If I had thought the King had so mickle gold,
Beshrew my heart, Ide a kept my shilling.

The poore man got home next Sunday;
The Lawyer soone did him espy.
Oh, Sir, you have been a stranger long,

I thinke from me you have kept you by.

"It was for you indeed, said the poore man,
The matter to the King as I have tell.
I did as neighbours put it in my head,

And made a submission to the King mysel.

"What a deel didst thou with the King? said the Lawyer; Could not neighbours and friends agree thee and me? The deel a neighbour or friend that I had,

That would a bin sike a daies man as he.

"He has gin me a letter, but I know not what they cal❜t; But if the King's words be true to me,

When you have read and perused it over,
I hope you will leave and let me be.

"He has gin me another, but I know not what 'tis
But I charge you all to hold him fast.

Pray you that are learned this letter reade;
Which presently made them all aghast.

"Then they did reade this letter plaine,

s;

The Lawyer must pay him a hundred pound. You see the King's letter, the poore man did say, And unto a post he sal straight way be bound.

"Then unto a post they tide him fast,

And all men did rate him in cruell sort; The lads and the lasses, and all the towne At him had great glee, pastime and sport.

"Ile pay it, Ile pay it, the Lawyer said,

The attachment, I say, it is good and faire;
You must needes something credit me,
Till I goe home and fetch some meare.

"Credit! nay thats it the King forbad :

He bad, if I got thee, I should thee stay.

VOL. X.-Critical Writings, 2.

3

The Lawyer payd him an hundred pound
In ready money, ere he went away.

"Would every Lawyer were served thus!
From troubling poore men they would cease:
They'd either show them a good cause why,
Or else they 'd let them live in peace.

"And thus I end my merry tale,

Which shews the plain man's simplenesse,
And the King's great mercy in writing his wrongs,
And the Lawyer's fraud and wickednesse."

Mr Moore has not inserted any songs in his volumes, as most collectors of ballads have done. We cannot forbear adding a little piece not so well known as it deserves to be, called

"ROSELYND'S MADRIGAL.

"Love in my Bosom like a Bee
Doth suck his sweet;

Now with his wings he plays with me,

Now with his feet.

Within my Eyes he makes his nest,
His bed within my tender Breast.
My Kisses are his daily feast,
But yet he robs me of my Rest!
Ah Wanton-will ye!

"And when I sleep, then percheth he
With pretty flight,

And makes his pillow on my Knee,
The live-long night.

I strike the harp, he tunes the string,
He music plays if so I sing,

He gives me many a lovely thing,
But cruel, he my heart doth sting!

Whist, Wanton, still ye."

Here is a little piece by Anastasius Grün, a German poet of the Swabian school, not without merit. We know not the name of the translator.

"When will be poets weary,
And throw their harps away?
When will be sung and ended
The old, eternal lay?

"When will your horn of plenty
At last exhausted lie?
When every flower is gather'd,
And every fountain dry?'

"As long as the sun's chariot
Rolls in the heavenly blue,
As long as human faces

Are gladdened with the view:

"Long as the sky's loud thunder Is echoed from the hill,

And, touched with dread and wonder,
A human heart can thrill :

"And while, through melting tempest,
The rainbow spans the air,
And gladden'd human bosoms
Can hail the token fair:

"And long as night the ether

With stars and planets sows, And man can read the meaning That in golden letters glows:

"As long as shines the moon
Upon our nightly rest,

And the forest waves its branches
Above the weary breast:

"As long as blooms the spring,
And while the roses blow,
While smiles can dimple cheeks,
And eyes with joy o'erflow:

"And while the cypress dark,

O'er the grave its head can shake,

And while an eye can weep,
And while a heart can break :

"So long on earth shall live
The goddess Poesy,
And make of human life
An endless melody.

"And singing, all alone,
The last of living men,
Upon Earth's garden green,
Shall be a poet then.

"God holds his fair creation
In his hand, a blooming rose,
He smiles on it with pleasure,
And in his smile it glows.

"But when the giant-flower
For ever dies away,

And earth and sun, its blossoms,
Like blooms of spring, decay;

"Then ask the poet-then

If

you live to see the day—
'When will be sung and ended
The old, eternal lay?'"

WILLIAM ELLERY CHANNING.

Memoir of William Ellery Channing; with Extracts from his Correspondence and Manuscripts. In three volumes. Boston. 1848. 12mo, pp. 427, 459, 494.

It is now nearly six years since William Ellery Channing, ceasing to be mortal, passed on to his rest and his reward. We have waited impatiently for the publication of his memoirs, that we might "beg a hair of him for memory." They are now before us-three well-printed volumes, mainly

filled up with his own writings, letters, extracts from journals, sermons, and various papers hitherto kept from the press. As a public speaker and a popular writer he was well known before; these volumes show us not merely the minister and the author, but the son, husband, father, and friend. If they reveal nothing new in his character, we have yet in them ample materials for ascertaining whence came his influence and his power. What estimate shall we make of the man, and what lesson draw from his life and works? These are matters worth considering, but, before answering the question, let us look a little at the opportunities afforded him by his profession.

The Church and State are two conspicuous and important forms of popular action. The State is an institution. which represents man in his relations with man ;—the Church, man in his relations with man and God. These institutions, varying in their modifications, have always been and must be, as they represent two modes of action that are constant in the human race, and come from the imperishable nature of man. In each of these modes of action, the people have their servants,-politicians, the servants of the State, and clergymen, the servants of the Church.

Now the clergyman may be a priest, or a minister-the choice depending on his character and ability. The same distinctions are noticeable in the servants of the State, where we have the priest of politics and the minister of politics. We will pass over the priest.

The business of the minister is to become a spiritual guide to men, to instruct by his wisdom, elevate by his goodness, refine and strengthen by his piety, to inspire by his whole soul-to serve and to lead by going before them all his days with all his life, a pillar of cloud by day, of fire by night. The good shepherd giveth his life to his sheep as well as for them. The minister aims to be, to do, and to suffer, in special for his own particular parish, but also and in general for mankind at large. He proposes for himself this end: the elevation of mankind,—their physical elevation to health, comfort, abundance, skill, and beauty; their intellectual elevation to thought, refinement, and wisdom; their moral and religious elevation to goodness and piety, till they all become sons of God also, and prophets. However, his direct and main business is to promote the