pencil, both in France and in England; for, side by side with the most renowned of the olden names, you trace those of our own Sir Joshua, of Lawrence, and of Landseer; while David has contributed more than one gem to this collection, which, though not the largest, is perhaps the most faultless that is to be found in any private house in Great Britain. But, one circumstance will, we are sure, strike the visitor as not more remarkable than it is in good taste-portraits of Napoleon are multiplied everywhere, insomuch, that while Emperors of Russia and of Austria, Kings of Prussia, France, and even England, greet you by units, or, at the most, by pairs, you find yourself confronted in different parts of the house by six Napoleons

at the least.

It is not worth while, would our space permit, to describe the less conspicuous portions of this noble mansion. There are suites of rooms everywhere one of which used to be occupied by the Marquis of Douro previous to his marriage, while another is described as 'Lord Charles's rooms. They are, like the lodging apartments in general, comfortably but plainly fitted up. Neither have the domestics a right to complain that their convenience has in any particular been neglected. But the Duke's own room is here, as it is elsewhere, a mere tent. The bed is the same which he used to occupy when in the field, and all things are plain-we had almost said austere-around it. Grace prefers, and we think wisely, the German quilt to our English blankets. He sleeps without curtains, and can scarcely, we should think, turn round in his narrow bed. Indeed we have heard that his language in reference to that matter is, that "when a man thinks of turning, it is time he were up." His habits, too, are all early, and temperateyet does he not try his constitution too much? We wish that he would give that magnificent mind more rest, and eat more frequently than he does.

His

We must not conclude this hasty notice of Apsley House without alluding to the stables. They are all under ground; and as the entrance is by a sort of sloping shaft, which opens upon Piccadilly, so is light admitted by means of small barred windows, that are little, if at all, raised above the level of the garden behind.

Finally, we may observe of the general bearing of the mansion, that there is an air of quiet elegance about it, which would satisfy the spectator, were he even ignorant of the name of the owner, that it belonged to no common man. The roof is flat. The windows are of an order to correspond with the Grecian portico that adorns the front. The material of which it is built is the richest Caen stone; and it has retained its hue so well for a quarter of a century that we see no reason to distrust its continuing to do so for at least a century to come. Nay, the iron blinds themselves, which the madness of an abused people compelled the Duke to put up, have been, in his hands, rendered, if not ornamental, certainly the reverse of disfiguring. We are told that when the conversation happens to turn from them to the events that caused them to be placed where they now hang, the Duke only laughs. They shall stay where they are," is his remark, 66 as a monument of the gullibility of a mob, and the worthlessness of that sort of popularity for which they who give it can assign no good reason. I don't blame the men that broke my windows. They only did what they were instigated to do, by others who ought to have known better. But if any one be disposed to grow giddy with popular applause, I think that a glance towards these iron shutters will soon sober him."

LONDON:

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Sold by all Booksellers and Newsvepders in the Kingdom,

bottom of the ravine. Upon its summit is a little fort, commanding all the surrounding country: it was built by Hyder Ali, the Sultan of the neighbouring kingdom of Mysore; and was used by him, as well as by his successor Tippoo Sultan, as a place of confinement for state prisoners. The hills present many grand and beautiful views, similar to that here represented.

. It is, however, on account of the inhabitants themselves, rather than the district which they inhabit, that this small patch of country is interesting. Perhaps in no other part of the world could we find within a district of equal extent, tribes differing so much one from another, and from the other inhabitants of the surrounding country. Around the foot of the mountains, and for a short distance within the forests extending from their base into the plains, live a race of people commonly known by the name of Erulars. Above these, at a height varying from one to two thousand feet, in the clefts of the mountains, and little openings of the woods, live another race called Curumbars. The next tribe, occupying many of the elevated parts of the hills, are called Cohatars. Another tribe, or rather assemblage of inhabitants, comprising seven or eight classes of Hindoos who have migrated to these mountains within a certain period, are known by the general name of Bad cars. Lastly, the smallest, but in many respects the most remarkable tribe, is composed of the Tudars, supposed to be the original inhabitants of the mountains, or at least of longer standing than any of the other tribes now found there. This tribe is the one which we shall first describe.

The whole of the Tudar tribe, including both sexes and all ages, is supposed by Captain Harkness not to exceed six hundred in number. The men are generally above the middle height, athletic, well-made, and remarkable for their bold bearing, and open and expressive countenances. They never wear any covering to the head, whatever the weather may be, but allow the hair to grow to a length of about six or seven inches; parted from the centre or crown, it forms into natural bushy circlets all round, and at a short distance more resembles some artificial decoration, than a simple covering of hair. They have large, full, and sparkling eyes; a form of nose partaking of that which we term the Roman; and an expression of countenance which, while it often exhibits great gravity, seems ever ready to assume a cheerful and good-humoured turn, a circumstance which distinguishes them in a marked character from the other natives of India. They usually wear small gold earrings; and many decorate the neck with a studded chain of silver, and the fingers with rings of the same material. Their dress consists of a short under garment, folded round the waist, and fastened by a girdle; and of an upper one or mantle, which covers every part except the head, legs, and occasionally the right arm. These are left bare, the folds of the mantle terminating with the left shoulder, over which the bordered end is allowed to hang loosely. When in a recumbent or sitting posture, this mantle envelopes them entirely; and it thus becomes their clothing by night as well as by day. They neither wear sandals nor any other covering for the feet and legs. They carry no weapon of defence; but generally have a stick or rod in the right hand, to direct their herds.

The females have a stature proportionate to that of the men, but their general complexion is some shades lighter. With a feminine but expressive cast of features, their interesting appearance is much aided by long black hair, which flows in luxuriant tresses over the neck and shoulders. They have a modest and retiring demeanour, but are at the same time free from the ungracious and menial-like timidity of the generality of the sex in most parts of India; and they enter into conversation with a stranger in a manner very unusual in that country, but quite consistent with European

notions. They wear necklaces of twisted hair or black thread, with silver clasps, and beads, from which are suspended bunches of cowry-shells, which hang down from

the back of the neck between the shoulders. On the arms, just above the elbow, they wear a pair of brass armlets; on the wrists, silver bracelets; on the fingers and thumbs of each hand, a number of rings of various descriptions; and round the waist, a zone of chain-work, formed either of silver or brass. Their upper garment or mantle resembles that of the men; but it is worn differently, and, reaching to the feet, envelopes the whole frame. Captain Harkness describes this attire as giving the women an ungraceful and mummy-like appearance; but their intelligent and lively manners compensate for the ungainliness of their garb.

The life of the Tudars being pastoral, they do not congregate in towns or villages; but every family lives separately in a cluster of dwellings called a morrt. In each of these morrts is a building superior in size, construction, and appearance, to the others, at a short distance apart from them, and surrounded by a wall. In this are carried on all the processes of the dairy, such as making butter, converting it into the beverage called ghee, &c.; and this building is regarded with a singular kind of reverence, which renders the inhabitants unwilling that a stranger should enter it. The huts which form the remaining buildings of the morrt resemble in appearance the tilt of a wagon. The roof, formed of neatly constructed thatch, is supported on posts, and on thick, rude, short planks. Each hut is about twelve feet in length, eight in breadth, and seven in height, from the ground to the ridge of the roof; and at one end is a little door less than a yard high by two feet broad. At a short distance is an area, of about forty or fifty yards diameter, inclosed with a wall of rude stones piled one on another without cement, in which the herd is secured at night. As the families migrate from one morrt to another, or from one mountain-side to another, according as the seasons change, or the pastures fail, and as they cultivate no grain or vegetable of any description, it follows that their dwellings have none of the appearance common to settled residences.

It might be supposed, that as this people are neither warlike nor agricultural, their attention would be directed to the rearing of many kinds of animals; but Captain Harkness states that neither poultry, pigs, sheep, or goats, are bred among them; that the ox or the cowheld in so much estimation by the natives of India generally-is not considered by them worth keeping; that they never keep dogs; and that the buffalo is the only animal the rearing of which is an object of their care. This is partly explained by the circumstance, that the buffalo is an animal to which this climate seems particularly adapted; in the plains they are greatly tormented by flies, but among these hills they roam unmolested in herds of one or two hundred, feeding on a rich and luxuriant herbage. Almost the only articles which the Tudars produce are butter and ghee, both obtained from the milk of the buffalo.

The routine of the daily life of the Tudars is described as being somewhat as follows. As soon as the sun is risen, the herd is liberated from the inclosed area; and the calves, which during the night had been confined in a separate pen, are allowed to join them. The milking is now commenced by some of the males of the family, who previously go through certain superstitious purifications to qualify them for this duty. The herd is then allowed to graze about in the vicinity of the morrt; and the dairymen proceed to convert into butter the milk which had been drawn off the preceding evening. The new milk is divided into two portions, one to make butter some hours afterwards, and the other, aided by the buttermilk of the preceding evening, to make a beverage of which the whole family partake, and of which the quan