he had a favour to request, which, he trusted, his serene highness would not take amiss, but grant him. "Why not," was the reply, "provided nothing particular be in the way." The landlord then told

his illustrious visitor, that he had long been dissatisfied with his present sign, alledging that it was too vulgar, considering the number of gentry that visited his house: he therefore thought, that if permission was given him to hang up a portrait of his serene highness, in the place of the Grey Ass, it could not fail to be a still greater inducement to companies repairing to his tavern, which, by the way, had always enjoyed a pre-eminence over that of his neighbour. The prince gave his assent, and the painter was immediately sent for, who, in a great hurry, finished the so much desired sign, at the bottom of which was written, in large golden letters, Prince Charles of Hesse. The other landlord, a fellow, it should seem, of some acuteness of discernment, was struck with the idea that there was now, perhaps, a fine opportunity for him to raise the fame of his house, by transforming the Black Cow into the Grey Ass-thinking, as he very justly did, that he should thereby at least attract a great many guests that otherwise intended to go to his rival, the fame of whose house, known by the sign of the Grey Ass, was spread far and wide: nor was he in the wrong, for the thing took, and succeeded beyond his most sanguine expectations. Our other hero, sadly disappointed and chagrined, saw too late into the inconsistency of his conduct. Out of revenge, and, as it were, to make good the injury he had thus evidently brought upon himself, he ordered down the new sign, and, as a necessary explanation, previous to its being replaced, caused to be written over the head of the field-marshalThis is the real Grey Ass."

THE REFLECTOR.

[No. LIV.]

ALFRED,

AN EPIC POEM BY JOSEPH COTTLE.

Ah! who can tell the pangs which ALFRED felt, Whilst wandering slow o'er wilds and desert wastes, Joyless and pondering on the weight of ills

That now o'erwhelm'd him! What his mind endur'd
Whose first of earthly hopes was to behold
His people happy, while his own great mind

Plann'd for their good and nurs'd luxurious thoughts
Of high achievement.-

IN

COTTLE.

N the fourth book of this excellent Poem, ALFRED proceeds to the Isle of Ethelney-his adventures on the way thither and his reception there, are replete with entertainment. The king mused on his low estate, and it very properly gave rise to the following just reflections:

"Whence came the monster Pride?
Didst thou vain mortal! catch thy haughty mien
From scenes like these, and fancy that the light
Of the first morning, beam'd alone on thee?
For thee the sky lark sung, the breeze awoke
Burden'd with fragrance, and round thy head
Wanton'd in servile dalliance? Spirits vile
May in the turmoil of this world assault
Oft times our peace, but he who nature loves
And in the beauty of creation feels

His heart immersed will never stoop to mourn
Inferior benefits. To feel within

Capacities and pleasures pure and high
Unthought of by the vulgar, to survey
The world's wide harmony, and to believe
Its congregated forms for us were made,
Might curb the aspiring heart methinks that pants

For transitory guides and teach the worth
The proud pre-eminence of being man!!! -

The king passing along, found the corpse of poor old Nidor with whom he had benevolently divided his loaf-he had been murdered--this spectacle therefore excited the most melancholy sensations. Failing to find an habitation where he might rest his weary limbs-Alfred lay down by the side of a brook till the morning came, when he prosecuted his journey. By and by he entered a cottage, where he was roughly addressed by the Neatherd's wife, who put him to watch her cakes which were then baking-he however forgetting his employ, burnt them! She was extremely angry, and for some time would not be pacified. The story is so well known that it need not be here introduced. At this critical moment the neatherd himself arrives, who announces the destruction of Glastonbury abbey!! He then pathetically addresses his spouse

My wife!

It is a bitter time for thee and me,

But what are our dismays compared with his,
Our good king ALFRED? think what he endures
That injured prince! the noblest best of men!
His heart is tender, and he calls his own
All virtues and all trials. Think of him,
Driven from his throne, and forced to see
Himself to death devoted, and his Queen
And infant child houseless and wanting bread.
Think of thy prince!

"At these words I feel
My spirit calm," cried Acca, "Where is now
Our good and valiant king? have tidings reach'd
Thine ear since last we parted? for I long
To know his welfare!"

Replied the neatherd.

"Nothing have I learnt,"

"Heartless now he roams

With a few faithful followers 'mid woods

And secret coombs, and in the holes of rocks,
Far from all human dwelling. 'Tis a joy
For thee and me, that at this trying time
Our sons are with him, and a bolder pair
Of rustic Saxons live not to oppose

The nobler Danes." "Now it is time to rest,"
Acca replied, "for fast the sun declines

And tho' we fail to sleep 'tis well to court
That friend of every sorrow." "To thy room!"'
Loud to the king she spake. He heard when all
Pass'd to their reeden beds.

Little did the good woman imagine that her monarch, of whom she spoke so affectionately, and to whom she behaved so roughly, was at that moment her guest! His sentiments and feelings are happily pourtrayed during his retirement to rest that evening-the paragragh closes the book

But ALFRED's eye

No slumber visited. He watch'd the moon
And counted o'er the brightest of the stars
That shore in heaven, and strove to dissipate
The fix'd and gnawing load that on his heart
Press'd hard, but it was vain-his woes sprang up
Pre-eminent and dar'd his will and bore

A master's sway-ruling, his passive mind.
His faithful ODDUNE leaguer'd round and now
No force to aid him. Of ALSWITHA slain
For ever gone, and of his infant son

Toss'd on the hostile spear whose piercing cries
No father's arm could succour. "'Tis the hour
Of vengeance!" cried the king. "My kindling breast
Glows with one purpose! By the eternal God
Now I am roused! The Danish cup is full.

The incense of their crimes hath steam'd to heaven
And God demands my vengeance!" Many plans
All deadly to and fro thro' ALFRED's mind
Pass'd rapid; till at length a heavy sleep

Fell on him, and his dreams were mix'd with blood!

The fifth book contains much interesting matterfor Sigbert in search of Alfred reaches the cottage with a child found on a neighbouring heath by the side of a murder'd monk! The king perceives the child to be his own by which his rnind is deeply agitated. Sigbert up braided

joining to oppose the Danese monarch for not

ALFRED then discovers himself to Sigbert-dismisses him to gain tidings of the fate of Alswitha-sends the neatherd on a mission to Kenwith caftle, and after entrusting his child with Acca departs to join his troops in Selwood Foreft.

The book concludes in the following animated manner the sentiment is good-and the language expressive-the king exclaims:

I now must go 'mid other scenes and strifes
Sorrows and dangers-ill it would beseem
This babe to follow me-him I must leave,
Where caution and fidelity may join

Their hands to serve him. He has lost a friend
A mother who adored her infant child!
And I a wife most dear. Oh look not at me!
No common loss is mine.

Silent he stood

A few short moments pondering-then again :
"ACCA, with thee will I intrust my child!
Thou hast an heart of tenderness-I mark'd
Its secret workings-I can leave my boy
With thee contented-thou shalt be his guard,
This cot his dwelling, and when I again
Return and find him safe thou needst not doubt
A monarch's gratitude!

ACCA replied

Well shall my care repay thy confidence!
Not from the hope of future recompence
But that I love the child. Him will I guard

Both when he sleeps and wakes; and when thou