66

ever

destroyed the power and the Church of England, was in like manner dispersed and scattered by the winds and the waves; and now, the Spanish armada, which might have been our ruin, is thought of only with feelings of joy and thankfulness. Upon the return of the French fleet from Ireland, Sir Edward's ship had an engagement with a vessel belonging to the enemy; and though no victory was gained, and both ships were much disabled, yet the English succeeded in saving theirs, while the French vessel became a mere wreck, and most of those on board perished miserably. The next year brought with it a far greater trial for the English nation than the attempted invasion of Ireland; for the danger that threatened them was not only upon their shores, but from their own people,-from the very men to whom they looked for defence. In 1797 the mutiny of the fleet at the mouth of the Thames, called the Mutiny at the Nore, took place; and, at such a time of peril, the abilities and power of a man like Pellew were sure to make themselves conspicuous. He could combine firmness and kindness, prudence and courage, in no common way; and, besides this, his quickness was astonishing. Nothing like doubtfulness was seen in him. "His first order," said an officer who long served with him, was always his last," and he has often said of himself, that he never had a second thought worth sixpence. In the mouths of most men this would be an absurd boast; but it is an important declaration from one whose whole life was a course of success without failure. While the mutiny was raging at the Nore, the French were getting ready still larger forces for the attack upon Ireland; but this scheme gave their enemies little trouble-for those that had planned it being displaced from power, their successors thought that nothing was better than to overturn what they found prepared; so the sailors were discharged, the fleet dismantled, nay, some of the ships were sold; and the mighty affair ended in nothing. During this one year Sir Edward's squadron took no fewer than fifteen cruising-vessels, on board of one of which they found twenty-five priests, who had been condemned for their principles by the French revolutionary government to perish in the unhealthy colony of Cayenne. Sir Edward restored these poor men to liberty and comfort, setting them on shore in England, and giving them a supply for their present wants. Among the other prisoners were the wife and family of a banished gentleman (Monsieur Rovère), who had been allowed to join him, and were going out with all they had, amounting to 30007.; the whole of which Sir Edward restored to the lady, paying from his own purse that part of it which was the prize of his crew.

About this time Captain Pellew exchanged the Indefatigable, which he had so long commanded, for another vessel; and going on board of his new ship for the first time, he was met by the boatswain, who said, "I am very glad, sir, that you are come to us; for you are just the captain we want. You have the finest ship in the navy, and a crew of smart sailors; but a set of the greatest scoundrels that ever went to sea." He checked him on the spot; and afterwards sent for him to the cabin, wishing to know what he meant by thus addressing him. The boatswain had served under him before, and pleaded old recollections in excuse; but after receiving the reproof which Sir Edward thought it needful publicly to give him, he informed his captain that the crew were all but in a state of mutiny, and that for months past he had slept with pistols under his head. A spirit of mutiny was at this time extremely common; and government seemed more inclined to dally with it than to put it boldly down, and then make a fair and searching inquiry into any grievances stated to exist. This would have been the wisest mode of proceeding, and it was this that Sir Edward advised. His plan was, that a ship should be manned with officers and with sailors that could be fully trusted-which should be ready to attack the next vessel that mutinied, and, if necessary, sink her in the face of the fleet. The mere display of such a resolution would most likely have spared the necessity of firing a single shot; for lives are commonly sacrificed only when a mistaken humanity shrinks from duty till the proper time for action has gone by. Twice did Sir Edward, by his prompt and firm conduct, stop the spirit of mutiny on board of his own ships. He was informed of the intention of his men in the Indefatigable to rebel; and when he saw them inclined to act upon this intention, he instantly drew his sword, ordering his officers to follow his example: "You can never die so well," he said, "as on your own deck, quelling a mutiny; and now, if a man hesitate to obey you, cut him down without a word." The crew soon returned to their duty. And afterwards, the words of the honest boatswain turned out to be too true; and that vessel was chosen to take the lead in a proposed mutiny. Sir Edward was in his cabin dressing, before he went out to dinner, when the bad spirit broke forth; and, coming on deck in his dressing-gown, he found between two and three hundred unruly fellows there. They wanted a boat to send a letter to the admiral, complaining of tyranny and hard usage: in vain was it that the captain offered to send it, or take it himself; they all cried out, "No, no; a boat of our own!" Finding that he could not pacify them, and hearing some of them declare with oaths that they would have a boat,

In seeking an ideal world, the poet need not travel out of the regions of experience. Indeed, his skill consists in composing a picture which, while it is true to nature, softens the roughness of naked realities, and presents all things in their most favourable aspect. The ordinary face of nature, and the incidents of daily life, are inexhaustible stores in the hands of the true poet, and from them he will extract beauties which by the superficial observer were passed over. Antiquity is always a delightful field for the poet. The subject of the Polyolbion is stated in these introductory

lines :

"Of Albion's glorious isle the wonders I do write,

The sundry varying soils; the pleasures infinite;
Where heat kills not the cold, nor cold expels the heat;
The calms too mildly small, nor winds too roughly great;
Nor night doth hinder day, nor day the night doth wrong;
The summer not too short, the winter not too long.

*

Go, thou, before me still thy circling shores about, And in this wandering maze help to conduct me out : Direct my course so right, as with thy hand to shew, Which way thy forests range, which way thy rivers flow,Wise genius, by thy help, that so may I descry How thy fair mountains stand, and how thy valleys lie." The poem is, in fact, thoroughly national. In thirty books the author describes, always with the best feeling, as well the natural scenery, as the historical associations, and the ancient monuments of all the English and Welch counties. The following description of the union of the Isis and Thame, which together make the Thames, affords a pleasing instance of the poet's skill:

"Ye daughters of the hills, come down from every side,
And due attendance give upon the lovely bride:
Go, strew the path with flowers by which she is to pass;
For be ye thus assured in Albion never was
A beauty yet like hers: where have you ever seen
So absolute a nymph in all things for a queen?
Give instantly in charge, the day be wond'rous fair,
That no disordered blast attempt her braided hair.
Go see her state prepared, and every thing be fit,
The bride-chamber adorned with all beseeming it.
And for her princely groom, who ever yet could name
A flood that is so fit for Isis as the Thame?

Ye both so lovely are, that knowledge scarce can tell,
For feature whether he, or beauty she excel:
Betwixt your beauteous selves you shall beget a son,
That when your lives shall end, in him shall be begun.
The pleasant Surryan shores shall in that flood delight,
And Kent esteem herself most happy in his sight.
The shire that London loves shall only him prefer,
And give full many a gift to hold him near to her.

The Scheld, the goodly Meuse, the rich and viny Rhine,
Shall come to meet the Thames in Neptune's watery
plain;
And all the Belgian streams, and neighbouring floods of

Gaul,

Of him shall stand in awe, his tributaries all.

Set out with all this pomp, when this imperial stream
Himself establisht sees amidst his watery realm,
His much-lov'd Henley leaves, and proudly doth pursue
His wood-nymph, Windsor's seat, her lovely site to view.
Whose most delightful face, when once the river sees,
Which shews herself attir'd in tall and stately trees,
He in such earnest love with amorous gestures wooes,
That, looking still at her, his way was like to lose;
And, wand'ring in and out, so wildly seems to go,
As headlong he into her lap would throw.

Him with the like desire the forest doth embrace,
And with her presence strives her Thames as much to
grace.

No forest of them all so fit as she doth stand,

When princes for their sports her pleasures will command:

No wood-nymph as herself such troops hath ever seen, 1
Nor can such quarries boast as have in Windsor been;
Nor any ever had so many solemn days,

So brave assemblies viewed, nor took so rich assays.
Then hand in hand her Thames the forest softly brings
To that supremest place of the great English kings,
The Garter's royal seat, from him who did advance
That princely order first, our first that conquer'd France;
The temple of St. George, whereas his honoured knights
Upon his hallowed day observe their ancient rites:
Where Eton is at hand to nurse that learned brood,
To keep the Muses still near to this princely flood;
That nothing there may want to beautify that seat
With every pleasure stor'd"-

We shall give one more instance of the poetic and pious mind finding cause of thankfulness in every one of nature's varieties. Many poets have sung of hills and rivers, but we know not where "the goodly plain" has been more pleasingly celebrated.

"The deadly screech-owl sits in gloomy covert hid,

Whereas the smooth-brow'd plain as liberally doth bid
The lark to leave her bo v'r, and on her trembling wing
In climbing up tow'rds heaven her high-pitcht hymns to
sing
Unto the springing day; where 'gainst the sun's arise
The early dawning strews the goodly eastern skies
With roses every where, who scarcely lifts his head
To view this upper world, but he his beams doth spread
Upon the goodly plains; yet at his noonsted's height
Doth scarcely pierce the brake with his far-shooting
sight.

The gentle shepherds here survey the gentle sheep;
Amongst the bushy woods luxurious satyrs keep.
To these brave sports of field who with desire is won
To see his greyhound course, his horse (in diet) run,
His deep-mouthed hound to hunt, his long-winged hawk
to fly,-

To these most noble sports his mind who doth apply, Resorts unto the plains. And not a foughten field, Where kingdoms' rights have lain upon the spear and shield,

But plains have been the place; and all those trophies high

That ancient times have reared to noble memory:
As Stonendge, that to tell the British princes slain
By those false Saxons' fraud, here ever shall remain.
It was upon the plain of Mamre (to the fame
Of me and all our kind) whereas the angels came
To Abraham in his tent, and there with him did feed;
To Sarah his dear wife then promising the seed
By whom all nations should so honour'd be;
In which the Son of God they in the flesh should see.
But, forests, to your plague there soon will come an age,
In which all damned sins most vehemently shall rage.
An age! what have I said? nay, ages there shall rise,
So senseless of the good of their posterities,
That of your greatest groves they scarce shall leave a tree
By which the harmless deer may after shelter'd be,
Their luxury and pride but only to maintain,
And for your long excess shall turn ye all to pain."

We have said that the poet must be essentially a good man, one wlio delights to represent the best feature in every thing. Accordingly, one whole book of the Polyolbion is devoted to celebrating the names of our early British and Saxon saints and worthies. Hear, in Cornwall, how charitably the poet speaks of the failings of good men :

"Before thou further pass, and leave this setting shore,
Whose towns unto the saints that lived here of yore
(Their fastings, works, and pray'rs remaining to our
shames)

Were rear'd, and justly called by their peculiar names,
The builders honour still: this due and let them have,
As deign to drop a tear upon each holy grave;
Whose charity and zeal instead of knowledge stood:
For surely in themselves they were right simply good.
If credulous o'er much, thereby they offended Heaven,
In their devout intents yet be their sins forgiven."

And again:

"I sing of saints, and yet my song shall not be fraught
With miracles by them but feigned to be wrought;
That they which did their lives so palpably belie
To times have much impeach'd their holiness thereby:
Though fools, I say, on them such poor impostures lay,
Have scandal'd them to ours, far foolisher than they,
Which think they have by this so great advantage got,
Their venerable names from memory to blot,-
Which truth can ne'er permit "-

The passage which follows is conceived in the same spirit of enlarged wisdom : "Here then I cannot choose but bitterly exclaim Against those fools that all antiquity defame, Because they have found out some credulous ages laid Slight fictions with the truth, whilst truth où rumour staid.

And that one forward time, perceiving the neglect
A former of her had, to purchase her respect,
With toys then trimm'd her up, the drowsy world t' allure,
And lent her what it thought might appetite procure
To man, whose mind doth still variety pursue;
And, therefore, to those things whose grounds were very
true,

Though naked yet and bare, not having to content
The wayward curious ear, gave fictive ornament,
And fitter thought the truth they should in question call,
Than, coldly sparing that, the truth should go and all.
And surely I suppose, that which this froward time
Doth scandalise her with, to be her heinous crime,
That her most preserved; for still where wit hath found
A thing most clearly true, it made that fiction's ground:
Which she supposed might give sure colour to them both,
From which, as from a root, this wonder'd error grow'th:
At which our critics gird, whose judgments are so strict.
And he the bravest man who most can contradict
That which decrepit age, which forced is to lean
Upon tradition, tells; esteeming it so mean
As they it quite reject, and for some trifling thing
Which time hath pinn'd to truth, they all away will fling.
These men for all the world like our precisians be,
Who, for some cross or saint they in the windows see,
Will pluck down all the church,-soul-blinded sots that
creep

In dirt, and never saw the wonders of the deep."

Over the ruins of Glastonbury Abbey, the foundation of which was popularly ascribed to Joseph of Arimathea, the poet thus touchingly moralises :

"O three-times famous isle, where is that place that might
Be with thyself compar'd for glory and delight,
Whilst Glastonbury stood? exalted to that pride
Whose monastery seem'd all others to deride.
Oh who thy ruin sees, whom wonder doth not fill
With our great fathers' pomp, devotion, and their skill?
Thou more than mortal power (this judgment rightly
weighed)

Then present to assist, at that foundation laid;

On whom for this sad waste should justice lay the crime?
Is there a power in fate, or doth it yield to time?
Or was their error such, that thou couldst not protect
Those buildings which thy hand did with their zeal erect?
To whom didst thou commit that monument to keep,
That suffereth with the dead their memory to sleep?
When not great Arthur's tomb nor holy Joseph's grave
From sacrilege had power their sacred bones to save;
What! did so many kings do honour to that place,
For avarice at last so vilely to deface?"

Nor was he blind to the sins of luxury and self-indulgence, which were growing up in his own day.

"Our gold goes out so fast, for foolish foreign things,
Which upstart gentry still into our country brings;
Who their insatiate pride seek chiefly to maintain
By that which only serves to uses vile and vain:
Which our plain fathers erst would have accounted sin,
Before the costly coach and silken stock came in ;
Before that Indian weed1 so strongly was embrac'd,
Wherein such mighty sums we prodigally waste."
We will conclude our extracts with the
praises of Kent.

The tobacco-plant had lately been introduced from America.

"Oh, noble Kent, quoth he, this praise doth thee belong, The hard'st to be controll'd, th' impatientest of wrong; Who, when the Norman first with pride and horror sway'd,

Threw off the servile yoke upon the English laid;
And with a high resolve most bravely didst restore
That liberty, so long by thee enjoyed before,

Not suff'ring foreign laws1 should thy free customs bind,
Then only shew'dst thyself of the ancient Saxon kind.
Of all the English shires be thou surnamed the free,
And foremost ever plac'd when they shall reck❜ned be;
And let this town, which chief of thy rich country is,
Of all the British sees be still metropolis."

We hope that our readers will take as much delight as we have done in these extracts from old Michael Drayton. They are replete with good old English sentiment; and they seem to us to exemplify several of the primary uses of poetry. Drayton lived in the reign of Elizabeth and James I. He was the author of various other poems, chiefly illustrative of the national history. The one from which we have quoted, however, is decidedly his best performance, and deserves far more attention than it has received. The title Polyolbion signifies "much happy;" in allusion to the manifold blessings enjoyed by our native land.

DEBT; ITS PERIL, PAINS, AND
PENALTIES.2

WITH regard to permanent and continued debts,
these are the destruction of property, and gene-
rally of peace of mind. These break down, as it
were, the blade of corn in the field, before it is
grown up; these, like the caterpillar and the moth,
fret away a man's substance, however firm and
sound it may have been at first.
These come,
when men borrow money or purchase goods with-
out a reasonable prospect of the means of payment
within a given time; and these ruinous courses
usually arise from a habit of consulting the present
taste or appetite; or from a foolish desire of pos-
sessing articles not so much of use as ornament;
or from a vain emulation in domestic display; or
from some lamentable indiscretion, either in the
management of resources in hand, or in the cove-
tous pursuit of more than is needful. These are
the sad, increasing, consuming debts, which injure
character and credit; and, alas! in too many in-
stances, gradually undermine the moral principle.
Then must some ancient estate, or valued goods,
which have been long in a family, be sold or
pawned; then must best and dearest friends and
relatives be applied to, who are themselves, perhaps,
but little able, by their own efforts and from their
own stores, even at a cruel sacrifice, to reduce the
evil. Then do the usurers, whose traffic is de-
nonunced in holy Scripture as oppressive and un-
just, fall, like the insatiable daughters of the horse-
leech (Prov. xxx. 15), upon the unhappy borrower;
and then is he visited with affliction, which absorbs
his thoughts and time, precludes better studies and
meditations, leaving no opportunities for repentance

1 Several special customs still prevail in Kent to the superseding of the statute-law of the realm. Of this nature is gavelkind, by which all the males in a family inherit equally.

2 The title of a little two-penny book just put forth by the Society for Promoting Christian Knowledge. It is well suited to these days of showy extravagance, and should be widely distributed.