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On Keston Heath wells up the Ravensbourne,
A crystal rillet, scarce a palm in width,
Till creeping to a bed, outspread by art,
It sheets itself across, reposing there:
Thence, through a thicket, sinuous it flows,

And crossing meads, and footpaths, gath'ring tribute,
Due to its elder birth, from younger branches,
Wanders, in Hayes and Bromley, Beckenham vale,
And straggling Lewisham, to where Deptford Bridge
Uprises in obeisance to its flood,

Whence, with large increase it rolls on, to swell
The master current of the "mighty heart"
Of England,

Before I had seen Keston I heard, at West Wickham, that it had been the site of Roman camp, and that a Roman bath was still there. It was from curiosity towards this piece of antiquity that I first visited the spot, in company with my friend W—. The country people, whom we met on our way, spoke of it as the "Old Bath," and the "Cold Bath," and as a water of great virtue, formerly bathed in, and still resorted to, by persons afflicted with weak or sprained limbs, which by dipping in this bath became cured.

Our walk from Wickham was remarkably pleasant; we passed noble oaks of many VOL. II.-48.

centuries' growth, and descended from the broad open highway into an old road on our left, a ravine, or intrenchment perchance, clothed with tendril plants and blossoming briars, festooning and arching over wild flowers growing amid the verdure of its high banks. Here we paced up hill, till we reached an open, lofty tract of heathland, in a rude, uncultivated, picturesque state, with a few houses in distant parts, surrounded by thriving plantations. On our left were the woodlands of the pleasant village of Hayes, remarkable for having been the seat of the great earl of Chatham, and the birthplace of his well-remembered

son: on our right were the heights of Holwood, and fine forest scenery. Near a cluster of cottages immediately before us there was a mill, with its sails going; these we scarcely glanced at, but made our way to an old alehouse, the sign of the Fox, where an ancient labourer, sitting at the door, directed us to "the Bath." We found it in a romantic little bottom, immediately under the gates of Holwood.

The delightful landscape, from the opening of this dell towards London and beyond it, so much engaged our attention, that for a while we forgot the "Bath," on the brink of which we were standing. There is no appearance of its having been a bathingplace, and certainly it has not the least character of a Roman bath. It is simply a well of fine pellucid water, which gently overflowing threads a small winding channel in the herbage, and suddenly expands, till it seems bounded by an embankment and line of trees. This is the road to the pleasant inn" Keston Cross." In the distance are the Kentish and Essex hills, with the dome of the metropolitan cathedral. Presuming that information respecting the spring might be obtained at Holwood we reascended, and inquired of several labourers employed in levelling and gravelling the avenue; but we derived nothing satis factory till a Keston man, working at a distance, came up, and told us that it was the source of the Ravensbourne.

I had formerly heard and read of a tradition respecting this spring, and now that I unexpectedly found myself upon its margin, recollection of the story heightened the interest of the scene. The legend runs, that when Cæsar was encamped here his troops were in great need of water, and none could be found in the vicinity. Observing, however, that a raven frequently alighted near the camp, and conjecturing that it was for the purpose of quenching its thirst, he ordered the coming of the bird to be watched for, and the spot to be particularly noted; this was done, and the result was as he anticipated. The object of the raven's resort was this little spring; from thence Cæsar derived a supply of water for the Roman legions, and from the circumstance of its discovery the spring was called the Raven's bourne, or the Raven's brook. From the lodge at Holwood, W. obtained the loan of a chair, and taking his seat on the brink of the well, sketched the view represented in his engraving of it above. If the account of Holwood* in 1792 be

* In col. 626.

correct, this spring, there called "Cæsar's Spring," was then a public cold bath, ornamented with trees, and a dressing-house on the brink. Hasted, in 1778,* gives a view of the Roman intrenchments on Holwood Hill, and figures the ancient road to the spring of the Ravensbourne, as running down to it from where Holwood gates now stand: he also figures the spring with twelve trees planted round it. Now, however, there is not a vestige of tree or building, but there are in the ground the stumps of a poled fencing, which was standing within recollection. On further examination I found the well bricked round, but the bricks at the top edge had decayed, or been thrown in; and the interior brickwork is lined with hair moss and other water-weeds. On the side opposite to that whereon a man is represented in the engraving, I traced the remains of steps for descending into the well as a bath. Its circle is about nine feet in diameter. At what time it commenced, or ceased, to be used as a bath, is uncertain.

Here, then, about twelve miles from London, in a delightful country, is a spring, rendered venerable by immemorial tradition and our ancient annals; and which, during eighteen centuries, from the time of its alleged discovery by Cæsar, has remain ed open to general use. Sorry therefore am I to add, that there are rumours of wish to enclose this public relic of by gone ages. I invite public attention to the place and to the report. Even at this sea son the lover of natural scenery will find charms at the source of the Ravensbourne, and be able to imagine the beauty of the surrounding country in summer. Had I a right of common on Keston Heath, rather than assist in a base "homage," to colour ably admit the enclosure of "Cæsar's Spring," I would surrender my own right, and renounce community and neighbourhood with the heartless hirelings, who would defraud themselves and the public of the chief attraction to Keston Common. At so small a distance from London I know d nothing so remarkable in history as this spring. On no pretence ought the public to be deprived of it. There are rights nature as well as of property: when the claims of the latter are urged too pertina ciously against the former, it is time to c out; and if middle men do not interfere to prevent the oppression, they will, in their turn, cry aloud when there will be none help them.

• History of Kent, folio, vol. iz 199.

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Atreus, having recovered his Wife, and Kingdom, from his brother Thyestes, who ad usurped both, and sent him into banish ent, describes his offending Queen.

Atreus (solus). --still she lives;
is true, in heavy sorrow: so she ought,'
she offended as I fear she has.

fer hardships, though, she owes to her own choice.
have often offer'd her my useless couch;

or what is it to me? I never sleep:
ut for her bed she uses the hard floor.
ly table is spread for her; I never eat:

nd she'll take nothing but what feeds her grief.

Philisthenes, the Son of Thyestes, at a tolen interview with Antigone, the daughr of Atreus, is surprised by the King's pies: upon which misfortune Antigone wooning, is found by Peneus.

Intigone. Peneus, an ancient retainer to the Court of Mycenæ.

Peneus. Ha! what is she that sleeps in open air? deed the place is far from any path, it what conducts to melancholy thoughts;) it those are beaten roads about this Court. r habit calls her, Noble Grecian Maid;

it her sleep says, she is a stranger here.

1 birds of night build in this Court, but Slcep;
id Sleep is here made wild with loud complaints,

id flies away from all. I wonder how

is maid has brought it to her lure so tame. Antigone, (waking from her swoon). Oh my Philis

thenes!

Peneus. She wakes to moan;

e, that's the proper language of this place! Antigone. My dear, my poor Philisthenes! thow 'tis so! oh horror! death hell! ohPeneus. I know her now; 'tis fair Antigone, e daughter and the darling of the King. is is the lot of all this family.* auteous Antigone, thou know'st me well; m old Peneus, one who threescore years

is loved and serv'd thy wretched family. part thy sorrows to me; I perhaps

my wide circle of experience

ty find some counsel that may do thee good. Antigone. O good old man! how long have

here?

Peneus. I came but now.

Antigone. O did you see this way

you

r young Philisthenes? you know him well. Peneus. Thy uncle's son, Thyestes' eldest sonAntigone. The same, the same

The descendants of Tantalus.

been

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Peneus. Why dost thou rend that beauteous ornament?

In what has it offended? hold thy hands.
Antigone. O father, go and plead for the poor youth;
No one dares speak to the fierce King but you-
Peneus. And no one near speaks more in vain than I;
He spurns me from his presence like a dog.
Antigone. Oh, then-

Peneus. She faints, she swoons, I frighten'd her,
Oh I spake indiscretely. Daughter, child,
Antigone, I'll go, indeed I'll go.

Antigone. There is no help for me in heav'n or earth. Peneus. There is, there is; despair not, sorrowful maid,

All will be well. I'm going to the King,
And will with pow'rful reasons bind his hards;
And something in me says I shall prevail.
But to whose care shall I leave thee the while?-
For oh! I dare not trust thee to thy grief.

Antigone. I'll be disposed of, father, as you please, Till I receive the blest or dreadful doom.

Peneus. Then come, dear daughter, lean upon my

arm,

Which old and weak is stronger yet than thine;
Thy youth hath known more sorrow than my age.

I never hear of grief, but when I'm here;
But one day's diet here of sighs and tears
Returns me elder home by many years.

Atreus, to entrap his brother Thyestes; who has lived a concealed life, lurking in woods, to elude his vengeance; sends Philisthenes and old Peneus to him with offers of reconciliation, and an invitation to Court, to be present at the nuptials of Antigone with Philisthenes.

Thyestes. Philisthenes.

Thy. Welcome to my arms,

Peneus.

My hope, my comfort! Time has roll'd about
Several months since I have seen thy face,
And in its progress has done wond'rous things.

Phil. Strange things indeed to chase you to this sad Dismal abode; nay, and to age, I think:

I see that winter thrusting itself forth

Long, long before its time, in silver hairs.

Thy. My fault, my son; I would be great and high; Snow lies in summer on some mountain tops. Ah, Son! I'm sorry for thy noble youth, Thou hast so bad a father; I'm afraid, Fortune will quarrel with thee for my sake. Thou wilt derive unhappiness from me, Like an hereditary ill disease.

Phil. Sir, I was born, wher you were innocent;

And all the ill you have contracted since,
You have wrought out by painful penitence;
For healthy joy returns to us again;
Nay, a more vigorous joy than e'er we had.
Like one recover'd from a sad disease,
Nature for damage pays him double cost,
And gives him fairer flesh than e'er he had.

Thyestes is won from his retirement by the joint representations of Philisthenes and Peneus, of the apparent good faith, and returning kindness of his brother; and visits Mycence-his confidence; his returning misgivings.

Thyestes. Philisthenes. Peneus.

Thy. O wondrous pleasure to a banish'd man,
I feel my loved long look'd-for native soil!
And oh my weary eyes, that all the day

Had from some mountain travell'd toward this place,
Now rest themselves upon the royal towers
Of that great palace where I had my birth.
O sacred towers, sacred in your height,
Mingling with clouds, the villas of the Gods
Whither for sacred pleasures they retire;
Sacred because you are the work of Gods;
Your lofty looks boast your divine descent:
And the proud city which lies at your feet,
And would give place to nothing but to you,
Owns her original is short of yours.
And now a thousand objects more ride fast

On morning beams, and meet my eyes in throngs;
And see, all Argos meets me with loud shouts!
Phil. O joyful sound!

Thy. But with them Atreus too

Phil. What ails my father, that he stops, and

shakes,

And now retires?

Thy. Return with me, my son,

And old friend Peneus, to the honest beasts,
And faithful desart, and well-seated caves;
Trees shelter man, by whom they often die,
And never seek revenge: no villainy
Lies in the prospect of an humble cave.

Pen. Talk you of villainy, of foes, and fraud?
Thy. I talk of Atreus.

Pen.. What are these to him?

Thy. Nearer than I am, for they are himself. Pen. Gods drive these impious thoughts out of your mind.

Thy. The Gods for all our safety put them there.Return, return with me.

Pen. Against our oaths?

I cannot stem the vengeance of the Gods.
Thy. Here are no Gods: they've left this dire abode.
Pen. True race of Tantalus! who parent-like
Are doom'd in midst of plenty to be starved.
His hell and yours differ alone in this :
When he would catch at joys, they fly from him;
When glories catch at you, you fly from them.
Thy. A fit comparison; our joys and his
Are lying shadows, which to trust is hell.

The day of the pretended NuptialsAtreus feigns a returning love for his Queen.

Erope. O this is too much joy for me to bear:

You build new palaces on broken walls.

Atreus. Come, let our new-born pleasures breathe sweet air;

This room's too vile a cabinet for gold.

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Then leave for ever, Love, this doleful place,
And leave behind thee all thy sorrows here;
And dress thyself as this great day requires.
'Twill be thy daughter's nuptials; and I dream'd,
The Sun himself would be asham'd to come,
And be a guest in his old tarnish'd robe;
But leave my Court, to enlighten all the globe.-
Peneus to Atreus, dissuading him from
his horrid purpose.

Pen. Fear you not men or Gods?

Atr. The fear of Gods ne'er came in Pelops' House
Pen. Think you there are no Gods?

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Atr. This day shall be

To Argos an eternal festival.

Thy. Fortune and I to day both try our strengths
I have quite tired her left-hand Misery;
She now relieves it with her right-hand Joy,
Which she lays on me with her utmost force;
But both shall be too weak for my strong spirit.
Atr. (aside). So, now my engines of delight ha
screw'd

The monster to the top of arrogance;
And now he's ready for his deadly fall.

Thy. O these extremes of misery and joy
Measure the vast extent of a man's soul.
My spirit reaches Fortune's East and West.
She has oft set and ris'n here; yet cannot get
Out of the vast dominion of my mind.-
Ho! my proud vaunting has a sudden check;
See, from my head my crown of roses falls;
My hair, tho' almost drown'd beneath sweet oils,
With strange and sudden horrors starts upright:
Something I know not what bids me not eat;
And what I have devour'dt within me groans;
I fain would tear my breast to set it free;—
And I have catch'd the eager thirst of tears,
Which all weak spirits have in misery.

I, who in banishment ne'er wept, weep now.

* A hint of the dreadful banquet which he medi at which the Sun is said to have turned away horses.

The mangled limbs of his son Philisthenes, vid Atreus has set before him.

Atr. Brother, regard it not; 'tis fancy all. isery, like night, is haunted with ill spirits, nd spirits leave not easily their haunts; is said, sometimes they'll impudently stand flight of beams from the forlorn of day,

nd scorn the crowing of the sprightly cocks :rother, 'tis morning with our pleasure yet. or has the sprightly wine crow'd oft enough. e in great flagons at full length it sleeps, nd lets these melancholy thoughts break in pon our weaker pleasures, Rouse the wine,

nd bid him chase these fancies hence for shame. that reverend unvanquish'd Bowl,

ill

up

Vho many a giant in his time has fallen,

nd many a monster; Hercules not more.

Thy. If he descends into my groaning breast,

Ake Hercules, he will descend to hell

Atr. And he will vanquish all the monsters there. Brother, your courage with this Hero try;

le o'er our House has reign'd two hundred years, and he's the only king shall rule you here.

Thy. What ails me, I cannot heave it to my lips? Atr. What, is the bowl too heavy?

Thy. No; my heart.

Atr. The wine will lighten it.

Thy. The wine will not

Some near my lips.

Atr. Why should they be so strange?

They are near a-kin.

Thy. A-kin?

Atr. As possible; father and son not nearer.
Thy. What do you mean?

Atr. Does not good wine beget good blood?
Thy. 'Tis true.

Atr. Your lips then and the wine may be a-kin.
ff with your kindred wine; leave not a drop

o die alone, bewilder'd in that bowl.
lelp him to heave it to his head; that's well.

(Thycstes drinks. A clap of thunder. The lights
go out.)

Thy. What pond'rous crimes pull heav'n upon our

heads?

'ature is choak'd with some vast villainy,

nd all her face is black.

Atr. Some lights, some lights.

Thy. The sky is stunn'd, and reels 'twixt night and day;

ld Chaos is return'd.

- Atr. It is to see

young One born, more dreadful than herself;

hat promises great comfort to her age,

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Liston has married Fanny Tyrer:
He must, like all the town, admire her,
A pretty actress, charming voice!
But some, astonish'd at his choice
Of one, compar'd with him, so small
She scarcely seem'd a wife at all,
Express'd their wonder: his reply
Show'd that he had "good reason why."-
"We needs must when the devil drives;
And since all married men say, wives
Are of created things the worst,

I was resolv'd I would be curst
With one as small as I could get her,
The smaller, as I thought, the better.
I need not fear to lay my fist on,
Whene'er 'tis needed, Mrs. Liston:
And since, like heathen Jew or Carib,'

I like a rib, but not a spare-rib,

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I got one broad as she is long

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Go and do better, if I'm wrong."

CHARLES JENNENS, ESQ.

One of the most singular characters of his day was Charles Jennens, Esq., a sort of literary Bubb Doddington. Being born to a good estate, from his boyhood he was ridiculously fond of show and pomp, and

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