arrived, and the printer was ready | visit to Paris, got possession of the to commence his operations, nothing music, and on his return dedicated had been done towards preparing it to King George I. It must be the poem for the press, except that rather galling for a loyal Englisha few verbal alterations had been man, while bursting his lungs in made. I was not, however, without roaring "God save the Queen," and misgivings; and when the first knocking the hats over the eyes of proof-sheet was brought me, the the refractory individuals who remore glaring faults of the composi- fuse to join him in his folly, to tion stared me in the face. remember that he is glorifying his "Mrs. Cobourg" in a French song to French music.-(American Anecdotes.) "But the sight of a well-printed page, which was to be set off with all the advantages that fine-wove paper and hot-pressing could impart, put me in spirits, and I went to work with good will. About| half the first book was left in its original state; and the rest of the poem was recast and recomposed while the printing went on. "This occupied six months. I corrected the concluding sheet of the poem, left the preface in the publisher's hands, and departed for Lisbon, by way of Corunna and Madrid." GOD SAVE THE KING. COWPER'S "JOHN GILPIN." It happened one afternoon, in those years when Cowper's accomplished friend Lady Austen made a part of his little evening circle, that she observed him sinking into increased dejection. It was her custom, on these occasions, to try all the resources of her sprightly powers for his immediate relief. She told him the story of John Gilpin (which had been treasured in her memory from her childhood), to dissipate the Its gloom of the passing hour. effects on the fancy of Cowper had the air of enchantment. It is said that the English national hymn, so called, "God save the King," is of French origin, both the He informed her, the next mornwords and the music. In the Me-ing, that convulsions of laughter, moirs of the Marquise de Crequy, brought on by his recollection of published in 1844, and containing her story, had kept him waking her souvenirs from 1710 to 1800, during the greatest part of the night, the original words are given in and that he had turned it into a French, as sung in French before ballad. So arose the pleasant poem Louis XIV., when he entered the of John Gilpin. Chapel of St. Cyr. The words are as follows: "Grand Dieu, Sauvez le Roi! Qui toujours Glorieux Voyez vos ennemis Grand Dieu, Sauvez le Roi! Vive le Roi!" The words are said to have been written by Madame de Brinon, and the music by the famous Sully. It is also said that Handel, during a HENRY KIRKE WHITE. This youthful bard, whose premature death was so sincerely regretted by every admirer of genius, manifested an ardent love of reading in his infancy; it was a passion to which everything else gave way. "I could fancy," says his eldest sister, "I see him in his little chair, with a large book upon his knee, and my mother calling 'Henry, my love, come to dinner; which was repeated so often without being regarded, that she was obliged to change the tone of her voice before | period, of getting a situation in a she could rouse him. hosier's warehouse; but the youth did not conceive that nature intended to doom him to spend seven years of his life in folding up stockings, and he remonstrated with his friends against the employment. "When he was about seven, he would creep unperceived into the kitchen, to teach the servant to read and write; and he continued this for some time before it was discovered that he had been thus laudably employed. Young White was soon removed from the stocking-loom to the office "He wrote a tale of a Swiss emi- of a solicitor, which was a less obgrant, which was probably his first noxious employment. He became composition, and gave it to this a member of a literary society in servant, being ashamed to show it Nottingham, and delivered an exto his mother." "The conscious- tempore lecture on genius; in ness of genius," says Mr. Southey, which he displayed so much talent is always at first accompanied that he received the unanimous with this diffidence; it is a sacred, thanks of the society, and they solitary feeling. No forward child, elected this young Roscius of orahowever extraordinary the promise tory their professor of literature. of his childhood, ever produced At the age of fifteen he gained a anything truly great." 66 When Henry was about eleven years old, he one day wrote a separate theme for every boy in his class, which consisted of about twelve or fourteen. The master said he had never known them write so well upon any subject before, and could not refrain from expressing his astonishment at the excellence of Henry's own. At the age of thirteen he wrote a poem, "On being confined to School one pleasant Morning in Spring," from which the following is an extract:"How gladly would my soul forego All that arithmeticians know, Or stiff grammarians quaintly teach, Or all that industry can reach, To taste each morn of all the joys That with the laughing sun arise, And unconstrained to rove along The bushy brakes and glens among, And woo the Muse's gentle power, In unfrequented rural bower! But ah! such heaven-approaching joys silver medal for a translation from Horace; and the following year a pair of globes, for an imaginary tour from London to Edinburgh. He determined upon trying for this prize one evening when at tea with his family; and at supper he read to them his performance. In his seventeenth year he published a small volume of poems, which possessed considerable merit. Soon after, he was sent to Cambridge, and entered at St. John's College, where he made the most rapid progress. But the intensity of his studies ruined his constitution, and he fell a victim to his ardent thirst for knowledge. He died about two years after, aged twenty-one, leaving behind him several poems and letters, which gave earnest of the high rank he would have attained in the republic of letters had his life been spared. HABITS OF MILTON. Will never greet my longing eyes; Still will they cheat in vision fine, He arose at four in the morning; Yet never but in fancy shine." had some one to read the Bible to The parents of Henry were an- him for about half an hour; conxious to put him to some trade; templated till seven; read and wrote and when he was in his fourteenth until dinner; walked, or swung, year he was placed at a stocking- and played music three or four loom, with the view, at some future hours; entertained visitors until his pipe; drank a glass of water, and went to bed. He never drank strong liquors, and seldom drank anything at all between his meals. GOLDSMITH'S HABITS. eight; took a light supper; smoked fate of his friends, completed his kindness by taking the most active part on this last mournful occasion. He and his friend, Captain Shenley, were first upon the ground, attended by proper assistants. Lord Byron and myself arrived shortly afterwards. His lordship got out of his carriage, but wandered away from the spectacle, and did not see it. I remained inside the carriage, now looking on, now drawing back, with feelings that were not to be witnessed. In the house he usually wore his shirt-collar open, in the manner represented in the portrait by Sir Joshua. Occasionally he read much at night when in bed; at other times, when not disposed to read, and yet unable to sleep, which was not an unusual occurrence, the candle was "None of the mourners, however, kept burning, his mode of extin- refused themselves the little comguishing which, when out of imme-fort of supposing that lovers of diate reach, was characteristic of his books and antiquity, like Shelley fits of indolence or carelessness: he and his companion-Shelley in parflung his slipper at it, which in the ticular, with his Greek enthusiasm morning was in consequence usually found near the overturned candlestick, daubed with grease. THE AMERICAN GOETHE. When the young gentleman who styles himself the American Goethe was asked why he did not write something equal to Goethe's, he testily answered," Because I haven't a mind to." DEATH AND FUNERAL OF SHELLEY. It is well known that Shelley was wrecked and drowned in a storm, with his friend, Captain Williams, on their way from Leghorn to Leria. would not have been sorry to foresee this part of their fate. The mortal part of him, too, was saved from corruption-not the least extraordinary part of his history. "Among the materials for burning were many of the more graceful and more classical articles, such as could readily be procured-frankincense, wine, &c. To these was added Keats' volume, found in his vest pocket. "The beauty of the flame arising from the funeral pile was extraordinary. The weather was beautifully fine. The Mediterranean, now soft and lucid, kissed the shore as if to make peace with it. The yellow "The remains of Shelley and Mr. sand and blue sky were intensely Williams," says Leigh Hunt, "were contrasted with one another; marburnt, after the good ancient fa- ble mountains touched the air with shion, and gathered into coffers. coolness; and the flame of the fire Those of Mr. Williams were subse-bore away towards heaven in vigorquently taken to England. Shel-ous amplitude, waiving and quiverley's were interred at Rome, in the ing with a brightness of inconceivProtestant burial-ground, the placeable beauty. It seemed as though which he had so touchingly describ- it contained the glassy essence of ed in recording its reception of vitality. You might have expected Keats. a seraphic countenance to look out of it, turning once more, before it departed, to thank the friends that had done their duty. "The ceremony of the burning was alike beautiful and distressing. Trelawney, who had been the chief person concerned in ascertaining the! "Shelley, when he died, was in ORIGIN OF THE his thirtieth year. His figure was tall and slight, and his constitution consumptive. He was subject to violent spasmodic pains, which would sometimes force him to lie on the ground till they were over; but he had always a kind word to give to those about him, when his pangs allowed him to speak. In this organization, as well as in some other respects, he resembled the German poet Schiller. Though well turned, his shoulders were bent a little, owing to premature thought and trouble. The same causes had touched his hair with gray; and though his habits of temperance and exercise gave him a remarkable degree of strength, it is not supposed he could have lived many years." M. de Lamartine, in his Histoire des Girondins, published in Paris, gives the following account of the origin of the French national air, the Marseillaise. "In the garrison of Strasburg was quartered a young artillery officer, named Rouget de Lisle, a native of Louis de Salnier, in the Jura. He had a great taste for music and poetry, and often entertained his comrades during their long and tedious hours in the garrison. Sought after for his musical and poetical talent, he was a frequent and familiar guest at the house of one Dietrich, an Alsatian patriot, mayor of Strasburg. "The winter of 1792 was a period of great scarcity at Strasburg. The house of Dietrich was poor, his table was frugal, but a seat was always open to Rouget de Lisle. at our civic fétes, nor courage in the hearts of our soldiers? I have still a last bottle of wine in my cellar. Bring it,' said he to one of his daughters, 'and let us drink France and Liberty! Strasburg should have its patriotic solemnity. De Lisle must draw from these last drops one of those hymns which raise the soul of the people.' "The wine was brought and drank, after which the officer departed. The night was cold. De Lisle was thoughtful. His heart was moved, his head heated. He returned staggering to his solitary room, and slowly sought inspiration sometimes in the fervour of his citizen soul, and anon on the keys of his instrument, composing now the air before the words, and then the words before the air. He sung all, and wrote nothing, and at last, exhausted, fell asleep with his head resting on his instrument, and awoke not till daybreak. "The music of the night returned to his mind like the impression of a dream. He wrote it, and ran to Dietrich, whom he found in the garden digging winter lettuces. The wife and daughters of the old man were not up. Dietrich awoke them, and called in some friends, all as passionate as himself for music, and able to execute the composition of De Lisle. At the first stanza cheeks grew pale; at the second, tears flowed; and at last the delirium of enthusiasm burst forth. The wife of Dietrich, his daughters, himself, and the young officer, threw themselves, crying, into each other's arms. "The hymn of the country was found. Executed some days after"One day there was nothing but wards in Strasburg, the new song bread and some slices of smoked flew from city to city, and was playham on the table. Dietrich, re-ed by all the popular orchestras. garding the young officer, said to Marseilles adopted it to be sung at him, with sad serenity, Abund- the commencement of the sittings ance fails at our boards; but what of the clubs, and the Marseillaise matters that, if enthusiasm fails not spread it through France, singing it along the public roads. From | valued the art of painting, before I this came the name of Marseillaise!" THOMSON'S "WINTER." Many writers of popular name have been indebted to casual circumstances for their elevated distinction. When Thomson produced his "Winter," the best of his Seasons, the poem lay like waste-paper in the shop of the bookseller, and to the great mortification of the author. At last Mr. Mitchell, a gentleman of taste and rank, having read the piece with pleasure, took it in his pocket, read passages from it in all companies where he visited, and in a few days the whole impression being disposed of, the poet was enabled to complete his design. 66 CAMPBELL'S HOHENLINDEN." The following is an extract from a letter written by Thomas Campbell to a relative in America, and affords us the first impressions of the battle of Hohenlinden. got into the heart of such impressive scenes; but in Germany I would have given anything to have possessed an art capable of conveying ideas inaccessible to speech and writing. Some particular scenes were rather overcharged with that degree of the terrific which oversteps the sublime; and I own my flesh yet creeps at the recollection of spring-waggons and hospitals; but the sight of Ingolstadt in ruins, or Hohenlinden covered with fire, seven miles in circumference, were spectacles never to be forgotten.” THE THREE VERSES OF EURIPIDES. Euripides once said that three of his verses had cost him the labour of three days. "I could have written a hundred in that time," said another poet of ordinary abilities. "I believe it," replied Euripides; "but they would have lived only three days." AN OVER-POETIC POET. "Never shall time efface from my Dr. Glover was on a visit at memory the recollections of that Stowe, when he wrote his celebrated hour of astonishment and suspend- ballad of Admiral Hosier's Ghost, ed breath, when I stood with the perhaps the most spirited of all his good monks of St. Jacob, to over-productions. The idea occurred to Look a charge of Klenau's cavalry him during the night; he rose early, upon the French under Grennier, and went into the garden to comencamped below us. We saw the pose. fire given and returned, and heard distinctly the sound of the French pas de charge, collecting the lines to attack in close column. After three hours' awaiting the issue of a severe action, a park of artillery was opened just beneath the walls of the monastery, and several waggoners, who were stationed to convey the wounded in spring-waggons, were killed in our sight. My love of novelty now gave way to personal fear; and I took a carriage, in company with an Austrian surgeon, back to Landshut." "I remember," he adds, on his return to England, "how little I In the heat of his composition, he walked into the tulip-bed; unfortunately, he had a stick in his hand, and with a true poetical fervour, he hewed down the tulips in every direction. Lady Temple was particularly fond of tulips, and some of the company, who had seen the doctor slashing around him, and suspected how his mind was occupied, asked him, at breakfast, how he could think of thus wantonly destroying her ladyship's favourite flowers. The poet, perfectly unconscious of the havoc he had made, pleaded not guilty. There were witnesses |