rummage out something about Mr. Browne." 66 No, ma'am, it would not do. I wrote to my nephew, Edwin Goulding, who is in College, begging of him to envelope the mystery, if he could, by enquiring at the tavern after that Mr. Browne. But all to no purpose. The waiter could only tell that a farming kind of man, of that name, sometimes resorted to the house; and that his letters were sent for the moment they came, by somebody, nobody knew any thing about." "What a clever, close, managing woman she is! And now, ma'am, what do you think she draws half-yearly?" "As well as I can calculate, Mrs. Kilrummery and I have put it down on paper twenty times, for my own satisfaction-I should think, from what she spends, that it comes from eighty to a hundred a-year." "Well! isn't that passing? But what can she do with that lovely in come ?" "Just lets it slip through her fingers, slobbering it away on charity and vagrants; besides feeding and supporting an ourang-outang of a servant girl, who you would not let sweep your kitchen. She had to dress her own dinner for the first half-year, and is obliged to give out every stitch of her washing; for the Girra Caille, as they call her waiting maid, can do nothing but run of her messages." "She don't spend much on clothes, if one may judge from the figure she cuts a-Sunday?" said the visitor. "She exactly buys one black stuff every year," replied her informant, which never leaves her back, till it goes to her girl. Last winter, she, turned the only cloak she brought with her; and her best bonnet, I suspect, was made out of some old lyer-by; for it never had a look of freshness.' 66 I hope it's no sin if I wrong her," said the strange lady, "but I would lay a round wager, that she did something uncommon when she was young. Nobody could starve and torture themselves at that rate, if they had not a good deal to answer for." "My dear ma'am, there is no starvation or torturing about her. Nobody lives like her. Every Saturday sees a fore quarter of mutton walk into the house, and three stone of potatoes. Her bread-bill is never under two shillings a week; and as for tea and sugar, I have not a better customernot even Lady Aune herself." "And now, Miss Goulding, does she never do any thing in the house, or out of the house, only taking her evening stroll across the common, and round the back of the demesne ?" "To my contemplation, ma'am, she never was reared to the needle, or any thing useful; for what she tries to do in that way is all puckered and crookened, with stitches half a mile long. About a year ago she took to knitting stockings for her butler, as I call her ; and the first pair will be finished in seven years, as she drops so many stitches, and loses her back seam so often, that she has to rip twice as much as she knits-just like Penelope and her web, ma'am, that you have heard of, I am sure." "You may well call her Penelope, or any thing else, ma'am ; for she is a complete Penelope, figure, and fashion, and all. But did you never hear that she would read for her improvement, though she wont work for it ?" "People give that out of her assuredly," replied the lady of the house. Them that had curiosity often peeped through the slit in the window-shut, when the candle was lit, to see how she spent the evening; and they said she always had a book in her hand." "If I would not give the two eyes out of my head, to find out what that book was," said the guest, with considerable animation. "Keep your eyes while you have them," said Miss Goulding, "for I can tell you without putting you to that loss. One evening, as I was passing by, when I knew she was taking her ramble, I made an excuse to follow my little Fidelle, who ran in, as the door was a-jar. I soon took an inventory of the parlour-having a quick eye. On the chest of drawers lay three books-one of them a handsome Bible, another 'Nelson's Fasts and Festivities' -a very fine book, that I remember my poor mother blinded her eyes over and the last was a book about lawI think from the glimpse I had of it that it was titled A Serious Call,' either to go to law, or not to go to law, or something about that." "I guessed she was brewing something," said Mrs. Kilrummery, triumphantly. "You see she will give work to the attorneys yet. I will keep clear of having any dealings with her if I can help it." "As for me, I defy her," said Miss Tammy, drawing herself up erect, with a conscious integrity. "If she was whole judge and jury, and counsel for both sides, and crier into the bargain, I would look her full in the face, and say, do your worst." "I don't at all doubt it, Miss Goulding; but you know one ought to be on their guard with a woman who reads the occupation of a justice of the peace." "Little knowledge she has got by her learning," said the post-mistress, "for they cheat her to her face; and would charge her six times the value of every article, only that crazy idiot of a girl has some understanding, and found out that the butcher, besides putting a halfpenny a pound more on her than his other customers, was not over particular about the weight. However, the woman herself finds no fault, asks no questions, and pays whatever she is asked." Much more on the same subject, passed between the two ladies, before Mrs. Kilrummery retired; but as the conversation consisted of mere surmises, and afforded no facts respecting the mysterious Mrs. Smith, we shall pass it over in silence, and conclude our chapter. The Beautiful hath vanished! like the flower Tended through storm and shine, with kindliest care, Which hath survived the Winter's dreariest hour And faded when its hues the loveliest were, In the glad Spring-time's morn, When the warm sun-beam kissed its beauty mild- Lay cold and crushed that human flower, our Child, That bitter grief no wild lament need say— And ours is measureless, for, day by day More strong and sad its bitterness doth grow. Vanished from heart and home is one dear light, For on its sunshine hath descended Night, Not now, with bounding spirit, do we drain Holds in its cells the treasures which we prize, The smile the glance-whate'er the Grave denies It yields them all again! Not where the light jest speeds, where smilers come, Sadly we look and miss thee from thy place; Thy full, dark eyes-thy curls-thy radiant face- Like a bright dream thy presence seems to be- We miss thy low, light step-thy glance of glee,— We miss thy thought-crowned brow, Thy cheerful converse, and thy gentlest voice,- Yet such as made even strangers' heart rejoice, Often, in summer-gleaming, hand in hand Filled with bright promise of the coming years, And, talking thus, our eyes are filled with tears Thou wert a child in years, oh daughter mine! With earnest thought and look, Didst thou explore the treasures of the Word, Thy spirit drew its commune with the Lord— Surely, oh earthly flower, thou art with him? When this life faileth, and this sight grows dull, The hearts that mourn will join the beautiful, We grieve-but we repine not. On the stem Our last of living hopes,-and oh, from them From earth's affliction to the better sphere, Bearing her semblance, yet doth linger here, Lord, spare him unto us! Liverpool, August 1, 1837. ROGER NORTH'S LIFE OF THE HON. SIR DUDLEY NORTH. WE resume our extracts from the biographical narratives of Roger North. The life of Lord Keeper Guilford has supplied us with some amusing pictures of the courts of Charles and of James, which would be in vain sought for in the works of professed historians, and the characters of the distinguished lawyers given in that most interesting volume cannot have been looked over by our readers with indifference. A volume which, from the nature of its subject, could scarcely have been, by any talents, rendered of the same interest with that which contained the life of Lord Guilford, was published after the death of Roger North, and comprised the lives of two-or, we should rather say-three other brothers, for, in the life of Sir Dudley North, the few incidents of Mountagu North's uneventful story are told. The amiable old man, who relates the lives of his brothers, is himself never absent from the reader's thoughts, for his own heart seems to have followed and watched the course of each of his brothers to have been with the merchant in his voyages and his sojournings abroad-and with the divine in his cloister and his parish. Dudley, Lord North, had six sons-of the first we know no more than that he succeeded to the title and estate of his father. The other brothers struggled into distinction, from the accident of being compelled to trust to themselves for support. Francis, Lord Guilford, (who, through these memoirs, is called their best brother, almost as often as he is mentioned,) the second son, was the affectionate, earnest, and active friend, and why should we not write a word, which, among them at least implied af fectionate support on the one hand, and gratitude on the other-the patron of his younger brothers. Dudley and Mountagu were Levant merchants. John was a Fellow of St. John's College, Cambridge. Roger was the youngest son; he survived all—he lived to a period when he found the name even of Lord Guilford forgotten by every one around, and from the unjust suppressions of those who compiled the histories of the last years of Charles the Second likely to be altogether passed over, as that of a man wholly undistinguished. To the effort to vindicate "his best brother," we owe the life of Lord Guilford, and the Examen*-the latter, a skilful, lawyer-like defence of much that was indefensible in what he calls the happy reign of King Charles the Secondwhich our unwillingness to enter into political discussion in this class of papers renders it impossible for us to review, but which ought to have been reprinted with the last edition of the lives of the Norths, as it is for ever referred to, and manifestly regarded by the author, as if the whole series formed but one work. The biographer did not live to witness the publication of his life of Lord Guilford; and the companion volume, which we now review, was edited a few years after its author's death, by his relative, Mountagu North. The same plain, straightforward, English good sense which formed the staple of Lord Guilford's character, seems to us to have distinguished the whole family, and Dudley, from the account of whose life we now proceed to make extracts, exhibited early activity, great shrewdness, and perseverancea man of great knowledge and information, all acquired exclusively by experience of life. We are exceedingly amused by the instances of schoolboy craft, which his biographer has industriously gathered-seeing the future speculating and enterprising merchant, in the scampish and swindling tricks of an ill-trained boy; but the stories told by any one but Roger, would not be worth telling. He was born in 1641. His father's attendance on parliament occasioned the first years of his life to be passed in London, in King-street, Westminster. The house was remarkable, as being the first and only brick house in that street for many years. "The chief airing this child had was with his attendant at the door, where, by his forward familiarities, he had made himself known to most people that had to do thereabouts; and nothing so common as his being at his post, with an audience in the street to share his conversation. "But this over-forwardness had like to have cost him dear; for once in a bustle at the door about taking a coach, when a Examen, or an inquiry into the credit and veracity of a pretended complete history, &c. London, 1740. child is apt to press too forward, a beggar woman, passing by, swept him away; and, after the coach was gone, the child was wanted. The servants ran out several ways to look for him, and one, by chance, found him in an alley leading towards Channel-row, in the hands of the beggar, who was taking off his clothes; so the Ichild was recovered, but the woman ran away and escaped punishment. * "But now to bring the young man to á grammar school; he was placed at Bury, under Dr. Stephens; but made an indifferent scholar. He had too much spirit, which would not be suppressed by conning his book, but must be rather employed in perpetual action. With all that, his parts were so quick, that a little application went a great way with him; and, in the end, he came out a moderate school-scholar. But no thanks to his master; for had he been treated with discretion, the goodness of his nature was such, that he might have been brought down to such an assiduity as would have made him an incomparable scholar. But, though from what stars it proceeded I know not, it is certain that the master took a great aversion to him, and most brutally abused him; correcting him at all turns, with or without a fault, till he was driven within an ace of despair, and (as I have often heard him declare) making away with himself. Among other instances of his barbarity, one was that the youth had been more than once whipt for faulty verses, that he had stole out of printed books. This ill usage made an impression upon his spirits, that did not wear out in all his life, but, to his dying day, he resented it. And he often spake of it in a kind of passion, and declared that he wanted only the satisfaction of talking to this man, and showing where he used him ill, and had denied him common justice. Such a pleasure have folks, desperately offended, in venting their re sentments. "This gentleman was designed by his parents to be a merchant; but how early I know not, and rather think they had no positive determination, but according as natural tendency and reasonable opportunity invited. And this backwardness at school, and a sorry account that the master gave of his scholarship, might turn the scales towards an employment that needed less learning. But the young man himself had a strange bent to traffic, and, while he was at school, drove a subtle trade among the boys, by buying and selling. In short, it was considered that he had learning enough for a merchant, but not phlegm enough for any sedentary profession. Which judgment of him was made good by the event." From this he passed to a writingschool-and made such progress as might be expected from an active idle boy of quick parts. He was a cockfighter, and if betting at cock-fighting be gambling, was a gambler. "Another of his darling sports was swimming in the Thames. He used that so much, that he became quite a master of it. He could live in the water an afternoon with as much ease as others walk upon land. He shot the bridge divers times at low water, which showed him not only active but intrepid; for courage is required to bear the very sight of that tremendous cascade, which few can endure to pass in a boat. He told me that his method was to glide along while the current was smooth, which was like the motion of an arrow, and extremely delicious; and when he was through, and plunged in the disorders of the waters there, he used his swimming powers, that is, striking with legs and arms, applying all the force he had to prevent turning round, which, in those eddies, was hard to be done; and all this under water, till he got into some calm, where he might govern himself again. His greatest danger was flooks of anchors, broken piles, great stones, and such enemies as lay concealed under water, and, in the speed he went, could not be touched without destruction. "He and his comrades usually hired a known porter to keep their clothes; and, when they were all naked, as I have often heard him say, he was not at all ashamed of his company; but, when their clothes were on, he cared not to be seen with them. He hath told me that, having lodged his clothes not far from the bridge at early ebb, he hath run naked upon the ooze up almost as high as Chelsea, for the pleasure of swimming down to his clothes before tide of flood. By these bold diversions, one may guess what the Roman youth were able to do, who made it their ordinary exercise to bear the extremes of heat and cold, and all sorts of fatigues; affecting to despise and slight all hazards and pain, till sufferings became habitual. But to wave reflections, though my subject proffers fair, and to dismiss this swimming entertainment, I must here, though a little too early, remember, that, when he resided at Constantinople, it had very nearly cost him his life; for, being grown corpulent and fat, he was not qualified for such frolics, but yet would needs go and swim in the Hellespont; and there the water came down from the Black Sea so rigidly cold, that it almost congealed the fat of his belly. He found himself not well, and came into his boat, where he perceived his belly look like tallow, and could scarce feel any touch upon it. The |