The King having signified, that he would be pleased to see his remarks on the professor's names versified, it was accordingly done as follows:

As Adam was the first man whence all beginning tak;
So Adam's son was president, and first man in this act.
The thesis Fairlie did defend, which though they lies contain,
Yet were fair-lies, and he the same right fairlie did maintain:
The field first enter'd master Sands, and there he made me see,
That not all sands are barren lands, but that some fertile be;
Then master Young, most subtilie the thesis did impugne,
And kythed old in Aristotle, although his name was Young.
To him succeeded master Reid, who, tho' Reid be his name,
Needs neither for his dispute blush, nor of his speech think shame.
Last entered master King the lists, and dispute like a king,
How reason reigning like a Queen, should anger under bring.
To their deserved praise have I thus play'd upon their names,
And will their college hence be called, the college of King James.

CHARLES THE FIRST.

THE sheet which received the head of Charles I. after his decapitation, is carefully preserved along with the communion plate in the church of Ashburnham, in Sussex; the blood with which it has been almost entirely covered, now appears nearly black. The watch of the unfortunate monarch is also deposited with the linen, the movements of which are still perfect. These relics came into the possession of Lord Ashburnham, immediately after the death of the king.

THE CHESS PLAYERS AND THEIR DUMB ASSISTANT.

Omnibus has præsentes literas inspecturis notum facimus quod.—I am a bachelor, and consequently deprived of a partner in my evening entertainments. Two little dogs, it is true, keep me company, and as, by their coaxing and dancing about me, they occasionally remind me that I am not without friends, so my returning thanks for thanks, and caresses for caresses, is to them a proof that their master is not without feeling. But when an acquaintance dines with me, I cannot at the dessert, proudly exhibit three or four boys, and as many girls, to the great annoyance of my guests, whose knowing eyes would be fastened upon the blooming face of a smart nursery-maid, and who would care

little about Master George, who goes to school; Master James, who was breeched last Sunday; Master Robert, who is a sad rogue, and drinks wine: nor about Miss Georgina, the boarding-school bird; Sophia, with a cast in her eyes; and Sukey, who will be called Susan, or else be sulky. These constituent parts of a married man's happiness were not allotted me by the wisdom of Providence, and I console myself with the selfish contemplation, that I fear no scoldings at home, no squallings to disturb my night cap; and that no rib of mine presses too hard upon my heart: therefore I do not seek for amusement out of my own precincts, nor do I (like the poor man mentioned lately in some newspaper, who used to pass his evenings with "his neighbour's widow") seek for happiness out of doors. This man, when he became a widower, was advised to marry her, in whose conversation he seemed to find so much comfort: but he was no fool. 66 No, no;" said he, "for if she becomes my wife, where shall I pass my evenings?"

Running accidentally over this short, but excellent anecdote, I thought I had in my album something analogous to it. I referred to the index, and found the following fact :

:

There was at Paris, before the Revolution, a celebrated coffee-house in the Palais Royal, particularly known to, and famous as the resort of, eminent chess-players. Few people, except adepts, in the scientific and patience-trying game, frequented the place; and yet it was generally well attended every evening from seven till ten or eleven o'clock, by, of course, unexceptionable and truly genteel company. A man, God bless him! an honest tradesman of the "Rue St. Honorè," used to repair there every evening without fail, drank his humble "Bavaroise," chewed his "pain mollet," and, with his elbows pressing the board, and his head resting upon his hands, "sat," for three whole hours, "like Patience," watching closely and "smiling at" the successive moves of the chess-men. This he had done constantly for several years, and though he never said one single word, never gave a sign of applause or disapprobation, and never interfered with the noble combatants; yet he seemed to take a great deal of interest in the mighty strife.

One particular evening, he took his seat by a couple of deeply engaged players; and, imperturbably silent, had been spying the scientific evolutions of the pawns at the front

of the army-the square, deliberate, and heavy motions of the castles or rooks-the wayward and crab-like strides of the knights-the cross-ways and independent processions of the bishops, and so forth, when a dispute arose between the learned antagonists. It was a delicate point about the right of a move. After a warm contest, the gentlemen turned round to the dumb spectator, and begged most earnestly that he would condescend to give his opinion as an impartial umpire, both declaring at the same time, that they would gladly submit to his decision. My good man began instantly to look sheepish, to sit uneasy, to rub his forehead. "Come, come, you must decide; do not keep us in suspense; what do you think of the case?" Upon my word, gentlemen," answered he in a mild and submissive tone of voice, "I really know not what to say; for, in truth, I do not understand an iota of the game.' "What!" both the players exclaimed, 66 you do not understand the game? And in the name of Palamedes, who invented it under the walls of Ilion, what demon of imbecility brings you here every night, to look at a game which you do not understand?"-Why, gentlemen, you behave rather unceremoniously with me, and that is not right. Am I obliged to settle your disputes? I never interrupted you-never offered an opinion-never uttered a word. Why do you put yourselves in such a passion? I declare to you that I know no more of chess-playing than of Ilion or Palamedes. But if you will be civil and quiet, I have no objection to tell you why I choose to pass my evenings here, and kill time in looking at the chess-board, which is a mere blank to me." "Well," then, eagerly asked the more composed inquisitors, "what can be the cause?" Ah !" answered the tradesman, wringing his hands and gnashing his teeth, "I have a wife at home."

DRINKING CUPS.

EVERY reader of poetry has heard of Lord Byron's celebrated goblet, at Newstead abbey, formed of a human skull; on which the fine verses beginning, "Start not, nor deem my spirit fled," are inscribed, It is mounted in silver, somewhat after the fashion of the wine cups formed of the shell of the ostrich, and in depth and capaciousness would probably

rival the great and blessed Bear of the Baron Bradwardine, should that memento of ancient Scottish hospitality be yet upon the face of the earth. A superabundance of gratuitous horror has been expended on the circumstance of Lord Byron's having converted the head-piece of one of his ancestors, into a stoup to hold his wine. But this fancy of the Right Honourable poet, like many of his poetical fancies, is by no means an original one. Mandeville tells us of the old Guebres, who exposed the dead bodies of their parents to the fowls of the air, reserving only the skulls, of which, says he, "the son maketh a cuppe and therefrom drynkethe he with gret devocion." The Italian poet Marino, to whom our own Milton owes many of the splendid situations in Paradise Lost, makes the conclave of devils in his Pandemonium quaff wine from the pericranium of Minerva, and we have also a similar allusion in a Runic Ode, preserved by Wormius; where Lodbrog, disdaining life, and thinking of the joys of immortality, which he was about to share in the hall of Odin, exclaims,

"Bibemus cerevisian

Ex concavis craniorum crateribus."

In Middleton's "Witch," the Duke takes out a bowl of a similar description, when the Lord Governor ejaculates, "A Skull, my Lord!" and his Grace replies

"Our Duchess I know will pledge us, though the cup,
Was once her father's head, which as a trophy
We'll keep till death."

The same singular appropriation of dead men's sconces is referred to, on one or two occasions, by Massinger, and from the following quotation from a speech of Torrenti, in Dekker's "Wonder of a Kingdom," we may presume that Lord Byron was not the first person who mounted human skulls in silver :

"Would I had here ten thousand soldiers' heads,

Their skulls set all in silver to drink healths,

To his confusion first invented war."

Thus it seems that the noble poet is not always original, even in his absurdities.

KENILWORTH.

We know not if our readers will thank us for stating that the celebrated author has fallen into a genealogical error, in stating that the Earl of Leicester married Amy, (Amicia,) daughter of Sir Hugh Robsart, which the following extract from the Union of Honour," by James Yorke, 1640, very clearly contradicts: "He married two wives; the first was Anne, daughter and heire of Sir John Robsart, Knight, who died without issue: the second, Lettice, daughter of Sir Francis Knolles, Treasurer of her Majesty's Household, and Knight of the Garter, by whom hee had a sonne, named Robert, Baron of Denbigh, who died young," P. 189. The author has also committed an error of less magnitude in the murder of the Countess; in mis-dating it. The royal visit to Kenilworth castle did not take place till 1575, whereas, soon after the accession of Elizabeth; the Earl, being proposed as a husband for Mary, Queen of Scotland, conducted his wife, (Anne Robsart) to the house of one of his domestics at Cumnor; where she is said to have been strangled, and afterwards thrown down a high stair-case. A detail of these barbarous cruelties is to be found in a curious book, entitled "Leicester's Common Wealth," where Sir Richard Varney is described as the perpetrator.

After this tragical event, Leicester, having despatched the Earl of Sheffield by poison, married his widow; whose life he subsequently attempted in the same manner.

Her constitution, however, naturally strong, so far overcame its effects," that she escaped with the loss of her hair and nails.” His third wife was Lettice, daughter to Sir Francis Knolles, and widow of Walter, Earl of Essex.

AN OLD APPLE WOMAN'S STORY ABOUT APSLEY HOUSE, THE HOTEL OF HIS GRACE THE DUKE OF WELLINGTON.

What mighty causes spring from trivial things -POPE.

WHEN London did not extend so far as Knightsbridge, George the First, one morning ride, met an old soldier who had served under him at the battle of Dettingen; the King accosted him, and found that he made his living by selling