ing both the extremities, as well in not vsing any rustical corrupt leide, as booke-language, and Pen and Inkhorne tearmes and least of all mignard and effeminate termes....If your engine spurre you to write any workes eyther in verse or prose, I cannot but allowe you to practise it but take no longsome works in hande, for distracting you from your calling. If yee would write worthely, choose subjects worthie of you, that be not full of vanity but of vertue : eschewing obscurity, and delighting euer to be plaine and sensible. And if yee write in verse, remember that it is not the principal part of a poem to rime right and flowe well with many pretty wordes: but the chief commendation of a poeme is that when the verse shall bee shaken sundry in prose, it shall bee found so ritch in quicke inuentions and poeticke floures, and in faire and pertinent comparisons: as shall retain the lustre of a poeme, although in prose. And I would also aduise you to write in your own language: for there is nothing left to bee saide in Greeke and Latine already; and ynewe of poor schollers would match you in these languages; and besides that it best becommeth a King to purifie and make famous his own tongue, wherein he may goe before all his subjectes, as it setteth him well to doe in all honest and lawful things.'

These last counsels are curious. The authorking, who expressed himself so emphatically in Parliament, here evinces both taste and moderation. This work concludes with a grand prospect. James believes that, sooner or later, the union of Scotland and England will form one mighty empire.

I have expatiated the more largely on the Royal Gift, because it is almost unknown at the present day, or known only from one of those judgments composed for the use of those who read nothing, by those who have read nothing. Voltaire, who skimmed everything without giving himself time to study, has thrown on the world a multitude of those party opinions which are adopted by ignorance and insolence. If sometimes the author of the Essai sur les Maurs judges aright, it is by guess. Thus from age to age, evident falsehoods are believed and repeated as articles of faith; they acquire in time a kind of truth and authenticity which nothing can destroy.

Henry, it is with pain that I write the name ! Henry, to whom the Basilicon Doron is addressed, died at the age of eighteen; had he lived, Charles I. would not have reigned. The Revolutions of 1649 and of 1688 would not have taken place; our revolution would not

have had the same consequences; without the precedent of Charles's sentence, the idea of sending Louis XVI. to the block would not have occurred to any one in France. The world would have been changed.

These reflections, which present themselves on occasion of every historical catastrophe, are vain. There is always a moment in the annals of nations in which, if such or such a thing had not happened, if such or such a man had been or had not been dead, if such or such a measure had been taken, or such or such a fault not committed, that which followed could not have happened. But God decrees that men should be born with dispositions suited to the events which they are to bring about. Louis XVI. had a hundred opportunities of escape; he did not escape, simply because he was Louis XVI. It is childish then to lament accidents which produce what they are destined to produce. At each step in life, a thousand different distances, a thousand future chances, are opening on us, though we can see but one horizon, and rush forward to one futurity.

RALEIGH. COWLEY,

JAMES I. put to death the famous Sir Walter Raleigh, whose Universal History is still read for Sir Walter's own sake. If there are books which keep alive the names of the authors, there are authors whose names keep alive their books.

Cowley, in the order of poets, comes immediately after Shakspeare, though he was born later than Milton. A royalist in his opinions, he wrote for the theatres, and composed poems, satires, and elegies. He abounds in traits of wit. His versification is said to want harmony; his style, though often far-fetched, is nevertheless more natural, and more correct than that of his predecessors.

Cowley attacks us. From Surrey to Byron, there is scarcely an English author who has not insulted the name, the character and the genius of the French. With admirable impartiality and self-denial, we submit to this outrage; humbly confessing our inferiority, we celebrate, with

sound of trumpet, the excellence of all the authors across the channel, born or to be born, great or small, male or female !

In his poem on the Civil War, Cowley says:

It was not so when Edward proved his cause
By a sword stronger than the Salic laws,

...when the French did fight

With women's hearts against the women's right.

Our King John, Charny, Ribeaumont, Beaumanoir, the thirty Bretons, Duguesclin, Clisson, and a hundred thousand others, had women's hearts!

Of all the men who have shed lustre on Great Britain, he who most attracts my regard is Lord Falkland. I have wished, a hundred times to have been this accomplished model of intelligence, generosity, and independence, and never to have appeared on earth in my own form or by my own name. Endowed with a three-fold genius for literature, arms and policy; constant to the muses, even beneath the tent, and to liberty, in a palace; devoted to an unfortunate monarch, without being blind to his faults, Falkland has left a memory in which melancholy blends with admiration. The verses which Cowley addressed to him, on his return from a military expedition, are noble and true. The