which you shall bear from the friend who hath wrought your liberty. This pacquet," and he immediately produced one strongly secured in sail-cloth," is for the King's own hand; it contains the George which he lost upon the field of Worcester, which you once found, and will now have the glory of again returning to him. By what means it hath been thus preserved were now too long to tell you; and besides, the narrative of all is written within."

"It is written in a fairer record," said Colonel Blague with energy; "in the Great Day when the mighty histories of mankind shall be opened, this action also shall be made known, to show gloriously against the foul and detestable disloyalty which hath so indelibly stained our nation. But I conjure you to tell me, ere I embark in that vessel, what name I shall treasure up in my exile, as one bright planet of good faith in the midnight which hangs over a whole nation."

"Why," said the Countryman, "if in some happier day you should hear of the virtues of Izaak Walton, remember that but for him that Jewel would have become the prey of the late King's murderers. Should'st thou ever hear

of the honesty of Peter Blunt, remember that but for him, the endeavour to preserve it had arrived in Staffordshire all too late; and if such a name as Corydon Heathflower should ever reach thee, remember then the rude unpolished countryman who conveyed to thee the means of quitting the Tower."

"And when I forget any of ye, my heart itself must have ceased to beat," answered Colonel Blague; "the time may yet come when these services shall be repaid with interest; you remember what our loyalist song

says,

'Till then, upon Ararat's hill

My hope shall cast her anchor still,
Until I see the peaceful dove

Bring home the branch I dearly love;

Then will I wait,-till the waters abate,
Which now disturb my troubled brain,
And never rejoice,-till I hear the glad voice
That the King enjoys his own again.''

"And God send it speedily! Colonel, but delay not here for all our sakes:-hark! there is our signal!"—A low halloo came from the vessel, which was answered by Corydon,―.“ hold, there is a small sum of gold, enough to bear you to Court, and for arms there are enough on board. Farewell, farewell!"

The Colonel then ascended the deck of the Royal George, which spreading all her canvass to the night-breeze that blew freshly and fairly, soon swept off into the dark seas, and placed the loyalist fugitive beyond all danger of pursuit.

The safe delivery of this relique of Royalty, is well known as matter of history; for both Dr. Plot, in his rare and beautiful work on Staffordshire, and the learned Elias Ashmole, in his no less elegant volume on the Order of the Garter, have recorded the preservation of King Charles's Royal George, by the loyal and amiable Izaak Walton.

244

DEATH'S HORSE:

A LEGEND OF THE NETHERLANDS.

Ha, ha, ha, ha! with all this noisy mirth,
Should some grave stranger, on his way misled,
Now push the door ajar, and look upon us,
Thus set, what class of men should we be deem'd?
JOANNA BAILLIE.

THERE is a very erroneous notion held by many persons, that an author of fictitious works requires little more to set him off in the world, than those materials which Dr. Franklin demanded of Mr. Andrew Bradford, of the American "Weekly Mercury," namely, "a bottle of

ink, and a quire of paper." Perhaps it might be so at one period, when the Authors of our Novels and Romances tricked out their heroes and heroines, in whatever old finery their own ideas of dress might happen to furnish, without paying any sort of attention to the costume of the times in which they were supposed to be actors: only if they chanced to be ancient, you heard somewhat of armour, and Knights of the Cross; but without any more regard to the fitness of things, than is evinced by the printers of our street-ballads; who, if they happen to possess a wood-cut appropriate to a song,-why well:-if not, why, well also. "The Last Rose of Summer" is then surmounted by the device of Noah's Ark; and the requiem of "Old Towler," is placed beneath a three-quarter portrait of an ancient fine lady, habited in the full dress of a gala-night at the Dog and Duck, or Mary-la-bonne Gardens.

Speaking of these wares of the Flying-Stationers, and the curious inconsistencies of their embellishments, I should state, by the way, that a shrewd old woman, who was a famous Cook in the century before the last, makes use of the same simile in one of her singular publications entitled, "The Queen-like Closet: or Rich