Laureate, though they had Regal Poets; for none were ever solemnly crowned. The Spanish nation, always desirous of titles of honour, seem to have known the Laureate; but little information concerning it can be gathered from their authors.

Respecting our own country, little can be said, but what is mentioned by Selden. John Kay, who dedicated a History of Rhodes to Edward IV., takes the title of his humble Poet Laureate. Gower and Chaucer were Laureates; so was, likewise, the rhyming Skelton to Henry VIII. In the Acts of Rymer, there is a Charter of Henry VII. with title of pro Poeta Laureato.

It does not appear that our poets were ever solemnly crowned, as in other countries. Selden, after all his recondite researches, is satisfied with saying, that some trace of this distinction is to be found in our nation. It is, however, certain that our Kings, from times immemorial, have placed a miserable dependent in their household appointment, who was sometimes called the King's Poet, and the King's Versificator. It is probable that, at length, the selected bard assumed the title of Poet Laureate, without receiving the honours of the ceremony; or, at the

most, the crown of laurel was a mere obscure custom, practised at our Universities, and not attended with great public distinction. It was oftener placed on the skull of a pedant, than twined round the head of a genius.

THE LABOURS OF A QUILL.

AN English version of "Camden's Britannia" appeared in the year 1610, which was the work of the indefatigable Philemon Holland, a physician and school-master, whose boast was, that he had written a large folio volume with one pen, on which he composed the following stanza:

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"With one sole pen I wrote this book,

Made of a grey goose-quill;

A pen it was when I it took,

And a pen I leave it still."

DR. JOHNSON'S DEFENCE OF MILTON.

A LADY one day expressing her surprise to Dr. Johnson, that Milton had written so sublime poem as "Paradise Lost," and yet appears so much beneath himself in his "Sonnets;" he replied, "Is it surprising, Madam, that the hand which was able to scoop a Colossus from the

solid rock, of the most perfect symmetry, should fail in an attempt to form the head of Venus out of a cherry-stone?"

WALLER.

AFTER the beheading of Charles the First, Waller made his court to the Protector, on whom he bestowed the most lavish encomiums. But when Charles the Second was recalled, and took possession of the throne of his ancestors, the Poet changed his strain, congratulated the Monarch's restoration, and celebrated the happiness that would undoubtedly flow from that very monarchial government, which he had before held up as a species of tyranny, and an unjust restraint upon British liberty.

When he presented his poem to the King, which was done in a crowded drawing-room, where, doubtless, every one was impatient to know how his Majesty would receive both the Poet and his performance, as the pains he had taken to ingratiate himself both with Cromwell and his son Richard were sufficiently known, many expected he would have been forbid the Court, and the person who had introduced him have received a severe reprimand: but those

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who thought in this manner, did not sufficiently I know the character of that Prince. the verses to himself, and then looking at Mr. Waller, with a smile said, "These lines are extremely good; but I think several of those you wrote on the Protector, were still better.”Waller, with a presence of mind equal to his other talents, replied, with a low bow, " May it please your Majesty, we poets always write better on fiction than on truth."

This answer, and the manner in which it was made, entirely removed all the remains of discontent the King might have conceived against him for his former behaviour; and whatever he wrote afterwards, always met with a favourable reception; wit being, in that Prince, a sufficient sanction for almost any offence.

SHENSTONE.

As this sentimental poet was one day walking through his romantic retreats, in company with his Delia, (her real name was Wilmot,) they were going towards the bower which he made sacred to the ashes of Thomson. "Would to heaven," said he, pointing to the trees, "that

Delia could be happy in the midst of these rustic avenues!" He would have gone on, but was interrupted. A person rushed out of a thicket, and, presenting a pistol to his breast, demanded his money. Shenstone was surprised, and Delia fainted. 66 Money," said he, "is not worth struggling for; you cannot be poorer than I am. Unhappy man!" added he, throwing him his purse, "take it, and fly as quick as possible." The man did so. He threw his pistol into the water, and in a moment disappeared. Shenstone ordered the footboy, who followed behind them, to pursue the robber at a distance, and observe whither he went. In two hours' time the boy returned, and informed his master, that he followed him to Hales-Owen, where he lived; that he went to the very door of his house, and peeped through the key-hole; that, as soon as the man entered, he threw the purse on the ground, and addressing himself to his wife, “Take,” said he," the dear-bought price of my honesty;" then taking two of his children, one on each knee, he said to them, "I have ruined my soul to keep you from starving;" and immediately burst into a flood of tears. This tale of distress greatly affected Shenstone. He