weak minds, that they assaulted foreigners as they passed along the streets; for which offence, on the 28th of April, Stephen Studley, Stephen Betts, and some others, who were principals, were committed by the lord mayor to prison. Soon after which, a report was spread that the citizens intended, on May-day following, to destroy all strangers that should be found in the city or its liberties. The king's council hearing of this rumour, Cardinal Wolsey sent for the mayor, and advised him to be on his guard, and prevent the like disturbances for the future. To effect which, he summoned the aldermen, about four o'clock in the afternoon preceding May-day, to meet him at Guildhall immediately. The assembly being met, they, with the approbation of the cardinal, came to the following resolution :-That every man should be commanded to 'shut up his doors, and keep his servants within. In consequence of which, an order was made and published, by the alderman of each respective, ward, that no man, after nine o'clock, should stir out of his house, but keep his doors shut and his servants within till nine o'clock in the morning. Before this order was properly dispersed, it unluckily happened that Sir John Mundy, in his way home, was rudely treated by two young men, playing at bucklers in Cheap, one of whom he ordered to be sent to the Compter. Many 'prentices who were by, rescued the young man from the alderman, crying out: "Prentices-'Prentices! Clubs--Clubs!" on which so great a body assembled with clubs and other weapons, that the alderman was put to flight. These were increased by a number of serving-men, watermen, and others; and by eleven o'clock at night, there assembled in Cheap about 700, and in St Paul's Churchyard 300. They proceeded in a body to the Compter, which they broke open, and released the rioters, who had been committed there by the mayor for assaulting foreigners; after which they went to Newgate, and took out Studley and Betts, committed for the like offence. A proclamation was issued by the mayor and sheriffs, in the king's name, but without effect. The mob increasing,

they threw sticks and stones at many strangers as they passed, particularly one Nicholas Dennis, a serjeant-atarms, who, being much wounded, cried out: "Down with them." This heightening their resentment, they broke the windows and doors of the houses in St Martin's le Grand, and plundered the house of one Mewtas, a Frenchman, in Leadenhall Street, whom they intended, had they met with him, to have destroyed. Early in the morning they dispersed, from an apprehension of being overpowered by the forces preparing to march into the city, under the command of the Earls of Shrewsbury and Surrey. In this time, by the diligence of the mayor, 300 of them were taken and committed to the Tower, Newgate, and the Compters; and about five o'clock in the morning the riot subsided. Among those committed to the Tower was Dr Bell, for preaching his seditious sermon. A commission of oyer and terminer was immediately made out for the trials of the offenders. On their arraignment, they pleaded not guilty, and their trials were postponed. The commissioners appointed for this purpose were the lord mayor, the Earl of Surrey, and the Duke of Norfolk, who came into the city escorted by 1300 men ; and the prisoners, to the amount of 278, some men, some lads not exceeding fourteen years of age, were brought through the city, tied with ropes. On the first day, John Lincoln and several others were indicted, and found guilty; and the next day thirteen were condemned to be drawn, hanged, and quartered. For this purpose, and to strike a greater terror, ten pair of gallows were set up at the following places : Aldgate, Blanchapelton, Grass Street, Leadenhall, opposite each Compter, Newgate, St Martin's, Aldersgate, and Bishopsgate. They were made to run on wheels, for the better convenience of removing them to such places as might be properly adapted for the execution of so many rioters. Some little time after sentence was passed, Lincoln, Sherwin, and the two brothers named Betts, were drawn upon hurdles to the standard in Cheapside. The first was executed; but as the others were near being turned off, a reprieve

came from the king, to the universal joy of the populace.'

The police of the country, says Wade, was also extremely defective, and shews that the community was far from having attained a general state of order and security. This, however, did not result from a lenient infliction of criminal punishment; for never were severe laws issued in greater profusion, nor executed more rigorously, and never did the unrelenting vengeance of justice prove more ineffectual. Harrison assures us, that Henry VIII. executed his laws with such severity, that 72,000 'great and petty thieves were put to death during his reign.' He adds, that even in Elizabeth's reign, rogues were trussed up apace;' and that there was not 'one year commonly wherein 300 or 400 of them were not devoured and eaten up by the gallows in one place and another.' In spite of these sanguinary punishments, the country continued in a dreadful state of disorder. Every part of the kingdom was infested with robbers and idle vagabonds, who, refusing to labour, lived by plundering the peaceable inhabitants; and often strolling about the country in bodies of 300 or 400, they attacked with impunity the sheepfolds and dwellings of the people. The laws and police were totally inadequate to control these ruthless spirits, who, by rendering both property and persons insecure, checked the rising prosperity of the country. The cause of these outrages may be partly traced to the changes which had just then taken place in society: the abolition of villanage was undoubtedly both just and beneficial; but the transition of a large body of people, still comparatively barbarous and uninstructed, from bondage to free labour, was naturally attended with transitory outrage and confusion. These statements will enable the reader to make a comparison between the state of crime at former periods and its state at present.

TALE OF THE PATIENT GRISELDA.

[Few things in literature are better known to the learned world, than the Tale of the Patient Griselda. Yet it is necessary, for the sake of the many unlearned readers whom we address, to mention, that it is a composition of the fourteenth century, having been published, about the year 1358, in the Decameron of Boccaccio. We are induced to reprint the Griselda, by a consideration of the limited number of those who possess the work of the illustrious Italian, either in the original or in an English translation: probably not one in twenty of those who see the tale in these pages, ever saw it any where else. Yet the anecdotes which are told of the admiration excited by this beautiful romance, form in themselves a kind of history. When Petrarch, at the conclusion of his life, read the Decameron, he was most struck with the Griselda, which he in the first place learned by heart, in order to repeat it to his friends, and then translated into Latin. On reading the translation to a gentleman at Padua, the latter, touched with the tenderness of the story, burst into such frequent and violent fits of tears, that Petrarch could not read to the end. A Veronese, hearing of this, resolved to try the experiment; he read the whole aloud, from the beginning to the end, without the least change of voice or countenance; but, on returning the book to Petrarch, confessed that it was an affecting story. I should have wept,' he added, like the Paduan, had I thought the story true; but the whole is a manifest fiction; there never was, nor never will be, such a wife as Griselda.' The tale was translated, almost within the lifetime of the author, by our own Chaucer, and represented on the French stage so early as the year 1393. At least two modern worksthe Griselda of Miss Edgeworth, and the delightful tale by Mrs Hofland, entitled The Son of a Genius-appear to bear reference to the story of Boccaccio; and, lastly, the Scottish ballad of Fair Annie, may be considered as a paraphrase of it. The tale is here copied, with a few trifling alterations, from the translation of the Decameron, published by Dodsley in 1741.]

IT is a long time ago, that, amongst the marquises of Saluzzo, the principal or head of the family was a youth, called Gualtieri, who, as he was a bachelor, spent his whole time in hawking and hunting, without any thought of ever being encumbered with a wife and children; in which respect, no doubt, he was very wise. But this being disagreeable to his subjects, they often pressed him to marry, to the end he might neither die without an heir nor they be left without a lord; offering themselves to provide such a lady for him, and of such a family, that

they should have great hopes from her, and he reason enough to be satisfied. Worthy friends,' he replied, you urge me to do a thing which I was fully resolved against, considering what a difficult matter it is to find a person of a suitable temper, with the great abundance everywhere of such as are otherwise, and how miserable also the man's life must be who is tied to a disagreeable woman. Nevertheless, as you are so fond of having me married, I will agree to be so. Therefore, that I may have nobody to blame but myself, should it happen amiss, I will make my own choice; and I protest, let me marry who I will, that unless you shew her the respect that is due to her as my lady, you shall know, to your cost, how grievous it is to me to have taken a wife at your request, contrary to my own inclination.' The honest men replied, that they were well satisfied, provided he would but make the trial.

Now he had taken a fancy, some time before, to the behaviour of a poor country-girl, who lived in a village not far from his palace; and thinking that he might live comfortably enough with her, he determined, without seeking any further, to marry her. Accordingly he sent for her father, who was a very poor man, and acquainted him with it. Afterwards he summoned all his subjects together, and said to them: Gentlemen, it was and is your desire that I take a wife: I do it rather to please you, than out of any liking I have to matrimony. You know that you promised me to be satisfied, and to pay her due honour, whoever she is that I shall make choice of. The time is now come when I shall fulfil my promise to you, and I expect you to do the like to me: I have found a young woman in the neighbourhood after my own heart, whom I intend to espouse, and bring home in a very few days. Let it be your care, then, to do honour to my nuptials, and to respect her as your sovereign lady; so that I may be satisfied with the performance of your promise, even as you are with that of mine.' The people all declared themselves pleased, and promised to regard her in all things as their mistress. Afterwards they made