better than any house I heare of. Many killed in country as well as in towne. Lady penelope wicklesse killed in her bed at her country house, and he in the same bed saved, a piece of timber falling between his legs, and keept of ye bricks, but tis innumerable y' mischiefs and y preservations; sea matters yet too uncertain, so sertaine beaumont lost, and wonderfuly lamented, and 5 ships upon y sands, no newes yet y" to be relyed on of Sir Shovel; I am sorry y' lord lost his match, but really the present calamity takes up al my thoughts. Tis time to dine, so must end y' from y' affectionate mother.

To the Same.

'R. RUSSELL.'

'By y received yesterday I read y will meet you at Belvoir I hope well, and that you find al y deare children soe, at last their periwigs are gone down, as to the necklesse, I can say nothing how it came by what wheel of fortune, for as to y' sister you know more of her than I doe by Mr. Vice-Chamberlain. I saw her Tuesday morn before she went to the Queene, and not a word since; but Lady devon says she is to dine to-day at Sion wher y' sister lay last night, and so bring her home to-day, possibly by evening we may have a sight of her, but I believe she has writ to yon, for I asked hur if she had sent you advice of y way of mourning, she answered me very quick. O yes indeed— if I had wanted y' subject I had hardly know how to have got soe far in my paper, y towne being now so empty, y' realy I hardly know any body to cal by a name; al fly to winser at elections. Sir James says Lord hartinton cant miss in yorkshire, methinks you dont talk soe confidently of y" in lestershire; lord paulet who is going to his at winchester told me yesterday y' one of the pretenders not verney, went to som market towne and ther drank a health to y' Queene, but said he would never drink ye late kings or abjur ye prince of wales, nor drink healths to y' princes of hannover, and y' he says wil undoe his interest, if it be true I am sure it ought to doe it. I writ to Lord rutland, from whom I had a letter of congratulation for our infant, and I said al I thought necessary upon ye subject of Lord hartin, not writing to him for his interest in yorkshire. I have had no letter from Lady rutland, soe I spare writing, I mention it for fear any may have myscarryed and soe I be blamed for not doing my duty, but I fancy not having an answer from me she would speak of it, if she had rit; my servis to al lords and ladys, our mother and child are both well, only my daughter says she has not sleeped these three nights, y' brother went and lord Edward and mr. charlton to woburne a Saturday, that election is to be tomorrow sennight, but y' brother comes back la. bedford says thursday or friday. I heard him say he had y' letter; I had a letter from lady Anne popam yesterday, she says her gurle has found so much good from cowes milk, yt she has deferred going to y' bath. If any thing happens before post, it shall be added.'

Among the poetic contributions, some of which are of considerable merit, we have noticed particularly The Childless,' by Mrs. Abdy, A Fragment,' by Mrs. Fairley, and the following by the Hon. Mrs. Price Blackwood.

6

THE LAMENT OF THE IRISH EMIGRANT.

'I'm sittin on the stile, Mary,

Where we sat side by side,
On a bright May mornin' long ago,
When first you were my bride;
The corn was springin' fresh and green,
And the lark sung loud and high-
And the red was on your lip, Mary,
And the love light in your eye.

The place is little changed, Mary,
The day is bright as then,

The lark's loud song is in my ear,
And the corn is green again;
But I miss the soft clasp of your hand,
And your breath, warm on my cheek,
And I still keep listening for the words
You never more may speak.

'Tis but a step down yonder lane,
And the little church stands near,
The church where we were wed, Mary,
I see the spire from here;

But the grave-yard lies between, Mary,`
And my step might break your rest,—
For I've laid you, darling, down to sleep
With your baby on your breast.

'I'm very lonely now, Mary,

For the poor make no new friends,
But, oh! they love the better still,
The few our Father sends!

And you were all I had, Mary,
My blessin' and my pride;

There's nothing left to care for now,
Since my poor Mary died.

Yours was the good brave heart, Mary,
That still kept hoping on,

When the trust in God had left my soul,

And my arm's young strength was gone;

There was comfort ever on your lip,
And the kind look on your brow—
I bless you, Mary, for that same,
Though you cannot hear me now.

I thank you for the patient smile
When your heart was fit to break,
When the hunger-pain was gnawin' there
And you hid it for my sake!

I bless you for the pleasant word,
When your heart was sad and sore-
Oh! I'm thankful you are gone, Mary,
Where grief can't reach you more!

I'm biddin' you a long farewell,
My Mary-kind and true!
But I'll not forget you, darling!

In the land I'm goin' to ;

They say there's bread and work for all,
And the sun shines always there,-
But I'll not forget old Ireland,

Were it fifty times as fair!

And often in those grand old woods
I'll sit and shut my eyes,
And my heart will travel back again
To the place where Mary lies,-
And I'll think I see the little stile
Where we sat side by side,

And the springin' corn, and the bright May moru,
When first you were my bride !'

We have exceeded our limits, and can simply add, that the principal contributors to the Keepsake are the Countess of Blessington, Lord Gardener, the Marchioness of Londonderry, R. M. Milnes, Esq., M.P., Lord John Manners, Lord Viscount Maidstone, Lady E. Stuart Wortley, and several others ranking high in station or literature.

Heath's Picturesque Annual is devoted this year to Windsor Castle and its environs, and contains besides the frontispiece and vignette the former of which consists of a spirited drawing by Corbould of her Majesty on horseback-thirteen admirable engravings from original drawings by our most eminent artists. We have some half dozen exterior views of the Castle, Eton, Virginia Water and the Ruins, by Harding; Allom introduces us to St. George's Hall and the Waterloo Gallery, and Mackenzie exhibits to our mind's eye the interior of St. George's Chapel.

Mr. Ritchie has executed his portion of the volume with considerable tact and ability, mingling the old legend and chronicle, by-gone superstitions and almost forgotten anecdotes, with the more veritable reports of accredited history. He has evidently spared no pains to bring together from every quarter whatever could illustrate the history, or present in graphic outline, the varied features, the feats of chivalry, the crimes and the vir tues of which this royal edifice has been the witness. The volume possesses in consequence a twofold interest, and will

retain its station in public favor, long after the season of its appearance. The following account of the imprisonment at Windsor, of James the First of Scotland, is a fair sample of Mr. Ritchie's style, and of the nature of the materials he has collected together.

In the year 1405, Windsor Castle received as a prisoner a youth of thirteen, who was doomed to remain in bondage for nearly twenty years. He was afterwards famous in history under the name of James I. of Scotland; and, in all probability, this long imprisonment, however distasteful to himself, was highly beneficial to his country. The English monarch deserves great credit for the pains that were taken with the young prisoner's education. He more than fulfilled his promise, sarcastically made, to instruct him in French. James was on

6

his way to France for education; but Henry, remarking that he himself understood French, and was much nearer at hand, ordered him to be carried to Windsor. It may be observed, however, that instruction was not given gratuitously; for, on his release, the sum of £40,000 was charged for his ransom and maintenance. In the solitudes of Windsor, James became the admirable Crichton' of princes. He excelled not only in athletic exercises, and the use of the sword and spear, in the feats of tilts and tournaments, and in wrestling, archery, and the sports of the field; but also in grammar, oratory, music, jurisprudence, and philosophy, if we may believe Boethius, he was preeminent. He was well learnet to ficht with the sword,' says he (in the translation of Bellenden,) to just, to turney, to worsyl, to sing and dance, was an expert musicinar, richt crafty in playing baith of lute and harp, and sindry other instruments of musik.' In addition to these accomplishments, he was a poet of no mean pretensions :

'Amid the bards whom Scotia holds to fame,

She boasts, nor vainly boasts, her James's name;
And less, sweet bard, a crown thy glory shows,
Than the fair laurels that adorn thy brows.'

But James was not so completely taken up with warlike sports, and the worship of the muse, as to have no time left for something of still more importance. The young captive fell in love; and at that moment, we dare swear, the sense of every other sort of captivity departed. His world was thenceforward divided into where she was and where she was not;' and even the divisions of time depended upon her absence or presence:

To see her part, and follow I nae might,
Methought the day was turned into nyte.

The lady of his love was Joan Beaufort, daughter of the Duke of Somerset, and grand-daughter of John of Gaunt, time-honoured Lancaster.' The Queen's Quair' was written in her honour, and sets forth her praise, his love, and its happy issue in the allegorical manner

then in fashion. Mr. Tytler describes it as a very remarkable work, in its invention, fancy, powers of description, and simplicity of sentiment; while Mr. Ellis adds, that it is not inferior, in poetical merit, to any similar production of Chaucer. It was the misfortune of James,' say Dr. Robertson, that his maxims and manners were too refined for the age in which he lived. Happy, had he reigned in a kingdom more civilized! His love of peace, of justice, and of elegance, would have rendered his schemes successful; and, instead of perishing because he had attempted too much, a grateful people would have applauded and seconded his efforts to reform and improve them.' He married his mistress, was restored to his kingdom, and passed some busy years in endeavouring to civilize his country. One evening he was sitting at supper with his beloved, and still beautiful Joan, (for he was then only in his forty-fourth year,) when the steps of murderers were heard without. On this occasion was exhibited an instance of heroic fidelity, which has been often mentioned. Catherine Douglas, a fair and high-born maid of honor attending upon the queen, flew to fasten the door; she found that the bolt was gone, and the noble girl thrust her own delicate arm into the staple. So tender an obstacle could gain but a minute. The arm was crushed to pieces; the murderers rushed in; and James fell by their swords in the meridian of his age, although poor Joan had roused her like a lioness to defend her love, and was wounded in the vain attempt. Many of our readers will remember that Sir Walter Scott, slightly altering this anecdote of Catharine Douglas, and engrafting it on the character of an attendant of Mary Queen of Scots, has enriched with it a chapter of one of his matchless romances.'

Our old friend the Forget-Me-Not appears this year-we believe for the eighteenth time-with much the same claim to public favor as formerly. Of the engravings we say nothing, for the volumes already examined render us blind to any merit they may possess. Its literary contributions, however, are by no means devoid of interest, and render the volume an appropriate and acceptable Christmas, New Year's, and Birthday present.' The Fatherless,' by Mrs. Abdy, Willsby Old Hall,' by Mary Howitt, The Dappled Doe,' by Miss Lawrance, with some poetic effusions of Charles Swain and Mr. James Montgomery, are amongst our favorites. Mr. Charles Swain addressing the Editor, remarks, I see that this is the eleventh year since my 'first appearance in your little register of sweet affections. Since then how many are dead! Hemans, Landon, Jewsbury, Hogg, Neele, Macnish, Carrington, Scott, Mackay Wilson, Inglis, and 'how many more! Would not this be an interesting and fitting theme for some paper by yourself? If not, I will carry out the 'idea, which has just struck me, in verse.' Mr. Swain was faithful to his promise, and we furnish our readers with the result.