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While round, in sorrow's stillest silence, stand
His known associates of the village band;
Their gen'rous breasts a brother's sorrow own,
Tho' join'd by ties of kindred-life alone.

Religion now performs her sacred trust,
And awfully pronounces—“ dust to dust :"
The earth is cast,-the coffin yields a sound
In low response beneath the hollow ground.
It seemed to wake from melancholy's gloom,
Poor Jennie's mind :-re-opening to her doom;
She stood amazed at what her ear alarms,
Looked round, and fainting fell into my arms.
Around her closely pressed th' affrighted train,
To lend their feeble aid-nor was it vain.

But ah! poor Jennie, though to life restored,
Still mourn'd the loss of him her heart adored;
Too plainly did her cries the secret tell;
And in their notes methought I heard her knell.

Soon as the grave was closed and covered o'er,
Poor Jennie on my arm, I homeward bore;
Her bursting sighs,-for she had ceas'd to weep,-
Grew at each step, more frequent, and more deep;
"Till as we to her parent's cot drew nigh,
She sunk, and heaved her last convulsive sigh!

Poor girl! poor Jennie! scarcely do I know,
To hail this as enfranchisement from woe,
And smile with joy: or turn, and loudly mourn,
For youth, and innocence, and beauty, gone!

Soon was she laid beneath the cold damp ground,
And in one grave the faithful pair were bound.
I raised the tomb that genuine pity craved,
And on the stone these humble lines engraved.

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Thomas Randolph, the author of the above, was born in Northamptonshire in 1605, and afterward became one of the adopted sons of Ben Jonson; but shortened his life by the irregularity of his conduct, and died in 1634. He wrote five plays, which were published with his poems in 1638.

THE BOOK OF THE CHURCH, by Robert Southey, LL. D. 2 vols. THIS title can only be applied with propriety, to the Bible or the Book of Common Prayer-the former contains that word of inspiration on which the church is founded; the latter those formularies of devotion which are calculated to unite the members of the church in public, or assist them individually in private worship.-We know of no other book to which it can be appropriated with any sort of accuracy: But Dr. S. prefixes it to a review of the Ecclesiastical History of England.

He commences his work by a slight though interesting sketch of the Mythology of the ancient Britons, Saxons, and Danes.-The idolatrous worship of each of these, fell in its turn before the doctrines of the cross, which afterward became corrupted by the errors and delusions gradually introduced by artful and intriguing men, who having no fear of God before their eyes, turned the truth of God into lasciviousness, and devoured that flock which they had engaged to feed.-Our countryman Dunstan had his full share in these transactions, and the artful measures employed by him to support and extend the power of the church, and undermine the regal authority, except when he could render it subservient to that of the priesthood, are ably exposed by Dr. S. The daring effrontery and unconquerable perseverance which Thomas à Becket so audaciously displayed in the same cause, are related with equal clearness and precision; and the haughtiness and duplicity of the prelate, are well contrasted with the forbearance and rectitude of his injured sovereign. Dreadful must have been the power of the hierarchy, and lamentable the ignorance of the laity of that age, when such severities could be exercised by the one, and such gross impositions be endured by the other; but the learning which then existed, was confined to churchmen, and they formed a body united together by the strongest and most indissoluble ties, while the individual members, separated from the mass of society, by rules of the most crafty policy, had no private interest to pursue; their every feeling and desire, being inseparably linked to the welfare of the church. Even the contentions which arose between different orders, and the animosities to which they gave birth, were sacrificed to the general prosperity of the body to which they belonged; all parties being well assured, that however they might differ as to the division of the spoil, it was necessary that all should confederate to obtain and secure it, hence through a long course of ages, the contest was not only that of learning against ignorance, but that of unanimity against division and discord; and the result was such as might have been expected.

To have given a faithful picture of the intrigues, corruptions, and violences of this warfare, so long and perseveringly maintained by those who called themselves the ministers of peace, against those to whose happiness they professed to devote themselves, would require a far more extended work than the one before us: but narrow as the limits are to which Dr. S. has confined himself, he sketches in a very clear and comprehensive manner, the leading facts of this attack on the liberties and happiness of mankind; and it must be gratifying to every Englishman to read that even in those days, the barons in parliament felt the necessity of opposing the encroachments of papal power; and in spite of open violence, or secret machination, enacted several salutary laws which lessened, if they did not prevent, the threatened evil. But corruption was so interwoven with

the doctrines of the papacy, that various measures were adopted to elud e or nullify these regulations; and the operation of principles revolting to every mind retaining a sense of honesty or integrity, was rendered but too effectual in establishing clerical supremacy. These are stated with great perspicuity and correctness, in a chapter appropriated to the consideration of the papal system.

The character of Henry the Eighth, to whose agency we are indebted for our deliverance from this galling yoke, is faithfully pourtrayed. His unsubdued temper, frequently hurried him on, to acts consistent neither with the dignity of the monarch, nor the penetration of the politician; yet it is evident, that to both these he could have maintained no common claim, had he only known how to rule himself, a lesson which all men dislike to learn, and which few are desirous of teaching princes. Cranmer became the object of the hatred and persecution of the Catholic faction; his candour and love of truth, naturally excited the jealousy and animosity of those who were engaged in supporting a system of fraud and oppression; but Henry felt too powerfully the influence of the Archbishop, to yield to their plans for his destruction; and they were equally sensible, that to remove him from the royal presence, was essential to the success of their scheme for effecting his ruin: they therefore requested Henry's permission to confine him in the Tower, before they proceeded on the examination of charges against him; the king, while apparently yielding to the artifice, acted with his characteristic energy.

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"Such, however, was his inward conviction of Cranmer's worth, that he, who without remorse had sent two wives to the scaffold, could not sleep upon this resolution; but a little before midnight sent privately to Lambeth, and called him from his bed. The Archbishop immediately obeyed this untimely summons, and hastened to Whitehall, where Henry told him what the council had advised concerning him, and that he had granted their request; but whether I have done well or no,' he added, what say you my lord? Cranmer thanked him for giving him this warning beforehand, and said he was well content to be committed to the Tower for the trial of his doctrine, so he might be fairly heard, and not doubting that his Majesty would see him so to be used. Upon this the king exclaimed, 'O Lord God, what fond simplicity have you, so to permit yourself to be imprisoned that every enemy may have you at advantage! Do you not know that when they have you once in prison, three or four false knaves will soon be procured to witness against you, and condemn you, which else dare not open their lips or appear before your face? No, not so, my lord, I have better regard unto you, than to permit your enemies so to overthrow you!' It is less to Henry's honour that in this instance he should have interfered to protect a faithful servant, than it is to his reproach, that understanding thus perfectly the villany of such proceedings, he should have availed himself of it in some cases, and permitted it in so many others. He then told the Archbishop, that when he appeared before the council, he should require of them as being one of their body, the same favour which they would have themselves, that is, to have his accusers brought before him; if they refused this, and were for committing him forthwith, then,' said he, appeal you from them to our person, and give to them this my ring, by which they shall understand that I have taken your cause from them into my own hands.'

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"Accordingly Cranmer was summoned by eight o'clock on the following morning, and the council, as if by that indecency they meant to give him a foretaste of what should follow, kept him standing nearly an hour at the council chamberdoor, among serving-men and lacqueys. This was reported to the king by a friend of the Archbishop's. Have they served him so?' said Henry, 'it is well; I shall talk with them by-and-by.' At length Cranmer was called in, and informed that seeing he and others by his permission, had infected the whole realm with heresy, it was the king's pleasure he should be committed to the

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Tower, and examined for his trial. In vain did Cranmer solicit that, before they proceeded to any farther extremity, his accusers might there be confronted with him. The council acted as Henry had foreseen, and Cranmer then produced the ring: 'I am sorry, my lords,' said he, that you drive me to this exigency to appeal from you to the king's majesty, who, by this token hath resumed this matter into his own hand, and dischargeth you thereof. There was no time for recovering from their astonishment and confusion: they were compelled without delay, to go before the king, who received them sternly as they had well deserved. "Ah, my lords,' said he, 'I thought I had had a discreet and wise council, but now I perceive that I am deceived. How have you handled here my lord of Canterbury! What make ye of him?-a slave? shutting him out of the councilchamber among serving-men? Would ye be so handled yourselves? I would you should well understand, that I account my lord of Canterbury as faithful a man toward me, as ever was prelate in this realm, and one to whom I am many ways beholden, by the faith Lowe unto God.' He laid his hand upon his heart as he spoke, and telling them, that they who loved him, would upon that account regard the Archbishop, advised them to put away all malice against him, and made them in his presence, submit to the forms of reconciliation. And from that time, as long as Henry lived, no man dared whisper against Cranmer."

The great events of this and the following reign, so important in their consequences to our national character and happiness, the blind bigotry and unrelenting cruelty which degraded that of Mary, the sound practical wisdom and moderation which marked that of Elizabeth, are reviewed in succession, and gratifying it would be to our readers and ourselves to accompany Dr. S. through this interesting portion of his work, our limits permit us only to take a very brief notice of that part of his work relating to the middle of the seventeenth century, and particularly to Archbishop Laud.

The ability and impartiality of the Doctor are employed with the happiest effect until this period, but here a feeling seems to arise which interferes with the neutrality of the historian, and through this portion of the history a prejudice manifests itself favourable to one party, and most hostile to the other. History uniformly proves that every great change either in politics or religion, is followed by divisions among those individuals who are of the prevailing party, and the spirits of each are usually too much heated to yield to calm reasoning, or to seek for moderate measures. Had the Reformation (which though dated from the reign of Henry the Eighth, was virtually in progress during many subsequent years), been carried into effect without such consequences, it would have been most desirable, but certainly most extraordinary. Unhappily, however, the infatuated Charles gave himself up to the guidance of Laud, whose arbitrary and violent temper, was evident in the relentless severity with which he pursued the unfortunate victims of his anger. A hasty or an inadvertent expression, or one quite innocent, unless by a most unfair and illegitimate interpretation, was sufficient to draw down the vengeance of the Court of High Commission at which Laud presided, and to involve the unhappy speaker in trouble and destruction. Dr. S. defends the Archbishop on the ground of his sincere belief in the truth of his opinions, and the equity of his proceedings. Few men believe themselves erroneous or unjust; and on the same principle we may excuse, if not justify, the barbarities of Queen Mary; whose apologist the author might have become with equal reason and propriety.

In point of style, this work discovers the purity, smoothness, and elegance, characteristic of Dr. Southey's former productions;-characteristics which entitle him to a high station amongst the best prose writers of the day.

HAVOC AMONG THE TOMBS.

(A LETTER.)

To the very Reverend the Dean of Westminster.

REVEREND SIR,

ALTHOUGH I have the honour of being personally acquainted with you, I prefer on this occasion, to relinquish the advantages of that circumstance, and to address you through the medium of a public paper. I earnestly solicit your attention to the subject of this letter. Some part of the public will, I know, take an interest in it; their pride and their pleasure are equally concerned in the objects of my solicitude. I speak with the voice of complaint: but I have suffered no wrongs which I ask you to redress, I demand no personal favour in the eye of the public, which your private bounty would withhold; but in the name of good taste, good feeling, and propriety, I appear as the advocate of the injured antiquarian treasures in your Abbey Church; and I beg your patience while I make the following observations.

In the sacred edifice of which you are the chief guardian, repose the ashes of some of the most illustrious characters which this country ever gave birth to. There lie the mortal remains of kings, heroes, and divines; of poets and statesmen: and there too stand the monuments that record the dignity and worth of these once honoured personages. Many ages have passed away since the greater number of the illustrious dead, to whom, and to whose sepulchral effigies, and marble tombs, I now refer, took their allotted part in the government, the regulation, and the improvement of their country. Many events have occurred to transfer their venerable names, and their monumental trophies, from the respect, to the malice, of the public. To those who entertained the former feeling, they are indebted for their preservation, and to those who harboured the latter, for the injury they have sustained. If the one class were guided by blind devotion, or superstitious reverence, the others were prompted by a brutal ferocity, which could only be sated by the entire destruction, or the partial injury of the objects which excited their hatred and contempt. If any thing could add to the interest felt in these days, for such remains of antiquity as crowd around the aisles of Westminster Abbey, it is the recollection that they have escaped the excessive zeal of the reformers, and the still more destructive spirit of the revolutionists. To you, Reverend Sir, who are the appointed guardian of a collection of these precious relics, more numerous, more costly, and on many accounts, more interesting than any other in the kingdom, I appeal for the justification of these sentiments, which unless I am very much mistaken, or am to discredit the evidence I have so often, and with infinite pleasure, heard repeated by your own mouth, are closely allied to those you entertain on antiquarian subjects. It must have shocked you, no less than it has astonished me, to know that the sentence of destruction has been passed upon two of the finest monuments in Westminster Abbey. I hope I am misinformed, but I can at present no more doubt the accuracy of my information, than I can suppose that you are unacquainted with the fact. Believe me, Reverend Sir, I am not upbraiding you for acquiescing in this sentence: if you have allowed its expediency, I fear your good taste

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