many of his productions show a laxity of principle caused by the last act of his life? His sister says, which might justify the supposition. The best that "he was a lover of truth from the earliest qualities in his character were the negative ones dawn of reason;" yet his life was one continued of temperance and affection for his family, to whom career of deception. He is to be pitied for his he sent small presents out of his first gains, and misfortunes, and admired for his genius; but, with always spoke of their welfare as one of the princi- Kirke White in our remembrance, we could pal ends of his exertions. But what deeper afflic- wish to forget all else that belonged to Chattion could he have brought upon them than that terton. BRISTOWE TRAGEDIE; OR, THE DETHE OF SYR CHARLES BAWDIN. THE featherd songster chaunticleer Han wounde hys bugle horne, And tolde the earlie villager The commynge of the morne : Kynge Edwarde sawe the ruddie streakes Of lyghte eclypse the greie; And herde the raven's crokynge throte "Thou'rt ryght," quod he, "for, by the Godde That syttes enthroned on hyghe! Charles Bawdin, and hys fellowes twaine, Thenne wythe a jugge of nappy ale Hys knyghtes dydd onne hymm waite; "Goe tell the traytour, thatt to-daie Hee leaves thys mortall state." And to Syr Charles dydd goe. But whenne hee came, hys children twaine, Wythe brinie tears dydd wett the floore, For goode Syr Charleses lyfe. "O goode Syr Charles!" sayd Canterlone, "Badde tydyngs I doe brynge." 'Speke boldlie, manne," sayd brave Syr Charles, Christ's vicarr only knowes ne synne, "Whatte says the traytour kynge?" "I greeve to telle: before yonne sonne Does fromme the welkinn flye, Hee hath uppon hys honour sworne Thatt thou shalt surelie die." "We all must die," quod brave Syr Charles, Whatte bootes to lyve a little space? "Butt telle thye kynge, for myne hee's not, Thanne lyve hys slave, as manie are, Then Canterlone hee dydd goe out, ys Syr Charles dothe lyve. and alle seinctes ynne heaven, ne shall be hys laste." nynge dropp'd a brinie teare, the presence paste. brymm-fulle of gnawynge grief, yr Charles dydd goe, mm downe uponne a stoole, es beganne to flowe. must die," quod brave Syr Charles; bootes ytte howe or whenne; ne sure, the certaine fate ee mortall menne. my friende, thie honest soul wer att thyne eye; my most welcome doome ou dost child-lyke crye?" e Canynge, "I doe weepe, ou so soone must die, thy sonnes and helpless wyfe; drie the tears thatt out thyne eye rough the tyrant's welcome means esigne my lyfe, e I serve wylle soone provyde ne my sonnes and wyfe. sawe the lyghtsome sunne, as appointed mee; tall manne repyne or grudge Codde ordeynes to bee? ft ynne battaile have I stoode, housands dyed arounde; okynge streemes of crimson bloode 'd the fatten'd grounde: ydd I knowe thatt every darte, utte the airie waie, ott fynde passage toe my harte, all I nowe, forr feere of dethe, delyke Henry! Godde forefende, est friende, my faulte has beene ve Godde and my prynce; tt I no tyme-server am, the wylle soone convynce. Londonne citye was I borne, From oute the reech of woe. "Hee taughte mee justice and the laws And eke hee taughte mee howe to knowe The hungrie fromm my doore: "And none can saye but alle mye lyfe "I have a spouse, goe aske of her I have a kynge, and none can laie Ynne Lent, and onne the holie eve, "Ne, hapless Henrie! I rejoyce 'Whatte though I onne a sledde be drawne, And mangled by a hynde, I doe defye the traytour's power, Whyche tyme can't eate awaie, "Thenne welcome dethe! for lyfe eterne I leave thys mortall lyfe : Farewell vayne worlde, and all that's deare Mye sonnes and lovynge wyfe! "Nowe dethe as welcome to mee comes Nor woulde I even wyshe to lyve, Quod Canynge, ""Tys a goodlie thynge And from thys worlde cf and grefe And nowe the belle began to tolle, Syr Charles hee herde the horses feete His lovynge wyfe came ynne, Weepynge unfeigned teers of woe, Wythe loude and dysmalle dynne. "Sweet Florence! nowe I praie forbere, Praie Godde that every Christian soule "Sweet Florence! why these brinie teers? ""Tys butt a journie I shalle goe Untoe the lande of blysse; Thenne Florence, fault'ring ynne her saie, Ah, sweete Syr Charles! why wylt thou goe The cruelle axe thatt cuttes thye necke, And nowe the officers came ynne "I goe to lyfe, and nott to dethe; Truste thou ynne Godde above, And teache thy sonnes to feare the Lorde, "Teache them to runne the nobile race Thatt I theyre fader runne; Florence should dethe thee take-adieu ! Thenne Florence raved as anie madde, "Oh, staie mye husbande, lorde, and lyfe !"Syr Charles thenne dropt a teare. "Tyll tyredd oute wythe ravynge loude, Before hym went the council-menne, The Freers of Seincte Augustyne next Alle cladd ynne homelie russett weedes, Ynne diffraunt partes a godlie psaume Moste sweetlie theye dydd chaunt; Behynde theyre backes syx mynstrelles came, Who tuned the strunge bataunt. Thenne fyve-and-twenty archers came; Echone the bowe dydd bende, From rescue of Kynge Henrie's friends Syr Charles forr to defend. Bolde as a lyon came Syr Charles, Drawne onne a cloth-ladye sledde. Wyth bended bowe echone ynne hande, Seincte Jameses Freers marched next, Thenne came the maior and eldermenne, And after them a multitude Of citizenns dydd thronge; The wyndowes were alle fulle of heddes And whenne hee came to the hyghe crosse, "O Thou thatt savest manne fromme synne, To hys most welcom fate Soone as the sledde drewe nyghe enowe, The brave Syr Charles hee dydd stande uppe, Butt bee assured, disloyall manne! I'm greaterr nowe thanne thee. Bye foule proceedyngs, murdre, bloude, Thou wearest nowe a crowne; And hast appoynted mee to die, "Thou thynkest I shall dye to-daie; And soone shall lyve to weare a crowne "Whylst thou, perhapps, for some few yeares, Shalt rule thys fickle lande, To lett them knowe howe wyde the rule "Thye power unjust, thou traytour slave! = dydd speke and sale: that soe-much-dreaded dethe lie terrors brynge, e manne! hee spake the truthe, eater thanne a kynge!" nym die!" Duke Richarde sayde; aye echone oure foes ne theyre neckes to bloudie axe, de the carryon crowes.' the horses gentlie drewe rles uppe the hyghe hylle; ydd glysterr ynne the sunne, ious bloude to spylle. es dydd uppe the scaffold goe, - a gilded carre e, bye val'rous chiefs ynne the bloudie warre: e people hee dyd saie, de you see mee dye, nge loyally mye kynge, nge most ryghtfullie. e as Edwarde rules thys lande, et you wylle knowe : hes and husbandes shalle bee slayne. ookes wythe bloude shalle flowe. ve your goode and lawfulle kynge, e ynne adversitye; e, untoe the true cause stycke, r the true cause dye." nee, wyth preestes, uponne hys knees, er to Godde dyd make, nge hym unto hymselfe artynge soule to take. kneelynge downe, hee layde hys hedde, eemlie onne the blocke; fromme hys bodie fayre at once ble heddes-manne stroke: e the bloude beganne to flowe, udie axe hys bodie fayre erye parte, and eke hys hedde, me a pole was putte. te dyd rotte onne Kynwulph-hylle, Onne the mynster-tower, e from off the castle-gate crowen dydd devoure : her onne Seyncte Powle's goode gate, eery spectacle ; edde was placed onne the hyghe crosse, e hyghe strete most nobile. was the ende of Bawdin's fate : de prosper longe oure kynge, rante hee maye, wyth Bawdin's soule, O! droppe the brynie teare wythe mee, Lycke a rennynge ryver bee; Gon to hys death-bedde, Al under the wyllowe tree. Blacke hys cryne as the wyntere nyghte, Gon to hys death-bedde, Al under the wyllowe tree. Swote hys tongue as the throstles note, O hee lyes bie the wyllowe tree : Gonne to hys death-bedde, Al under the wyllowe tree. Harke, the ravenne flappes hys wynge, Gonne to hys death-bedde, See the whyte moone sheenes onne hie, Gon to hys death-bedde, Al under the wyllowe tree. Heere uponne mie true love's grave, Al under the wyllowe tree. Wythe mie hondes I'll dente the brieres Gon to hys death-bedde, Al under the wyllowe tree. Comme, wythe acorne-coppe and thorne, Mie love ys dedde, Waterre wytches, crownede wythe reytes I die I comme; mie true love waytes. 1 WILLIAM GIFFORD, the son of a plumber and glazier, who dissipated his property by intemperance and extravagance, was born at Ashburton, in Devonshire, in April, 1755. He lost his father when only twelve years of age, and in about a year afterward his mother died, leaving himself and an infant brother, "without a relation or friend in the world." The latter was sent to the workhouse, and the subject of our memoir was received into the house of his godfather, who put him to school for about three months, but at the end of that period took him home, with the view of employing him as a ploughboy. Being unfitted, however, for this occupation, by an injury on his breast, he was sent to sea in a coasting vessel, in which he remained for nearly a year. "It will be easily conceived," he says in his autobiography, "that my life was a life of hardship. I was not only a ship-boy on the high and giddy mast,' but also in the cabin, where every menial office fell to my lot; yet, if I was restless and discontented, I can safely say it was not so much on account of this, as of my being precluded from all possibility of reading; as my master did not possess, nor do I recollect seeing, during the whole time of my abode with him, a single book of any description, except the Coasting Pilot." farthing on earth, nor a pen, ink, and paper, th flippant remark of Lord part, as completely out o sceptre. There was, in utmost caution and secr plying to it. I beat out as possible, and wroug with a blunted awl; fo tenacious, and I could to a great extent." Under the same unfa composed and recited to of poetry, and, being at to other circles, little him, which, he says, so much as sixpence in which he thus obtaine chase of pens, paper, & of the higher branches finding that he had, in mentioned, satirized b tomers, seized upon his hibited him from again positions. At length, i prenticeship, his lament it, having reached the surgeon, that gentleman for purchasing the rema Gifford, and for enablin writing and English gra He now quitted sho school of the Rev. Tho years and two months f of his emancipation, h that his master declare versity. He was accor ley to Oxford, where he of the same gentleman at Exeter College, of member. Here he pur He was at length recalled by his godfather, and again put to school, where he made such rapid progress, that in a few months he was qualified to assist his master in any extraordinary emergency; and, although only in his fifteenth year, began to think of turning instructer himself. His plans were, however, treated with contempt by his guardian, who apprenticed him to a shoemaker, at Ashburton, to whom our author went "in sullenness and in silence," and with a perfect hatred of his new occupation. His favourite pursuit at this time was arithmetic, and the manner in which he continued to extend his knowledge of that science is thus related by himself: "I possessed," he observes," but one book in the world; it was a trea-mitting diligence, and tise on algebra, given to me by a young woman, poetical translation of t who had found it in a lodging-house. I considered the death of Mr. Cookes it as a treasure, but it was a treasure locked up; of the work. A fortun for it supposed the reader to be well acquainted a new patron in Earl with simple equations, and I knew nothing of the he for some time resi matter. My master's son had purchased Fenning's panied to the continer Introduction: this was precisely what I wanted; On his return to Engl but he carefully concealed it from me, and I was and, devoting himself t indebted to chance alone for stumbling on his ed, in 1791, and 1794 hiding-place. I sat up for the greatest part of satires, the Baviad, a several nights successively; and, before he sus- containing an attack or pected his treatise was discovered, had completely an invective against th mastered it. I could now enter upon my own: and In 1800, he published Thie in which he charged t |