Smack went the whip, round went the So stooping down, as needs he must wheels,

Who cannot sit upright, Were never folk so glad ;

He grasped the mane with both his hands, The stones did rattle underneath,

And eke with all his might. As if Cheapside were mad.

His horse, which never in that sort John Gilpin at his horse's side

Had handled been before, Seized fast the flowing mane;

What thing upon his back had got And up he got, in haste to ride,

Did wonder more and more.
But soon came down again;

Away went Gilpin, neck or nought;
For saddle-tree scarce reached had he, Away went hat and wig;
His journey to begin,

He little dreamt when he set out,
When, turning round his head, he saw Of running such a rig.
Three customers come in,

The wind did blow, the cloak did fly, So down he came; for loss of time,

Like streamer long and gay, Although it grieved him sore,

Till, loop and button failing both, Yet loss of pence, full well he knew,

At last it flew away. Would trouble him much more.

Then might all people well discern 'Twas long before the customers

The bottles he had slung; Were suited to their mind,

A bottle swinging at each side, When Betty screaming came down-stairs : As hath been said or sung. • The wine is left behind !!

The dogs did bark, the children scream"Good lack ! quoth he— yet bring it me, My leathern belt likewise,

Up flew the windows all ; In which I bear my trusty sword

And every soul cried out: "Well done!' When I do exercise.'

As load as he could be wl.

ed,

Now Mrs. Gilpin-careful soul !-- Away went Gilpin-who but he ?
Had two stone bottles found,

His fame soon spread around;
To hold the liquor that she loved,

He carries weight! be rides a race ! And keep it safe and sound.

'Tis for a thousand pound ! Each bottle had a curling ear,

And still, as fast as he drew near, Though which the belt he drew,

'Twas wonderful to view And hung a bottle on each side,

How in a trice the turnpike-men To make his balance true.

Their gates wide open threw. Then over all, that he might be

And now, as he went bowing down
Equipped from top to toe,

His reeking head full low,
His long red cloak, well brushed and neat, The bottles twain behind his back
He månfully did throw.

Were shattered at a blow.'
Now see him mounted once again Down ran the wine into the road,
Upon his nimble steed,

Most piteous to be seen, Full slowly pacing o'er the stones

Which made his horse's flanks to smoke With caution and good heed.

As they had basted been. But finding soon a smoother road

But still he seemed to carry weight, Beneath his well-shod feet,

With leathern girdle braced ; The sporting beast began to trot,

For all might see the bottle necks
Which galled him in his seat.

Still dangling at his waist.
So, ' Fair and softly,' John he cried, Thus all through merry Islington
But John he cried in vain;

These gambols he did play,
That trot became a gallop soon,

Until he came unto the Wash In spite of curb and rein.

Of Edmunton so gay.

And there he threw the wash about Whence straight he came with hat and On both sides of the way,

wig; Jus: like unto a trundling mop,

A wig that flowed behind, Or a wild goose at play.

A hat not much the worse for wear,

Each comely in its kind.
At Edmonton, his loving wife
From the balcony spied

He held them up, and in his turn
Her tender husband, wondering much Thus shewed his ready wit:
To see how he did ride.

My head is twice as big as yours,

They therefore needs must fit. ‘Stopstop, John Gilpin !-Here's the house!'

But let me scrape the dirt away They all at once did cry;

That hangs upon your face; "The dinner waits, and we are tired !' And stop and eat, for well you may Said Gilpin : 'So am I !'

Be in a hungry case.' But yet his horse was not a whit

Said John: 'It is my wedding-day, Inclined to tarry there;

And all the world would stare, For why?-his owner had a house If wife should dine at Edmonton, Full ten miles off, at Ware.

And I should dine at Ware.' So like an årrow swift he flew,

So turning to his horse, he said: Shot by an archer strong;

I am in haste to dine; So did he fly-which brings me to 'Twas for your pleasure you came here." The middle of my song.

You shall go back for mine.' Away went Gilpin out of breath,

Ah, luckless speech, and bootless boast ! And sore against his will,

For which he paid full dear ; Till at his friend the calender's

For, while he spake, a braying ass His horse at last stood still.

Did sing most loud and clear; The calender, amazed to see

Whereat his horse did snort, as he
His neighbour in such trim,

Had heard a lion roar,
Laid down his pipe, flew to the gate, And galloped off with all his might,
And thus accosted him :

1 As he had done before. What news? what news ? your tidings' Away went Gilpin, and away

Tell me you must and shall- (tell; Went Gilpin's hat and wig :
Say why bareheaded you are come, He lost them sooner than at first;
Or why you come at all?'

For why?--they were too big.
Now Gilpin had a pleasant wit,

Now Mrs. Gilpin, when she saw And loved a timely joke;

Her husband posting down And thus unto the calender

Into the country far away. In merry guise he spoke:

She pulled out half-a-crown; "I came because your horse would come And thus unto the youth she said, And, if I well forebode,

That drove them to the Bell : My hat and wig will soon be here

• This shall be yours, when you bring They are upon the road.'

My husband safe and well.' [back The calender, right glad to find

The youth did ride, and soon did meet His friend in merry pin,*

John coming back amain ! Returned him not a single word,

Whom in a trice he tried to stop, But to the house went in;

By catching at his rein;

* We may add to the poet's text an explanation of the old phrase 'a merry pin' as given in Fuller's Church History At a grand synod of the

clergy and laity: 3 Henry 1. (1102 A.D), priests were prohibited from drinking at pins. This was a Dutch trick, but used in England. of artificial drunkenness, out of a cup marked with certain pins, and he accounted the best man who enuld nick the pin. drinking even unto it, whereas to go above or beneath it was a forfeiture. Hence probably the proverb, he is in a merry pin.'

But, not performing what he meant, And all and each that passed that way
And gladly would have done,

Did join in the pursuit.
The frighted steed he frighted more,
And made him faster run.

And now the turnpike gates again

Flew open in short space; Away went Gilpin, and away

The tollman thinking as before,
Went post-boy at his heels,

That Gilpin rode a race.
The post-boy's horse right glad to miss
The lumbering of the wheels.

And so he did, and won it too,

For he got first to town; Six gentlemen upon the road

Nor stopped till where he had got up Thus seeing Gilpin flý,

He did again get down.
With post-boy scampering in the rear,
They raised the hue and cry:

Now let us sing, long the king,

And Gilpin, long live he; "Stop thief ! stop thief ! a highwayman!' And when he next doth ride abroad, Not one of them was mute;

May I be there to see!

WILLIAM HAYLEY. WILLIAM HAYLEY (1745-1820), the biographer of Cowper, wrote various poetical works which enjoyed great popularity in their day. His principal work is The Triumphs of Temper,' a poem in six cantos (1781)." He wrote also an Essay on History,' addressed to Gibbon (1780), an Essay on Epic Poetry’ (1782), an “Essay on Old Maids' (1785), ' Essays on Sculpture, addressed to Flaxman (1800), • The Triumph of Music (1804), &c. He wrote also various dramatic pieces and a Life of Milton' (1796). A gentleman by education and fortune, and fond of literary communication, Hayley enjoyed the acquaintance of most of the eminent men of his times. His over-strained sensibility and romantic tastes exposed him to ridicule, yet he was an amiable and accomplished man. It was through his personal application to Pitt that Cowper received his pension. He had—what appears to have been to him a sort of melancholy pride and satisfaction—the task of writing epitaphs for most of his friends, including Mrs. Unwin and Cowper. His life of Cowper appeared in 1803, and three years afterwards it was enlarged by a supplement. Hayley prepared memoirs of his own life, which he disposed of to a publisher on condition of his receiving an annuity for the remainder of his life. This annuity he enjoyed for twelve years. The memoirs appeared in two fine quarto volumes, but they failed to attract attention. Hayley had outlived his popularity, and his smooth but often unmeaning lines had vanished like chaff before the vigorous and natural outpourings of the modern muse. As a specimen of this once much-praised poet, we subjoin from his · Essay on Epic Poetry’some lines on the death of his mother, which had the merit of delighting Gibbon, and with which Southey has remarked' Cow. per would sympathise deeply:

Tribute to a Mother, on her Death.
For me who feel, whene'er I touch the lyre,
My talents sink below my proud desire;
Who often doubt, and sometimes credit give,
When friends assure me that my verse will live;

Whom health, too tender for the bustling throng,
Led into pensive shade and soothing song.
Whatever fortune my unpolished rhymes
May meet in present or in future times,
Let the blest art my grateful thoughts employ,
Which soothes my sorrow and augments my joy ;
Whence lonely peace and social pleasure springs,
And friendship dearer than the smile of kings.
While keener poets, querulously proud,
Lament the ill of poesy aloud,
And magnify with irritation's zeal,
Those common evils we too strongly feel,
The envious comment and the subtle style
Of specious slander, stabbing with a smile;
Frankly I wish to make her blessings known,
And think those blessings for her ills atone;
Nor would my honest pride that praise forego,
Which makes Malignity yet more my foe.

If heartfelt pain e'er led me to accuse
The dangerous gift of the alluring Muse,
'Twas in the moment when my verse impressed
Some anxious feelings on a mother's breast.
O thou fond spirit, who with pride has smiled,
And frowned with fear on thy poetic child,
Pleased, yet alarmed, when in his boyish time
He sighed in numbers or he laughed in rhyme;
While thy kind cautions warned him to beware
Of Penury, the þard's perpetual snare;
Marking the early temper of his soul,
Careless of wealth, nor fit for base control !
Thou tender saint, to whom he owes much more
Than ever child to parent owed before;
In life's first season, when the fever's flame
Shrunk to deformity his shrivelled frame,
And turned each fairer image in his brain
To blank confusion and her crazy train,
'Twas thine, with constant love, through lingering years,
To bathe thy idiot orphan in thy tears;
Day after day, and night succeeding night,
To turn incessant to the hideous sight,
And frequent watch, if haply at thy view
Departed reason might not dawn anew;
Though medicinal art, with pitying care,
Could lend no aid to save thee from despair,
Thy fond maternal heart adhered to hope and prayer
Nor prayed in vain; thy child from powers above
Received the sense to feel and bless thy love.
O might he thence receive the happy skill,
And force proportioned to his ardent will,
With truth's unfading radiance to emblaze
Thy virtues, worthy of immortal praise !

Nature, who decked thy form with beauty's flowers.
Exhausted on thy soul her finer powers;
Taught it with all her energy to feel
Love's melting softness, friendship’s fervid zeal,
The generous purpose and the active thought,
With charity's diffusive spirit fraught.
There all the best of mental gifts she placed,
Vigour of judgment, purity of taste,
Saperior parts without their spleenful leaven,
Kindness to earth, and confidence in heaven,

While my fond thoughts o'er all thy merits roll,
Thy praise thus gushes from my filial soul;
Nor will the public with harsh rigour blame
This my just homage to thy honoured name;
To please that public, if to please be mine,
Thy virtues trained me-let the praise be thine.

Inscription on the Tomb of Cowper.
Ye who with warmth the public triumph feel
Of talents dignified by sacred zeal,
Here, to devotion's bard devoutly just,
Pay your fond tribute due to Cowper's dust!
England, exulting in his spotless fame,
Ranks with her dearest sons his favourite name.
Sense, fancy, wit, suffice not all to raise
So clear a title to affection's praise :
His highest honours to the heart belong;
His virtues formed the magic of his song.'

On the Tomb of Mrs. Unwin.
Trasting in God with all her heart and mind,
This woman proved magnanimously kind;
Endured affliction's desolating hail,
And watched a poet through misfortune's vale.
Her spotless dust angelic guards defend !
It is the dust of Unwin, Cowper's friend.
That single title in itself is fame,
For all who read his verse revere her name.

DR. ERASMUS DARWIN. DR. ERASMUS DARWIN (1731-1802), an ingenious philosophical, though fanciful poet, was born at Elston, near Newark. Having passed with credit through a course of education at St. John's College, Cambridge, he applied himself to the study of physic, and took his degree of bachelor in medicine at Edinburgh in 1755. He then commenced practice in Nottingham, but meeting with little encouragement, he removed to Lichfield, where he long continued a successful and distinguished physician. In 1757 Dr. Darwin married an accomplished lady of Lichfield, Miss Mary Howard, by whom he had five children, two of whom died in infancy. The lady herself died in 1770; and after her decease, Darwin seems to have commenced his botanical and literary pursuits. He was at first afraid that the reputation of a poet would injure him in his profession, but being firmly established in the latter capacity, he at length ventured on publication. At this time he lived in a picturesque villa in the neighbourhood of Lichfield, furnished with a grotto and fountain, and here he began the formation of a botanic garden. The spot he has described as 'adapted to love-scenes, and as being thence a proper residence for the modern goddess of botany.' In 1781 appeared the first part of Darwin's Botanic Garden,' a poem in glittering and polished heroic verse, designed to describe, adorn, and allegorise the Linnæan system of botany. The Rosicrucian doctrine of gnomes, sylphs, nymphs, and salamanders, was adopted by the poet, as. affording a