rebel's unnatural crime. But I finally concluded that it was better to be a Christian in my hate as well as in my love, and to take no worse revenge than to recite over the ashes of the regicides that sweet prayer for the 30th of January, which magnifies God for the grace given to the royal martyr, "by which he was enabled, in a constant meek suffering of all barbarous indignities, to resist unto blood, and then, according to the Saviour's pattern, to pray for his murderers." anything of Whalley's memorial, I was obliged to stoop down to it, and examine it very closely. I copied it, head and foot, into my tablets, nor did I notice, at the time, any peculiarity, but took down the inscription, as I supposed correctly, "1658, E. W." While I was busy about this, there came along one of the students, escorting a young lady, who, bending down to the headstone of Goffe's grave, examined it a few minutes attentively, and then started up, and went away with her happy protector, exclaiming, "I must leave it to Old Two hundred years have gone, well nigh, Mortality, for I can see nothing at all." I and those mean graves continue in their found it as she had said, and left it without dishonor, while the monarchy which their any better satisfaction; but, during the occupants once supposed they had destroyed evening, happening to mention these facts, is as unshaken as ever. Nor must it be I was shown a drawing of both Goffe's and unnoticed, that the church which they Whalley's memorials; by help of which, on thought to pluck up, root and branch, has repeating my visit early next morning, I borne a healthful daughter that chants her observed the very curious marks which give venerable service in another hemisphere, them additional interest. Looking more and so near these very graves that the bones carefully at Whalley's headstone, one ob- of Goffe and Whalley must fairly shake at serves a 7 strongly blended with the 5, in Christmas, when the organ swells, hard-by, the date which I had copied; so that it with the voices of thronging worshippers, may be read as I had taken it, or it may be who still keep "the superstitious time of read 1678, the true date of Whalley's de- the Nativity," even in the Puritans' own mise. This same cipher is repeated on the land and city. What a conclusion to so footstone, and is evidently intentional. much crime and bloodshed! Such a sepulNor is the grave of Goffe less curious. The ture, thought I, instead of a green little stone is at first read, "M. G., 80;" but, barrow in some quiet churchyard of Englooking closer, you discover a superfluous land, "fast by their fathers' graves!" line cut under the M, to hint that it must Had these poor men been contented with not be taken for what it seems. It is in peace and loyalty, such graves they might fact a W reversed, and the whole means, have found under the eaves of the same "W. G., 1685;" the true initials and parish church that registered their christendate of death of William Goffe. If Dix-ing; the very bells tolling for their funeral well was not himself the engraver of these rude devices, he doubtless contrived them; and they have well accomplished their purpose, of avoiding detection in their own day, and attracting notice in ours. There was something that touched me, in spite of myself, in thus standing by these rude graves, and surveying the last relics of men born far away in happy English homes, who once made a figure among the great men and were numbered with the lawful senators of a free and prosperous state! I own that, for a moment, I checked my impulses of pity, and thought whether it would not be virtuous to imitate the Jews in Palestine, who to this day throw a pebble at Absalom's pillar as they pass it in the King's Dale, to show their horror of the that pealed when they took their brides. How much better the "village Hampden" than the wide-world's Whalley; and how enviable the uncouth rhyme and the yeoman's honest name on the stone that loving hands have set, compared with these coward initials and memorials that skulk in the grass! Sta, viator, judicem calcas! A judge, before whose unblenching face the sacred majesty of England once stood upon deliverance, and awaited the stern issues of life and death; an unjust judge, who, for daring to sit in judgment, must yet come forth from this obscure grave, and give answer unto Him who is judge of quick and dead. From the Dublin University Magazine. THE LATE MRS. JAMES GRAY. "Fear no more the heat o' the sun, Nor the furious winter's rages; THESE opening lines of the simple dirge in in a brief autobiography, written in 1840, Cymbeline found ready passage from our we find an interesting recollection of its aplips as we hung up in our GALLERY its last pearance: "I have a distinct remembrance accession, the portrait we this month en- of my birth-place," she wrote, "though the grave. Shakspeare, in his mastery of the cottage has been for many years pulled human heart, here paints feelings which down and replaced by a very ugly red brick bring their meed of consolation, if not of mansion. It was a low, thatched building; rejoicing, to the mourners for the Early the walls and porch were partially covered Dead. He would have us think of them as with roses, honeysuckles, and other creepnot alone at rest but in security. No fur- ing plants; before the door was a large ther anxieties; no more unquiet thoughts! green plat, in the centre of which stood an Gaze on that gentle face and call to mind old apple tree, celebrated through the neighthat trouble can come there no more; that borhood for the excellence and abundance the weariness of hope deferred cannot longer of its produce; and a large garden, full, if torment; that those temples may not pul- I remember rightly, of very beautiful flowsate with pain, nor those eyes send down ers, was attached. There were many trees their showers; and then, while with us you round the dwelling; and in my childish weep for so much promise too soon taken mind I well remember I used to compare it away, you can even say, "It is well!" and to a bird's nest.” Here, with the excepthink that the haven found is a bright ex- tion of a short time passed in Liverpool, change for the storms that rage without, when she was two years old, the opening threatening with destruction the barks yet four years of her life were spent-four years, exposed to their fury. which, in their brief compass, sufficed to Soon after our gifted contributor's de-show all the leading tendencies of her mind; cease, we gave our readers a brief memoir of her literary career. The sketch was slightly done the work of a single sitting; but was received with some degree of interest, as the first attempt at the poetess's biography. Since then many valuable contributions have reached us; and we find a kind of duty imposed on us now to give a fuller if not more faithful account, gathered from the rich materials which have found their way to our hands. and to her watchful parents, to indicate the gifts of their child-her heritage of weal or woe. The The dawning of the human mind is, to its individual possessor, lost in clouds and thick darkness; but to the calm spectator, light is seen to glimmer and struggle through the unformed chaos, " shining more and more unto the perfect day." young child's reason awoke almost immediately; an unwonted precocity of thought, MARY ANNE BROWNE, the eldest of three united with great quickness of apprehension, children, was born at her father's house, and a most retentive memory, speedily deMaidenhead Thicket, Berks, on the 24th veloped themselves; and intellect and life of September, 1812. Paternally she de- might be said almost to have commenced rived descent from Sir Anthony Browne, a simultaneously. When two years of age, Kentish baronet, the lineal ancestor of the she could read fluently, having acquired the Lords Montagu. Her mother, after whom faculty not by the slow, heartbreaking proshe was named, was the only surviving child cess of mastering first the individual syllaof Captain John Simmons, of Liverpool; bles, but by forming an immediate acquaintand her maternal grandmother was the ance with the words themselves. Every daughter of Thomas Briarly, Esq., the re- word, once declared to her, was rememberpresentative of a well-known Lancashire ed as an old friend, and its pronunciation family. The house in which Miss Browne and meaning always kept in mind. Her was born has been long since removed; but, education was almost wholly imparted at home; and her father, who was well quali- | Garden of England, and inviting to a thoufied for the duty, was her first preceptor. sand pleasant wanderings along his shelMr. Browne is yet living, and we feel some tered banks. And the neighboring common delicacy in alluding, therefore, to his per- was redolent with fragrant gorse and wildsonal fitness for such an office; yet we are flowers, and led away to woods, vocal with assured that his own intellectual tastes ex- birds in the summer season, and protected ercised their natural influence on his daugh- against the biting colds of winter. Who ter's expanding mind, and while they made could else than be a belated wanderer at her acquainted with the stores of wealth laid times with such attractions?" I shall let up in her country's literature, prompted also my reader at once," she writes in a characthe desire to possess similar acquirements. teristic passage, "into the whole round of Mr. Browne had a fine voice; and the win- my simple pleasures and pursuits. I need ter evenings, when the fireside showed its not say how I loved flowers and birds and attractions, were devoted to the perusal of butterflies, and all the population of the favorite volumes, of which he was generally fields and woods; how I looked every spring the reader. The miscellaneous knowledge for the first violet or primrose, as for a couplaced in the reach of a whole family, by rier announcing the return of a crowd of this happy mode, cannot be over-estimated; dearly-loved friends; nor how I loved to while the power of selection, confided to a wander away from home, forgetting the time judicious head, contributes also its own and the distance; nor how the sunset was value-a point on which it is unnecessary looked forward to, on a fine summer day, as to enlarge. if it were some splendid pageant. Neither need I detail the affectionate lectures on colds and chilblains, and torn frocks and wet shoes and idleness, which I was sure to receive on my return home." On one remarkable occasion, during these wanderings, an incident befell her which created such deep mental impressions as to constitute an epoch in her spirit's history, which we feel called upon more particularly to allude to. When Mary Anne was four years old, the family were constrained to leave their house at the Thicket, owing to its too limited accommodation. They reluctantly quitted their lovely little cottage, and moved to the other side of the high road, where Mr. Browne had erected a more spacious residence, called The Elms, from some fine trees near it. Already as we read of Pope-our poetess had, in some measure, taught herself writing, by imitating the printed characters in an old prayer-book; and here she began to "to warble her native wood-notes," and give expression to the thoughts that started into being within. Paper, pens, and ink, were esteemed treasures, on which alone pocket-money was worthily bestowed; and an itinerant vender, who supplied the neighborhood with these acquisitions, and with millinery and sweetmeats, found all his stores set aside, untouched, until his "stationery " was uncovered. At the same time books, the "comforters of her childish sorrows, and companions of her happiness," as she calls them, began to increase in number with her; and a love for their possession was excited, which never passed away but with life itself. The beauteous scenery around her Berkshire home made no vain appeal to the young dreamer's senses; but afforded outof-door delights equalling, if not surpassing, her pleasant studies within. Near at hand was the broad, bright channel of old Father Thames, dividing in twain by a pathway of silver, a district not unworthily named The Although none can remember the first enkindling of reason within him, yet there are many, we believe, who, among the records of their early experience, preserve the memory of a time and season when, by a sudden impulse, they put away childish things;" when a burst of glory seemed to have been poured around them, and they arose, like Saul on his way to Damascus, at first blinded and confused, but straightway enlightened and directed of heaven. Ordinary things may be near; the scene of the occurrence may be familiar as one's own home; and, save by their own bounding hearts, the day may be unchronicled from any other of the seven; but a memorable hour has come for them, and when it has passed away they are no more what they were. A gift and a power have fallen upon them; new feelings, new aspirations become their own. In a word, the uncertain thoughts of childhood are exchanged for the decision of character which marks maturer years. Shelley describes, in verse of exquisite beauty, the "sweet May-dawn" that "burst his spirit's sleep" when the Muse found him, in his school-boy attire, The passion of that hour went by, alone and sorrowful, and gave him his vocation as her worshipper for ever. We find the subject of this sketch in one of her latest poems, "The Moorland Child," attempting a similar delineation of her feelings at Wild thoughts these for a child of seven the time when the change came and trans- years! for although their poetical exlated her into a new world of enlarged ex-pression was reserved for a far later period, istence. In this remarkable poem-re- the date of their origin could be traced to markable, if for no other reason than for that almost infantine season. its having been one of the few with a per- We have some lines by us, which must sonal reference; she tells us of a young have been written in her ninth year, if we child who, attracted in her simplicity by the may decide from their subject matter-the glories of the beautiful world around, loved death of Queen Caroline. The sufferings more than her home, its flowers, and bees, of that ill-used woman, which awoke the or her own small garden, an "over-cultured general indignation of the people, were of spot," the wide common which she had engrossing interest to the dwellers in the made her chosen playing ground. She vicinity of Windsor. They seemed to feel paints her delight in straying alone midst a home-interest in all the Queen's persethe heather and furze in search of the red cutions; for to them she was endeared by strawberry, the hare-bell, and fragrant wild a host of personal reminiscences, weaving thyme her simple song carolling forth in stronger ties than could the quick sense of reply to the birds, and her light-hearted her wrongs, or the vague attractions of her shout ringing out, when the leveret came royalty. The theme was an exciting one leaping from his hiding-place in the fern; to the young Muse, and was eagerly and and then she tells of a time when the child's not unskilfully attempted. In the course spirit became sorrowful with too early of the following year, she made some thought "There was one evening when the West Was all a flood of gold; And to the East, in lazy rest, The floating clouds were rolled; And one pale star shone white and wan, The child went bounding o'er the heath, It seemed as if her very breath Its even thrill delayed: And ceased her childish song; And her heart beat high and strong. "Slowly her dark eyes filled with tears, The careless laughing one Had felt the magic and the power Of that declining sun. "Oh, who may tell what thronging dreams How did her very spirit yearn, Amidst that stirring strife! VOL. XI. No. I. essays at dramatic writing, of what nature it is impossible to say, since these and the greater part of her earlier productions were destroyed almost as soon as penned. She wrote, less for the sake of praise than for the relief of her own ever-crowding imaginings. Certain thoughts will at times haunt the brain, like busy phantoms, until they are "laid" by calm investigation; and the pen is like a wizard's wand, mighty to bid the disquieting shadows depart. At what time Miss Browne's poetry first found its way to the printer's hands, we cannot tell, but we believe we are right in naming, as the medium, the Berkshire Chronicle, to the "poct's corner” of which she often contributed, so early as 1826. The Chronicle was published in the neighboring town of Reading, and at this time was conducted by Mr. Hansall, a man of considerable taste and discrimination. He acted the part of a literary adviser; suggested good models; pointed out with kindness her deficiencies, and recommended application and study, as necessary guides for the genius she so evidently possessed : Che seggendo in piuma In Fama non si vien, ne sotto coltre; * Inferno, c. xxiv. In May, 1827, in her fifteenth year, | brief address, the writer thought it advisappeared her first volume-Mont Blanc able to state that the principal poem of her and other Poems, dedicated by permission book had been ready for the press more to the Princess Augusta. The leading than a twelvemonth, and had been inpoem, which gave the book its name, is in the tentionally delayed from the desire that Spenserian stanza; and its inspiration is her works should not follow each other too evidently derived from Lord Byron. Not rapidly. Short as was the interval, there that we mean to assert any direct or ex-are sure signs of progress in Ada. The cessive plagiarism; but the favorite author poetess had now, in some degree, proved is visible throughout, and gives a tone to her wings, and was satisfied to trust their the whole composition. This is the wonted self-sustaining power. She is no longer a mistake of young writers; the model is copyist, but dares to look within, and made a copy, and the end lost sight of, in trace the thousand streams of thought, admiration of the guide. About forty through all their wanderings, to their minor poems, and a few sacred pieces, com-fountain-head-the heart. The colors of plete the volume; and in these we find more her imagination have not grown colder, distinct traces of the author's peculiar but there is more harmony in their arrangegenius. There is the same musical rhythm, ment, and each individual painting shows a which she knew so well to preserve in all hand at once strengthened and made skilful variations of measure-the same keen by practice. She now took her place appreciation of the outward world-the among the leading female writers of the same delicate painting of feelings, and their day, and a high degree of interest became mysterious impulses. As we might expect attached to one of genius so youthful, yet in the productions of so young a person, so full of promise. Her contributions were Imagination had more sway than Re- willingly admitted into the chief literary flection; but the book, despite of its journals, while a prouder tribute than any writer's inexperience, contained so much public applause was conveyed to her, genuine poetry, and was yet more marked through Mr. Hansall, in the wish of Coleby such promise, that it met the most grati- ridge to form her acquaintance. fying success, was largely received, and as extensively praised. And perhaps one of its most pleasing fruits was the speedy introduction it brought to Miss Mitford, then residing at Three Mile Cross, near Reading, 66 TO THE EDITOR OF THE 'BERKSHIRE CHRONICLE.' and a happy friendship with that gifted "Highgate, Tuesday, 29th Sept., 1828. writer. Very soon after the publication of "SIR-I am extremely surprised to observe, by Mont Blanc, Miss Browne wrote, and had last Saturday's Chronicle, that you have not inserted printed in the form of a small pamphlet, of your correspondent of the previous week. I am my communication relative to the gross plagiarisms à poem called The Widow, being the not in general in the habit of noticing such matters; history and misfortunes of a poor woman but when I do, it is rather as a public imposture living in her neighborhood, who had lost than a private injury, and I would have expected, her all by the accidental conflagration of been alluded to; and I may add, that I certainly exunder such circumstances, that my letter would have her cottage. This little work was never pect at your hand, and de novo, an acknowledg placed in a bookseller's hands, but was ment of your error, or inserting the original epi disposed of among the writer's friends, who gram. I do not wish to be peremptory, but I mean knew the poor woman's history and the nected with a journal of the same political princito be firm. When I was myself for some time conphilanthropic object Miss Browne contem- ples, and, I may add, conducted with equal talent plated in the sale. It was pleasing to add, to your own, my leading axiom always was, to be equally impartial in literary as well as political impostures, and give to both a merited share of exposure and abuse. that the result was all that she could desire. A sum of money was raised, more than sufficient to replace all the losses sustained by the fire; and the widow's heart was made to sing for joy by the possession of many comforts which hitherto had been wholly beyond her reach. The year following the publication of Mont Blanc, was marked by the appearance of another volume of poetry, Ada, which was equally well received. In a Since everything relative to the author of Kulla Khan and the Ancient Mariner, must possess interest, we transcribe the poet's letter. The original MS. lies before us : "I understand from Messrs. Longman that Miss Browne, of your part of the country, is in the habit On her next arriof being frequently in London. dress, and I shall be proud, in my old age, to meet val, my publishers will be glad to give her my ada young lady who promises so fairly to adorn the era of my literary successors. "I remain, dear Sir, "Your obedient Servant, "S. T. COLERIDGE. "P. S.-My friend, Mr. Gilman, has just re |