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And, overmore, I will me 'quit,a
Of gold that I the mantle took :
Gold in his kind, as saith the book,
Is heavy both, and cold also;
And for that it was heavy so,
Methought it was no garn-e-ment
Unto the god convenient,

To clothen him the summer tide :
I thought upon that other side,
How gold is cold, and such a cloth
By reason ought-e to be lothe
In winter tim-e for the chiel.
And thus thinking thought-es fele,
As I mine eye about-e cast,
His larg-e beard-e then at last
I saw; and thought anon therefore
How that his father him before,
Which stood upon the sam-e place,
Was beardless, with a youngly face.
And in such wise, as ye have heard,
I took away the son-nes beard,
For that his father had-e none,
To make him like; and hereupon
I ask for to be excused."

Confessio Amantis.

dreaming, unless I take back something solid to convince them that I have been in a land of realities." Whilst he was thus soliloquizing, he cast his eyes upon a table covered with golden cups. He put forth his hand and took a goblet, but had no sooner placed it in his bosom than the archer struck the carbuncle with his arrow, and shivered it into a thousand fragments. The whole building instantly was filled with Egyptian darkness, and the hapless clerk sought in vain for some mode of egress. After having long wandered in the gloom of its labyrinthine passages, he died a wretched death.

NO. III. WORDS ARE WIND.

Shakspeare, as we have hinted above, was a great filcher from the Gesta, but we have only room here to give the original of his King Lear, with a few other selections illustrating detached portions of his plays.

The wise Emperor Theodosius had three daughters. Wishing to discover which of them loved him best, he said to the first, "How much do you love me?" "More than myself," was the reply. Pleased with her affection, he gave her in marriage to a mighty king. Then he came to the second, and asked her how much she loved him?

The poem from which we have made this long extract is indebted to the Gesta in many other places, but we must hasten on to a legend which Spenser has worked into the second book of the Faerie Queene. Our readers will readily recog-"As much as I do myself," she answered. The nize, in the following tale, Sir Guyon's temptation in the "House of Richesse."

NO. II. MEMENTO MORI.

In the city of Rome stood an image, on the middle finger of the right-hand of which was traced, "Strike here!" Many wondered what the inscription meant, but no one had discovered its signification, when a learned clerk, hearing of the image, came to examine it. He, noticing the shadow that the sunlight made it cast, took a spade and began to dig where the shade of the finger fell. He soon came upon a flight of stairs, which led down into a cave. Descending these steps, he entered the hall of a princely palace, in which there were a number of men seated at table. They were all attired in the most costly fabrics of the loom, but not a sound escaped their lips. In one corner of the apartment he observed a bright carbuncle, gleaming like a little sun. Opposite, and aiming at it, stood an archer, on whose brow was written, "I am what I am; my arrow is inevitable; yon stone of light cannot escape its stroke." The clerk, amazed at what he saw, entered the bedchamber, where he found lovely ladies clad in purple, but all as silent as the grave. He next went to the stables, and admired the magnificent horses tethered in their stalls; he touched them-they were stone! He visited in succession every building in this strange domain, and having feasted his eyes on all their various riches, returned to the hall, purposing to effect a precipitate retreat, for a feeling of awe began to creep over him. "I have seen wonders to-day," said he to himself; "but should I tell them to my friends, they will all say that I have been Acquit. Garinent. c Time. d Warm. e Many.

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emperor married her to a duke. Afterwards, he inquired of his third daughter, "And how much do you love me?" "As much as you deserve, and no more," was her somewhat pert response. Her father thought an earl was good enough for her. Some time after this the emperor was beaten in battle by the King of Egypt, and driven from the land he had long ruled so wisely. In his distress he naturally thought of his affectionate first-born ; and, writing an epistle to her with his own hand, entreated her, in most pathetic words, to succor him. Her husband was willing to assist his father-in-law to the utmost of his power; but the unnatural daughter declared, that five knights only should be sent him, to remain with him until he could regain his crown. Theodosius was heavy of heart when he saw but five horsemen riding towards him, instead of the countless spears that he had hoped soon to see bristling on the horizon; but he concealed his emotion, and wrote off for aid to his second daughter. She was willing to find him food and clothing fitting for his rank, during the continuance of his misfortune; but would not suffer her "doughty duke" to lead an army into the field in his behalf. The emperor, almost in despair, applied, last of all, to his third daughter; and she, shedding full floods of tears when she heard of her father's melancholy circumstances, prevailed upon her lord to raise a valiant host, by means of which Theodosius was quickly enabled to resume the imperial purple. Grieved that he had given her credit for so little affection, when, as he had found, it was the ruling passion of her heart, he willed his sceptre to his loving child.

We shall now endeavor to prove that the Swan of Avon could occasionally condescend to assume the character of a mocking-bird in thoughts as well

as plots, by giving a brace or two of what we mighty willed that he should not be lost, and an think our readers will admit to be very parallel passages:

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The prince who is gentle as a lamb in war, but fierce as a tiger in peace, is unworthy of regard. Reconciliation.

In peace, there's nothing so becomes a man
As modest stillness and humility:
But when the blast of war blows in our ears,
Then imitate the action of the tiger.-Henry V.
In the Game of Shaci, the subjoined abomina-
ble libel on woman occurs:- - Casta est quam nemo
rogavit. We are aware that we ought to beg
pardon of the ladies for echoing such a slur on
the softer sex, even in Latin; but if any of our
fair readers should feel inclined to take umbrage
at it, we hope they will permit us to remind them
that it is the silly slander of a melancholy old
monk, who, being moped to death by his single
wretchedness, maligned-like the fox in the fable
—what he could not obtain. Congreve, in Love
for Love, adopts the saying we have quoted, but

makes man come in for a share of his satire :

A nymph and a swain to Apollo once prayed;
The swain had been jilted, the nymph been be-
trayed;

Their intent was to try if his oracle knew

angel, in the form of man, was sent to bear him
company. Having made each other's acquaintance,
they walked on together towards a crowded city.
They entered it at night-fall, and entreated shelter
at the house of a most noble captain. He took
them in, gave them a sumptuous supper, and then
conducted them to a bed-chamber decorated in the
highest style of art. In the middle of the night
the angel rose, and, going stealthily to an adjoin-
ing apartment, strangled their entertainer's only
child, who was sleeping in his cradle there. The
hermit was horror-struck, but durst not reprove his
murderous companion, who, though in human
form, exercised over him the influence of a superior
being. In the morning they arose, and went on tc
another city, where they were hospitably treated
by one of the principal inhabitants.
This person
possessed, and greatly prized, a massive golden
cup in the night the angel stole it. Again the
hermit held his peace through fear. On the mor-
row they continued their journey, and having met
a pilgrim on a bridge, the angel requested him to
become their guide. He consented, but had not
gone many yards with them, before the angel seized
him by the shoulders, and hurled him into the

stream below. The hermit now came to the con-
clusion that his companion was the devil, and longed
for an opportunity of leaving him secretly. As
the vesper bell was ringing they reached a third
city, and again sought shelter; but the burgess to
whom they applied was a churl, and would not

admit them into his house. He said, however,
that if they liked, they might sleep in his pigsty.
Not being able to procure a better lodging, they
did so; and in the morning their surly host re-
ceived as his remuneration the purloined goblet.
and told him they must part.
The hermit now thought the angel was a madinan,

"Not until I have explained my conduct," said

E'er a nymph that was chaste, or a swain that was the angel. "Listen, and then go thy way. I have

true.

Apollo was mute, and had like to 've been posed,
But sagely at length he this secret disclosed:
He alone won't betray in whom none will confide;
And the nymph may be chaste, that has never been
tried!

been sent to unfold to thee the mysteries of Providence. When thou wast in thine hermitage, the owner of a flock unjustly put his slave to death, and by so doing moved thy wrath; but the shepherd, being the victim of ignorance and precipitate anger, will enjoy eternal bliss, whilst the master

No one needs to be told of what elegant poem will not enter heaven until he has been tormented the following story is the groundwork :

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by remorse on earth, and purified by fire in purgatory. I strangled the child of our first host, because, before his son's birth, he performed many works of mercy, but afterwards grew covetous in order to enrich his heir. God, in His love, is

Once upon a time there lived a hermit, who in a solitary cell passed night and day in the service of his God. Not far from his retreat a humble sometimes forced to chasten, and beneath the tears shepherd tended his flock. Happening one day of the sorrowing parent his piety will spring again. to fall into a deep slumber, a robber carried off his I stole the cup of our second host, because, when sheep. The owner of them, turning a deaf ear to the wine smiled brightly in it, it tempted him to the excuses of his servant, ordered him to be put sin. I cast the pilgrim into the water, because to death for his negligence-a proceeding which God willed to reward his former faith with evergave great offence to the hermit. "Oh, Heaven!" lasting happiness, but knew that, if he lingered any he exclaimed," the innocent suffers for the guilty, longer here below, he would be guilty of a mortal and yet is unavenged by God! I will quit His sin. And, lastly, I repaid the niggard hospitality service, and enter the giddy world once more." of our third host with such a bounteous boon, to He accordingly left his hermitage; but the Al- teach him for the future to be more generous.

Henceforth, therefore, put a seal upon thy presumptuous lips, and condemn not the All-wise in thy mole-eyed folly." The hermit, hearing this, fell at the angel's feet, and pleaded earnestly for pardon. He received it, and returned to his hermitage, where he lived for many years, a pattern of humility and faith, and at length sweetly fell asleep in Christ.

the mighty God, O, help me in my need!" When the bird heard this, she flew forth from his bosom, and after having remained away from him for three days returned, bringing in her mouth a precious stone. Having dropped it in his hand, she again took flight. The knight wondered at the strange conduct of his songster, but happening to touch his fetters with the stone that she had given him, they instantly fell off. He then arose, and touched the doors of his prison: they opened. He rushed

The next of our ecloga has been moulded by the plastic hand of genius into many forms. Perhaps the best known of these is the ballad of Beth-forth into the fresh, free air, and ran rapidly toGêlert, in which Mr. Spencer has told the legend, as localized in Wales, in a very touching manner.

A

NO. V. IL FAUT QUELQUEFOIS TENIR LA MAIN. The knight Folliculus was exceedingly fond of his infant son, and also of his falcon and his hound. It happened one day that he went out to a tournament, to which, without his knowledge, his wife and servants too went afterwards, leaving the babe in his cot, the greyhound lying in the rushes underneath it, and the falcon on his perch above. serpent that lived in a hole near the castle of Folliculus, thinking from the unusual silence that it must be deserted, crept out of its retreat and entered the hold, hoping to find some food. Seeing the child it would have devoured him, had not the falcon fluttered its wings until it awoke the dog, which, after a desperate conflict, killed the wily intruder, and then, almost fainting through loss of blood, lay down at the foot of the cradle, that in the mêlée had been overthrown. The knight, on his return home, seeing the jaws of his greyhound red with gore, and not being able at first to find his child, thought that the dog had destroyed him ; and, frantic with fury, plunged his sword into its faithful heart. Then, hearing a cry, he lifted up the cradle-coverlet, and saw his rosy boy just waking from a happy dream, whilst the huge coils of the dead serpent showed the peril he had so narrowly escaped, and the injustice that his father had so hastily committed. The knight, detesting himself for his cruel deed, abandoned the profession of arms, broke his lance into three pieces, and went on a pilgrimage to the Holy Land, where, after a few years, he died in peace.

NO. VI. A MESSENGER OF MERCY.

The Emperor Menelay made a decree, that if any guiltless captive could escape from his bonds and reach the imperial palace, he should be protected from his oppressors. Soon after the promulgation

of the law, a knight was wrongfully accused, and cast into a dark dungeon. The light of his eyes was dimmed when he was thus cut off from the company of his brethren; but one mild summer morn, a nightingale came in through the little window of his cell, and sang so sweetly that he almost forgot he was deprived of liberty. As the knight treated his minstrel very tenderly, she flew into his bosom daily to cheer him with her song. One day he said to her, "My darling bird, I have given thee many a dainty, wilt thou not show me a kindness in return? Like to myself, a creature of

wards the emperor's palace. Here he was joyfully received, and his innocence being satisfactorily established, his persecutor was sentenced to perpetual banishment.

-

This pretty little tale very probably suggested those beautiful lines in the Prisoner of Chillon :A light broke in upon my brain,It was the carol of a bird; It ceased, and then it came again,

The sweetest song ear ever heard,
And mine was thankful till my eyes
Ran over with the glad surprise,
And they that moment could not see
I was the mate of misery:

But then by dull degrees came back
My senses to their wonted track,
I saw the dungeon walls and floor
Close slowly round me as before,
I saw the glimmer of the sun
Creeping as it before had done,
But through the crevice where it came
That bird was perched, as fond and tame,
And tamer than upon the tree;
A lovely bird with azure wings,
And song that said a thousand things,

And seemed to say them all for me!
I never saw its like before,

I ne'er shall see its likeness more :
It seemed like me to want a mate,
But was not half so desolate,
And it was come to love me when
None lived to love me so again,
And cheering from my dungeon's brink,
Had brought me back to feel and think.
I know not if it late were free,

Or broke its cage to perch on mine,
But knowing well captivity,

Sweet bird! I could not wish for thine;
Or if it were, in wingéd guise,
A visitant from Paradise,

For-Heaven forgive that thought! the while,
Which made me both to weep and smile;
I sometimes deemed that it might be
My brother's soul come down to me;
But then at last away it flew,
And then 't was mortal-well I knew,
For he would never thus have flown,
And left me twice so doubly lone,-
Lone as the corse within its shroud,
Lone-as a solitary cloud,

A single cloud on a sunny day,
While all the rest of heaven is clear,
A frown upon the atmosphere,
That hath no business to appear

When skies are blue, and earth is gay.

Our readers are convinced by this time, we should imagine, that many a thread in the mantle of the English Muse originally figured in the

party-colored pallium of the Gesta.* We shall conclude our article with a couple of anecdotes, which, though unconnected with our literature, we think will amuse by their piquancy.

NO. VII. AN ARTFUL DODGE.

At

Through the moist valley clogged with oozing clay,
The patient convoy breaks its destined way;
every turn the loosening chains resound,"
The swinging ploughshare circles glistening round,
Till the wide field one billowy waste appears,
And wearied hands unbind the panting steers.
These are the hands whose patient labor brings
The peasant's food, the golden pomp of kings;
This is the page whose letters shall be seen
Changed by the sun to words of living green
This is the scholar whose immortal pen
Spells the first lesson hunger taught to men :
These are the lines, O Heaven-commanded Toil,
That fill thy deed-the charter of the soil!
O gracious mother, whose benignant breast
Wakes us to life and lulls us all to rest,
How thy sweet features, kind to every clime,
Mock with their smiles the wrinkled front of Time !
We stain thy flowers-they blossom o'er the dead;
We rend thy bosom, and it gives us bread;

A certain soldier suspected his wife of having
transferred her affections from himself to another;
but not being able to prove the fact, he requested a
cunning clerk to assist him in demonstrating his
lady's infidelity. The clerk consented, on condition
of being allowed to converse with the fair frail one.
After having chatted on a variety of indifferent top-
ics for some time, he took her hand, and pressed
his finger on her palse, at the same time mentioning
in a careless tone the name of the person whom she
was presumed to love. The lady's blood, at that
sweet sound, rushed through her veins like a
swollen stream; but when her husband became the
theme of their discourse, it resumed its usual tran-O'er the red field that trampling strife has torn,
quil flow. The clerk communicated the result of
his experiment to the bamboozled Benedick; but
whether the affair furnished employment to the
“gentlemen of the long robe," as the newspapers
say, or whether the soldier did by his own act abate
the nuisance that had marred his peace, we are

not informed.

NO. VIII. OBSEQUIUM AMICOS, VERITAS ODIUM

PARIT.

A lady, during the absence of her lord, received a visit from her gallant. One of her handmaidens understood the language of birds, and a cock crowing at midnight, the faithless spouse inquired the meaning of his chant. "He says," replied the maiden, "that you are grossly injuring your husband.”-"Kill that cock instantly," said the lady. Soon after another cock began to crow, and his notes being interpreted to signify that his companion had died for revealing the truth, he shared his fate. Last of all a third cock crew. "And what does he say ?" asked the lady. "Hear and see all, but say nothing if you would live in peace."-"Oh, don't kill him!" retorted she.

Lectores, scripsimus—plaudite aut tacete!

THE FARMER'S PLOUGH.

BY DR. O. W. HOLMES.

CLEAR the brown path to meet his coulter's gleam!
Lo, on he comes behind his smoking team,
With toil's bright dew-drops on his sun-burnt brow,
The lord of earth, the hero of the plough!
First in the field before the reddening sun,
Last in the shadows when the day is done,
Line after line along the bursting sod
Marks the broad acres where his feet have trod;
Still where he treads the stubborn clods divide,
The smooth, fresh furrow opens deep and wide,
Matted and dense the tangled turf upheaves,
Mellow and dark the ridgy cornfield cleaves,
Up the steep hillside where the laboring train
Slants the long track that scores the level plain;

*N. B. Our samples are literally samples. We have not raked up a few instances of plagiarism, but out of very many deeds of plunder have exposed some of the most barefaced.

Waves the green plumage of thy tasselled corn,
Our maddening conflicts scar thy fairest plain,
Still thy soft answer is the growing grain.
Yet, O, our mother, while uncounted charms
Round the fresh clasp of thine embracing arms,
Let not our virtues in thy love decay,
And thy fond weakness waste our strength away.
No! by these hills, whose banners, now displayed,
In blazing cohorts Autumn has arrayed;
By yon twin crest, amid the sinking sphere,
Last to dissolve, and first to reäppear;
By these fair plains the mountain circle screens
And feeds in silence from its dark ravines;
True to their home these faithful arms shall toil
To crown with peace their own untainted soil;
And true to God, to Freedom, to Mankind,
If her chained bandogs Faction shall unbind,
These stately forms, that bending even now,
Bowed their strong manhood to the humble plough,
Shall rise erect, the guardians of the land,
The same stern iron in the same right hand,
Till Graylock thunders to the parting sun
The sword has rescued what the ploughshare won!

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THE COURT AND REIGN OF FRANCIS THE FIRST.
From the Britannia.

By

The Court and Reign of Francis the First.
Miss PARDOE. Two vols. Bentley.*
THE spirit of the best French memoir-writers
She has
has been caught by Miss Pardoe.
admirable tact in constructing biographical his-
tory, and in selecting all those personal anecdotes
which illustrate at once a character and an age.
Her gossip, though always amusing, is usually
full of matter, and, even when she is forced to
descend to scandal, she can relate a courtly intrigue
without a particle of coarseness. Nearly every
name which appears on her page is drawn at full
length by her skilful pen in characteristic lines.
Her books must take their place between romance
and history, possessing, as they do, some of the
best qualities of both, without the fables of the one
or the formality of the other.

In this work of "Francis the First," she has remarkably succeeded in presenting us with an authentic picture of the monarch and his court, and in imparting to it all the interest which arises from correctness of drawing, truth of coloring, and art in composition. Her design leads her not only to give an amusing memoir of the king, but to exhibit the counsellors, courtiers, and generals who surrounded them, and to show them much as they were in their habit as they lived," both in their private and public life. The epoch was a stirring one; the world was agitated by great thoughts; and both ideas and manners were on the eve of that great revolution which separates modern from mediæval history. It is only justice to Miss Pardoe to say that she has omitted no research which could add to the value of her book, and that her talent in the disposition and arrangement of her materials is equal to her industry in collecting them.

The discursive nature of her book is, according to the plan on which it is formed, one of its greatest attractions; but it prevents us from giving anything like a distinct notice of its contents. Full of personal anecdote, and of those biographical sketches which an entertaining and judicious writer, Mr. Craik, has truly shown make up the romance of history, each chapter is a story in itself, and might be made the subject of a distinct critique. But we cannot pass from it without making a few extracts illustrative of its entertaining character. We may remark that the volumes are beautifully produced, and that they contain well-engraved portraits of the principal personages of the times:

AMUSEMENTS OF THE COURT OF FRANCIS.

In the month of May, Francis, probably somewhat alarmed by the deficit which had already betrayed itself in the national exchequer, removed his court to Amboise, whither Madame d'Angoulême had preceded him for the purpose of celebrating at that castle the marriage of Mademoiselle de Bourbon, the sister of the connètable, with the Duke de Lorraine; and it is upon record that, on this occasion, being desirous to give some variety to the festivities, which were limited in their nature * Reprinted by Lea and Blanchard, Philadelphia.

by the fact that, in a private residence, the etiquette of mourning for the late king did not permit either balls or masquerades, the young monarch caused a wild boar, which had been taken alive in the neighboring forest, to be turned loose in the great courtyard of the castle, having previously ordered every issue, by which the savage denizen of the woods might escape, to be carefully closed. This being, as it appeared, fully accomplished, the courtly company then assembled at Amboise, stationed themselves at the windows, whence they amused themselves by casting darts and other missiles at the enraged and bewildered animal.

Highly excited by this novel pastime, bets ran
high between the young nobles on their respective
skill; and bright eyes watched anxiously the flight
of every weapon as it was hurled from the respec-
Suddenly, however, shrieks of
tive casements.
terror echoed through the spacious apartments.
The boar, tortured beyond endurance, had made a
furious plunge at the door which opened upon a
great staircase; had dashed it in, and was rapidly
ascending the steps which led to the state-rooms,
and which were protected only by a hanging dra-
pery of velvet; when the king, rushing from the
apartment where the horror-stricken ladies were
crowding about the queen, and, thrusting aside the
courtiers who endeavored to impede his passage,
threw himself full in the path of the maddened
animal, and, adroitly avoiding his first shock, stabbed
him to the heart.

DIANA OF POITIERS PLEADING FOR THE LIFE OF
HER FATHER.

At the period of her father's condemnation Diana had consequently passed her twenty-third year, but she had spent her early life in an unbroken calm. which still invested her with all the charms of youth and ingenuousness. Looking upon the Count de Maulevrier rather with the respect of a child than the fondness of a wife, she had soon accustomed herself to the gloomy etiquette by which she was surrounded; and, knowing nothing of a world of which she was one day to become the idol, she passed her time among her maids, her flowers and her birds, without one repining thought.

Diana possessed all the graces that attract, and all the charms which enslave. Nature had endowed her alike with beauty and with intellect; and, as she moved through the sombre saloons of Anet like a spirit of light, the gloomy seneschal blessed the day upon which he had secured such a vision of loveliness to gladden his monotonous existence.

When Madame de Brézé reached the city, the scaffold was already erected upon which her father was to suffer. Unaware, however, of this ghastly fact, she at once sought an audience of the king, who was informed, while surrounded by a bevy of his nobles, among whom he was endeavoring to forget the impending tragedy, that a lady solicited permission to enter his presence.

"Who is she?" he inquired, with some curiosity, of the usher on duty; "whence does she come?"

"It is the Grande Seneschale of Normandy, sire; and she has come post from Anet."

"Ah, on the faith of a gentleman!" exclaimed Francis; "she has chosen an unhappy moment to This is the far-famed present herself at court. beauty, Diana de Poitiers, my lords, of whom we have all heard so much, and whom none of us have seen, as I believe, since her childhood. She has come on a woful errand, truly, for it is easy to

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