Scots. In this same chapel of Henry VII. only a few yards from Elizabeth, lies all that is mortal of that erring and unhappy woman, whom I ever feel inclined to pity more than to blame. Faults she had, but she had virtues too; and no one can help reflecting, as he thinks of her sad career, that her untimely death was owing to the jealous hate of that much-lauded daughter of the execrable Henry VIII. and not to the fact that the poor uncrowned Mary was a dangerous rival in the state. At the death of Elizabeth, as most of my readers know, the crown descended to the Stuart family, and James, the son of Mary, became king, under the title of James I. To this circumstance, the unfortunate queen of Scotland owes the monument erected to her in the Abbey. It was one of the first acts of James, after his accession to the throne, to remove the remains of his mother from their resting-place in the cathedral at Peterborough, to Westminster Abbey, and to erect over them the splendid monument which we see there now. It was exceedingly gratifying to me to see this monument. I am not sure but I silently exulted, that, despite all the persecution, and malice, and hate which the haughty Elizabeth exhibited toward Mary, the monument of her Scottish cousin is more elegant than her own.

Another chapel, called the "chapel of Edward the Confessor," has in it many objects of interest. Here I noticed the two coronation chairs, still used in crowning the sovereigns of England—one of them containing the famous stone on which the Scottish kings were crowned; and which Edward I. carried away with him, as an evidence of his entire conquest of Scotland.

There are some nine or ten chapels in the Abbey. But we will not examine them all. It would take too long. I was deeply affected with some of the inscriptions I saw in the Abbey, and if I were sure it would not weary you, I should copy some of them for your eye. The Poet's Corner, especially, abounds in interesting monuments, and appropriate and touching epitaphs. There is a great deal of nonsense, to be sure, to be found among the tombs in this consecrated place. Ay, and now and then some things which are worse than nonsense appear. There are splendid monuments to be found there, erected to dunces and knaves. All the laudatory epithets in Dr. Johnson's dictionary are raked together and scattered

over the mortal remains of men and women, whose worth, but for the agency of these epithets, would never have been dreamed of. These things are unfortunate, and deeply to be regretted. Nevertheless, I doubt if there is another place of sepulture in the world which can boast so many deeply interesting memorials of the departed great and good, as Westminster Abbey.

I was gratified to see, among other monuments of more notable men, one of the lamented Major André, whom, you will recollect, our beloved Washington, in obedience to the laws of war, was obliged, though with tears in his eyes, to execute as a spy. I could not repress a tear, as I stood by that comparatively unpretending memento of our revolutionary struggle. What affected me more than any other circumstance, in connection with the monument, was that on the tomb, in bas relief, was sculptured the head of Washington. Poor André! who can suppress a sigh, as he thinks of his sad end? One of the last acts of André, as you will recollect, if you have read the history of the war which resulted in our independence, was to despatch a messenger to General Washington, with the request that he might be spared the disgrace of the gallows, and that he might be shot instead. This affecting incident is commemorated by the sculptor on the tomb. A figure, with a flag of truce, is represented in the act of presenting the letter of the doomed man to the American General. How touching that letter is! though one cannot help wishing that it breathed somewhat of the spirit of the Christian, as well as that of the soldier. It is in these words: "Sir, buoyed above the terror of death, by the consciousness of a life devoted to honorable purposes, and stained with no action which can give me remorse, I trust that the request which I make to your Excellency at this serious period, and which is to soften my last moments, will not be rejected. Sympathy toward a soldier will surely induce your Excellency and a military tribunal, to adapt the mode of my death to the feelings of a man of honor. Let me hope, sir, that if aught in my character impresses you with esteem towards me—if aught in my misfortunes marks me as the victim of policy, and not of resentment—I shall experience the operations of those feelings in your breast, by being informed I am not to die on a gibbet."

VOL. III.

3*

FY

The Poet's Corner-so called because this portion of the Abbey is devoted mainly, though not entirely, to the tombs and honorary monuments of the bards of Britain-occupies nearly half of the south transept. Here are monuments to Ben Jonson, Shakspeare, Chaucer, Homer, Prior, Dryden, John Milton, Gray, Pope, Gay, Goldsmith, Addison, Thomson, Handel, Garrick, and a great many others of less note. You will wonder, I suppose, how it comes to pass that actors have monuments and glowing epitaphs in Westminster Abbey. I confess it startled me, at first, to see such things. It is certainly quite contrary to our American notions. Butler, too, the author of Hudibras, is honored here somewhat extravagantly. The Lord Mayor of London, through whose agency, as appears from the inscription, the honor was conferred, gives rather a funny reason for so doing, namely, "that he who was destitute of all things when alive, might not want a monument when dead." Ben Jonson's merits are commemorated in these words: "O rare Ben Jonson !" Don't ask me what especial point there is in the words, because if you do, I shall be obliged to confess that I have not the slightest conception of their meaning. I have my private opinion on the subject, however. I think the inscription a piece of conceited nonsense, especially as I perceive that the same inscription, with the exception of the name (O rare Sir William Davenant!) appears on the tomb of Davenant, who is the author of Ben Jonson's epitaph, as well as his own!

Shakspeare's monument is an extremely elegant one. How appropriate are these lines from one of his own plays, sculptured on a tasteful scroll!

The cloud-capped towers, the gorgeous palaces,
The solemn temples, the great globe itself,
Yea, all which it inherits, shall dissolve,

And, like the baseless fabric of a vision,
Leave not a wreck behind "

Of all the monuments in the Abbey, I am not sure that any one pleased me more than that of the great musical composer, Handel. The figure is admirably sculptured, and said to be an accurate likeThe left arm is resting on a group of musical instruments, and the attitude is one which seems to indicate profound attention

ness.

to the music of an angel playing on a harp in the clouds overhead. There is a scroll lying near, which we recognize as a copy of that immortal work, the oratorio of the Messiah, with that part open which contains the celebrated air, "I know that my Redeemer liveth."

I was sorry not to see a monument to Cowper in Westminster Abbey. But I searched in vain for one, and was afterwards told that his memory is not perpetuated there. He was buried in Dereham Church, near his devoted friend, Mrs. Unwin, and over his remains is a plain memorial, of which I will give you a picture.

But he deserves much more at the hands of his countrymen. I cannot account for the absence of a monument in Westminster Abbey. I cannot account for this neglect. It seems to me that, though Cowper certainly had superiors in genius among the British bards, his muse, in that respect, was worthy a high place in the catalogue; and, in addition to his genius, he had in his heart, and

infused into his poetry, an element which many of his rivals lacked, and which is worth more to him now than all merely intellectual gifts and graces combined. I mean a pure and holy love, kindled at the cross of Christ-love to God, and love to men. Hayley never wrote truer lines than those which appear on Cowper's monument in Dereham Church :

"Sense, fancy, wit, suffice not all to raise

So clear a title to affection's praise:
His highest honors to the heart belong;
His virtues formed the magic of his song."

But it matters little, after all, whether such a man have a place among the honored in the Poet's Corner. Cowper-gentle, loving, pious Cowper-has a monument in human hearts more enduring than the marble in Westminster Abbey. And what is more and better, he is honored-who can doubt it ?—by the King of kings and Lord of lords, who has welcomed him to a place at his right hand. Reader, the praise of men is something worth living for; but the praise of God is better, infinitely better.

DON'T BE EXTRAVAGANT.

SOME of my young readers may some day or other, perhaps, have occasion to thank the good-natured man who gives the following bit of advice in the Clinton Courant :-"If the poor-house has any terrors for you, never buy what you don't need. Before you pay three cents for a jews-harp, my boy, ascertain whether you can't make just as pleasant a noise by whistling, for which nature furnishes the machinery. And, before you pay seven dollars for a figured vest, young man, find out whether your lady-love wouldn't be just as glad to see you in a plain one, that costs half the money! If she wouldn't, let her crack her own walnuts, and buy her own clothes. When you see a man paying five dollars for a Frenchified toy, that a philosophic Yankee baby will pull all to bits in five minutes, the chances are five to one that he'll live long enough to realize how many cents there are in a dollar; and if he don't, he's pretty sure to bequeath that privilege to his widow."