Sir Stephen Scroope and Ferriby; how beit unto the Earl of Salisbury he spake not at all, but sent word to him by a knight in this manner: Earl of Salisbury, be assured that no more than you deigned to speak to my lord the Duke of Lancaster, when he and you were in Paris at Christmas last past, will he speak unto you.' Then was the earl much abashed, and had great fear and dread at heart, for he saw plainly that the duke mortally hated him. The said Duke Henry called aloud with a stern and savage voice, 'Bring out the king's horses;' and then they brought him two little horses that were not worth forty francs: the king mounted one, and the Earl of Salisbury the other. Every one got on horseback, and we set out from the said castle of Flint about two hours after mid-day.

"In form and manner as you have heard, did Duke Henry take King Richard, his lord; and he brought him with great joy and satisfaction to Chester, which he had quitted in the morning. And know, that with great difficulty could the thunder of heaven have been heard for the loud bruit and sound of their instruments, horns, buisines, and trumpets, insomuch that they made all the sea-shore resound with them. Thus the duke entered the city of Chester, to whom the common people paid great reverence, praising our lord, and shouting after their king, as it were in mockery. The duke led him straight to the castle, which is right fair and strong, and caused him to be lodged in the donjon. And then he gave him in keeping to the son of the Duke of Gloucester and the son of the Earl of Arundel, who hated him more than any one in the world, because King Richard had put their fathers to death. There he saw his brother, the Duke of Exeter, but neither durst nor was able to speak to him. Presently after, the duke sat down to dinner, and made the Archbishop of Canterbury sit above him, and at some distance below him the Duke of Exeter, brother of King Richard, the Earl of Westmoreland, the Earl of Rutland, the Earl of Northumberland, and Sir Thomas Percy,-all these were seated at Duke Henry's table. And the king abode in the tower with his good friends the Earl of Salisbury, the Bishop of Carlisle, and the two knights; and from thenceforth we could never see him, unless it were

abroad on the journey; and we were forbidden to speak any more to him, or to any of the others."

The interest of the Frenchman's narrative ends here, for he ceases to be an ear and eye-witness, and the melancholy journey of the king to London is described better by other Chroniclers. He returned to France without waiting the issue of the proceedings in Parliament which placed the crown of England on the head of Henry Bolingbroke. He gives a sequel and conclusion to the sad story, but merely on the report of "a clerk whom Duke Henry [Bolingbroke] had taken with him when he departed from Paris," and who had remained in London until some short time after the announcement of the death of King Richard. Upon that mysterious and much-debated fact, the authority of this French clerk does not appear to be entitled to much weight. His notion is that Richard died broken-hearted and self-starved in prison. His friend the knight is of a contrary opinion, believing that the king was yet alive and well, though most secretly immured in some prison or castle.

129.-APOPHTHEGMS.-IV.

KEATS.-A loose, slack, not well-dressed youth met Mr. and myself in a lane near Highgate.

knew him, and spoke. It was Keats. He was introduced to me, and staid a minute or So. After he had left us a little way, he came back, and said: Let me carry away the memory, Coleridge, of having pressed your hand!" "There is death in that hand," I said to when Keats was gone; yet this was, I believe, before the consumption showed itself distinctly.-COLERIDGE. Table Talk.

LEVELLING.—“ Sir, I would no more deprive a nobleman of his respect than of his money. I consider myself as acting a part in the great system of society, and I do to others as I would have them to do to me. I would behave to a nobleman as I should expect he would behave to me, were I a nobleman and he Sam

Johnson. Sir, there is one Mrs. Macaulay in this town, a great republican. One day, when I was at her house, I put on a very grave countenance, and said to her, 'Madam, I am now become a convert to your way of thinking. I am convinced that all mankind are upon an equal footing; and to give you an unquestionable proof, Madam, that I am in earnest, here is a very sensible, civil, well-behaved fellow-citizen, your footman; I desire that he may be allowed to sit down and dine with us.' I thus, sir, showed her the absurdity of the levelling doctrine. She has never liked me since. Sir, your levellers wish to level down as far as themselves; but they cannot bear levelling up to themselves. They would all have some people under them; why not then have some people above them?"-BOSWELL. Life of Johnson.

QUACKERY IN THE SEVENTEENTH CENTURY.-In the course of my life I have often pleased or entertained myself with observing the various and fantastical changes of the diseases generally complained of, and of the remedies in common vogue, which were like birds of passage, very much seen or heard of at one season, and disappeared at another, and commonly succeeded by some of a very different kind. When I was very young, nothing was so much feared or talked of as rickets among children, and consumption among young people of both sexes. After these the spleen came in play, and grew a formal disease: then the scurvy, which was the general complaint, and both were thought to appear in many various guises. After these, and for a time, nothing was so much talked of as the ferment of the blood, which passed for the cause of all sorts of ailments, that neither physicians nor patients knew well what to make of. And to all these succeeded vapors, which serve the same turn, and furnish occasion of complaint among persons whose bodies or minds ail something, but they know not what, and among the Chinese would pass for mists of the mind or fumes of the brain, rather than indispositions of any other parts. Yet these employ our physicians, perhaps more than other diseases, who are fain to humor such patients in their fancies of being ill, and to prescribe some remedies for fear of losing their practice to others, that pretend more skill in finding out the cause of diseases or care in advising remedies, which neither they nor their patients find any effect of, besides some

gains to one and amusement to the other. This, I suppose, may have contributed much to the mode of going to the waters, either cold or hot, upon so many occasions, or else upon none besides that of entertainment, and which commonly may have no other effect. And it is well if this be the worst of the frequent use of those waters, which, though commonly innocent, yet are sometimes dangerous, if the temper of the person or cause of the indisposition be unhappily mistaken, especially in people of age. As diseases have changed vogue, so have remedies in my time and observation. I remember at one time the taking of tobacco, at another the drinking of warm beer, proved for universal remedies; then swallowing of pebble stones, in imitation of falconers curing hawks. One doctor pretended to help all heats and fevers by drinking as much cold spring water as the patient could hear; at another time, swallowing a spoonful of powder of sea-biscuit after meals was infallible for all indigestions, and so preventing diseases. Then coffee and tea began their successive reigns. The infusion or powder of steel have had their turns, and certain drops of several names and compositions; but none that I find have established their authority, either long or generally, by any constant and sensible successes of their reign, but have rather passed like a mode, which every one is apt to follow, and finds the most convenient or graceful while it lasts, and begins to dislike in both those respects when it goes out of fashion.-SIR WILLIAM TEMPLE'S Miscellanea.

COLERIDGE. To leave the every-day circle of society, in which the literary and scientific rarely-the rest never-break through the spell of personality; where anecdote reigns everlastingly paramount and exclusive, and the mildest attempt to generalize the Babel of facts, and to control temporary and individual phenomena by the application of eternal and ever-ruling principles, is unintelligible to many, and disagreeable to more; to leave this species of converse, if converse it deserves to be called, and pass an entire day with Coleridge, was a marvellous change indeed. It was a sabbath past expression, deep, and tranquil, and serene. You came to a man who had travelled in many countries and in critical times, who had seen and felt the world in most of its ranks and in many of its vicissitudes and weaknesses-one to whom all

literature and genial art were absolutely subject, and to whom, with a reasonable allowance as to technical details, all science was in a most extraordinary degree familiar. Throughout a long-drawn summer's day would this man talk to you in low, equable, but clear and musical tones, concerning things human and divine; marshalling all history, harmonizing all experiment, probing the depths of your consciousness, and revealing visions of glory and of terror to the imagination; but pouring withal such floods of light upon the mind, that you might for a season, like Paul, become blind in the very act of conversion. And this he would do without so much as one allusion to himself, without a word of reflection on others, save when any given act fell naturally in the way of his discourse, without one anecdote that was not proof and illustration of a previous position; gratifying no passion, indulg. ing no caprice, but, with a calm mastery over your soul, leading you onward and onward for ever through a thousand windings, yet with no pause, to some magnificent point in which, as in a focus, all the parti-colored rays of his discourse should converge in light. In all this he was, in truth, your teacher and guide; but in a little while you might forget that he was other than a fellow-student and the companion of your way, so playful was his manner, so simple his language, so affectionate the glance of his pleasant eye!-HENRY COLERidge.

PARVER THE QUAKER, AND HIS TRANSLATION OF THE BIBLE.— Anthony Parver was a Quaker, poorer and less educated than most of his brethren; by trade a shoemaker. Can any one assign a reason why so many shoemakers have become eminent for their genius or their enthusiasm? The employment is still, often solitary, and allows a man to be meditative. Anthony Parver, as he worked with his awl, was over-mastered with an idea that he was called and commanded to translate the Scriptures. His faith attributed the impulse, whose origin he could not trace in his own will or in the concatenation of his human thoughts, to the Divine Spirit. But, if he was an enthusiast, he was an enthusiast of much sanity; for he sought the accomplishment of his end by the necessary means, and did not begin to translate till he had mastered the original tongues. We know not what assistance he received in this great undertaking, which was commenced when he