we came to the chapel of Henry the Seventh, to avoid the chill of the marble. It was order. I have nothing more to tell you, but a trifle, a very trifle. The king of Prussia has totally defeated Marshall Daun. This, which would have been prodigious news a month ago, is nothing to-day; it only takes its turn among the questions, "who is to be groom of the bed-chamber? what is Sir T. Robinson to have ?" I have been to Leicester-fields to-day; the crowd was immoderate; I don't believe it will continue so. Good night." The next letter is by far the best in the whole collection. It is written at the time of his election for Lynn. He slept a couple of nights at Houghton in going and returning. "Houghton, March 23, 1761.-Here I am at Houghton! and alone! in this spot, where (except two hours last month) I have not been in sixteen years! Think, what a crowd of reflections! No, Gray, and forty "The surprise the pictures gave me is again renewed: accustomed for many years to see nothing but wretched daubs and varnished copies at auctions, I look at these as enchantment. My own description of them seems poor; but shall I tell you truly, the majesty of Italian ideas almost sinks before the warm nature of Flemish colouring; alas! don't I grow old? My young imagi nation was fired with Guido's ideas; must they be plump and prominent as Abishag to warm me now? Does great youth feel with poetic limbs, as well as see with poetic eyes? In one respect I am very young, I cannot satiate myself with looking: an incident contributed to make me feel this more strongly. A party arrived, just as I did, to see the house, a man and three women in riding dresses, and they rode post through the apartments. I could not hurry before them fast enough; they were not so long in seeing, for the first time, as I could have been in one room, to examine what I knew by heart. I remember formerly being often diverted with this kind of seers; they come, ask what such a room is called, in which Sir Robert lay, write it down, admire a lobster or a cabbage in a marketpiece, dispute whether the last room was green or purple, and then hurry to the inn for fear the fish should be over-dressed. How different my sensations! not a picture here but recalls a history; not one, but I remember in Downing Street or Chelsea, where queens and crowds admired them, though seeing them as little as these travellers ! "When I had drank tea, I strolled into the garden; they told me it was now called the pleasure-ground. What a dissonant where I have passed so many charming moidea of pleasure! those groves, those allées, ments, are now stripped up or overgrown -many fond paths I could not unravel, though with a very exact clue in my memory, I met two gamekeepers, and a thousand hares! In the days when all my soul was tuned to pleasure and vivacity (and you will think, perhaps, it is far from being out of tune yet), I hated Houghton and its solitude; yet I loved this garden, as now, with many regrets, I love Houghton; Houghton, I know not what to call it, a monument of grandeur or ruin! How I have wished this evening for Lord Bute! how I could preach to him! For myself, I do not want to be preached to; I have long considered how every Balbec must wait for the chance of a Mr Wood. The servants want ed to lay me in the great apartment-what, to make me pass my night as I have done my evening! It were like proposing to Margaret Roper to be a duchess in the court that cut off her father's head, and imagining it would please her. I have chosen to sit in my father's little dressingroom, and am now by his scrutoire, where, in the height of his fortune, he used to receive the accounts of his farmers, and deceive himself, or us, with the thoughts of his economy. How wise a man at once, and how weak! For what has he built Hough ton? for his grandson to annihilate, or for his son to mourn over. If Lord Burleigh could rise and view his representative driving the Hatfield stage, he would feel as I feel now. Poor little Strawberry! at least it will not be stripped to pieces by a descendant! You will find all these fine meditations dictated by pride, not by philosophy. Pray consider through how many mediums philosophy must pass, before it is purified how often must it weep, how often burn!" "My mind was extremely prepared for all this gloom by parting with Mr Conway yesterday morning; moral reflections or common places are the livery one likes to wear, when one has just had a real misfortune. He is going to Germany; I was glad to dress myself up in transitory Houghton, in lieu of very sensible concern. To-morrow I shall be distracted with thoughts, at least images of very different complexion. I go to Lynn, and am to be elected on Friday. I shall return hither on Saturday, again alone, to expect Burleighides on Sunday, whom I left at Newmarket. I must once in my life see him on his grandfather's throne. 46 Epping, Monday night, thirty-first. No, I have not seen him; he loitered on the road, and I was kept at Lynn till yesterday morning. It is plain I never knew for how many trades I was formed, when at this time of day I can begin electioneering, and succeed in my new vocation. Think of me, the subject of a mob, who was scarce ever before in a mob, addressing them in the town-hall, riding at the head of two thousand people through such a town as Lynn, dining with above two hundred of them, amid bumpers, huzzas, songs, and tobacco, and finishing with country dancing at a ball and sixpenny whisk! I have borne it all cheerfully; nay, have sat hours in conversation, the thing upon the earth that I hate, have been to hear Misses play on the harpsichord, and to see an alderman's copies of Rubens and Carlo Marat. Yet to do the folks justice, they are sensible, and reasonable, and civilized; their very language is polished since I lived among them. I attribute this to their more frequent intercourse with the world and the capital, by the help of good roads and post-chaises, which, if they have abridged the King's dominions, have at least tamed his subjects. Well, how comfortable it will be to-morrow, to see my parroquet, to play at loo, and not be obliged to talk seriously! The Heraclitus of the beginning of this letter will be overjoyed, on finishing it, to sign himself your old friend, DEMOCRITUS. P.S. I forgot to tell you that my ancient aunt Hammond came over to Lynn to see me; not from any affection, but curiosity. The first thing she said to me, though we have not met these sixteen years, was, "child, you have done a thing to-day, that your father never did in all his life; you sat as they carried you, he always stood the whole time." Madam,” said I," when I am placed in a chair, I conclude I am to sit in it; besides, as I cannot imitate my father in great things, I am not at all ambitious of mimicking him in little ones." I am sure she proposes to tell her remarks to my uncle Horace's ghost, the instant they meet. "Arlington Street, April 16, 1761You will be pleased with the anacreontic, written by Lord Middlesex upon Sir Harry Bellendine: I have not seen any thing sp antique for ages; it has all the fire, poetry, and simplicity of Horace. "Ye sons of Bacchus, come and join Pour the rich juice of Bourdeaux's wine, "He died in his vocation, of a high fever, after the celebration of some orgies." For the present, we shall here terminate our extracts from this most amusing and interesting correspondence; as the book is very dear, however, and not likely to fall into many hands, we shall perhaps recur, at some future period, to what we consider one of the richest repositories of aneedote, that have of late years been opened to the public. THE TALE OF IVAN. (Translated from the Cornish.) MR EDITOR, I HAVE sent you the following translation of one of the "Inabinogi," or tales for the instruction of youth, which is chiefly curious, as it is the only tale that I am aware of which is in existence in the Cornish language; at the same time, it may not be disagreeable to some of your readers, to see how the ancients of the times gone by conveyed their lessons of instruction to the young. It is to be found in the 251, 252, pp. of Llwyd's Archæologia Britannica, with a Welsh translation annexed. Yours, Pwy. Jesus College, Oxford, 23d April 1818. 1 There were formerly a man and woman living in the parish of Llanlavan, in the place which is called Ty. Hwrdh. 2 And (the) work became scarceand therefore said the man to his wife, I will go and search for work, and you may live here. 3 He took fair leave, and travelled far towards the East; and at last he came to the house of a husbandman (Villanus), and asked there for work to perform. 4 What work canst thou perform? said the husbandman. I can perform every kind of work, said Ivan. Then they agreed for three pounds as the hire of a year. 5 And when the end of the year came, his master shewed him the three pounds. Look Ivan, said his master: here are thy wages. But if thou wilt give them me again, I will teach thee a point of doctrine. 6 Give them to me, said Ivan. No, I will not, replied his master,-I will explain it to thee. Keep you them, said Ivan. Then, said his master,"Take care not to leave the old road, for the sake of a new road." 7 Then they agreed for another year for the same wages: and when the end of the year was come-(the same conversation takes place as in Nos. 5 and 6, till the master delivers his second aphorism, which is),"Take care not to lodge where a young woman is married to an old man.' 9-10 (The same conversation, &c. takes place for the third year, and the master delivers his third aphorism),VOL. III. "Suffer thyself to be struck twice before thou strikest once, for that is the most prudent quality of all." 11 Then Ivan would not serve any longer, but he would go home to his wife. Not to-day, replied his master; my wife bakes to-morrow, and she shall make thee a cake to take home to thy wife. 12 And they put the nine pounds And when Ivan was in the cake. about to take his leave,-Here, said his master, is a cake for thee to take home to thy wife; and when thou and thy wife are most joyous together, then break the cake-and not sooner. 13 Fair leave he took-and towards home ("Tref," i.e. town) he travelled, and at last he came to Wayn-Iler,and there he met three merchants from Tre Rhyn, persons of his own pa rish, coming home from 14 Kaer Esk fair (Exeter). Oho! Ivan, said they, come with us,-joyful are we to see you. Where have you been so long? 15 I have been, said Ivan, in service, and now I am going home to my wife. Oh! said they, come with us, and thou shalt be welcome. 16 And they took the new road, and Ivan kept the old. 17 And as they were going by the fields of the houses in the meadow, not having gone far from Ivan, robbers fell upon them: 18 And they began to cry out, and with the cry which the merchants made, Ivan also shouted Thieves! thieves! 19 And at the shout which Ivan gave, the robbers left the merchants. And when they came to Market-Joy, there they met again. 20 Oh, Ivan! said they, we are bound to thee,-had it not been for thee, we should have been lost men. Come with us, and thou shalt be wel come. 21 And when they were entering the house where they were accustomed to lodge,-I must, said Ivan, see the man of the house. 22 The host! replied they; what dost thou want with the host? here we have the hostess, and she is young. If thou must see the host, go to the kitchen, and thou shalt see him. 23 And when he came to the kitchen, he saw the host, and he was an old man, and weak, and turning the spit. Y 24 Oh! quoth Ivan, here I will not lodge, but in the next house. Not yet, replied they; sup with us, and thou shalt be welcome. 25 Now, as to the woman of the house, she conspired with a certain monk in the town, to murder the old man in his bed that night, while the rest were asleep, and lay the murder on the merchants. 26 And while Ivan was in bed, there was a hole in the pine-end of the house, and he saw a light, and he rose out of his bed and listened, and heard the monk speaking; and the monk turned his back upon the hole "perhaps," said he, "there is some one in the next house who may see our horrid deeds:"-And with that the adultress, with her paramour, put the old man to death. 27 In the meantime, however, Ivan with his knife cut, through the hole, a pretty round piece of the monk's gown. 28 And the next morning the adultress began to cry aloud, because her beloved was murdered; and as there was neither man nor child in the house except the merchants, they ought to be hanged on his account. 29 Then they were taken and carried to prison, and at last Ivan came to them. 30 Alas, alas! Ivan, said they, a hard fate attends us; our host was killed last night, and we shall be hanged for him. 31 Aha! request the justices, said Ivan, to summon those who committed this heinous crime before hem. 32 Who knows, replied they, who committed the crime? Who committed the crime! said Ivan. If I know not how to prove who committed the crime, I will suffer myself to be hanged in their stead. 33 Explanation replied they-(Nos 33, 34, and 35,-Ivan repeats what he had seen, and produces the piece of the gown in evidence.) 36 And with that the merchants had their liberty, and the woman and the monk were hanged. 37 Then they came together out of Market-Joy (Marchnad-Joy-Thursday market). And they said, come with us as far as Coed Carrn yr Wylfa (the Wood of the heap of stones of watching), in the parish of Burnian. 38 There two roads separated, and the merchants wished Ivan to go home with them; but that time he would not, but would go home to his wife. 39 Then when he had separated from the merchants, he foolishly spent his time to try his wife, whether she proved constant to him, whether she did or did not. 40 And when he came to the door, he heard some one else in the bed; he placed his hand on his dagger to slay them both; but he recollected that he ought to suffer twice before he struck once. 41 And he came out again, and then he knocked. Who is there, in the name of God? said she. 42 I am here, replied Ivan. In the name of Mary, whom do I hear, said she; if you are Ivan, come in.Bring you also a light, said Ivan.— Then she brought a light. 43 And when Ivan was come in, as I was advancing to the door, said he, I heard some one else in the bed. 44 Oh! Ivan, replied she, when you determined to go away, I was three months gone with child; and now we have a beautiful infant in the bed, gracious in the sight of God may he be! 45 Replied Ivan, I will tell thee,my master and my mistress gave me a cake, and told me, when I and my wife should be most joyful together, that we should break the cake-and not sooner. And now we have cause to be joyful. 46 Then they broke the cake, and there were nine pounds in the cake; and the money they had, and the bread they eat; and there never was an idle word nor strife between them afterwards. And so it ends. DIALOGUES ON NATURAL AND REVEALED RELIGION. DIALOGUE II.—On Natural Religion. "SINCE We have come upon this view of the subject," continued Philo, "which I confess has occupied much of my thoughts, it may perhaps afford you some entertainment, and may be a collateral proof of my argument, if I enter a little into a few metaphysical niceties, which seem to be less apprehended than they might, in consequence of men overlooking this great foundation of all belief, the constant perception possessed by the human mind, that it moves within the sphere of design and intelligence. What, for instance, if we spend a few words on the famous question about the existence of the material world ?" "In the name of Heaven," said Cleanthes, "what can you propose by running into an inquiry so obscure, and which has brought some very profound metaphysicians into conclusions so remote from common apprehension? Perhaps, like Bishop Berkeley, you propose to deny the existence of matter, with a view of proving, in a more spiritual manner than is usually resorted to, the existence of God. The attempt, however, you must be well aware, is dangerous; for when first principles of belief are once unhinged, the steps by which we arrive at the existence of the divine mind soon vanish from our eyes." "I have no intention," replied Philo, "to be so sceptical as you imagine. I have no doubt of the existence of matter; but it is of some consequence, in a speculative view, (as agents, the inquiry need not be made,) to know what we mean when we say there is a material world." "We mean," said Cleanthes, "that the objects which we see and touch actually exist." "What is the proof of their existence ?" said Philo. "Certainly our senses," replied Cleanthes. "Our senses," said Philo, " only prove that we see and feel; but sense cannot assure us that there is any thing seen or felt." "Perhaps, then,' said Cleanthes, "I cannot tell you how the belief comes; but we have it, and that is enough." "But," said Philo, "I think I see both whence it comes and what it is. All our perceptions of the external world are consistent, regular, systematic: they all convey, therefore, the impression of design, and our minds perceive this character in them as clearly as our senses are impressed with the perceptions themselves. It is from this character, in fact, that they derive the aspect and form of reality, and that we can distinguish them from dreams and imaginations. Were there nothing steady and consistent, nothing that bore the impress of order and plan, in external nature; did it appear for a moment, and then vanish from our eyes: instead of being a system which assists and promotes our views and apprehensions, were it a constant source of delusion and uncertainty: were these its characters, I really do not think we could say it had any other existence than we are apt to ascribe to a troublesome dream; and at present it may have no other existence than as the lofty language in which we are addressed by the Supreme Intelligence." "Not far from Berkeley, however," said Cleanthes. "I mean," replied Philo, "that when we say we believe there is an external world, our meaning is, we have entire trust and confidence about it. Why? Because we see it is a system, and therefore involves a principle of mind upon which we can depend. In fact, the word belief means nothing else but the feeling of trust. Nobody will pretend to say what the material world is, of what kind of being or substance it consists, or that it is any thing more than a somewhat about which we have an assurance, and with a reference to which we act without any kind of distrust; which is more than can be said of dreams or reveries." "I suspect, after all, this is the idea which Berkeley meant to express, but that he was rather strong in his manner of stating it. He says often, that he believes there is a material world, and that his belief does not differ from that which is commonly entertained. He cannot indeed separate the object perceived from the act of perception. I admit that we have an impression of these being distinct things; but I say we should not have this impression, unless our perceptions were of things orderly and consistent. The ordering and arranging of our perceptions, we are conscious, does not proceed from ourselves. It is clearly, then, the work of another mind. The existence, therefore, of a supreme mind is constantly impressed upon our minds by the scene of external existence; and this, I maintain, is at least as certain an impression as that of the existence of external objects themselves, although my argument goes to prove that it is more certain, and that it is in consequence only of the regularity and consistency of the material world, that any fixed impression remains with us of its actual existence. According to this view, therefore, we perceive that mind exists, before we have any steady |