Being in possession of every circumstance of his varied and extraordinary life, from his cradle to his grave, it will easily be believed, that no other person in this kingdom can have more credible materials for the purpose.

No. 3, Chester-Street,

Grosvenor Place,

November, 1802.

Sir,

Your obedient servant,

J. G. RAYMOND.

LETTER TO BEN JONSON,

FROM JAMES HOWELL, ESQ.

One of the Clerks of the Council to King Charles I.

[MR. EDITOR,

THE following story has furnished the foundation both for tragedies and romances. It is here told with some variation of circumstances from those which have generally been related. Miss More borrowed some of the incidents of her Percy from the same source; and we find, from this letter, that the subject was recommended to Ben Jonson. Yours, &c.

To my honoured Friend and Fa. Mr. Ben Jonson.
FA. BEN,

P.]

BEING lately in France, and returning in a coach from Paris to Rouen, I lighted upon the society of a knowing gentleman, who related to me a choice story, which peradventure you may make some use of in your way.

Some hundred and odd years since, there was in France one Capt. Coucy, a gallant gentleman of an ancient extraction, and keeper of Coucy Castle, which is yet standing, and in good repair. He fell in love with a young gentlewoman, and courted her for his wife: there was reciprocal love between them, but her parents understanding of it, by way of prevention, they shuffled up a forc'd match 'twixt her and one Monsieur Fayel, who was a great heir. Capt. Coucy here. upon quitted France in discontent, and went to the wars in Hungary against the Turk, where he received a mortal wound, not far from Buda. Being carried to his lodging, he languished some days; but a little before his death he spoke to an ancient servant of his, that he had many proofs of his fidelity and truth, but now he had a great business to intrust him with, which he conjured him by all means to do; which was, that after his death he should get his body to be

opened, and then to take his heart out of his breast, and put it in an earthen pot to be baked to powder, then to put the powder into a handsome box, with that bracelet of hair he had worn long about his left wrist, which was a lock of Mademoiselle Fayel's hair, and put it among the powder, together with a little note he had written with his own blood to her; and after he had given him the rites of burial, to make all the speed he could to France, and deliver the said box to Mademoiselle Fayel. The old servant did as his master had commanded him, and so went to France; and coming one day to Mons. Fayel's house, he suddenly met him with one of his servants, and examined him, because he knew he was Capt. Coucy's servant; and finding him timorous, and faltering in his speech, he search'd him, and found the said box in his pocket, with the note which express'd what was therein: he dismiss'd the bearer with menace that he should come no more near his house. Mons. Fayel going in, sent for his cook, and deliver'd him the powder, charging him to make a little wellrelished dish of it, without losing a jot of it, for it was a very costly thing; and commanded him to bring it in himself, after the last course at supper. The cook bringing in the dish accordingly, Mons. Fayel commanded all to avoid the room, and began a serious discourse with his wife, how, ever since he had married her, he observed she was always melancholy, and he fear'd she was inclining to a consumption, therefore he had provided for her a very precious cordial, which he was well assur'd would cure her: thereupon he made her eat up the whole dish; and afterwards much importuning him to know what it was, he told her at last, she had eaten Coucy's heart, and so drew the box out of his pocket, and shew'd her the note, and the bracelet. In a sudden exultation of joy, she with a far-fetch'd sigh said, This is a precious cordial indeed; and so lick'd the dish, saying, It is so precious, that 'tis pity to put ever any meat upon't. So she went to bed, and in the morning she was found stone dead.

This gentleman told me that this sad story is painted in Coucy Castle, and remains fresh to this day.

In my opinion, which veils to yours, this is choice and rich stuff for you to put upon your loom, and inake a curious web of.

I thank you for the last regalo you gave me at your Museum, and for the good company. I heard you censur'd lately at court, that you have lighted too foul upon Sir Inigo, and that you write with a porcupine's quill dipt in too much gall. Excuse me that I am so free with you, it is because I am in no common way of friendship. Westm. 3 May, 1635. Yours,

J. H.

As nothing can be deemed natural but what proceeds from the ac tual principles of nature, we may safely pronounce the Æolian lyre to be the only natural instrument of emitting harmony. Other instruments sending forth sounds by the assistance of the fingers, or some other mechanical means, are consequently termed artificial. This affords another instance of the old-established adage, that Simplicity is the nearest relative of Beauty, since the Æolian harp is the "most musical, most melancholy," and most bewitching of all melodies.

Of the antiquity of this instrument it is difficult to decide: it had slept about an hundred years when Mr. Oswald accidentally discovered the effect of the air upon a harp casually hung amongst the boughs of a tree. Kurcher is the first who mentions it; but he does not (as has been advanced) ascribe the invention to himself he merely describes it, and affirms,* that the reason he is so particu lar respecting it is, because no one had given any account of it be'fore. It may, in our opinion, boast a very high antiquity. The effect of the wind upon strings placed slantingly, has been observed in most ages, and has always afforded a particular delight. An anecdote from Lucian will illustrate this remark.

"When the Thracian Bacchanals tore Orpheus piecemeal, report says that his harp was thrown into the river Hebrus, with his bleeding head upon it. The harp, touched with the wind, breathed forth a solemn strain. Still swimming down the Fgean sea, the mournful concert arrived at Lesbos, where the inhabitants taking them up, buried the head in the spot where, in Lucian's time, stood the Temple of Bacchus, and hung the lyre in the Temple of Apollo."

It would be impossible not to believe the romantic circumstance of the statue of Memnon, which

at the quivering touch

Of Titan's ray, with each repulsive string

Consenting, sounded through the trembling air
Unbidden strains,

when supported by such authorities as Pliny, Juvenal, Pausanius, and Strabo. The fact is too well authenticated to be doubted.

The art by which it was managed still remains an ænigma, 'not* De Sympathie & Antipathie sonorum ratione, b. 9.

P P-VOL. XIV.

withstanding St. Pierre's ingenious solution. We are to consider, in the first place, that the sounds were not emitted from the mouth of the statue in the morning only; authority states that they proceeded likewise at other times. The morning was, however, the more favourable, as the soft breezes which rise at the dawn of day from the Nile, might catch certain strings artfully placed in the throat of the image, and cause them to send forth those plaintive melodies which the ancients so frequently mention.

Descending to a later period, we find Ossian observing the same enchanting effect:

"The blast came rustling through the hall, and gently touched my harp ;-the sound was mournful and low, like the song of the tomb." Darthula.

Again, in Berrathon :

"My harp hangs on a blasted branch; the sound of its strings is mournful. Does the wind touch thee, oh harp! or is it some passing ghost?"

Whatever be its age, it is a most enchanting instrument, and bringing out all the tones in full concert, sometimes sinking them to the softest murmurs, and feeling for every tone, by its gradations of strength, it solicits those gradations of sound which art has taken such various methods to produce.*

The influence of this instrument upon the heart is truly pleasing : it disposes the mind to solemn, tender, and pathetic emotion, and winning upon the imagination, strikes the heart with its simplicity, and leaves it resting in all the pure delights of a pleasing melancholy. Dr. Beattie tells us of a friend who was profoundly skilled in the theory of music, well acquainted with the animal œconomy, and singularly accurate in his enquiries into nature, and who assured him that he had several times been wrought into a feverish fit by the tones of an Æolian harp. The poets emulate in describing its sweetness and delicacy. Casimir's exquisite ode, Ad Suam Testudinem, beginning, "Sonori buxi filia," &c. &c. must surely allude to it, and Thomson has given us a beautiful account in his Castle Indolence.

SONNET.

MUSIC of nature! Emblem of each sphere!
How sweetly tranquil does my pensive soul,
At coming eve, thy warbling murmurs hear,
When sooth'd to tenderness thy measures roll;
* Acoustics, Ch. 1.

of

Sometimes more loud, and now yet louder still,
Sometimes more distant, and again more near,

Waking soft Echoes, and with magic skill,
Swelling the eye with a luxurious tear.

Delightful flutt'rings! hov'ring mid the sky,
Mildly reluctant, on wild pinions borne
To realms of Sylphs, that on your murmurs fly,
And, wak'd to melancholy feelings, mourn,
Sweet, pensive melody! ætherial strain,

Ah! still aspire to soothe each rising pain.

MORTIMER.

LETTER II.

From the Author of "The Faery Queene,"

TO GABRIEL HARVEY.

[Continued from Page 156.]

"To my long approoved and singular good frende, Master G. H. "GOOD Master H. I doubt not but you have some great important matter in hande, which al this while restraineth youre penne, and wonted readinesse in provoking me unto that, wherein your selfé now faulte. If there bee any such thing in hatching, I pray you hartily, lette us knowe, before al the worlde see it. But if happly you dwell altogither in Justinians courte, and give your selfe to be devoured of secreate studies, as of likelyhood you doe: yet at least imparte some your olde, or newe, Latine or Englishe, eloquent and gallant poesies to us, from whose eyes, you saye, you keepe in a manner nothing hidden.'

Little newes is here stirred; but that olde greate matter still depending. His Honoure* never better. I thinke the earthquake† was also there wyth you, (which I would gladly learne) as it was here with us; overthrowing divers old buildings, and peeces of churches. Sure very straunge to be hearde of in these countries, and

The Earl of Leicester.

This earthquake happened on the 6th of April, 1580, between five and six o'clock in the afternoon; as is ascertained by a copy of verses written for a requisite remembrance of it, in Yates's "Holde of Humilitie," 1582. Harvey's circumstantial account of this event, with his "sharpe and learned judgement of earthquakes,' in a letter dated April 7, had not at this time been received by Spenser.

PP 2