kingdoms comes to be a question be twixt the house of Hanover, who are in possession, and the descendants of King James. You are, in my opinion, not to intermeddle with either, but live abstractly at home, managing your own affairs to the best advantage, and living in a good understanding with your friends and neighbours; for since we are under the misery and slavery of being united to England, a Scots man, without prostituting his honour, can obtain nothing by following a court, but bring his estate under debt, and consequent lie himself to necessity.

It will perhaps be proposed to you to make an English marriage, as that which will bring you much money; but if English ladies bring what is considerable with them, they will soon spend it and some of yours, for their education and way of living differs altogether from ours; therefore make choice of a Scots ladie, of a

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discreet and honourable family, who will apparently be satisfied to live as your wife, and in the end you will be richer with her than with one with an English portion.

What is above recommended is done with all the tender concern and affection I am capable of; that God may govern and direct you, and that he may take you under his speciall protection, are my most earnest wishes and constant prayers. I desire this letter may be kept carefully by those who are about you, untill you come to twelve or fourteen years of age; and that you may peruse it once every week after you come to that age, for untill you come to some understanding, my designe will be entirely lost. I pray God may give you understanding in all things. I am, my dearest child, your most af. fectionate father,


Specimen of a Letter from a Lover of Quality to his Mistress, in the 17th Century, with the Lady's answer.

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THE present age has been so distinguished for research into poetical antiquities, that the discovery of an unknown bard is, in certain chosen literary circles, held as curious as an augmentation of the number of fixed stars would be esteemed by astronomers. It is true, these "blessed twinklers of the night" are so far removed from us, that they afford no more light than serves barely to evince their existence to the curious investigator, and in like manner the pleasure derived from the revival of an obscure poet is rather in proportion to the rarity of his volume than to its merit; yet this pleasure is not inconsistent with reason and principle. We know by every day's experience the peculiar interest which the lapse of ages confers upon works of human art. The clumsy strength of the ancient castles, which, when raw from the hand of the builder, inferred only the oppressive power of the barons who reared them, is now broken by partial ruin into proper subjects for the poet or the

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that which remains, can we deny his exerting a similar influenceupon those subjects which are sought after by the bibliographer and poetical antiquary? The obscure poet, who is detected by their keen research, may indeed have possessed but a slender portion of that spirit which has buoyed up the works of distinguished contemporaries during the course of centuries, yet still his verses shall, in the lapse of time, acquire an interest which they did not possess in the eyes of his own generation. The wrath of the critic, like that of the son of Ossian, flies from the foe that is low. Envy, base as she is, has one property of the lion, and cannot prey on car cases: she must drink the blood of a sentient victim, and tear the limbs that are yet warm with vital life. Faction, if the ancient has suffered her persecution, serves only to endear him to the recollection of posterity, whose generous compassion overpays him for the injuries he sustained while in life. And thus freed from the operation of all unfavourable prepossessions, his merit, if he can boast any, has more than fair credit with his readers. This, however, is but part of his advan tages. The mere attribute of antiquity is of itself sufficient to interest the fancy, by the lively and powerful train of associations which it awakens. Had the pyramids of Egypt, equally disagreeable in form and senseless as to utility, been the work of any living tyrant, with what feelings, save those of scorn and derision, could we have regarded such an useless waste of labour? But the sight, nay, the very mention of these wonderful monuments, is associated with the dark and sublime ideas, which vary their tinge according to the favourite hue of our studies. The Christian divine recollects the land of banishment and

of refuge; to the eyes of the historian's fancy, they excite the shades of Pharaohs and of Ptolomeys, of Cheops and Merops, and Sesostris drawn in triumph by his sceptred slaves; the philosopher beholds the first rays of moral truth as they dawned on the hieroglyphic sculptures of Thebes and Memphis, and the poet sees the fires of magic blazing upon the mystic altars of a land of incantation. Nor is the grandeur of size essential to such feelings, any more than the properties of grace and utility. Even the rudest remnant of a feudal tower, even the obscure and almost undistinguishable vestiges of an altogether unknown edifice, has power to awaken such trains of fancy. We have a fellow interest with the "son of the winged days," over whose fallen habitation we tread : The massy stones, though hewn most roughly, shew

The hand of man had once at least been



Similar combinations give a great part of the delight we receive from ancient poetry. in the rude song the Scald, we regard less the strained imagery and extravagance of epithet, than the wild impressions which it conveys of the dauntless resolution, savage superstition, rude festivity, and ceaseless depredation of the ancient Scandinavians. In the metrical romance, we pardon the long, tedious, and bald enumeration of trifling particulars; the reiterated sameness of the eternal combats between knights and giants; the overpowering languor of the love speeches, and the merciless length and similarity of description, when Fancy whispers to us, that such strains may have soothed the ears of our Norman princes, or cheered the sleepless pillow of the Black Prince on the memorable eves of Cressey or Poitiers.

There is a certain romance of Ferumbras which Robert the Bruce read to his few followers to divert their thoughts from the desperate circum stances in which they were placed, after an unsuccessful attempt to rise against the English, Is there a true Scotchman who, being aware of this anecdote, would be disposed to yawn over the romance of Ferumbras? Or, on the contrary, would not the image of the dauntless hero, inflexible in defeat, beguiling the anxiety of his warworn attendants by the lays of the minstrel, give to these rude lays themselves an interest beyond Greek and Roman fame?-While such associa tions, therefore, continue to mingle with and regulate the feelings excited by ancient poetry, it may fairly rank, not simply as an object of curiosity, but of interest; and in adding another name to the long catalogue of British poets, we may lay claim to a merit somewhat exceeding the intrinsic value of his verses.

The poet whom these few remarks are designed to introduce to the reader, is a bard of the 17th century, as stout a cavalier, and nearly as good a poet, as the loyal Colonel Lovelace,

With whiskers, band, and pantaloon,
And ruff composed most duly.

Under the system of association we have detailed, it must be the fault of the reader's imagination if he cannot conjure up by our extracts all the interesting recollections of manners and politics connected with the great Civil War.

Of the poems of this forgotten writer only one manuscript copy has come to our knowledge. It was presented by Mr John Murray, of Fleetstreet, to Mr Walter Scott, of Edin. burgh, the present possessor, and it is from this single copy that we can

extract any thing concerning the author, Patrick Carey, who appears to have been a gentleman, a loyalist during the civil war, a lawyer, and a rigid high-churchman, if not a Roman catholic. The volume is a small duodecimo, written in a very neat hand, (the author's autograph,) is perfect, and in tolerable good order, though scribbled on the blank leaves, and stripped of its silver clasps and ornaments. It is divided into two parts. The first bears this title, "TRIVIALL BALLADS, writt here in obedience to MRS TOMKINS commands, by Patr. Carey, 1651, August the 20th." The second part consists of hymns, original and translated, and other religious poems. It is separated from the first part, being written at the other end of the book, and has a different title-page, bearing the following text, placed above a helmet and shield; "I will sing unto the Lord," Psalm xiii. verse vi. There is no crest on the helmet, or proper distinction of colour in the shield, which bears what heralds call a cross anchoree, or a cross moline, with a motto Tant que je puis. Beneath the motto is a rose, and the date, Warnefurd, 1651. These particulars may possibly assist some English antiquary in discovering the family of Patrick Carey. These devotional pieces are ornamented with small emblematical vignettes, very neatly drawn with a

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An Octave.

I blush, but must obey. You'l have itt soe ;
And one such word of yours stopps all excuse:
Yett (pray) bee sure that you lett others know
How you, not pride, did mee to this induce;
Else, when to any these harsh rimes you show,
They'l suffer many a flout; I, much abuse:

Since 'tis acknowledg'd that they here have place,
Not for their worth, but meerly through your grace.

The verses are upon different subjects, amatory, bacchanalian, and political. Of the second description is the following ballad, which reminds us of the good old days, when

It was great in the hall,
When beards wagg'd all-
We shall ne'er see the like again.

These were the times when the aged blue-coated servingman formed an attached and indivisible part of a

great man's family, and shared in domestic festivities rather as a familiar, though humble friend, than as a hired menial. The household of the Knight of Wickham seems to have been quite that of the "Queen's old Courtier" in the ballad; and the special enumera. tion of all the domestics, argues that Mr Carey had not disdained a cup of sack in the buttery any more than in the oaken parlour.

To the tune of-The Healths.

COME, fayth, since I'me parting, and that God knowes when
The walls of sweet Wickham I shall see aghen,

Lett's eene have a frolicke, and drinke like tall men,

Till heads with healths goe round.

And first to Sir William, I'le take't on my knee,

He well doth deserve that a brimmer itt bee;

More brave entertay nements none ere gave then hee;
Then lett his health goe round.

Next to his chast lady, who loves him alife;
And whilst wee are drincking to soe good a wife,
The poore of the parish will pray for her life e;

Be sure her health goe round.

And then to young Will, the heyre of this place;
Hee'l make a brave man, you may see't in his face;
I only could wish wee had more of the race;

Att least lett his health goe round.

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