caustic, humorous; his pages adrip with classicisms; and he had a delicacy of raillery that amused, and a power of logic that smote heavily, where blows were in order. He was for a long time member of Parliament for Hull, and by his honesties of speech and pen, made himself so obnoxious to the political jackals about Charles's court that he was said to be in danger again and again of assassination; he finally died under strong (but unfounded) suspicion of poisoning.

Those who knew him described him as "of middling stature, strong set, roundish face, cherrycheeked, hazel-eyed, brown-haired." *

There are dainty poems of his, which should be read, and which are worth remembering. Take this, for instance, from his Garden, which was written by him first in Latin, and then rendered thus:

"What wondrous life is this I lead!
Ripe apples drop about my head;

The luscious clusters of a vine

Upon my mouth do crush their wine;

The nectarine and curious peach

Into my hands themselves do reach ;

* Aubrey.

Stumbling on melons, as I pass,

Ensnared with flowers, I fall on grass.

"Here at the fountain's sliding foot
Or at some fruit-tree's mossy root,
Casting the body's vest aside

My soul into the boughs does glide:
There, like a bird, it sits and sings,
Then whets and claps its silver wings,
And, till prepared for longer flight,

Waves in its plumes the various light."

And this other bit, from his "Appleton House " Nuneaton), still more full of rural spirit:

"How safe, methinks, and strong behind
These trees, have I encamped my mind,

Where beauty aiming at the heart
Bends in some tree its useless dart,
And where the world no certain shot
Can make, or me it toucheth not.

"Bind me, ye woodbines, in your twines,
Curl me about, ye gadding vines,
And, oh, so close your circles lace
That I may never leave this place!
But, lest your fetters prove too weak
Ere I your silken bondage break,

Do you, O brambles, chain me too,

And, courteous briars, nail me through!"

This is better than Rochester's "Nothing," and

has no smack of Nell Gwynne or of Charles's court.

Author of Hudibras.

It is altogether a different, and a far less worthy character that I now bring to the notice of the reader. The man is Samuel Butler,* and the book Hudibras - a jingling, doggerel poem, which at the time of its publication had very great vogue in London, and was the literary sensation of the hour in a court which in those same years had received the great epic of Milton without any noticeable ripple of applause.

For myself, I have no great admiration for Hudibras, or for Mr. Samuel Butler. He was witty, and wise in a way, and coarse, and had humor; but he was of a bar-room stamp, and although he could make a great gathering of the court people stretch their sides with laughter, it does not appear that he

Samuel Butler, b. 1612; d. 1680. Editions of Hudibras (his chief book) are many and multiform; that of Bohn perhaps as good as any. His posthumous works, not much known, were published in 1715. No scholarly editing of his works or life has been done.

Paradise Lost appeared 1667; first part of Hudibras, 1663; third part not till 1678.

II. - 13

had any high sense of honor, or much dignity of

character.

Mr. Pepys (whose memoirs you have heard of, and of whom we shall have more to tell) says that he bought the book one day in the Strand because everybody was talking of it - which is the only reason a good many people have for buying books; and, he continues that having dipped into it, without finding much benefit, he sold it next day in the Strand for half-price. But poor Mr. Pepys, in another and later entry, says, "I have bought Hudibras again; everybody does talk so much of it;" which is very like Mr. Pepys, and very like a good many other buyers of books.

Hudibras is, in fact, a great, coarse, rattling. witty lunge at the stiff-neckedness and the cropped heads of the Puritans, which the roistering fellows about the palace naturally enjoyed immensely. He calls the Presbyterians,

"Such as do build their faith upon

The holy text of pike and gun;

Decide all controversies

By infallible artillery;

And prove their doctrines orthodox

By apostolic blows and knocks ;

That with more care keep holyday,
The wrong
- than others the right way;
Compound for sins they are inclined to
By damning those they have no mind to.

The self same thing they will abhor
One way, and long another - for:

Quarrel with mince-pies and disparage

Their best and dearest friend plum-porridge;
Fat pig and goose itself oppose,

And blaspheme custard thro' the nose."

It is not worth while to tell the story of the poem

which, indeed, its author did not live to complete. Its fable was undoubtedly suggested by the far larger and worthier work of Cervantes; Hu. dibras and Ralpho standing in the place of the doughty Knight of La Mancha, and Sancho Panza; but there is a world between the two.

UN