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home to Richard's house, where the king passed | and, while there, met with a colonel of the rebels, under the name of William Jones, a wood-cutter, who, among other news, stated that a reward of a lately come there for work. Whilst a supper of eggs and bacon was preparing, the king held on his knee Pendrill's daughter, Nan*. Intending to make his way into Wales, he was on the point of departing, when Jane Pendrill, the mother of the five brethren, his trusty preservers, came to see him, and in his presence blessed God in thus honouring her children, and making them the instruments, as she hoped, of his majesty's deliverance. Here F. Yates offered the king thirty shillings in silver, of which he would only accept ten. The king then departed, taking Richard with him, the others having on their knees besought God to guide and bless his majesty.

On their way, in passing a mill, at a place called Evelin, at night, the miller, with a cudgel in his hand, stepped out and demanded who they were; to which Richard replied only by leaping off the bridge into the ditch, which was not deep, the king doing the same, and following Richard by the noise and rattling of his leather breeches. This alarm proved to be needless, the miller having thought the travellers friends of the Parliament, on the look out for some distressed Royalists who were his guests.

On their arrival at Mr. Wolfe's, a Royalist and a gentleman, at Madeley, whence they wished to have passed into Wales, they found not only that there was no passage, but that the danger of remaining in the neighbourhood was great, the country around swarming with troops. They accordingly lodged that night, by Mr. Wolfe's advice, in a barn, and on the following day returned to Richard Pendrill's house. Here they did not stay long, but proceeded, without further delay, to BOSCOBELT, where William Pendrill and his wife lived, keeping the house for its owner, Mrs. Giffard. His majesty was joyfully received by the honest inmates; but his feet were so blistered with travelling in such strange shoes and stockings, that William's wife washed his feet, and cut the blisters, which relieved him. They had not been long at Boscobel, when the gallant Colonel Carless, who had concealed himself since parting with the king, joined them; and so overjoyed were both at this meeting, that they could not refrain from tears. As the best means of safety, it was agreed that they should again retire into the wood.

Accordingly, Colonel Carless (Sept. 6) brought the king to the since famous OAK, where he himself had lodged before; and by the help of Pendrill's wood-ladder they got up among the branches, which were then thick with leaves, William supplying them with two pillows to lie upon. The king being much fatigued, laid his head in the colonel's lap and his legs on the pillow; and, after a sound and refreshing sleep, awoke hungry, wishing he had something to eat; on which his companion took from his pocket a good luncheon of bread and cheese, which had been given him by Joan Pendrill. In the mean time, Richard Pendrill was gone to Wolverhampton, to buy wine and biscuits, and to make some arrangements for the king's removal, during which cautious errand he had means of discovering the loyal and warm feeling that prevailed in his majesty's favour. In the evening, the king, having descended from the tree, regaled himself in the arbour in the garden of Boscobel, with some of Richard's wine.

In the mean time, Humphry Pendrill was not idle. In order to gain intelligence, he went, under pretence of other business, to a Parliamentary captain,

This Nan (afterwards the wife of John Rogers, Esq.) had, in 1667, £100. a year pension from the king, in consideration of her father's eminent loyalty and fidelity.

+ See Saturday Magazine, vol. i., page 96,

thousand pounds would be given to any one who would take or discover the king! On Humphry's repeating this to the king, his majesty showed some signs of alarm, at having trusted his life into the hands of poor men, whom the least infidelity might make rich. The momentary distrust seen in Charles's countenance greatly distressed Humphry, till it ended in his and Colonel Carless's declaring that if it were a hundred thousand pounds, it were all to no purpose to tempt them. An amusing incident occurred at this time, in consequence of the king's fancying a loin of mutton for supper. A sheep was killed on the spot, a hind quarter of which was brought to the king, who instantly began to help, by chopping the loin to pieces into what they called Scotch collops, which the colonel put into the pan, while the king held it to fry. Some years after the Restoration, when the question arose in the king's presence, who was cook and who was scullion, it was agreed by all that his majesty was both by turns.

It appears that the accommodations for sleeping at Boscobel were so bad, the place in which the king lay having been originally built, for the sake of secrecy, between two walls, that after one more night which he passed in a wretched bed, on the staircase (purposely to avoid suspicion), he was glad to avail himself of a proposal from Lord Wilmot, who was safe at Mr. Whitgrave's, to go thither. Humphry, the miller, lent a horse, which is described as a kind of war-horse, that had carried many a load of provision, meal, and such like; and the party set off, Humphry holding the bridle. holding the bridle. It was five miles from Boscobel to Mosely (Mr. Whitgrave's), and the road was in some places thick with mud, where the horse having occasionally stumbled, the king desired Humphry to take care; to which he answered, that that now fortunate horse had carried many a heavier weight in his time, for example, six strike of corn, but now had a better price on his back, the price of three kingdoms, and therefore would not shame his master. This ready wit of Humphry's was much relished.

On arriving safely at Mr. Whitgrave's, the king, after stepping onward, and for a moment forgetting his companions, turned back to take his leave of these kind friends and subjects, assuring them that if ever he came to England again, he would remember them; a promise which he seems to have well fulfilled. The colonel, John Pendrill, and Yates, remained with the king, who was dutifully received by Thomas Whitgrave and Lord Wilmot. The king having prepared himself for his journey, according to a plan of escape devised by Lord Wilmot, John Pendrill was despatched to Mrs. Lane, sister of Colonel Lane, of Bentley, who sent back with him a parcel of boiled walnut leaves, to stain and disfigure his majesty's face and hands.

On the 10th of September, Colonel Lane and his sister came to a field adjoining, where she was placed on horseback behind the king, who was nc longer William Jones, the woodman, but William Jackson, a yeoman's son. The heroic Mrs. Lane passed through several dangerous adventures in the management of his majesty's escape. He remained in England nearly five weeks, till a mode of convey. ance was found from the coast of Sussex; after em barking from which, he was put back by contrary winds into the same place, disguised in a sailor' dress; but the weather becoming more favourable about the end of October, 1651, he landed safely r Dieppe, in Normandy.

M.

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LEANING TOWERS.
No. II.

of the tower, and during their partial success in a desperate assault, (which ultimately failed,) they let the metal, which was red hot, run out of the furnaces, and, either from ignorance or design, threw

explosion, tore the tower from its foundations, and hurled it into its present position. The solidity of its wall is amazing, and it has resisted the ravages of time in a remarkable manner, the only rents now visible having been caused by the explosion; the storms of more than five hundred years have scarcely displaced a stone from the summit, and the whole surface is almost without a flaw.

THE most remarkable leaning tower in Great Britain is that of Caerphilly Castle, in Glamorganshire; in-water from the moat on it, which caused a violent deed, in proportion to its height, it is much more inclined from the perpendicular than any other in the world of which we can find an account, for it is between 70 and 80 feet high, and 11 feet out of the perpendicular. It rests only, on part of its south side, principally by the strength of its cement, the manner of making which is unknown to modern masons, except to a partial extent. The singularity of its position is best observed by looking at it from the inside, or from the moat immediately underneath it, from whence the effect of the apparently falling mass is most extraordinary. The castle, of which this tower forms a part, was built about A. D. 1221; that which previously stood on the same spot having been rased to the ground by the Welsh, in an attempt to free themselves from the yoke of their Norman Conquerors. It is inferior in extent only to Windsor Castle, and must have been one of the most magnificent in the kingdom, its various outbuildings and fortifications covering nearly eleven acres; it is situated on a small plain, bounded by rising ground of very moderate elevation, about nine miles north of Cardiff. It is still a noble ruin, and the great hall is particularly worthy of notice. The fine form of its Gothic windows, and the clustered flying pillars which project from different sides of the room, and from which spring the vaulted arches of the roof, give an uncommon charm to the justness of its proportions.

The cause of the inclination of the tower alluded to, is not a little singular. The unfortunate King Edward the Second, and his favourites the Spencers, were here besieged by the forces of the Queen, and many powerful Barons, in A. D. 1326. defence was long and bravely conducted, and the besiegers were particularly annoyed by metal in a melted state, being thrown down on them, which was heated in furnaces still remaining at the foot

The

The castle at length surrendered, the king, whose tragical end is familiar to all, having previously escaped. The Spencers were beheaded at Bristol, and their castle never regained its ancient splendour. It had long been the dread of the neighbouring Welsh, to restrain whose frequent risings it was built; a song by one of their Bards is yet preserved, in which he prays that his enemy's "soul may go to Caerphilly;" and " going to Caerphilly," in a similar sense, was by no means an uncommon phrase in that country.

shire and at Corfe Castle in Dorsetshire, are both The leaning towers at Bridgenorth Castle in Shropmuch inferior to that at Caerphilly. They were placed in their present position by the use of gunpowder in the civil war which unhappily raged between King Charles and his Parliament. Whether they were mined or battered is not certain. Corfe Castle was bravely defended for some time by Lady Banks, who although her husband, the Chief Justice of England, was absent, compelled the troops of the Parliament to raise the siege, who were thus, in the words of one of our best modern poets, alluding to the defence of Saragossa,

Foil'd by a woman's hand before a shatter'd wall.

The present state of these towers is not without its moral; for, in recalling to our thoughts, times happily for us gone by, when the fury of faction and the violence of civil war rent the kingdom to its

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writers on these subjects, from the earliest ages of antiquity, and many dreadful tales are related of the fatal effects of its poison. There is no doubt that the venom of this creature has, in some instances, produced death; but, in general, the effects of its sting have been less serious than is usually imagined. The most poisonous are the larger species, which inhabit countries under the tropics. Scorpions are found, in general, concealed in holes in the ground, hollow trees, and buildings in a state of ruin.

A French physician, who paid great attention to the habits of these animals, has related many particulars respecting them. The care with which the female attended upon her young, and, by degrees, instructed them in the mode of hollowing out their burrow or nest, particularly attracted his attention. He made also many curious experiments on the effects of their poison; by allowing himself to be frequently stung, he discovered that these effects became less and less painful at every repetition, so that, by degrees, he became almost proof against their venom. He describes the part affected as becoming much swollen, and extremely painful, immediately after the infliction of the injury; and, according to the constitution of the individual, this painful feeling continued from twenty-four to forty-eight hours, or even as much as three days. But the most peculiar effect is a sudden and complete pros. tration of strength, to such an extent that the patient becomes at once deprived of the power of supporting himself. This curious symptom induced the Doctor even to propose the use of the sting of the Scorpion in medicine, in cases where it became necessary suddenly to reduce the pulsations of the heart.

Many a cruel experiment has been made, in order to discover the truth of the story which says, that, "the Scorpion if surrounded by fire, and without the chance of escape, inflicts a wound upon itself, and thus perishes by its own poison." The truth is, the poor creature writhing under the tortures of burning, may, during its sufferings, bring the point

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OF A MAN.

of its tail, which naturally curves backward, in SENSUAL HAPPINESS NOT THE HAPPINESS contact with some part of its body, but we may be perfectly sure that this is not done for the purpose of injuring itself.

The end of the tail, which is bent like a hook, and extremely sharp at the point, contains the poison, and two small slits one on each side, near the point, allow it to escape into the wound inflicted by the animai. The Scorpion is never found further north than the south of France; but in Italy it is very common, and it abounds, and becomes more poisonous, in the hotter countries of the east. The individual represented in the cut is a native of Ceylon.

ONE day I got off my horse to kill a rat, which I found on the road only half killed. I am shocked at the thoughtless cruelty of many people: yet I did a thing soon after, that has given me considerable uneasiness, and for which I reproach myself bitterly. As I was riding homeward, I saw a waggon standing at a door, with three horses; the two foremost were eating corn from bags at their noses; but I observed the third had dropt his on the ground, and could not stoop to get any food. However, I rode on in absence, without assisting him. But when I had got nearly home, I remembered what I had observed in absence of mind, and felt extremely hurt at my neglect; and would have ridden back, had I not thought, the waggoner might A

have come out of the house and relieved the horse. man could not have had a better demand for getting off his horse, than for such an act of humanity. It is by absence of mind that we omit many duties.-JESSE.

THE gentle mind is like the smooth stream, which reflects every object in its just proportion, and in its fairest colours. The violent spirit, like troubled waters, renders back the images of things distorted and broken, and communicates to them all that disordered motion which arises solely from its own agitation.-BLAIR.

CURIOUS RELICS.-The parish church of Hythe, in Kent, is a large handsome structure, adjoining which is a charnelhouse, celebrated for the collection of a large number of human bones which it contains. These bones, remarkable for their gigantic size, were found on the sea-shore, where they had lain for a very great length of time, and had been bleached to perfect whiteness. They are supposed to have been the bones of the Britons slain in a battle fought with the first Saxons, on the shore between Hythe and Folkstone, about the year 546. The arm, leg, and thigh bones, are of extraordinary length; and many of the skulls, which are very large, and of great thickness, exhibit deep cuts, as if inflicted by an axe, or some such heavy weapon of early warfare. This pile of bones measures eight feet in height, eight feet in breadth, and twenty-eight feet in length, and contains 1792 cubic feet.

A little rule, a little sway,

A sunbeam in a winter's day,
Is all the proud and mighty have

Between the cradle and the grave.- -DYER.

SINGULAR SPRING.-About a mile to the north-west of Giggleswick, near Settle, in Yorkshire, is a spring remarkable for its ebbing and flowing at irregular periods, some times three times or oftener in an hour, and rising and falling about half a yard at each influx and reflux. It is close to the right-hand side of the road leading to Ingleton, Kirby Lonsdale and Kendal, at the bottom of Giggleswick Scar, an almost perpendicular cliff of limestone and gravel, apparently 150 feet high and extending above three miles in length. The water, which issues out of the rock into a stone cistern, is limpid, cold and wholesome, and has no particular taste: great care appears to be taken for its preservation. Some years since there was, and probably is now, a notice inscribed over the well, offering, in the name of the trustees of the road, a reward of 107., on the conviction of any person who should throw dirt into the water, or deface the cistern,

E. You say, if I mistake not, that a wise man pursues only his own private interest; and that this consists only in sensual pleasure: for proof whereof you appeal to nature. Is not this what you advance? L. It is.

E. You conclude, therefore, that as other animals are guided by natural instinct, man too ought to follow the dictates of sense and appetite. L. I do.

E. But in this, do you not argue, as if man had only sense and appetite for his guides? on which supposition, there might be truth in what you say. But, what if he hath intellect, reason, a higher instinct, and a nobler life? If this be the case, and you, being a man, live like a brute, is it not the way to be defrauded of your true happiness? to be mortified and disappointed? Take a hog from his ditch or dunghill, lay him on a rich bed, treat him with sweet-meats, and music, and perfumes: all these things will be no amusement to him. You can easily conceive, that the sort of life which makes the happiness of a mole, or a bat, would be a very wretched one for an eagle. And may you not as well conceive, that the happiness of a brute can never constitute the true happiness of a man.—Bishop BerkeleY,

THE FIRST GRIEF.

Он! call my brother back to me,
I cannot play alone;

The summer comes with flower and bee-
Where is my brother gone?

The butterfly is glancing bright

Across the sunbeam's track;

I care not now to chase its flight—
Oh! call my brother back.

The flowers run wild,—the flowers we sowed,
Around our garden-tree;

Our vine is drooping with its load-
Oh! call him back to me.

"He would not hear my voice, fair child!
He may not come to thee;

The face that once like spring-time smiled,
On earth no more thou'lt see!
"A rose's brief bright life of joy,

Such unto him was given;
Go, thou must play alone, my boy-
Thy brother is in heaven !"

And has he left the birds and flowers,

And must I call in vain ;

And thro' the long, long summer hours,
Will he not come again?

And by the brook, and in the glade,
Are all our wanderings o'er ?

Oh! while my brother with me play'd,

Would I had loved him more !MRS. HEMANS.

OUT of doubt he is either a fool, or ungrateful to God, or both, that doth not acknowledge, how mean soever his estate be, that the same is yet far greater than that which God oweth him; or doth not acknowledge, how sharp soever his afflictions be, that the same are yet far less than those which are due unto him. And if an heathen wise man call the adversities of the world, but the tributes of living (tributa vivendi), a wise Christian man ought to know them, and bear them, but as the tributes of offending. -SIR WALTER Ralegh.

HUMAN Society may be compared to a heap of embers, which, when placed asunder, can retain neither their light nor heat, amidst the surrounding elements; but when brought together, they mutually give heat and light to each other; the flame breaks forth, and not only defends itself, but subdues every thing around it.- -REID'S Essays,

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ENGLISH PROSE WRITERS.

No. I. INTRODUCTION.

It is my intention to give some account, in a series of papers, of our great English writers, beginning with those who have left us important works in prose. Our readers will, I am sure, feel an increased interest in the beautiful extracts we provide for them, when they have become acquainted with the characters and fortunes of the writers, and the subjects on which they wrote.

In this introductory paper I shall give some account of our language, abridged from Dr. Johnson, and a few specimens of writers whose works were published before the reign of Queen Elizabeth, with which my regular series will commence.

"The whole fabric and scheme of the English language is Gothic or Teutonic; it is a dialect of that tongue which prevails over all the northern countries of Europe, except those where the Sclavonian is spoken.

"What was the form of the Saxon language, which is the origin of the present English, when the Saxons first entered Britain, cannot now be known. They seem to have been a people without learning, and very probably without an alphabet. This barbarity may be supposed to have continued during their wars with the Britons, which, for a time, left them no leisure for softer studies; nor is there any reason for supposing it abated till the year 570, when Augustine came from Rome to convert them to Christianity. The Christian religion always implies, or produces, a certain degree of civility and learning; they then became, by degrees, acquainted with the Roman language, and so gained, from time to time, some knowledge and elegance, till, in three centuries, they had formed a language, capable of expressing all the sentiments of a civilized people, as appears by King Alfred's paraphrase, or imitation of Boëthius.

"About the year 1150 the Saxon began to take a form, in which the beginning of the present English may be plainly discovered. It is not, however, so much changed by the admixture of Norman words as by changes of its own forms and terminations, for which no reason can be assigned.

"The first of our authors, who can be properly said to have written English, was Sir John Gower, who, in his Confession of a Lover, calls Chaucer his disciple."

Wiclif, the fearless and honest Reformer, and Chaucer, the Father of English Poetry, were contemporaries, the former being born in 1324, the latter in 1328.

Specimen of WICLIF's Translation of the Bible,
1 Corynth. 13.

"If I speke with the tungis of men and of aungels, and I haue not charite, I am maad as bras sownynge, or a cymbal tynklynge; and if I haue profecie and knowe alle mysteries and al kynnynge, and if I haue al feith so that I moue hillis fro her place, and if I haue not charite, I am nought. And if I departe alle my goodis into the metis of pore men, and if I betake my bodi, so that I brenne, and if I haue not charite, it profitith to me no thing. Charite is pacient, it is benynge, (i. e. benign). Charite enuyeth not, it doith not wickidli, it is not blowun (i. e. puffed up), it seketh not those things that ben hise own."

Specimen from CHAUCER'S Tale of Melibeus. "Ye shuln first in alle your werkes mekely besechen to the Heigh God, that he wol be your conseillour; and shapeth you to swiche entente, that he

yeve you conseil and comforte, as taught Tobie his sone; at alle times thou shalt blesse God, and preie seils ben in him for ever more." him to dresse thy wayes; and loke that alle thy con

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Our next extracts are from authors who wrote in the time of Henry the Eighth, or his son. We will begin with a letter, written with a coal, by the wise and witty SIR THOMAS MORE to his daughter, Margaret Roper, when he was a prisoner in the Tower. "Myne own good daughter, our Lorde be thanked, I am in good helthe of bodye and in good quiet of minde; and of worldly thynges I no more desyer than I haue. I besech Hym make you all mery the hope of heauen. And such thynges as I somewhat longed to talke with you, all concerning the worlde to come, our Lorde put theim into your myndes, as I truste he dothe, and better to, by hys Holy Spirite, who blesse you and preserue you all. Written with a cole by your tender louing father, who, in hys pore prayers forgetteth none of you all, nor your babes, nor your nurses, nor your good husbandes, nor your good husbandes shrewde wyves, nor your father's shrewde wyfe neither, nor other frendes. And thus fare ye hartely well for lacke of THOMAS MORE, Knight."

paper.

Extract I. From BISHOP LATIMER. "In my time, my poore father was as diligent to teach me to shoote as to learn me any other thing, and so I thinke other men did their children. He taught me how to draw, how to lay my body in my bow, and not to drawe with strength of armes, as other nations doe, but with strength of the bodye. I had my bowes bought me according to my age and strength: as I encreased in them, so my bowes were made bigger and bigger, for men shall never shoote well, except they be brought up in it. It is a goodly arte, a wholesome kinde of exercise, and much commended in physicke."

Extract II. From the Conference between LATIMER and RIDLEY, when in Prison.

"Lo, Sir, here have I blotted your paper vainly, and plaied the fool egregiouslie; but so I thought better than not to doe your request at this time. Pardon me, and pray for me; pray for me I say, pray for me I say; for I am sometime so fearfull, that I would creepe into a mouse hole; sometime God doth visite me againe with his comforte. So he cometh and goeth to teach me to feele and to knowe mine infirmitic, to the intent to give thanks to him that is worthie, lest I should rob him of his dutie, as many doe, and almost all the world.-Fare ye well." T. K. A.

TWILIGHT.

I LOVE thee, Twilight! as thy shadows roll,
The calm of evening steals upon my soul,
Sublimely tender, solemnly serene,

Still as the hour, enchanting as the scene.
I love thee, Twilight! for thy gleams impart
Their dear, their dying influence to my heart.
When o'er the harp of thought thy passing wind
Awakens all the music of the mind,
And Joy and Sorrow, as the spirit burns,
And Hope and Memory sweep the chords by turns,
While Contemplation, on seraphic wings,
Mounts with the flame of sacrifice, and sings.
Twilight! I love thee; let thy glooms increase,
Till every feeling, every pulse is peace:
Slow from the sky the light of day declines,
Clearer within the dawn of glory shines,
Revealing, in the hour of Nature's rest,
A world of wonders in the poet's breast:
Deeper, O Twilight! then thy shadows roll,
An awful vision opens on my soul.-MONTGOMERY

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