Thus GLENDOWER was to have all Wales, westward of the Severn; PERCY, all the lands northward of the Trent; and MORTIMER, that portion of the island from Trent to Severn, by south and east. This division was guided by a prophecy, which never came to pass.

Glendower, however, afterwards appears more strictly in the best parts of his own character-a kind father, and a faithful friend; though his conversation, if we may credit Percy, was none of the most agreeable or refined.

Mortimer his son-in-law gives him, however, a far different character.
In faith, he is a worthy gentleman;
Exceedingly well read, and profited

In strange concealments; valiant as a lion,
And wondrous affable; and as beautiful

As mines of India.

After this scene, GLENDOWER never appears; neither himself, nor MORTIMER, nor the EARL of NORTHUMBERLAND being able to arrive at Shrewsbury in time for the battle, in which Hotspur was slain by Prince Henry, afterwards Henry V.

In the year 18—, I visited the small spot of ground on the banks of the Dee, near Corwen, which was the cause of Glendower's hatred to the English. While there, two extraordinary circumstances occurred. The first relates to an appearance of a rainbow, at six o'clock in the morning. I never saw one at so early a period before; and alluding to it, one day, in conversation with a young Swiss friend, he assured me, that he, also, had seen one on his road from Utendorf to Berne, about half-past seven, at the latter end of September, 1822. One end of it rested on the GAENTERICH, a mountain rising between the STOCKHORN and the GURNIGEL. It formed half a semicircle; and the colours were much more vivid, and more clearly distinct from each other, than in any bow he had ever seen before or since.

The next circumstance relates to a man having been struck by lightning, within a hundred yards of me. He fell with his head upon a stone, over which the waters rush down, in winter, with great violence. Oh! (have I often thought, since that period,) how much less proud a circumstance is it, to be a canker in a rich man's hedge, than a rose in a poor man's garden!

This spot, so awful from the association, I could never remember, for many years, without recalling to my recollection a passage in Collins's "Ode on the Superstitions entertained among the Mountains of Scotland":

His fear-struck limbs soon lost their youthful force;

And down the waves he floats a pale and breathless corse.

This association lasted many years; and, within these two years, another has been added to it, from BOWRING'S "Specimens of the Russian Poets":

FIRST VOICE.

The pilgrim, who reaches this valley of tears

Would fain hurry by; and with trembling and fears,
He is launch'd on the wreck-cover'd river!

SECOND VOICE.

The traveller, outworn with life's pilgrimage dreary,
Lays down his rude staff, like one that is weary,
And sweetly reposes for ever.

In regard to the peasant's fate, we may remember, that the tomb of LYCURGUS, as well as that of EURIPIDES, was struck by lightning :-nor may we forget, that MARCUS HERENNIUS was struck by that subtle and awful fluid,—not in a storm, but on a serene day, and in a cloudless sky. The circumstance is recorded by Pliny :-and Horace alludes to a similar event with veneration and awe. (Lib. i. Od. 34.)

A few miles distant from this valley stands the village, or town, (whichever you may please to call it,) of CORWEN ;-a place in which you may hear many marvellous things in respect to OWEN GLENDOWER, and witness one of his exploits on the south side of the church. He has been called, and not inappropriately, "the last of the Welch."

Speaking of Corwen, I shall describe a curious custom, there prevailing, in regard to funerals. The corpse is brought to the churchyard gate, the people singing all the way from the house in which the deceased lived. It is then taken into the church in the usual manner. After a certain portion of the service, the men quit their pews, and walk, one by one, up to the communion table, where they deposit, in a salver, half-pence or silver, at their discretion. The women then quit their pews, and make their deposits in the same manner. When the service is concluded, the corpse is taken to the grave, where a similar deposit takes place into the clerk's hat. Flowers are then thrown upon the coffin, which is immediately after let down, and most of the attendant peasants assist the clerk to cover the grave; and having made a small mound over the body, oak leaves, flowers, and sprigs are thrown upon it. The contributions made in the church are for the clergyman; those at the grave, for the clerk.

ANTI-ANACREONTIC.

My cups are not of burning wine,-
My only beverage from the vine
Is what, in the red year's decline,
Its fresh ripe clusters pour ;

Nor is my bloodless table spread
With flesh of brutes untimely dead—
Cool herbs and fruits, and vital bread,
Are all its healthful store.

Little I dread the full repast,
For nothing tempts my homely taste
To o'erpay the body's due, or waste
In sense the hours of soul,-

The hours when thought, and converse calm,
Of pains and terrors Life disarm,

And Death; and like a sea of balm

O'er my rough sorrows roll.

HORE PARODICE.

No. I.

THE TABLE-TALK METAPHYSICIAN; OR DISJOINTED FRAGMENTS OF A COCKNEY TALE.

The poet jeereth Mr. H

PROEM.

; Describeth his return home from the King's Bench— His capture on Hampstead-heath-His adventures in the House of Bondage-How he returned to Winterslow Hut, and read the coachman to sleep on the road-Conclusion.

TABLE-TALK H

came into the Row,

But it was not to dine with Baldwin and Co.

Nor Longman, Hurst, Rees, Orme, Brown to see,
For they were as knowing as knowing could be;
It was only to groan o'er the loaded shelves

With his ponderous octavos and hot-pressed twelves;
Where dusty and drowsy and thick as hops,
They slept in the grave of the booksellers' shops.
Oh! long may the cockneys pudder and pine
(Those who have got any) over their wine;
Long of the Table-talk's eloquence tell,

Of its feeling and truth-ere one copy shall sell.

When many a week had come and fled,
When his debts were hopeless, his creditors dead;
When the hour was late, and the night was still
As the Summer moon upon Richmond Hill;
When hush'd was all but the tramp of feet
On thy stony pavement, oh! Oxford-street-

When scarce was remembered the Table-talk's name-
To his wife, from the Bench, its author came hame.*

"Mr. H- Mr. H-oh! where have you been?

Long have I sought you at Turnham Green;

"Long on Highgate and Hampstead-heath,

"Yet you look spiteful and pale as death;

"Where got you those cheeks† (once stiff and stout,
"Now lean and lank) and that pimpled snout,
"That coat, the oldest that ever was seen-
"Mr. H- Mr. H- oh! where have you

been?"

Mr. H- looked up with a lovely grace,
But no smile was seen in his unshorn face;
He roll'd his eyes around their socket,
Then took a tobacco-pipe out of his pocket,
And puffed and smoked, till he raised a gloom
(Like the fog of his Essays) around the room-
He spake of the debtors and duns he had seen
In quod, where money had seldom been;
He spake of his capture on Hampstead-heath,
And how he had chatted a debtor to death,

* Vide Kilmeny-a beautiful poem in the Queen's Wake.

+ Probably borrowed from that equally applicable question in Shakspeare: where got you that goose-look?"

"Slave

Till his wife, as aghast from her chair she rose,
Exclaimed, ""Twill be my turn next, I suppose."

*

On Hampstead-heath there is a glade, t
And in that glade a cottager's shed,
And in that shed there is a maid

To love, to learning, and H-t wed;
And in that shed, and down by that glade,

An author makes love to his "beautiful maid."
Sub Jove dio the author slept,

Till close by his side a catchpole crept,

But his grasp was gentle, the slumber deep,
Of Mr. Hand his lost young sheep;

So he kenned no more of the buxom wench,

Till roused from repose in his Majesty's Bench.
He woke on a mattrass tattered and tough,
He woke on a blanket ragged and rough;

While debtors in wonder jumped up from their snooze,
Some without stockings and some without shoes,
And aye they smiled, and began to speer,

Pray, what the devil has brought you here?"

Long have I been to quod consigned,"

A meek and reverend debtor whined,

"Both night and day, early and late,

I have watched the sun from Saint George's gate;
I have watched the moon like a froward wench,
Throw dimpled smiles on his Majesty's Bench;
I have watched the stars look over the lea,
With kindness to all on earth but me,
Yet never since the banquet of time

Have I seen such an author caged in his prime,
Till now I behold him (oh! sight of evil)
Stretched on a mattrass as hard as the devil :

Full fourteen years he has 'scaped the paws

Of the grim King's Bench and the catchpole's claws;
But now he is struck by affliction's rod,

Dunned by his creditors, clapped in quod,

For full three calendar months by

They caught him fast by the breeches and coat,

As a spider that seizes a fly by the throat,

They caught him fast by the coat and the breeches,
As holy Saint Anthony† caught the witches;
And in his pocket, for wear the worse,

They found (what might have been once) a purse!
Where a brotherless guinea, the last of his race,
Displayed to the debtors a jaundiced face,
Till thawed into lemons and punch, as well,
This ultimus Romanorum fell.

*

The Vale of Health; so called, perhaps, because it is famous for giving the ague.

+ Vide the print of Saint Anthony's Temptation, where the devout old gentleman is represented as clawing hold of a pair of witches (tell it not in Gath) by that part of the person to which the indispensable vest is indebted for its name.

MAGNET, VOL. IV. PART XXIV.

R

Saint George's matin bells are tinkling,*
The tapster looked from his lattice high,
He saw the dews of morn besprinkling

The square court-yard beneath his eye;
He saw the young sun faintly twinkling:
""Tis morn-the debtors sure will buy
My punch that smells so fragrantly.".
He could not rest in his attic estate,
But popped his nose thro' the lattice grate,
And cried aloud, " They sure will buy?-
But if they don't, od rot 'em, I

Will make their punch, like a sinful daughter,
Commit adultery with

water,

Tho' even now 'tis with weakness spent,

And of spirits and lemons innocent." +

He ceased for a debtor came swiftly by,
And crossed the court with an eager eye;

He stopped not for breath, and he stopped not for wind,
But rushed up stairs, like a thing of the mind:
He looked disturbed, and pale as death,
But this might be from his want of breath;
He looked as tattered as Fuseli's witches,
But this might be from his want of breeches.
On to the tapster's room he passed,
Who cried," By jingo! he comes at last,
And bears good luck on his beaming brow-
How could I deem the fellow slow?
Right well my best rum-punch shall lay
His thirsty spirit (provided he'll pay.")-
The debtor returned to the author's cell,
His brothers in bondage they swigged full well;
His brothers in bondage they swigged full fast,
As if each glass was their first and last,
And muttered the while with joy sincere,
"Oh! bless the day that an author came here."

The debtors, guinea, and the punch are gone, ‡
Alike without their monumental stone :

The first, all efforts vainly strove to wean
From lingering where their bowl of punch had been;
Drink had so tamed their pockets (ne'er too proud),
Their groans were few-their wailings never loud;
But furious, would you tear them from the spot,
Where yet they scarce believed the punch was not.
And did they love it?-Curious fool, be still:
Is love for punch the growth of human will?
To them it might be nectar; for such men
Take deeper draughts than your dull eyes can ken;
To them- -away thou debtor, it is gone:

It once was rum punch that thou look'st upon.

"The browzing camels' bells are tinkling."-GIAOUR,

"Call you this beer? 'tis innocent of malt."-Somewhere in Blackwood's Maga zine, si rite audita recordor.

LARA." And Kaled, Lara, Ezzelin, are gone."