TATION.

In the reign of Queen Elizabeth, the orchard was converted into a residence for Sir Christopher Hatton, Lord Chancellor, whose fine person and dancing were his first recommendations to the queen, where he died in 1591. By his interest with the queen, he extorted from the bishop, Richard Cox, the ground on which his house was built. The good bishop for a long time resisted the insolent sacrilege; but the queen soon made him surrender by the following letter :

"Proud Prelate,-I understand you are backward in complying with your agreement, but I would have you to know, that I who made you what you are, can unniake you; and if you do not faithfully fulfil your engagement, by G- I will immediately unfrock you. Yours, as you demean yourself,

"ELIZABETH."

Sir Christopher had incurred a large debt to the queen, whose love of money exceeded even her love of fine legs and fine dancing. When she demanded the money, the chancellor was unable to satisfy her demand. Elizabeth, in her usual strain of impatience and insolence, it would seem, reproved her favourite creditor. This so affected him, that he died shortly after of a broken heart, and the avaricious queen, as in other cases, most bitterly lamented the loss of so able a judge and counsellor.

The chapel has at the east end a very handsome Gothic window, which looks into a neat court lately built, called Elyplace. Beneath is a crypt, of the length of the chapel; the cloisters form a square on the south side. The several buildings belonging to this chapel falling into decay, it was thought proper to enable, by act of parliament, in 1772, the bishop to alienate the whole. It was accordingly sold to the crown for 6,500%, together with an annuity of 2001. a year, to be paid to the bishop and his successors for ever. To revert to ancient times, John, Duke of Lancaster, usually styled John of Gaunt, resided in this palace, and died here in 1339; possibly it was lent to him during the long possession that Bishop Fadham had of the see. After the duke's, our palace in the Savoy was burnt by the insurgents.

CURIOS.

(For the Mirror.)

THERE is a principle in nature which fixes the exact relation between the container and the contained, so that when the measure is full, any further addition causes overflow. This is not only operative with respect to our imperial measures of capacity, but also with respect to that indefinable, incomprehensible-the mind; when our mental affliction has risen to the brim, the vessel may contain it, but if but a drop more be added, over it must come, and so render others sensible of it; now alas! with me, the goblet has risen to the brim-is overflowing-and retention is no longer possible.

friends will have it so.) Simultaneous I was born a poet. (At all events my with the acquisition of speech, was the acquisition of rhyming, even in "my nurse's arms." I used to join "pap' to "lap," and "cradle to "ladle:" even then, the euphony of language was music to mine ear. "I lisped in numbers, for the numbers came. Well, this intuitive facility of rhyming increased with my years. I was first thought "a fine versifier," soon "an elegant poet," and shortly, 66 a sublime one;" and happily, or rather unhappily, for me, these cognominations were awarded by reputed critical judges, which gave that repute which is now become intolerable, for if we can but once extort praise from one who is supposed capable of judging, we are certain of the praises of those who are

not.

It is the knowledge of this fact, which has supported me in the most critical times and seasons; the influence of a name, I well knew, would affix a character to my writings, at least, for a time, and therefore when faint symptoms of disregard or detraction appeared, I thought on the influence of a name, and took courage. 66 Really it is sheer nonsense," said an old gentleman softly to his spouse, while I was reciting a sublimely luctiferous poem; "Hush, hush, there must be sense in it, only we can't see it," was the reply.

But reputation poetical reputation

once so desired-has now become a source of appalling misery the demand for verses is greater than the supply; if the demand were regulated by my ability, and not by my reputation, all would be well, but it is not so.

But for reputation, one might pass off the same verses on different occasions, and so avoid the fatigue of incessant creation; but alas! repute causes my

verses to fly everywhere, and where I little expected it, the company are often examining one of my fugitives. Am I invited to dinner, I go reluctantly; my host, wherever I visit, is pretty sure to calculate on an effusion, aye, and a poetic effusion, not in manuscript, (or I could effuse it ere I went) but extemporary, so that he may boast of possessing ideas (of mine) which must be original, as they were recorded at the moment of formation; and what is worse than improvisatring, is that secret dread, or it may be diffidence, of launching forth before strangers there may be among them strangers to my fame, or-a real critic.

Then, where'er I go, out comes the album, 66 now we must have a line or two indeed:" well, my jaded muse gives a "line or two," and I have the consolatory reflection that my lines will be more noticed, more criticized than most others in the collection, and thus render my poetical character still more insecure. Then the ladies teaze me to write for them "short odes," or 66 sonnets," or a "few lines:" such solicitations are not to be resisted, and I write, but the poetic fire is not always burning, nor should it be ; Does any one talk of its perpetuity? I tell him I cannot live in fire all the year round; I am not a salamander! My productions have sometimes given rise to bickerings and disputes, which I unavailingly lament. Two nymphs, intimate friends, desired me to sonnetize their respective beauties; as I knew that the sonnets would be exchanged for perusal, I could not compare two blooming countenances to one object; I therefore coupled one with the "red roseate rose,' and the other I disposed of in a very strange (though not very uncommon) kind of rhyme, in which two words having but one letter in common, make a lawful rhyme, as in my concluding couplet, wherein compare, a blooming counte

nance

the rose; "I am compared to the rose which withers and decays, the rose! the very emblem of transitory beauty!" "Álas!" said the other, "my case is still worse, the red-tinged clouds; why,

they occur only in summer, and not always then; neither myself nor my friends will be able to prove the justness of the comparison, sometimes for a whole month or even longer, but the rose is the very emblem of beauteous complexion, the rose, from which roseate bloom' is derived. Oh! that I had been compared to a rose." Thus I pleased neither, displeased both.

One great disadvantage to which I am exposed is, that I am considered incapable of having opinions and sentiments of my own-it is universally known that a poet has a license to assume characters foreign to his own. He may be amatory, yet be no lover; he may be warlike, yet not a warrior; but this license is too plentifully allowed to me; it is extended to too great an extension; I am really but as a musical instrument, which is very well to play on for amusement; but who looks to it for information, or supposes it to have any importance of its own? If I talk of politics, I meet with no attention; if I talk of philosophy, I am disregarded; yes, I am but a poet, and a miserable poet; in short, from the treatment I experience, I often think on the remark of a great philosopher-" that the finest parts are closely allied to insanity," and I conclude therefrom that while I think myself in possession of the former, every one else considers me subject to the latter.

A querulous old maid once requested me to write on her lap.dog: I wrote four or five quatrians, but she had (shall I call it) the impudence to tell me, 66 they were inferior to those I wrote on Madam Lovepuppy's Scaramouch." In vain did I expostulate, explain, and open up the beauties of poetic imagery, she disregarded all, and told me, that "I compared her pug's eyes to jewels, but Scaramouch's to the stars in the firmament."

But although my efforts sometimes fail of giving pleasure, my verses are still eagerly demanded-but alas! where is rhyme, and metaphor, and--imagination to come from? I cannot expect future vigeur of imagination, or greater genius for poetizing; I look forward, not with golden anticipations, but with iron ones; I anticipate not exuberance of fancy or increased ability in poetic pyrotechny, but I anticipate the time when I shall be compelled to avow, "I can no more.

Are there any as I am, subjects of similar miseries from the same cause, I would say to them, brethren in misery, despair not; there is at least a hypothetical remedy, and a characteristic one; for. as from lines our miseries have arisen, so by a line and tester, we can at any

his mother, after struggling a few years with poverty, sunk to the grave, and left her only child an unprotected orphan. He had previously, through the duke of Hamilton's interest, been placed in St.

THE SHEPHERD TO THE FLOWERS. SWEET Violets, Love's paradise, that spread Your gracious odours, which you couched bear Within your paly faces,

Upon the geutle wing of some calm breathing wind,

That plays amidst the plain,

If by the favour of propitious stars you gain Such grace as in my lady's bosom place to find, Be proud to touch those places!

And when her warmth your moisture forth doth wear,

Whereby her dainty parts are sweetly fed, Your honours of the flowery meads I pray,

You pretty daughters of the earth and sun, With mild and seemly breathing straight display My bitter sighs, that have my heart undone!

Vermilion roses, that with new days rise, Display your crimson folds fresh looking fair, Whose radiant bright disgraces

The rich adorned rays of roseate rising morn! Ah, if her virgin's hand

Do pluck your purse, ere Phoebus view the land,

And veil your gracious pomp in lovely Nature's

scorn;

If chance my mistress traces

Fast by the flowers to take the summer's air,

'Then woeful blushing tempt her glorious eyes To spread their tears, Adonis' death reporting, And tell Love's torments, sorrowing for her

friend,

Whose drops of blood, within your leaves consorting,

Report fair Venus' moans to have no end! Then may Remorse, in pitying of my smart, Dry up my tears, and dwell within her heart! SIR WALTER RALEIGH.

Select Biography.

No. LII.

WILLIAM HAMILTON REID. THERE is perhaps no subject which excites a more lively interest in the human mind than the detail of the efforts made by unaided genius to surmount those obstacles which may have been opposed to its developement. In few instances, if in any, have these efforts of nature been so purely spontaneous, so little excited by friends, or assisted by circumstances, as in the case of the subject of the present memoir. He was the son of persons occupying no higher station than domestics in the duke of Hamilton's family. In his early childhood he lost his father, and

the discipline of a merciless pedagogue, he received the first rudiments of education. His favourite amusement was repairing to the different churches, to admire their internal and external distinctions, and he received many severe floggings from his schoolmaster, in consequence of thus absenting himself.

After the death of his mother he was humanely taken charge of by one of the parish officers, and treated by him with paternal kindness. This gentleman, struck, perhaps, by his superiority of appearance to the other boys of his rank,

for

"Our Edwin was no vulgar boy,"

took him home, and declared his intention of bringing him up to assist him in his counting-house; but a female servant, whose anger he excited by ridi culing her deformed lover, found means to blight his prospects, and in the end, by lies and artful insinuations, procured his dismissal.

He was subsequently apprenticed to a silver buckle-maker, near Soho, and from that period he commenced his literary studies. All his pocket money was expended in books, and, after a long day of severe labour, half the short period allotted for his repose was frequently spent in reading, particularly history and poetry.

After the expiration of his apprenticeship, he supported himself by working at his trade, occasionally writing various poetic trifles, which, by the advice of some friends who discerned their merit, he sent for insertion to the papers and magazines of the day. These productions were mostly of a pensive cast, full of a plaintive sweetness, though some were of a humorous description. They attracted the attention of several literary characters, whose letters attest their opinion of the author, and a literary lady of no mean rank, in her Letters recently edited by Sir Walter Scott, speaks of him by name as the child of nature and unaided genius. Thus receiving praise, and in some instances pecuniary remune ration, he was encouraged in his literary career, and he next turned his attention to the acquirement of the French language, and from the peculiar construction of his mind was rapidly successful. About this period he undertook to supply various light articles to a daily paper. He quitted his trade, which, from the change of

fashion, was no longer productive; and from this time till the end of his life he supported himself respectably by the labours of his pen. Having procured an engagement as French translator to a daily paper, he successively mastered the Italian, Spanish, and German tongues, without receiving a single lesson or assistance of any kind, except from books. He now extended his engagement to the translation of the whole of these languages, and in a very short time the Portuguese was added. This employment necessarily confined him at home to await the arrival of the different mails. To fill up these intervals of leisure he commenced the study of the learned languages; the Greek and Hebrew he read so as to consult any author he wished to examine, and the Latin he could read and translate with accuracy.

The speedy acquisition of a knowledge of languages appeared to be a natural gift. The mode he adopted was that recommended by Mr. Locke, and which is indeed the path marked out by nature. He first attained a knowledge of the primary words, and then by means of a New Testament, or any easy and literal translation, acquired the particles; and thus, having gained some insight into the construction of the language, erded with the grammar, the acquisition of which was now comparatively easy. Nor did he till the day of his death totally cease from adding occasionally to his vast store of learning; only a short time since he was busily engaged in an examination of the northern dialects. When the post-office refused to supply the newspapers with the foreign journals, except in their own translations, he was consequently deprived of his employment. He soon afterwards proposed to publish a volume of poems, by subscription; they were accordingly collected, but owing to different circumstances, they did not ap

pear.

He, however, now produced his first prose volume, entitled, The Rise and Dissolution of the Infidel Societies. This work, and some communications which he made to government, when shortly after engaged as editor to a daily paper, procured him the notice of Mr. Canning, and of the then bishops of London and Durham. From the former gentleman he received a present of five pounds, all that in the form of patronage, he ever received. The bishop of London made him an offer of ordination in the church, which his objection to subscribe to the Articles of Faith, and a strong inherent love of independence, induced him, contrary to his interest, to refuse.

He now turned his mind to the study of topography, biography, and general literature. London and its antiquities afforded him ample scope for investiga tion; and neither a nook nor corner did he leave unexplored. A great mass of information which he had thus collected and designed to form a volume, now remains unpublished.

In the latter end of 1810, about a year and a half after his marriage with the writer of this sketch, pecuniary losses induced him to apply to the Literary Fund, and he then received a handsome donation. His literary labours were afterwards more successful, and, though, he had rather a large family, his circumstances remained comfortable till within the last year or two of his life, when various occurrences conspired to depress his spirits, and to cloud the evening of his days. He now again applied to the Literary Fund, and by that excellent institution was again relieved from difficulties that pressed heavily upon him.

Still his habitual cheerfulness, which had even extended to playfulness, returned no more; and, although he appeared in tolerable health, those about him perceived a marked difference in his manner; he, however, only complained of a cold and cough for about a week prior to his decease, the night preceding which he went to bed apparently well, having been out twice during the day. He slept uninterruptedly till about one in the morning. About five his speech failed; and on the 3rd of June, 1826, at half-past seven, he calmly breathed his last, having exceeded the period of life commonly allotted to mankind.

In his manners he was affable and unassuming, but avoiding general society, it was only by the few who knew him intimately that his merits could be appreciated. Of the most inflexible integrity himself, he was ever indulgent towards the faults of others. Even and placid in his temper, rational in his en joyments, and moderate in his wishes, though never a rich man, he may be classed, if we except perhaps the last year or two of his life, among the number o happy men, and that entirely because his pleasures were those of intellect, and con sequently dependent only on himself.Gentleman's Magazine.

HISTORY OF BELLOWS.

(For the Mirror.)

DR. JOHNSON says, respecting the word bellows, "perhaps it is corrupted from