the rare union of a heart and head that left nothing to be desired, and dwelt with evident pride and pleasure, on the mental courage displayed by Sir Francis, in befriending and supporting him when so many of his professed friends stood aloof."

In this eulogy we most cordially join. If intelligence, great natural abilities, and various accomplishments and knowledge, united to a charming simplicity of manners, and singleness and benevolence of heart, with an ardent love for his country, can endear a man to his fellow-citizens, and inspire them with respect, certainly Sir Francis Burdett is authorised to claim it." It is a pity, though," as Mr. Stephens says, "that he is so indolent that he won't give a dinner," and so indiscreet, as we say, as to be immured in the Tower."

Of Alfieri the Poet he frequently talked, and always with enthusiastic admiration.

"He remarked on the similarity of their tastes and pursuits; their domesticating themselves with women of rank, their fondness for animals, and above all, for horses. Their liking to be surrounded by birds and pets of various descriptions, their passionate love of liberty, habitual gloom, &c.; in short, he produces so many points of resemblance, that it leads one to suspect that he is a copy of an original he has long studied. He said, that when Alfieri was travelling in Italy, a very romantic, and as he called her, téte montée Italian principessa, or duchessa, who had long been an enthusiastic admirer of his works, having heard that he was to pass within fifty miles of her residence, set off to encounter him, and having arrived at the inn where he sojourned, was shown into a room where she was told Alfieri was writing-she enters agitated and fatigued, sees a very good-looking man seated at a table, whom she concludes must be Alfieri, throws herself into his arms, and in broken words declares her admiration, and the distance she has come to declare it. In the midst of the lady's impassioned speeches, Alfieri enters the room, casts a glance of surprise and hauteur at the pair, and lets fall some expression that discloses to the humbled principessa the shocking mistake she has made. The poor secretary (for such he was) is standing by the lady, while he declares his innocence, finding himself, he says, in the embrace of a lady, who never allowed him even a moment to interrupt her, by the simple question of what she meant. Alfieri retired in offended dignity, shocked that any one could be mistaken for him, while the principessa had to retrace her steps, her enthusiasm somewhat cooled by the mistake and its consequences."

We must now draw to a conclusion of our present remarks, with laying before our readers a singularly interesting letter, addressed to Byron, which with much apparent emotion he showed to Lady Blessington, though of the soundness and sincerity of his religious faith we have not much hope, inasmuch as we find him informing his fair listener that a fine day, or a moonlight night, or any other fine object in the phenomena of Nature, excites strong feelings of religion. Now, as in Italy the days are uniformly serene, the moonlight ever beautiful and brilliant, and the phenomena of nature very remarkable, we must conclude that his Lordship received the full benefits of these "Sermons in trees, tongues in the running brooks," and profited accordingly. But to return to the letter.

Frome, Somerset, Nov. 21, 1821.

"MY LORD, "More than two years since a lovely and beloved wife was taken from me, by lingering disease, after a very short union. She possessed unvarying gentleness and fortitude, and a piety so retiring as rarely to disclose itself in words, but so influential as to produce uniform benevolence of conduct. In the last hour of life, after a farewell look on a lately born and only infant, for whom she had evinced inexpressible affection, her last whispers were, God's happiness, God's happiness.' Since the second anniversary of her decease, I have read some papers, which no one had seen during her life, and which contain her most secret thoughts. I am induced to communicate to your Lordship a passage from these papers, which there is no doubt refers to yourself, as I have more than once heard the writer mention your agility on the rocks at Hastings.

Oh my God, I take encouragement from the assurances of Thy Word, to pray to Thee in behalf of one for whom I have lately been much interested. May the person to whom I allude, (and who is now, I fear, as much distinguished for his neglect of Thee as for the transcendent talents Thou hast bestowed on him,) be awakened to a sense of his own danger, and led to seek that peace of mind in a proper sense of religion, which he has found this world's enjoyment unable to procure. Do Thou grant that his future example may be productive of far more extensive benefit than his past conduct and writings have been of evil; and may the Sun of Righteousness, which we trust will at some future period rise on him, be light in proportion to the darkness of those clouds which guilt has raised around him; and the balm which it bestows, healing and soothing in proportion to the keenness of that agony which the punishment of his vices has inflicted on him. May we hope that the sincerity of my own efforts for the attainment of holiness, and the approval of my own love to the great Author of Religion, will render this prayer, and any other for the welfare of mankind, more efficacious. Cheer me in the path of duty, but let me not forget, that while we are permitted to animate ourselves to exertion by every innocent motive, these are but the lesser streams, which may serve to increase the current; but which, deprived of the grand fountain of good, (a deep conviction of inborn sin and firm belief in the efficacy of Christ's death for the salvation of those who trust in him, and really wish to serve him,) would soon dry up, and leave us barren of every virtue as before."

Hastings, July 1814.

"There is nothing, my Lord, in this extract, which in a literary sense can at all interest you; but it may perhaps appear to you worthy of reflection, how deep and expansive a concern for the happiness of others, the Christian faith can awaken in the midst of youth and prosperity. Here is nothing poetical and splendid, as in the expostulatory language of Mr. De la Montine; but here is the sublime, my Lord; for this intercession was offered on your account to the Supreme Source of Happiness. It sprang from a faith more confirmed than that of the French poet, and from a charity which in combination with faith showed its power unimpaired amidst the langour and pains of an approaching dissolution. I will hope that a prayer, which I am sure was deeply sincere, may not always be unavailing.

"It would add nothing, my Lord, to the fame with which your genius has surrounded you, for an unknown and obscure individual to express his admiration of it. I had rather be numbered with those, who wish and pray that wisdom from above, and peace and joy, may calm such a mind.

JOHN SHEPPerd.

We were in hopes, at first, from Lady Blessington's description of the emotion with which the unhappy Poet showed her this letter, that he had taken it into serious keeping; and in truth he did utter many a goodly sentiment, and wished all religious people were like Mrs. Shepperd, and that there would be fewer sceptics: but then he soon wanders away, and wishes for her portrait, and wonders whether she was very beautiful, as her husband calls her lovely, and says that beauty and goodness were always associated in his mind, (what is to become of Mrs. H. More and Mrs. Fry?) and an expression that looks out of the soul through the eyes; and then both he and my Lady forget poor good Mrs. Shepperd, and wander off in their paradisaical dialogue about women's faces being like April days, susceptible to change and variety, (what face is not?) and clouds, and showers, and sunshine. And then they discuss the beautiful Lady C (Charlemont?) and the handsome Lady A. F, and then Lord Byron said he once had thoughts of her as a wife, and that Moore recommended her, and that he could not be worse off than he was; and so on; and the letter from Frome was folded up and deposited safely in the drawer from which it was taken, and his Lordship and my Lady take their morning drive. All this while, gentle and innocent reader, the Countess Guiccioli is occupying one wing of Lord Byron's house, (the Casa Saluzzo,) and Mr. and Mrs. Hunt, and all the dear little Hunts, the

other; and Lord Blessington is probably kneeling in the Church of the Annunziata, or paying his adorations at the shrine of St. Francisco di Paolo, or riding-out of hearing-distance-contentedly, in the rear of the two noble interlocutors.

(To be continued.)

ICONES. No. I.

Mr. URBAN,-Addison has remarked that " a reader seldom peruses a book with pleasure, till he knows whether the writer of it be a black or a fair man, of a mild or choleric disposition, married or a bachelor, with other particulars of the like nature." If such curiosity exist with regard to the writer of a book, who may be, and commonly is, a very stupid fellow, how much greater must be the interest excited by individuals celebrated for genius or rank, for military prowess, or other honourable distinction; men who have enlarged the sphere of human knowledge by their acuteness, or added to human happiness by their philanthropy. I have often noticed how little people in general seem to know of the persons and private manners of our celebrated men. Some of them, indeed, are familiar enough to us. Henry VIII. may be known even upon a sign-board, and Dr. Johnson might now-a-days pass along Fleet-street without fear of being mistaken for a watchman; but there are few such exceptions to the general rule of ignorance. If you will, occasionally, grant me one or two of your pages, I will endeavour to do something towards remedying this defect. The two portraits I send you at this time, will inform your readers of the nature of my plan, and, if they and you give me encouragement, I shall continue my exhibition at intervals.

It would encumber your pages, and have the appearance of an affectation of research, were I to quote authorities; but I hope it will be understood that I have authority for every particular I record.

Yours, &c.

PICTOR.

I.

HENRY VII.

"Looks it not like the King?"-Shakspeare.

There is a great deal of individual character in the majority of our English monarchs, but in no one of them is it more marked than in Henry VII. His peculiarities were, undoubtedly, affected in degree by the manners of the times in which he lived, by the elevated rank to which his fortune conducted him, and by the trying circumstances of his reign; they were, nevertheless, the genuine produce of his nature, and would have been apparent in him, had he never occupied any other station in society than that which was his birthright.

He was a good-looking man, somewhat above the common height, lean and spare in body, and with rather an unhealthy appearance. His face was long and thin; his nose prominent and aquiline; his eye-brows very small; his forehead high; his teeth not united but apart; his eyes grey; his complexion fair; his hair lank and thin; and his whole appearance that of a much older man than he really was. His manners were gracious and condescending, but not kind or affable. When he spoke, his countenance generally bore a smile, but it was without warmth. Morton and Bray were the counsellers who possessed the greatest influence over him, but they were never more than counsellors-personal friends he had

none. Quiet, sedate, and thoughtful, no man ever beheld in him the noisy and passionate vehemence of his successor; nor was it possible for him to attain to such familiarity as that which existed between Henry VIII. and Wolsey, or More. He was naturally uncommunicative and suspicious; the circumstances of his life increased these qualities, and rendered them almost necessary for his safety. A fugitive and a prisoner from his youth until the very time of his accession to the throne;-bred up amongst conspiracies of the Lancaster faction, and tormented afterwards by the plots of the Yorkists, his want of confidence became not merely justifiable but almost laudable. Putting trust in no one, no one put trust in him. Wrapped up in himself and his own thoughts, his speech was slow and deliberate, every sentence appearing to be the result of consideration. His communications were without candour, and his half-confidence produced upon his hearers merely an unpleasant persuasion of his craftiness. A mystery hung around him, and even his constant smile was esteemed by those who knew him, to be nothing more than

"The seeming truth which cunning oft puts on

T' entrap the wisest."

He married unwillingly, from motives of policy, and the union, although it added greatly to the satisfaction of the nation and the security of his throne, brought him little happiness. His wife commanded the attachment of the people: she was fair, amiable, and affectionate, but the heart of her husband was beyond her reach. It is probable he had but little affection to bestow upon any one.

The terrors of religion presented a subject upon which his gloomy imagination was easily excitable, but its doctrines never possessed any real power over his conduct. In occasional fits of repentance, the sincerity of which ought not to be doubted, since they were usually accompanied by that which was to him the most painful of all sacrifices-a sacrifice of wealth, he endeavoured to make amends for his acts of injustice, meanly imagining that the Majesty of Heaven could be appeased, like himself, by a money payment to its ministers.

As he advanced in years, his passion for accumulation got the better of all his feelings, and tyrannised over them in a manner which is, unfortunately, but too common. Not even his superstition could withstand his avarice, except, indeed, when he knew himself to be upon the brink of the grave, and then his liberality was unbounded.

In his time the general practice was to appoint the Bishops to the poorest benefices at first, and translate them gradually from see to see, that the King might not lose his first-fruits. He would have canonised Henry VI. but sanctity was found to be costly, and his Holiness and the richest Sovereign in Europe parted like two chapmen in a market, each striving to drive a hard bargain, they could not agree about the price. The English reformers had thus one Saint the less to pull down.

In his conduct towards his people, he seemed rather like a watchman, whose business is to spy out defects, than a prince, who should reward as well as punish. His thoughts ran more upon persons than things, and it was his practice to keep secret note-books in which the qualities of those about him were written down. Here every man's capabilities were registered; and if the employment of any one in the king's service became a question, the king knew what to expect from him. No prince of his time employed so many spies; amongst them, he could reckon men of almost

all ranks in the state; indeed, he himself was little more than the chief spy in the kingdom. Royal condescension ever makes men communicative; his perpetual smile threw those whom he addressed off their guard; and his art turned their simplicity to his advantage. In this manner, he obtained a knowledge of every man's special secrets, and had the wit to use his information so as to make himself esteemed wise, because he seemed to know so much of which other men were ignorant.

Notwithstanding his fondness for money he had some expensive tastes, as, indeed, is but common with avaricious persons. He was pleased with the possession of jewels and ornaments of the person, and bought them at a very great expense. In fourteen years he spent the enormous sum of 110,0007. in the purchase of jewels and precious stones. Perhaps he regarded them as an eligible investment for one whose usurped dominion was perpetually shaken by conspirators. He had the royal taste for forming zoological collections, and gave rewards to those who brought him lions, leopards, tigers, wild-cats, eagles, and popinjays.

His residence on the continent acquainted him with the language of the French, and throughout his life he maintained a familiarity with their best books. He also understood Latin, and seems to have had a general fondness for literature, purchasing books both printed and written, and giving money to those who were skilled in binding, and in the copying, gilting, and limning of MSS. Even as much as 237. was once given by him for a single volume. Poetry was especially patronised by him; his court was crowded by pretenders to the favour of the muses, and every one who could make a rhyme, was sure of some sort of a reward if he could but procure himself to be presented to the king. Musicians, also, from the organist to the bagpiper; players upon the tabor, and upon recorders; waits, harpers, tumblers, morris dancers, players, both French and English, minstrels, leapers, wrestlers, all shared the royal favour. His own musical establishment contained an organist, a harper, nine trumpets, four shakbushes, three string minstrels, and a piper. Her Majesty had a fidler. Dancers were especially fortunate with him. "A little maiden that daunced" on the 7th January, 1497, was rewarded with the princely recompense of 127.; and on the 25th August, 1493, another " young damosell" similarly accomplished, and who appears to have been known about the court, so pleased the fancy of the penurious monarch as to obtain a reward of 301.—an important sum when five pair of gloves, fit for royal fingers, were purchased for 20 pence, and a quarter of wheat might be obtained for 4 or 5 shillings.

He admired costly dresses, and encouraged stately processions, jousts, and other public shews, but without interfering in them otherwise than as a spectator. Although brave, firm, and somewhat adventurous, perhaps no man was ever more totally devoid of the free, open, honourable, generous spirit of chivalry.

Restlessness and a fondness for a little speculation, generally accompany covetousness, and often render persons, who are tormented with that odious vice, card-players and gamblers upon a small scale. So it was with Henry VII. He shot at butts with the cross-bow, played at chess, tennistables, cards, and with dice, and always for money. Although a sovereign he often lost, and sometimes as much as 47., 57., and even 97. at a sitting. The same feelings prompted him, occasionally, to embark money upon the sublime speculations of the alchemist; and a desire to participate in the treasure opened up by Columbus in the west, made him an encourager of voyages of discovery.