heirs, kings of England, so that it should never be separated from the crown. Notwithstanding this proviso, the castle and domain of Pevensey were settled on John of Gaunt, Duke of Lancaster, fourth son of Edward III. upo his surrender of the earldom of Richmond, and they have from this period constituted part of the possessions of the duchy of Lancaster. Henry IV. granted a portion of the estates to the family of Pelham, as a reward for their loyalty and valour. The castle, at present, belongs to Lord Cavendish, to whom it descended by marriage. Pevensey gave birth to the well-known Andrew Borde, who after applying himself very closely to the study of physic, at Oxford, visited every country in Europe and various parts of Africa. On his return to England he took his doctor's degree, about the year 1541, and became a fellow of the College of Physicians, and first physician to Henry VIII. His eccentricity led him frequently to fairs and markets, where he harangued the people in a language naturally quaint and jocose; and from him the itinerant vendors of nostrums are said to have derived the appellation of Merry Andrews. Notwithstanding this jocular vein he is said to have practised the austerities of the Carthusians, by drinking water, wearing a hair shirt, and hanging his Lurial sheet at the feet of his bed every night. He died in 1549. Wood says "he was esteemed a noted poet, a witty and ingenious person, and an excellent physician." WOLFERT WEBBER, OR GOLDEN DREAMS. The vignette to this volume illustrates a scene in one of Washington Irving's inimitable "Tales of a Traveller." Wolfert Webber, the descendant of a Dutch settler, in the ancient city of the Manhattoes, being possessed with a notion of money dreaming, becomes quite unsettled in his "Datch built house" and " its cabbage garden." After delineating the character and home of his hero, Mr. Irving says: It was on a blustering autumnal afternoon that Wolfert made his visit to the inn. The grove of elms and willows was stripped of its leaves, which whirled in rustling oddies P.-33. R about the fields. The nine-pin alley was deserted, for the premature chilliness of the day had driven the company within loor. As it was Saturday afternoon, the habitual club was in session, composed, principally, of regular Dutch burghers, though mingled occasionally with persons of various character and country, as is natural in a place of such motley population. Beside the fire-place, in a huge leather-bottomed armchair, sat the dictator of this little world, the venerable Ramm, or, as it was pronounced, Ramm Rapelye. He was a man of Wallon race, and illustrious for the antiquity of his line, his great grandmother having been the first white child born in the province. But he was still more illustrious for his wealth and dignity: he had long filled the noble office of alderman, and was a man to whom the governor himself took off his hat. He had maintained possession of the leather-bottomed chair from time immemorial; and had gradually waxed in bulk as he sat in this seat of government, until, in the course of years, he filled its whole magnitude. His word was decisive with his subjects; for he was so rich a man that he was never expected to support any opinion by argument. The landlord waited on him with peculiar officicusness, not that he paid better than his neighbours; but then the coin of a rich man seems always to be so much more acceptable. The landlord had ever a pleasant word and a joke to insinuate in the ear of the august Ramm. It is true, Ramm never laughed, and, indeed, maintained a mastiff-like gravity and even surliness of aspect, yet he now and then rewarded mine host with a token of approbation; which, though nothing more nor less than a kind of grunt, yet delighted the landlord more than a broad laugh from a poorer man. "This will be a rough night for the money diggers," said mine host, as a gust of wind howled round the house and rattled at the windows. "What! are they at their works again?" said an English half-pay captain, with one eye, who was a frequent attendant at the inn. Ay, are they," said the landlord," and well may they be. They've had luck of late. They say a great pot of money has been dug up in the fields just behind Stuy |