Pan curat oves oviumque magistros. 
  Pan, guardian of the sheep and shepherds too.

Yet the building is not merely ornamental, for the back serves as a cow-house!

Pope’s love of grotto-building has made it a poetical amusement.  Who does not remember his grotto at Twickenham—­

          The EGERIAN grot,
  Where, nobly pensive, st. John sat and thought;
  Where British sighs from dying Wyndham stole,
  And the bright flame was shot through Marchmont’s soul. 
  Let such, such only, tread this sacred floor,
  Who dare to love their country, and be poor.

—­The Grotto, has, however, crumbled to the dilapidations of time, and the pious thefts of visiters; but, proud are we to reflect that the poetry of the great genius who dictated its erection—­lives; and his fame is untarnished by the canting reproach of the critics of our time.  True it is that the best, or ripest fruit, is always most pecked at.

* * * * *

FAIRY SONG.

(For the Mirror.)

  Slowly o’er the mountain’s brow
    Rosy light is dawning;
  See! the stars are fading now
    In the beam of morning. 
  Yonder soft approaching ray
  Bids us, Fairies, haste away.

  Fairy guardians, watching o’er
    Flowers of tender blossom,
  Chilling damps descend no more,
    And the flow’ret’s bosom,
  Opening to th’ approaching day,
  Bids ye, Fairies, haste away.

  Hark! the lonely bird of night
    Stays its notes of sadness;
  Early birds, that hail the light,
    Soon shall wake to gladness. 
  Philomel’s concluding lay
  Bids us follow night away.

  Ye that guard the infant’s rest,
    Or watch the maiden’s pillow;—­
  Demons seek their home unblest
    ’Neath Ocean’s deepest billow: 
  Harmless now the dreams that play
  O’er slumbering eyes, then haste away.

  Farewell lovely scenes, that here
    Wait the day god’s shining;
  We must follow Dian’s sphere
    O’er the hills declining. 
  Brighter comes the beam of day—­
  Haste ye, Fairies, haste away.

G.J.

* * * * *

DREAMS PRODUCED BY WHISPERING IN THE SLEEPER’S EAR.

(For the Mirror.)

    Dreams are but interludes which fancy makes;
    When monarch Reason sleeps, this mimic wakes.

  Dryden.