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at the brilliant masque at Kenilworth, to listen, road to Canterbury : the Knigbt, the Monk alone to the blandishments of handsome, false- the Wife of Bath, and the Miller, of whom the hearted Dudley. Alas ! for her favourites ! poet says Leicester's life was scarcely a happy one; the brilliant and accomplished Earl of Essex died “The miller was a stout carl for the nones, on the scaffold; and Raleigh, the hero of the Full big he was of brawn and eke of bones; cloak and muddy puddle, was reserved to taste lis berd, as any sowe or fox, was rede the ingratitude of Elizabeth's successor. Truly | And thereto brode as though it were a spade. the heroine of Tilbury Fort, who could look á Upon the cop, right of his nose, he hade lion down, had much of her bluff father's fond. A wert, and thereon stude a tuft of heres ness for the axe and the morning entertainment

mont | Rede as the bristles of a sowe's eres." on Tower Hill. Well, they have all passed away now: Elizabeth, with her stately form and

It was at his own particular wish that Spenser haughty bearing; Leicester, with his peaked

was laid side by side with Geoffrey Chaucer; and beard and high ruffles; Mary Stuart, with her

they are fit company. We may think of Spenser, white neck severed by the cruel axe; Raleigh,

in his ruined castle of Kilcolman, surrounded in his lonely prison in the Tower. All past

I by the most beautiful and romantic scenery. now! let us pass on too. Not far off was the

Richly wooded hills, a wide, sparkling lake, brief resting place of the great Protector, Oliver

and the light waters of the river Mulla which Cromwell. Dis repose in the Abbey was not of

flowed by the poet's grounds; all these objects long duration. The zeal of the Royalists—when

of natural beauty furnished many of the descrip"the King came home again,” and they were al

tions which are so peculiar to the poetry of heartily sick of Puritan prayers and psalm

Spenser. It is pleasant to picture hiin as he singing “ Iron Sides”-led them to dig up the

describes himself in “ Colin Clouts come home dead Protector's bones and bury them under

again,” keeping his flock under the shadows the gibbet-a poor piece of revenge, surely, to

of the mountain Mole, among "the coolly shade desecrate those miserabie relics and burn a few

of green alders” by the shore of Mulla. mouldering bones. And yet, truly, the vene- | Alas for the breath of fame! The nation rable Abbey, where Plantagenets and Tudors, which was justly proud of Spenser, which and Stuarts lie sleeping, was scarcely a lit place lauded his poems in the ears of Elizabeth, for the man whose life was a lie successfully suffered the poet to die starving and brokencarried out. But we must not linger longer | hearted. The rebellion of Tyrone, in Ireland, among the tombs of dead royalty, but take our | drove Spenser to London, in 1598, heartpilgrimage to the thrice-hallowed ground of broken at the loss of his house and an infant Poet's Corner, where lie all that remains of child who was burnt in the castle by the rebels; those who made our literature glorious, those of and so, in the bleak January snows of 1599, in whom it is the fashion now-a-days to speak dis- an obscure street in London, perished miserably respectfully, and to compare disparagingly-God one of the greatest poets and most amiable men save the mark!-with the little poetasters and .that the world has ever seen. Doubtless the magazine fledglings of the all-praised present. I great and gifted men of that highly-favoured Surely this is the place for a moralist and a / age stood sadly by the tomb of Spenser as he dreamer to stand and look at the little mark was laid to sleep under the shadow of Chaucer's left here by the bright spirits who have taught tomb; but, in truth, it is easier to weep at a us that

man's burial than to give him a crumb while

living. A certain writer has said (some affirm “A thing of beauty is a joy for ever,

unjustly) that Sterne, who could weep over a Its loveliness increases, it will never

dead donkey, left a living mother to starve. Pass into nothingness.”

Do we, I wonder, never ignore the virtues of

the good till they are gone from us, and “their Who can read here the names so familiar to us place knows them no more?" from childhood, so associated in our minds A little further on we see the brief, but allwith all that is great and beautiful, without eloquent epitaph of the author of “ Sejæuus," feeling a flood of old thoughts and fancies “O rare Ben Jonson !” though all his plays are pouring in upon him, pictures of the days that now unknown on the stage except “Every man are gone for ever, of the days when we first in his humour." The man who could raise learnt Gray's “Elegy," or "" The Deserted himself from the drudgery of bricklaying Village,” ere yet we understood their beauties; to the post of poet-laureate deserves the or, of that evening when a mother's voice read praise of his epitaph. Drummond gives a to our childisb ears some marvellous knightly character of the “rare" dramatist which we, tale of faëry mystery from Spenser, or some who are charitable, will hope may not be true : grand episode, not of earth, from Milton! The “He was a great lover and praiser of himself; first four poets who found a resting-place within a conteinner and scoffer of others; rather given the Abbey were Chaucer, the father of English to lose a friend than a jest; jealous of every poetry, the courtier of Edward III's time, who word and action of those about him, especially discourses so pleasantly about the goodly com- | after drink, which was one of the elements in pany who started from the old Tabard Inn at which he lived; a dissembler of the parts which Southwark, and told some merry stories on the reigu in him, a bragger of some others that he wanted, thinking nothing well done but what well-known writers, whose bodies rest in other he himself or some of his friends had said or and less magnificent tombs than those of Westdone.” A pleasant biographer worthy Master minster. Some, perhaps, who come to do Drummond must have been—what if he had homage at the monument of Shakespeare, forwritten of some of us! There is Cowley's mo- get that the poet lies far away in the quiet nument, raised by George Villiers, Duke of church at Stratford-on-Avon, among the scenes Buckingham - what a medley of scenes and of his boyhood and dawning genius, where he fancies his name calls up! He it was whom wandered along the green margin of Avon, and Dryden immortalized as

never dreamed that his name should be one day

immortal. Milton is buried in St. Giles's “A man so various, that he seem'd to be

Church, Cripplegate, and not where his young Not one, but all mankind's epitome;

fancy seemed to delight, as he tells us in “Il Stiff in opinions, always in the wrong,

Was everything by turns, and nothing long;
Who, in the course of one revolving moon,

“ But let my due fect never fail Was fiddler, chyunist, statesman, and buffoon !"

To walk the studious cloisters pale,

And love the high embowered roof, The Duke had “glorious John” cudgelled for

With antique pillars mossy proof, another lampoon which he never wrote, but

And storied windows richly dight, which that graceless wit, Wilmot Earl of

Casting a dim, religious light." Rochester, perpetrated. Close by Cowley's monument is that of Dryden himself, and the It was thus that he wrote before the stern tomb of Thomas Shadwell, once the rival of aspects of the times had contracted his great glorious Joon, and satirized by him as Mac intellect into the narrow mould of puritanism : Fleck nor.

before he had “ fallen upon evil days, and evil Let us pause a moment by the tomb of Dr. 'tongues," and, as a sightless old man, was Johnson, and pay a tribute to the manes of him , meditating on “Paradise Lost," or listening to who was once a Jove among the literati of his the readings of Friend Ellwood, the Quaker. age. Personally, I confess, I do not like the

Hear what the poet Waller said, in 1667, of great Samuel. That he was a learned man, and Milton's mighty epic: “The old blind schoola great man, and a kindly-natured man I am master, John Milton, hath published a tedious

Ho to admit. but this does not excuse him. I poem on the Fall of Man. If its length be not in my humble opinion, from being a rude man, considered a merit, it has no other.” Fo a coarse msn, a conceited man, and altogether thy sneers, worthy Master Waller, the blind an unpleasant man in a decent drawing-room. schoolmaster's poem will live when all tbine Can you not see him, sitting in his snuff are forgotten, though the first edition did but coloured coat and ill-kept wig, writing his letter bring five pounds. to Lord Chesterfield, administering to his lord- | Samuel Butler, the witty author of “Husbip what the great Dick Swiveller aptly styled dibras,” is interred in St. Paul's, Covent

a clincher." and smiling grimply to hiinself the Garden ; while one of the sweetest of our poets while ? How little reeks either of them now of rests far removed from the noise and dust of praise or censure! Of a verity

London, among the sweet Buckinghamnshire

meadows in the green church-yard of Stoke“ Imperial Cæsar, dead and turned to clay, Pogis : May stop a hole to keep the wind away!”

“Beneath those rugged elms, that yew-tree's shade, Hard by Johnson and the witty and accom Where heaves the turf in many a mouldering heap, plished Sheridan--who is said to have written

Each in his narrow cell for ever laid, the best farce and the best comedy, and to have

The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep!" made the best speech in our language-rests Sir John Denham, the courtly poet of Charles And with them sleeps the scholar-poet who has the First's time, though his grave is unmarked left us so goodly a monument of his genius. by name or date. The poem which has given Not far from the Abbey, in the quiet, unfreDenham all his fame is that called “ Cooper's quented precincts of the Temple, the careless Hill," and the subject is well worthy of his wanderer may strike his foot against a plain muse. The hill stands about midway between stone which marks the last resting-place of Staines and Windsor, and commands a glorious Oliver Goldsmith. Dear, good-hearted, generous, prospect of flood and field. The rich pastures 'foolish Goldsmith! how fondly we think of his round Windsor, and Datchet—where Sir John life! not too bright, and yet always burning Falstaff endured the indignities of the clothes- with his own high spirits and joyous recklessbasket—the royal towers of the Castle in the ness! This was the man whose daily life was distance, and the calm, smooth Thames rolling seldom unmarked by some kind deed, and as among its little green islets, make a scene which often by some outrageous act of absurdity : may well excuse the most prosy man of our this same Oliver, who was universally loved by essentially prosy age for feeling romantic. his friends, yet wrote his “Traveller” and

There are yet a few monuments to be noticed / “ Vicar of Wakefield” in a miserable lodging in ere we quit the Abbey, and they are raised to Green Arbour Court, by the Old Bailey (how

long ago the greenery and the arbour have | And yet there is a calm and tranquillity about vanished !); was vain of his "bloom-coloured” the Temple not altogether unsuited for the coat, and wanted to buy apples for his former resting place of him whose life was often sad pupil when, years aiter, he met him walking with and stormy and careworn. The still secluded his wife. It seems a pity that he who sang so nooks, the fresh green grass under the old sweetly of the country should rest his bones at frowning walls, the company of dead-and-gone last within the sound of St. Dustan's bells. knights, and the cool splash of the fountain, The most pleasing tomb for him would have make no bad asylum for poor Oliver's remains. been near

But we have been long enough dreaming among “The never-failing brook ; the busy mill;

the things that are not; let us home as fast as The decent church that topp'd the neighbouring hill; we may, for our ramble is ended. The hawthorn-bush, with seats beneath the shade, For talking age and whispering lovers made !"



“ Take it coolly? How the deuce is a man, red-tape butterflies like you know about it? to take it coolly when he's pestered with duns Get away to yout titled friends." as I am ?” roared Dick Onslow, vehemently, I certainly had dressed carefully as I was dropping and smashing simultaneously a small going to one of the pleasantest Richmond Villas jet-black clay pipe, his pet and pride.

to a lawn party, but there was no reason for “There,” said I, aggravatingly; “ you see, my Onslow's attack on my appearance. However, i rritable friend, the results of being in a passion.” he was always impetuous.

Dick looked savagely at me, gnawed his “Profession,” continued he, sullenly, “as if I moustache, and finally opened a bottle of soda- knew enough for any attorney to trust me with water, which he drank with a sigh of relief. a common action for a tradesman's bill. I was

Dick Onslow's rage arose from the fact of only called because the governor thought his his father having sent him a letter declining to cousin, the Indian Judge, would have given me pay (for a fourth time) his debts, and washing a berth, and he didn't. Profession, indeed!” his hands of further responsibility. Dick was Here Dick commenced examining a file of of good family, but the old Yorkshire Hall was unpaid bills, with much disgust on his goodentailed on his elder brother, and his sisters' looking face. dowries had to be looked to. So Master Dick, “I shall emigrate, or borrow money and start having had his patrimony expended in liquida. a tobacconist's divan,” said he. “That's about ting his heterogeneous liabilities, was forced to my métier." face the world on his own account.

“Stuff,” said I. “Surely you might try to He was a genial and clever fellow, and aufait pick up briefs." at field sports and billiards. He had been “Pick up briefs," said Dick, with great discalled to the bar, and his name stood in the dain. “Where from-a billiard table?" law list as attached to the Northern Circuit, but “Well,” said I, “since all my suggestions his legal appetite for work was not a keen one. appear unpalatable, I'll leave you to your own He wrote a little, chiefly reports of flower-shows devices. I've promised to go to Lady Aspenell's and the like, which were taken and paid for by croquet party." the favour of his old friend at Oxford (where “'Croquet?” growled Dick-(the reader must Master Dick had not taken his degree), Reginald | remember this was some years back). “What's Blager the great leader-writer on the Daily that? Oh I know that idiotic game with hoops Rocket.

and sticks.” “Aint I in a mess? I've about twenty sove. “Idiotic game?” said I warmly. “It's as reigns in my desk, and, those gone, where on scientific as billiards any day.” earth am I to get more?” said Dick, disconso. “Bosh !” said Dick, with a volume of scorn lately.

compresed into a monosyllable, and I left his “There's your profession,” said I, mildly. rooms to the melody of a shower of uncompli

“ Profession, you ass !” said Dick, brutally. mentary epithets. “Don't stand there in your white waistcoat and! Ere long I was landed from a railway carriage lemon kids, doing the Foreign Office swell, / about half-a-mile from Lady Aspenell's charming and maunder about my profession. What do I cottage. Everything that could make a little place perfect was there. A velvet lawn, rare compared the fairy-scene I was going to form Howers, effects of light and shade, cool rooms, a part of, with the Cumberland wilds where exquisite wines, and a bevy of radiantly pretty Onslow was probably directing, habited in cords, girls were always at dear Lady Aspenell's. She and boots reeking with wet earth, the draining was the widow of a Foreign Secretary and a very of his cousin's yards, and I smiled half sorrowgreat lady indeed in the world of fashion, where | fully as I thought of poor Dick's useless taste she reigned by virtue of her own fascinations. for still Moselle and Clos Vougeot. Her son, a subaltern in a crack Hussar regiment, Arrived at Richmond, I found “a brilliant had been a friend of mine of long standing, and galaxy of beauty' as the Post put it, assembled. it was to him—for magna est veritas --I was | Having paid my respects to the gracious Lady indebted for the entree to Aspenell Cottage, | Aspenell, I turned and surveyed the broad lawn, where as a rule, no lower rank than a rich where were erected several sets of hoops. county squire was admitted

At one of these a party, including a Duke, What a change as by harlequin's wand it was two Earls, and an Ambassador, were standing from poor Dick Onslow's rooms--handsome kept in countenance by the reigning beauties and airy, and overlooking the famed chrysanthe- of the season. They seemed waiting. Never mums, as they were, to the fairy scene I was deficient in assurance, I asked my neighbour, in the midst of! An hour back I was in a room a county baronet, and member great in his own littered with books, bills, papers, hats, coats, a sphere, but here only in the second rank, the gridiron, a tankard, sundry pipes, and tenanted cause of our vis a vis delay. by a moustached shirt-sleeved individual, who “ Don't you know?" said he pityingly. swore and sneered by turns, and grinned horri- “They're waiting for the Captain." bly at his empty purse. And now I was on all I was as ignorant as before, and, not wishing geranium-belted lawn, with a vision of gauzy to shew my deficiency in the freemasonry of dresses, shadowy bonnets, and fluttering rib- fashion, I held my tongue. bons surrounding lovely faces, while the ring A slight murmur from our aristocratic neighof laughter, the pop of champagne corks, and bours shewed a new arrival, a man who adthe clatter of the croquet mallets resounded on vanced with an easy air of aplomb, and a dash all sides. Certainly I flirted desperately, and of dignified importance. The Duke alluded to employed myself as recklessly as though I had shook his hand warmly, and the new comer been a millionaire instead of a Foreign Office seemed very much accustomed to deferential clerk, and it seemed an extraordinary revulsion treatment. He was dressed very fashionably when I found myself deposited at the door of and wore a heavy twisted moustache and impeDick Onslow's chambers, where I had promised rial, while his cheeks, in the French fashion, to spend the evening.

were clean-shaved. His laundress met me with a letter, and, as I He took his place with the prettiest clusters opened it, I saw through the half-opened door of girls circulating round him, and watching the a mélange of litters, all of which betokened a artistic style in which he begun to play. The speedy flight, which was further elucidated by group appeared silent as if studying some noted Dick's hurried note.

work of art; while the Duke got red in the face,

and loose as to necktie, in his earnest endea“Off. Duns en masse. To Cousin in North.

vours to imitate the Crichtonian Captain. Then New Zealand.

R. 0.”

Presently, as the game ended, Lady Aspenell I looked at the old woman, stared at the note, herself came up with the same smile and emshook my head, and drove down to the Polyan | pressement as she would have shewn towards thus, the club to which Dick and I belonged, the best parti of the year, and took the Capone or two men had - met him at the Euston tain's arm to the refreshment beauffet. square Station, and had witnessed his speedy “Shall you be at Lord Averley's next week ?” fight.

she said, while trifling with her ice. "Sewed up,” said Verwood of the Guards, “Yes," said the Captain, drinking his iced "always knew he would be, poor fellow-s'pose champagne slowly. “Yes, Lady Aspenell, one he's gone to Baden. Roulette sometimes re of the Austrian Archdukes is to be there to meet coups one.”

I heard no more of Dick. He had I knew a My eyes opened. Who was this prodigy farmer-cousin in Cumberland who was in his whose voice sounded curiously familiar ? way both a wealthy and good-natured man. “Oh, Captain Onslow," said Lady Aspenell: There I supposed Dick to be learning agricul- “I believe a good many of the best set will be ture, unless he had done as Verwood surmised. there.”

A year passed, and Dick's name had faded in Captain Onslow! This would be Dick's the Temple and at the brilliant Polyanthus. soldier-cousin then. I had heard of his gallantry Society's waters soon close over the bead of a at Delhi, but I never knew how world-wide his drowning man, and his case was no exception | fame was-so much so that a Prince of the to the rule.

| House of Hapsburg was staying at a great I received one June day an invitation from Marquis’s to meet him. young Aspenell to another croquet party at The extraordinary deference with which he was Richmond, Vivid recollections of the last treated, and something about the beak which thronged on me as I dressed for this one. I' seemed familiar to me, made me ask young As


penell whether he could secure me an invitation. “You're singularly unlike the world then, old He did secure it by his mother's influential assis. boy,” said the Captain, speaking in his full tance.

voice and shaking my band, “and Dick Onslow Arrived at the Marquis's I soon found three must thank you !" or four men whom I knew, and, save at the Yes! it was Dick in peopria persona ; his grand dinner at eight, the hulk of the visitors foreign moustache and military dress had dis. rarely met together. We found different circles, guised him well; but now I looked at him, and the centre of the highest being His Imperial marvelled that my stupidity had prevented my Highness. The wonderful Captain, who re- discovering him before. minded me of one of Dumas' Musketeers, did “ But how are you such a swell, Dick? How not make his appearance for a day or two. a Captain? Why such an authority in cro

One afternoon, however, a troop of servants quet?” said I, bewildered. came out on the lawns, and set np various cro. | “In the wilds of Cumberland,” said Dick quet sets. The centre one was reserved for the solemnly, “I learned croquet of the Rector's créme de la créme, and the Archduke listened daughters, whose health I drink in this soda attentively to the Marquis's explanation

and brandy. A good stroke at billiards, I soon “ It's quite a national game, your Highness, became a crack croquet player. Seeing the but Captain Onslow can explain its difficulties fashion, an idea struck me that a professor of best."

croquet might pay, and it has !" “Aba!” said the Arch-duke, turning and "But your rank as Captain ?". greeting the Captain, who was inperturbable as “In a regiment of Volunteers !". usual.

“ Your German?” “You weel tell,- abec Sie können, Deutich “Remains of my Bonn education. I trained spiechen?” he added, gliding with relief into his my moustache, and let a certain trail of foreign own language.

soldiering hang about me as it were-toila The Captain bowed assent, and began in tout !accurate Viennese-German an explanation of the “I may add, old fellow,” said Dick, leisurely, wonderful game.

“that Carry Hastings, the heiress, was so deThe Imperial learner then took his station at voted to croquet at Lady Aspenell's as to become a hoop under the Captain's guidance, while the a little devoted to its Professor. And we're duly aristocratic surrounders looked on in equal awe engaged,” of teacher and pupil.

* You're a fortunate fellow," I said; and my " By jove,” said I, half aloud, “ Dick should open mouth testified my bewilderment. get his swell cousin to give him a lift.”

"Yes,” said Dick, calmly. “You see I disEven though some distance off, my words covered a Golden Secret !". seemed partly heard by Capt. Onslow, who

Wm. Reade,Jux. glanced for a moment at me, thereby making me look rather confused.

I sovn however forgot this incident in the play necessary for my own circle, and I saw no more of the Captain till we all assembled in the smoking room. Here the Captain was regarded

The TULIPS IN HYDE PARK.-One of the most as an oracle, and his judicial utterances on

interesting sights in London has been the beautiful horses, play, politics, and croquet, were eagerly | beds of tulips in Hyde Park, during the months of listened to by his aristocratic admirers-peers, | April and the early part of May. The beds extended commoners, and M.P's.

the whole length of Park-lane, from Stanhope Gate He outstayed them all till he and I were left to the Marble Arch, and at their prime were one blaze alone. The wreaths of smoke curled gracefully of magnificent colours. These were all planted under round our heads, and under their soothing influ- the direction of Mr. Mann, the Superintendent of the ence I plucked up courage to address the great Parks. The principal sorts grown here, and which man,

succeeded so well, are-Tournesol, double, scarlet and "Have you a relation. Captain Onslow, at yellow; Rex Rubrorum, double, scarlet; La Candeur, the bar?"

double, white; Yellow Prince, single, yellow; and “Oh, Dick!” said he, puffing out an enor

White Pottebaker, single, white. In the selection of mous volume of smoke, “yes; he's a bad lot,

these, great care is required; and much credit is due

to Messrs. George Gibbs and Co., 25 and 26, Downvery fast, and can't pay bis debts." • Well,” said I, rather nettled, “ I don't sup- |

street, near Hyde Park Corner, who, we are informed,

supplied the tulips, hyacinths, and crocuses for the pose he's the first man who's outrun the consta

Parks. It is worthy of record, as gratifying evidcace

of the love of floral display that especially belongs to “Don't you?” said the Captain, drily. the London “ people," no damage has been snstained

“Dick Onslow,” said I, warmly, “was a very to the beds of flowers by the large gatherings of good fellow ; what's become of him I don't the working classes, who entered the Park from all know; but I never hit a man when he's down." quarters to take part in the recent “ demonstrations."


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