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pathways, struck for a moment, with their grim visages and silent shaggy forms, the fear into your bosoms which is felt by the neighbouring peasantry at the oud lard's devils."

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"in the lake below the Abbey, the artificial rock, which he piled at a vast expense, still reared its lofty head; but the frigate, which fulfilled old Mother Shipton's prophecy, by sailing over dry land, on being dragged from a distant part to this place, had long vanished, and the only relics of his naval whim were the rock, his ship buoys, and the venerable old Murray who accompanied me round the premises. The dark, haughty, impetuous spirit, and mad deeds of this nobleman, the poet's uncle, I feel little doubt, by making a vivid and indelible impression on his youthful fancy, furnished some of the principal materials for the formation of his lordship's favourite and perpetually-recurring poetical hero. His manners and acts are the theme of many a winter-evening in that neighbourhood. In one of his paroxysins of wrath he shot his coachman, for giving, in his opinion, an improper precedence; threw the corpse into his carriage to his lady, mounted, and drove himself. For this he was tried by the Peers, but acquitted for want of evidence. In a quarrel, which arose out of a dispute between their game-keepers, he killed his neighbour, Mr. Chaworth, the lord of the adjoining With that unhappy deed, however, died all family feud; and, if we are to believe our noble bard, the dearest purpose of his heart would have been compassed, could he have united the two races by a union with the sole remnant of that ancient house, the present most amiable Mrs. Chaworth, the MARY of his. early poems. To those who have any knowledge of the two families, nothing is more perspicuous in his lays than the deep interest with which he has again and again turned to this his boyish, his first, most endearing attachment. His poem called The Dream' is literally their mutual his

manor.

*

Vide vol. i. p. 370.

6

tory. The antique oratory,', the hoary threshold,' where stood his steed caparisoned,' and the hill

Crowned with a peculiar diadem Of trees in circular array, so fixed, Not by the sport of nature, but of man," are pictures too well known to those who have seen them, to be mistaken for a moment.

It is curious to observe the opinions entertained by country-people of celebrated literary characters, living at times amongst them. I have frequently asked such persons, near Newstead, what sort of man his lordship was; the impression of his energetic but eccentric character was obvious in their reply, He's the devil of a fellow for comical fancies; he flogs th oud Lord to nothing but he's a hearty good fellow for a' that.' One of these comical fancies, related by a farmer who has seen it more than once, is truly Byronic: he would sometimes get into the boat with his two noble Newfoundland dogs, row into the middle of the lake, then, dropping his oars, tumble into the water; the faithful animals would immediately follow, seize him by the coatcollar, one on each side, and bear him away to land."

W. II.

(We shall resume this subject next week; in the mean time we refer our readers,for farther anecdotes of his lordship, to pp. 142, 172, 216, 229, and 370, of our first volume. ED.)

CHARACTERISTICS.

BY BISHOP HALL.

(Resumed from page 187.)

(3). THE MALE-CONTENT-He is neither well full nor fasting; and though he abound with complaints, yet nothing dislikes him but the present: for what hee condemned while it was, once past he magnifies, and striues to recall it out of the lawes of Time. What he hath, he sees not, his eies are so taken vp with what he wants; and what he sees, hee cares not for, because he cares so much for that which is not. When his friend carues him the best morsell, he murmures "that it is an happy feast wherein each one may cut for himselfe." When a present is sent him, he askes, "Is

this all?" and " What, no better?" and so accepts it, as if he would haue his friend know how much he is bound to him for vouchsafing to receiue it. It is hard to entertain him with a proportionable gift. If nothing, he cries out of vnthankfulnesse; if little, that he is basely regarded; if much, he exclaimes of flattery, and expectation of a large requitall. Euery blessing hath somewhat to disparage and distaste it. Children bring cares; single life is wild and solitary; eminence is enuious; retirednesse obscure; fasting painfull; satietie vnweildie; religion nicely seuere; liberty is lawJesse; wealth burdensome; medioerity contemptible. Every thing faulteth, either in too much, or too little. This man is euer head-strong, and selfe-willed, neither is he alwaies tied to esteeme or pronounce according to reason; some things he must dislike he knowes not wherefore, but he likes them not: and otherwhere, rather then not censure, he will accuse a man of vertue. Euery thing he medleth with, he either findeth imperfect, or maketh so: neither is there any thing that soundeth so harsh in his eare, as the commendation of another, whereto yet perhaps he fashionably and coldly assenteth, but with such an after-clause of exception, as doth more than marre his former allowance, and if he list not to giue a werball disgrace, yet he shakes his head and smiles, as if his silence should say, "I could, and will not." And when himselfe is praised without excesse, hee complaines that such imperfect kindnesse hath not done him right. If but an vnseasonable showre crosse his recreation, he is ready to fall out with heauen, and thinkes he is wronged, if God will not take his times when to raine, when to shine. He is a slaue to enuie, and loseth flesh with fretting, not so much at his owne infelicitie, as at others' good; neither hath he leisure to ioy in his own blessings whilest another prospereth. Faine would hee see some mutinies, but dares not raise them; and suffers his lawlesse tongue to walke thorow the dangerous paths of conceited terations; but so, as in good man

ners he had rather thrust euery man before him when it comes to acting. Nothing but feare keepes him from conspiracies, and no man is more cruell when he is not manicled with danger. Hee speakes nothing but satyrs and libels, and lodgeth no guests in his heart but rebels. The inconstant and he agree well in their felicitie, which both place in change: but herein they differ; the inconstant man affects that which will be, the male-content commonly that which was. Finally, he is a querulous curre, whom no horse can passe by without barking at; yea, in the deepe silence of night the very moone-shine openeth his clamorous mouth: hee is the wheele of a well-couched fire-worke, that flies out on all sides, not without scorching itselfe. Euery eare is long agoe wearie of him, and he is now almost wearie of himselfe. Giue him but a little respit, and he will die alone, of no other death, than others welfare. (Resuined on p. 218.)

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Oh! swell forth thy tones, in thy majesty' die,

Let the peal of thy harmony sound as thy dirge.

But, oh how I've lov'd thy sweet warblings to hear!—

When each tone that has vibrated, thrill'd in my heart;

Thou wert ever enchanting! I find thee more dear,

More dear to my soul, since we meet now to part!

Methinks in thy tones my own sorrows arè sighing

Methinks that each note tells a sad take of grief.

That in parting with thee,

hopes are flying,

all my

best

And that death to thy master alone Brings relief.

One tear o'er thy strings, and one sigh of regret

For the pleasures we've shar'd in our pilgrimage here;

This heart that is breaking this cheek that is wet

Are proofs of a sorrow as deep as

sincere.

Thou soul of my solitude! light of the hall!

Where have met the untroubled, the gallant, the gay,

Can I dream on that time when in May thy spirit smile peacefully over my

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pall,

When I've pass'd from this earth and its troubles away.

Che Wit's Nunchion.

B.

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SHREWDNESS.-An Hibernian who was returning to London from Bath a few days ago by one of the day coaches, on arriving at Speenliamland, the place where the passengers usually dine, very anxiously enquired for the bill of fare, and asked,what they charged for dinner." The waiter replied "five shillings, your honour." And pray, said the Hibernian, "what is your charge for supper ?" “Why,” replied the waiter, "half a crown.”—“ Then bring me a supper.”

F. M. L.

SIMPLICITY-A philosopher having a cask of wine, sealed it up at the top; his servant bored a hole at the bottom, and stole the greater part of it. Some time after, having called a friend to taste his wine, he found the vessel almost empty, and expressing his surprise that the liquor should be lost, and the seal whole, was advised to examine whether the bottom had not been bored." "You fool," says be, “the wine at the bottom is safe enough; you see it is the upper part of the cask that has been robbed."

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WOLSEY.In the time of Henry VIII. every great man kept a fool, who was generally a clever, witty person, was licensed to speak his thoughts. Cardinal Wolsey was not without one of these appendages to grandeur, and one day, as he was about to give a magnificent feast, wherein, according to the custom of those time, a prodigious quantity of butcher's meat was consumed, his fool said to his Eminence, "I wish, with all my heart, that you were made Pope."- Why?" replied the Cardinal, "Because," said the buffoon, St. Peter established Lent in order to profit his relations, who were FISHERMEN; now you would abolish it to enrich your parenrs, who are BUTCHERS."

TO CORRESPONDENTS.

LACONIC is quite right: we always wish our contributors to communicate what they have to say in as few words as possible.-PANGLOSS has favoured us with a very sensible reply to LOLIO on

Ghost-Stories," which shall be given next week, if possible.-Unluckily we cannot comply with Q's request, for rejected articles are invariably distroyed, or our writing-desk would be crammed with a glorious stock of rubbish ; Ccrrespondents, therefore, who wish to have their communications returned. in the event of non-acceptance, should favour us with a notification to that effect.F. M. L's proposal is agreed to by the Publisher; some of the articles sent by him shall appear, hut The Queen of the Hearts," has been forestalled by the articles on G. Barnwell" and " Young Ginkins."-J. N. A. R's article won't do.

[We are reluctantly compelled to omit the usual cut this week.]

LONDON---Printed and Published by T. Wallis Camden Town; and also Published by C. Harris, Bow. Street, Covent Garden, by whom Communications for the Editor are received.

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NEWSTEAD ABBEY, NOTTINGHAMSHIRE, THE FAMILY SEAT OF THE BYRONS.

WE offer no apology for again dedi- (founded by King Henry the 2d. soon cating the greater part of our number after the murder of Becket, and dedito subjects connected with that highly-cated to the Virgin Mary) the present gifted individual whose loss is still so building was erected, on a piece of deeply deplored. Lord Byron has for waste land, and received the name of years past occupied so conspicuous a NEW STEDE OF PLACE. place in the thoughts, the writings, and the conversation of a great part of mankind, and the affectionate veneration felt for his genius has been so intense, that a long period must elapse ere the pain caused by the late melancholy intelligence can subside. At present the feeling of regret is deep, bitter, and universal; and our sorrow is rendered doubly poignant by the reflection that it is unavailing.

In our last number we stated that the site of Newstead Abbey was granted to an ancestor of the Byrons by Henry the 8th. This was on the dissolution of monastic houses, about the middle of the 16th century, when ia the room of the ancient Abbey

In Thoroton's "History of Nottinghamshire," vol. ii, we find the following melancholy description of the Abbey and grounds towards the close of the last century; how admirably does it harmonise with that poetical passage from Ossian, which Lord Byron selected as a motto for the poem in his earliest publication, relative to this building: "Why dost thou build the hall, son of the winged days? Thou lookest from thy tower to-day-yet a few years, and the blast of the desert comes; it howls in thy empty courts, and whistles round thy moss-grown shield."

"The state of things about this delightful dwelling is unlike what it

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