and let off their guns, was strange sport. 3d. [Further news]-4th. To Whitehall, saw a letter dated last night, from Strowd, governor of Dover Castle, which says, that the guns which we writ that we heard is only a mistake for thunder. It is a miraculous thing that we, all Friday, and Saturday, and yesterday, did hear every where most plainly the guns go off, and yet at Deal and Dover, to last night, they did not hear one word of a fight, nor think they heard one gun. This makes room for a great dispute in philosophy, how we should hear it and they not.-I home; where news is brought me of a couple of men come to speak with me from the fleet; so I down, and who should it be but Mr. Daniel, all muffled up, and his face as black as a chimney, and covered with dirt, pitch, and tar, and powder, and his right eye stopped with okum-he is come last night at five o'clock from the fleet, with a comrade that hath endangered the other eye. They were set on shore at Harwich this morning, at two o'clock, in a ketch, with more wounded; they being able to ride took post about three and were here between eleven and twelve; went presently into the coach with them to the privy stairs--I into the park to the king-the king mightily pleased-and he, walking into the house, I went and fetched the seamen into the same room to him, and there he heard the whole account [a very meagre one]-the king did pull out of his pocket about twenty pieces in gold, and did give it Daniel for him and his companion; we parted from him and then met the Duke of York and gave him the same account, and so broke up, and I left them going to the surgeons. 5th. No manner of news this day. 6th. An express to Sir W. Coventry, how upon Monday the two fleets fought all day till seven at night, and then the whole Dutch fleet did betake themselves to a very plain flight and never looked back again. The Duke ran with it to the king, who was gone to chapel, and there all the court was in a hubbub, being rejoiced over head and ears in this good news. Away go I, by coach, to the New Exchange, and there did spread the good news a little, and so home to our own church, just before sermon; but Lord! how all the people in the church stared to see me whisper to Sir John Minnes and my Lady Penn, and by and by up comes the sexton to tell me the news, which I had brought; but that

which pleased me as much as the news was to have the fine Mrs. Middleton at our church, who is indeed a very beautiful lady-Idled away the whole night till twelve at the bonfires in the streets; the joy of the city exceedingly great for the victory. 7th. Up betimes and to my office, my Lord Brouncker and Sir T. H. come from court to tell me the contrary news, that we are beaten, lost many ships, and good commanders have not taken one ship of the enemy's, and so can only report ourselves a victory. This news so much troubled me, and the thoughts of the ill consequences of it, and the pride and presumption that brought us to it. By and by comes Mr. Wayth; he tells me plainly from Capt. Page's own mouth, who lost an arm in the fight, that the Dutch did pursue us two hours before they left

us.

10th. Pierce, the

The duke did give me several letters he had received from the fleet, and I do find great reason to think that we are beaten in every respect. 8th. Lord! to see how melancholy the curst is, under the thoughts of this last overthrow, for, so it is, instead of a victory, so much and so unreasonably expected. surgeon, who is lately come from the fleet tells me, that all the officers and even the common seamen do condemn every part of the conduct of the Duke of Albemarle; both in his fighting at all, running among them in his retreat, and running the ships aground; he says all the fleet confess their being chased home by the Dutch, and yet that the Duke of Albemarle is as high as ever; and pleases himself to think that he hath given the Dutch their bellie full; and talks how he knows now the way to beat them. Even Smith himself, one of his creatures, did himself condemn the conduct from beginning to end. We are endeavouring to raise money by borrowing it of the city, but I do not think the city will lend a farthing. There is nothing but discontent among the officers. This evening we hear that Sir Christopher Mings is dead, of his late wounds. 11th. I went with my Lady Penn to see Harman, whom we find lame in bed; his bones of his ancles are broke; he did plainly tell me that, at the council of war before the fight, it was against his reason, and the reasons of most sober men there, to begin the fight then; the wind being such that they could not use the lower tier of guns. 12th. I was invited to Sir Christopher Mings's funeral. Then out with Sir W. Coventry and went with him into his coach. Then

happened this extraordinary case, one of the most romantic that ever I heard of in my life. About a dozen able, lusty, proper men, came to the coach side with tears in their eyes, and one of them that spoke for the rest began, and said to Sir W. Coventry We are here a dozen of us, that have long known, loved, and served our dead commander, Sir Robert Mings, and have now done the last office of laying him in the ground. We would be

glad we had any other to offer after him, and in revenge of him. All we have is our lives; if you will please to get his royal highness to give us a fireship among us all, here are a dozen of us, out of all which choose you one to be commander, and the rest of us, whoever he is, will serve him; and if possible, do that which shall show our memory of our head commander and our revenge.' Sir W. Coventry was herewith much moved (as well as I, who could hardly refrain from weeping), and took their names, telling me he would move his royal highness as in a thing very extraordinary. The truth is Sir Christopher Mings was a very stout man, of great parts, and was an excellent tongue among ordinary men; and could have been the most useful man at such a pinch of time as this. He was come into great renown here at home, and more abroad in the West Indies. He had brought his family into a way of being great; but, dying at this time, his memory and name (his father being always and at this day a shoemaker, and his mother a hoyman's daughter, of which he was used frequently to boast), will be quite forgot in a few months, as if he had never been, nor any of his name be the better by it; he having not had time to will any estate, but is dead poor rather than rich.-16th. The king, Duke of York, and Sir W. Coventry, are gone down to the fleet. The Dutch do mightily insult of their victory, and they have great reason. Sir William Berkeley was killed before his ship was taken; and there [in Holland] he lies dead in a sugar chest, for every body to see, with his flag standing up by him; and Sir George Ascue is carried and down the Hague for people up

to see."

Both Pepys and Evelyn agree in ascribing this natural disaster to the misconduct of the Duke of Albemarle. That he was defeated there is no doubt. On the 17th of June, Evelyn says in his diary, "I went on shore at Sheerness, where they were building an arsenal for the fleet, and

designing a royal fort with a receptacle for great ships to ride at anchor; but here I beheld the sad spectacle-more than half that gallant bulwark of the kingdom miserably shattered, hardly a vessel entire, but appearing rather so many wrecks and hulls, so cruelly had the Dutch mangled

us.

Why do I my brain Perplex with the dull polices of Spain, Or quick designs of France! Why not repair To the pure innocence o' th' country air, And, neighbour thee, dear friend? who so

do'st give

Thy thoughts to worth and virtue, that to live
Blest is to trace thy ways. There might not we
Arm against passion with philosophy;
And by the aid of leisure, so control
Whate'er is earth in us, to grow all soul?
Knowledge doth ignorance engender, when
We study mysteries of other men,
And foreign plots. Do but in thy own shade
(Thy head upon some flow'ry pillow laid,
Kind Nature's housewifery), contemplate all
His stratagems, who labours to enthrall
The world to his great master, and you'll find
Ambition mocks itself, and grasps the wind.
Not conquest makes us great, blood is too dear
A price for glory: Honour doth appear
To statesmen like a vision in the night,
And, juggler-like, works o' th' deluded sight.
Th' unbusied only wise: for no respect
Endangers them to error; they affect
Truth in her naked beauty, and behold
Man with an equal eye, not bright in gold,
Or tall in title; so much him they weigh
As virtue raiseth him above his clay.
Thus let us value things: and since we find
Time bend us towards death, let's in our mind
Create new youth; and arm against the rude
Assaults of age; that no dull solitude
O' th' country dead our thoughts, nor busy

The Minnesingers, or German Troubudours, were fond of a species of ballad called "wachterlieder" or watchsongs, many of which possess great sprightliness and beauty of description. The engraving, from an illumination in the Manesse MS., is to represent "Her Kristan von Hamle," Christian of Hamle, a minnesinger who flourished about the middle of the thirteenth century. This design would seem a fit illustration for a watch song. The watchsongs generally begin with a parley between the sentinel or

watch of the castle, and the love-stricken knight who seeks a stolen interview with his lady. The parties linger in taking leave; the sentinel is commonly again introduced to warn them of the signs of approaching morn, and a tender parting ensues. Two specimens are subjoined, both of which are anonymous. The excellent translation of the second is, with two or three trifling alterations, borrowed from the "Illustrations of Northern Antiquities;" it would be difficult for any one to execute a better.-There are pieces

of a somewhat similar character among the Troubadours, and called by them albas or aubades.

The original of the following is given in the collection published by Görres; but he has neither mentioned the author's name, nor the source whence he took it.

WATCHSONG.

The sun is gone down,

And the moon upwards springeth, The night creepeth onward,

The nightingale singeth.
To himself said a watchman,
"Is any knight waiting
In pain for his lady,

To give her his greeting?
Now then for their meeting."

His words heard a knight

In the garden while roaming. "Ah! watchman," he said,

"Is the daylight fast coming, And may I not see her,

And wilt thou not aid me?" "Go wait in thy covert

Lest the cock crow reveillie,

And the dawn should betray thee."

Then in went that watchman

And call'd for the fair, And gently he rous'd her

Rise, lady! prepare!

New tidings I bring thee,

And strange to thine car;
Come rouse thee up quickly,
Thy knight tarries near;
Rise, lady appear!"

Ah, watchman! though purely
The moon shines above,
Yet trust not securely

That feign'd tale of love :
Far, far from my presence
My own knight is straying;
And sadly repining

I mourn his long staying,
And weep his delaying.'

Nay, lady! yet trust me,
No falsehood is there."
Then up sprang that lady

And braided her hair,
And donn'd her white garment,

Her purest of white;

And, her heart with joy trembling,
She rush'd to the sight

Of her own faithful knight.

inaccurate, collection of ancient German popular poetry.

I heard before the dawn of day
The watchman loud proclaim :-
"If any knightly lover stay

In secret with his dame,
Take heed, the sun will soon appear;
Then fly, ye knights, your ladies dear,
Fly ere the daylight dawn.
"Brightly gleams the firmament,
In silvery splendor gay,
Rejoicing that the night is spent
The lark salutes the day:
Then fly, ye lovers, and be !
gone
Take leave before the night is done,

And jealous eyes appear."

That watchman's call did wound my heart, And banish'd my delight: "Alas, the envious sun will part

Our loves, my lady bright."

On me she look'd with downcast eye,
Despairing at my mournful cry,
"We tarry here too long.'

Straight to the wicket did she speed;

"Good watchman spare the joke! Warn not my love, till o'er the mead The morning sun has broke;

Too short, alas! the time, since here
I tarried with my leman dear,
In love and converse sweet."

Lady, be warn'd! on roof and mead
The dew-drops glitter gay;
Then quickly bid thy leman speed,

Nor linger till the day;

For by the twilight did I mark
Wolves hyeing to their covert dark,
And stags to covert fly."

Now by the rising sun I view'd
In tears my lady's face:
She gave me many a token good,
And many a soft embrace.
Our parting bitterly we mourn'd;
The hearts which erst with rapture burn'd
Were cold with woe and care.

A ring, with glittering ruby red,
Gave me that lady sheen,
And with me from the castle sped
Along the meadow green:
And, whilst I saw my leman bright,
She waved on high her 'kerchief white:
Courage to arms!" she cried.

44

June 2.

PETT, THE MISER.

On the 2nd of June, 1803, died Thomas Pett, a native of Warwickshire. At ten years old he came to London with a solitary shilling in his pocket. As he had neither friends nor relations in the capital, he was indebted to the humanity of an old woman, who sold pies, for a morsel of bread, till he could procure himself a crust. In the course of a few days he was engaged as an errand boy by a tallow-chandler, whose wife could not reconcile herself to his rustic manners and awkward gait; she dismissed him one cold winter's evening, with this observation: "Your master hired you in my absence, and I'll pack you off in his." Her good husband did not desert Tom; he found him out, and bound him apprentice to a butcher, in the borough of Southwark, where he behaved so well during his apprenticeship, that his master recommended him, when he was out of his time, as a journeyman to another of the trade, in Clare Market. For the first five years he was engaged at twenty-five pounds a year, meat and drink. The accumulation and keeping of money were the two sole objects of his thoughts. His expenses were reduced to three heads lodging, clothing, and washing. He took a back room on the second floor, with one window, which occasionally admitted a straggling sunbeam. Every article of his dress was second-hand, nor was he choice in the color or quality: he jocosely observed, when twitted on his garb, that, according to Solomon, there was nothing new under the sun; that color was a mere matter of fancy; and that the best was that which stuck longest to its integrity. On washing, he used to say a man did not deserve a shirt that would not wash it himself; and that the only fault he had to find with Lord North was the duty he imposed on soap. One expense, however, lay heavy on his mind, and robbed him of many a night's sleep; this was, shaving he often lamented that he had not learned to shave himself; but he derived consolation from hoping that beards would one day be in fashion, and the Bond-street loungers be driven to wear artificial ones.

He made a rash vow one night, when he was very thirsty, that as soon as he had accumulated a thousand pounds he would treat himself to a pint of porter

every Saturday: this he was soon enabled to perform; but when an additional duty was laid on beer, he sunk to half a pint, which he said was sufficient for any man who did not wish to get drunk, and die in a workhouse.

If he heard of an auction in the neighbourhood, he was sure to run for a catalogue, and, when he had collected a number of these together, he used to sell them for waste paper.

When he was first told that the bank was restricted from paying in specie, he shook loudly, as Klopstock says, took to his bed, and could not be prevailed on to taste a morsel, or wet his lips, till he was assured that all was right.

On Sundays, after dinner, he used to lock himself up in his room, and amuse himself with reading an old newspaper, or writing rhimes, many of which he left behind him on slips of paper. The following is a specimen of his talents in this

On hearing that Small Beer was raised.
They've rais'd the price of table drink;
What is the reason, do
yo think?

The tax on malt, the cause I hear;
But what has malt to do with table beer?

He was never known, even in the depth of the coldest winter, to light a fire in his room, or to go to bed by candlelight.

He was a great friend to good cheer at the expense of another. Every man, said he, ought to eat when he can get it -an empty sack cannot stand.

If his thirst at any time got the better of his avarice, and water was not at hand, he would sometimes venture to step into a public house, and call for a pennyworth of beer. On those trying occasions he always sat in the darkest corner of the tap-room, in order that he might drink in every thing that was said with thirsty ear. He was seldom or ever known to utter a word, unless Bonaparte or a parish dinner were mentioned, and then he would draw a short contrast between French kickshaws and the roast beef and plum-pudding of Old England, which he called the staple commodity of life. He once purchased a pint of small beer; but, the moment he locked it up in his closet, he repented, tore the hair out of his wig, and threw the key out of the window, lest he should be tempted, in some unlucky moment, to make too free with it.

Pett's pulse, for the last twenty years