quainted with our academical annals, is evident, from his supposing the mallard of All-Souls College to be a goose."

THE MERRY OLD SONG OF THE ALL-
SOUL'S MALLARD.

Griffin, bustard, turkey, capon,
Let other hungry mortals gape on;

And on the bones their stomach fall hard,
But let All-Souls' men have their MALLARD.
Oh! by the blood of King Edward,
Oh by the blood of King Edward,
It was a swapping, swapping MALLARD.
The Romans once admired a gander
More than they did their chief commander;
Because he sav'd, if some don't fool us,
The place that's called th' head of Tolus.
Oh! by the blood, &c.

The poets feign Jove turned a swan,
But let them prove it if they can;
As for our proof 'tis not at all hard,
For it was a swapping, swapping MALLARD.
Oh! by the blood, &c.

Therefore let us sing and dance a galliard,
To the remembrance of the MALLARD:
And as the MALLARD dives in pool,
Let us dabble, dive, and duck in bowl.

Oh! by the blood of King Edward,
Oh! by the blood of King Edward,
It was a swapping, swapping MALLARD.

Queen Elizabeth was crowned at Westminster on the 15th of January 1559, by the bishop of Carlisle, who was the only prelate that could be prevailed upon to perform the ceremony. She was conducted through London amidst the joyful acclamations of the people. In the course of the procession, a boy, who personated Truth, descending from a triumphal arch, presented to her a bible, which she received with gracious deportment, and placed in her bosom; declaring that it was by far more precious and acceptable than all the costly testimonies which the city had that day given her of their attachment. She acquired a popularity beyond what any of her predecessors or successors could attain.*

• Hume.

Country-woman's dress in queen Elizabeth's days.

The picture which Dunbar, in "The Freirs of Berwick," has given us of the dress of a rich farmer's wife in Scotland, during the middle of the sixteenth century, will apply, with little difference, to the still wealthier dames of England. He has drawn her in a robe of fine scarlet with a white hood; a gay purse and gingling keys pendant at her side from a silked belt of silver tissue; on each finger she wore two rings, and round her waist was a sash of grass-green silk, richly embroidered with silver.

To this rural extravagance in dress, Warner, in "Albion's England," bears equal testimony, through two old gossips cowering over their cottage-fire, and chatting how the world had changed "in their time."

When we were maids (quoth one of them)
Was no such new-found pride :
Then wore they shoes of ease, now of

An inch-broad, corked high.
Black kersey stockings, worsted now,
Yea silk of youthful'st dye :
Garters of list, but now of silk,

Some edged deep with gold:
With costlier toys for coarser turns
Than used perhaps of old.
Fringed and embroidered petticoats
Now beg. But heard you named,
Till now of late, busks, perriwigs,
Masks, plumes of feathers framed.
Supporters, posturs, farthingales,
Above the loins to wear;

That be she ne'er so slender, yet,

She cross-like seems four-square.
Some wives, gray-headed, shame not locks
Of youthful borrowed hair:
Some, tyring art, attire their heads

With only tresses bare :

Some (grosser pride than which, think I,
No passed age might shame)
By art, abusing nature, heads

Of antick't hair do frame.

Once starching lack't the term, because

Was lacking once the toy,

And lack't we all these toys and terms,
It were no grief, but joy.—
Now dwells each drossel in her glass
When I was young, I wot
On holy-days (for seldom else
Such idle times we got)
A tub or pail of water clear
Stood us instead of glass.*

Dr. Drake's Shakspeare and his Times, i. 118.

On Monday, the 16th of January, 1749, it was announced by newspaper advertisement that a person, on that evening, at the Theatre Royal, in the Haymarket, would play on a common walking cane the music of every instrument then in use; that he would, on the stage, get into a tavern quart bottle, without equivocation, and, while there, sing several songs, and suffer any spectator to handle the bottle; that if any spectator came masked he would, if requested, declare who they were; that, in a private room, he would produce the representation of any person dead, with whom the party requesting it should converse some minutes, as if alive; that the performance would begin at halfpast six; and that a guard would be placed at the doors to preserve order.

This advertisement assembled an immense audience, who waited till seven o'clock, and then, becoming impatient and vociferous, a person came before the curtain, and declared that, if the performer did not appear, the money should be returned. Afterwards, a voice behind the curtain cried out that the performer had not arrived, but, if the audience would stay till the next evening, instead of going into a quart bottle, he would get into a pint. A tumult then commenced, by the throwing of a lighted candle from one of the boxes upon the stage. The interior of the theatre was torn down and burnt in the street, and a flag made of the stage curtain was placed on a pole, in the midst of the bonfire. During the riot, the entrance money, which had been secured in a box, according to contract with the proprietor of the house, was carried away. Several persons of high rank were present, and the pickpockets obtained a rich booty. A distinguished general's rich sword was lost, for the recovery of which thirty guineas were offered.

On Wednesday, the 18th, a letter was

addressed to the Morning Advertiser, by the proprietor of the theatre, disavowing connivance with the impostor, and stating that, as

"The performance proposed was so very extraordinary, it was stipulated with the person that hired the house that there should be a receiver of the proprietor's own appointment at the office, and, in case there should be no performance, or any notorious equivocation, that the money should be returned. All which was assented to, and, as the hirer paid the rent, and would necessarily be at other expenses before the opening of the doors," the proprietor says,

"I was thereby strongly induced to believe, that he intended no real imposition, but that something (of that kind) would be exhibited to the satisfaction of the spectators. All the caution above mentioned was taken, and the money locked up in the office, guarded by persons of reputation, who would have returned it; and publicly, on the stage, told them that if the person did not appear their money should be returned. But, instead of complying with that offer, my house was pulled down, the office broken open, the money taken out, and the servants obliged to fly to save their lives. I hope, therefore, this may be deemed a sufficient justification in my behalf, and all that could be reasonably expected from me; and that those gentlemen who are conscious of having injured me will be so generous as to make me a reasonable satisfaction, considering the damage I have suffered, which, on a moderate computation, will exceed four hundred pounds.

"JOHN POTTER."

On the same day there appeared in the same paper an advertisement from Mr. Foote, the comedian, whence it appears that he had been accused of having been accessory to the cheat. This, Foote utterly denied, and alleged that on the morning of the expected performance he called on Mr. Lewis, Potter's attorney, and gave him his opinion that a fraud on the public was intended, and therefore advised that the doors should not be opened. Lewis's answer was, that if the man complied with his agreement, the doors must be opened. Foote then recommended him not to suffer, on any pretence, the man, or any of his confederates, to receive a shilling, but appoint a treasurer, in order, if disappointment occurred, the money might be returned.

Potter's letter re-appeared in Thursday's paper, with this "N. B. The person who took the house was a man of genteel appearance; said his name was William Nicholls; and directed letters to be left for him at the Bedford Coffee-house, Covent Garden."

The secret history of the imposture was never discovered to the public, but it was rumored that the affair originated in a wager proposed by a well-known rakish nobleman, which had been accepted, and, to win the bet, he contrived and effected the mischievous trick.

Within a week from the affair of the bottle conjuror, an advertisement proposed to rival his astonishing non-performance, by stating that there had lately arrived from Ethiopia "the most wonderful and surprising Doctor Benimbo Zimmampaango, dentist and body-surgeon to the emperor of Moncmongi," who, among other surprising operations, proposed to perform the following: "He offers any one of the spectators, only to pull out his own eyes, which, as soon as he has done, the doctor will show them to any lady or gentleman then present, to convince them there is no cheat, and then replace them in the sockets as perfect and entire as ever."

January 18.

Samuel Bernard, one of the richest and most celebrated financiers of Europe, died in Paris, the 18th of January 1739, at the age of eighty-eight. He was an elder of the Protestant church of Charenton. By rendering great services to the court, he gained immense sums, and was created count of Coubert and a knight of St. Michel. His funeral procession equalled that of a prince in point of magnificence, and in the train of distinguished attendants.

Bernard was a man of pleasantry. In his expiring moments, Languet, the rector of St. Sulpice, who was indefatigable in obtaining subscriptions for the building of his church, exhorted the dying man to contribute to the structure; "for," said he, "what do not they merit who are able to participate in the edification of the temple of the Lord ?" Bernard, endeavouring 10 turn his head to the rector, said, "Hold up your hand, sir, or I shall see your cards.

The rector Languet was an excellent parish priest, and incessantly devoted to the rebuilding of his church, for which purpose he turned every thing into money, and solicited subscriptions in all quarters. The Jansenists were jealous of his endeavours and his success. On paying his duty to the archbishop of Paris, when that prelate took possession of the archbishopric, the rector was surprised to find that he had been accused of having carried on trade, for which the archbishop severely reproved him. Languet denied the charge. "Do not you sell ice?" said the Bishop. "Yes, my Lord: when the workmen I employ in building my church cannot work, in frosty weather, I make them break and pile up the ice, which I sell to furnish them with subsistence in these hard times." "Oh," said the prelate, "I don't understand it in that manner, and you sell a great deal, I find." "Not so much as I should," said the good rector, "if the Jansenists had not spread a report that my ice was warm."

Forty years ago, six miles an hour was reckoned fair speed for a stage coach. In France, twenty years before, the travellingcarriage was the waggon-like machine of wicker-work represented in the engraving, which is taken from a view on a high-road, published in the early part of the reign of Louis XVI., who came to the throne in 1774. There is no coach-box to this vehicle; the driver sits leisurely on one of the horses; his passengers, inside and outside, loll leisurely; and his horses drag leisurely. Instead of glasses there are leathern curtains, which unfurl from the top, and furl up, and flap when down, or wholly obscure the light. It is little better, and perhaps it moved only a little quicker, than a common stage-waggon. Our own stage-coaches in the time of George II. were scarcely of superior con

trivances.

When M. Sorbiere, a French man of letters, came to England, in the reign of Charles II., for the purpose of being introduced to the king, and visiting our most distinguished literary and scientific characters, he proceeded from the place of his landing to the metropolis, by a conVOL. I.-4

veyance now used only by poor countrywomen, and foot-sore trampers. He says, "That I might not take post, or be obliged to use the stage-coach, I went from Dover to London in a waggon: 1 was drawn by six horses, one before another, and drove by a waggoner, who walked by the side of it. He was clothed in black, and appointed in all things like another St. George; he had a brave mounteror on his head, and was a merry fellow, fancied he made a figure, and seemed mightily pleased with himself.*

January 19.

Henry Howard, Earl of Surrey, a scholar and a poet, "a man" esteemed by Sir Walter Raleigh "no less valiant than learned, and of excellent hopes," was beheaded on Tower Hill, for high treason, on the 19th of January, 1547.

The Earl of Surrey had served in Flodden Field, in 1513, and held the office of

Sobiere's Voyage to England, 1709. 8vo. P. 7.

E

high admiral of England: in compliment to Henry VIII., he had been made admiral of Spain by the emperor Charles V. He distinguished himself at home and abroad by bravery of arms, courtesy of manners, and literary accomplishments. When Henry, in his latter days, retained the desire without the power of gratification, and remembrance of his great crimes terrified his feeble conscience, he became jealous of his best servants. Surrey,who quartered the arms of Edward the Confessor, by authority of the court of arms, was, on that pretence, suspected of aspiring to the crown, and the king sent him to the scaffold. The decease of the sensual monarch nine days afterwards prevented the death of Surrey's father, the Duke of Norfolk, whose execution had been appointed for the following morning.

Among the "noble authors" of his age, the Earl of Surrey stands pre-eminently first in rank. In his early youth he made the tour of Europe in the true spirit of chivalry, and by the caprice of Henry he was recalled from Italy, where he had engaged in tournament and song for love of a lady, the "fair Geraldine," whose identity has escaped discovery. He returned home the most elegant traveller, the most polite lover, the most learned nobleman, and the most accomplished gentleman of his age. Surrey's sonnets in praise of the lady of his love are intensely impassioned, and polished. English poetry, till refined by Surrey, degenerated into metrical chronicles or tasteless allegories. His love verses equal the best in our language; while in harmony of numbers, perspicuity of expres sion, and facility of phraseology, they approach so near the productions of our own age, as hardly to be believed the offspring of the reign of Henry VIII. Waron perceives almost the ease and galantry of Waller in some of the following stanzas,

A PRAISE OF HIS LOVE.

Wherein he reproveth them that compare their ladies with his.

Give place, ye lovers, here before
That spent your boasts and brags in vain :
My lady's beauty passeth more
The best of yours, I dare well sayne,
Than doth the sun the candle light,
Or brightest day the darkest night.

And thereto hath a troth as just
As had Penelope the fair :
For what she saith ye may it trust,
As it by writing sealed were:
And virtues hath she many moe
Than I with pen have skill to show.
I could rehearse, if that I would,
The whole effect of Nature's plaint,
When she had lost the perfect mould,
The like to whom she could not paint.
With wringing hands how she did cry?
And what she said, I know it, I.
I know she swore, with raging mind,
Her kingdom only set apart,
There was no loss, by law of kind,
That could have gone so near her heart
And this was chiefly all her pain
She could not make the like again.*

John Howard, the philanthropist, died at Cherson, in Russia, on the 20th of January, 1790. He was born in 1726, and, devoting his life to active benevolence, made "a circumnavigation of charity,' visiting the prisons and lazarettoes of different countries, with a view to mitigate the hardships of the distressed.

As a gratification to the curious, a gentleman obligingly communicates the following

Original Letter from Mr. Howard.

Cologn, August 4, 1770.

I hope my dear Friend does not think any distance can make me forget the long friendship that has subsisted betwixt us. Little to entertain my friend, yet must tell him what a Rambler I am. When I left London last year for Leghorn I was so ill a-board that I crost into France, and went into Switzerland, so to Turin and the northern part of Italy. As winter travelling so bad in Italy I returned into France and went to Holland, and early in the Spring I sett out and visited the

Another stanza closes this poem. Particulars respecting the Earl of Surrey and his works are in Warton's History of English Poetry, 8vo. iii. 288; Walpole's Royal and Noble Authors by Park, 8vo. i. 255, &c.