his tent, and one of his best sonnets was composed during that war.

a But, in proportion as Surrey's popularity encreased, he lost credit with the monarch, whose jealous and cruel disposition was aggravated by age and infirmity. Surrey was beloved by the people and the army, and he could not but be hated by the tyrant. His love of glory was declared to be dangerous ambition. He was superseded in his command by his personal enemy, the Earl of Hertford, the leader of the Seymour faction. Surrey imprudently spoke of his enemy in angry terms, and perhaps expressed the hope of being avenged under another reign. The king manifested his aversion for him: this was inviting the attacks of calumny, and he was once more sent a prisoner to Windsor. His liberty was, for a brief interval, restored, in order that new plots might be hatched against him, and he was accused of high treason. It was declared that he entertained the intention of re-establishing popery, and marrying the Princess Mary. The proofs on which this charge was founded were, the protection he afforded to the Italians, and the escutcheon of Edward the Confessor being added to his arms. His eloquent defence was addressed to judges who had sold his life. He was condemned, and forfeited his head on the scaffold.

Thus perished the Earl of Surrey, in the flower of his age and genius, alike distinguished as a valiant knight and an accomplished troubadour.

The Italians, whom he was condemned for associating with, were artists who were supported by his liberality. The castle which he built at Norwich was the first model of Greek architecture in England. As a poet, Surrey evinces more correct taste and more natural feeling than might be expected in a reign in which every thing was sacrificed to religious controversy, and the subtleties of treacherous policy. He was not so learned as Petrarch, and consequently did not so frequently resort to pedantic allusions. Though not exempt from concetti and sentimental exaggeration, yet he preferred imitating his model in the simple graces of pure inspiration.

In Surrey's most brilliant sonnets, there are always some traces of that pensive melancholy which characterizes ill-fated love. Like all men of precocious talent and ardent feeling, he was early disenchanted from his heart's fondest illusion. He fell into the abstractions of Platonism which were in fashion, and which afforded him a refuge against the cruel realities of the tyrannical court to which his rank attached him. But his poetry is not merely expressive of the vague regrets of disappointed love. With exquisite sensibility he combined a singular talent for description. The following sonnet has all the freshness of the season which it paints. We must not forget, that the author wrote in an age in which poetic language was disfigured by pedantry, and that ideas which were then new have become common-place,

by having been expressed in a thousand different ways, for the space of three centuries.

"The soote season, that bud and bloom forth brings,
With green hath clad the hill, and eke the vale.
The nightingale, with feathers new, she sings;
The turtle to her mate hath told her tale.
Summer is come, for every spray now springs.

The hart hath hung his old head on the pale;
The buck in brake his winter coat he flings;
The fishes flete with new repaired scale;
The adder all her slough away she flings;
The swift swallow pursueth the flies smale;
The busy bee her honey now she mings;

Winter is worn, that was the flowers? bale.
And thus I see, among these pleasant things,
Each care decays, and yet my sorrow springs!"

An elegy by Surrey, on the miseries of absence, is written in a style so pure, that it would not disgrace the classic muse of Pope or Campbell. But as I have been describing Windsor, I will quote the lines which he wrote during his captivity in the round tower.

"So, cruel prison, how could betide, alas!

As proud Windsor? where I, in lust and joy,

With a king's son, my childish years did pass,

In greater feast than Priam's sons of Troy."

*

In the situation of the poet, as Warton observes, nothing can be more natural than the reflection with which he commences his complaint. The superb palace in which he had passed his happiest days with the son of a king, was converted into a solitary prison. This unexpected

reverse of fortune naturally awakened a crowd of interesting ideas. The comparison of the present with the past reminded him of the pleasures of his boyish years, which he regretted the more deeply since Richmond had ceased to live. The loss of his friend occasioned an irreparable void in his affections, and drew from him the following beautiful apostrophe.

"O, place of bliss! renewer of my woes!
Give me account, where is my noble fere?
Whom in thy walls thou did'st each night enclose;
To other lief; but unto me most dear."

These elegiac stanzas close with a touching sentiment, quite in the taste of Petrarch,

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It must always be recollected, that the inhabitants of the different districts of London are no more to be confounded one with another, than

"

our good citizen of the Marais and the tradesman of the Rue St. Denis are to be ranked with the elegant inhabitants of the Chaussée-d'Antin. London, as I have already observed,* is divided into two distinct towns; the first, called the city, or east end, is the seat of English trade, while the west end is occupied by the court and fashionable world. The English merchants, who are the richest in the world, have not adopted the plan of our bankers, in building a Chaussée d'Antin; but those among them who have amassed sufficient wealth, desert the neighbourhood of the Exchange, and remove to the west end of the town, to rival the magnificence of the nobility. The greater part repair in the morning to their countinghouses, in the dark and narrow lanes in which the foundation of their fortunes was laid, and return in the evening to their elegant mansions, to join the circles which the luxuries of their table collect around them. In London, as in Paris, the Amphitryon, who gives good dinners, is never at a loss for agreeable company, whether he be a nobleman or a banker.

But there are many wealthy families who are content to reside in the city, and among them we must look for specimens of the true English character. The bustle which prevails in the city exceeds description. The foot pavements, which

*See Letter VI. I consider Westminster as a third town by itself. It contains the two houses of parliament and the principal courts of law.