I often view the hollow place

Where eyes and nose had sometimes been; I see the bones across that lie,

Yet little think that I must die.

I read the label underneath,

That telleth me whereto I must;
I see the sentence, too, that saith,
'Remember, man, thou art but dust:'
But yet, alas! how seldom I

Do think indeed that I must die!

Continually at my bed's head

A hearse doth hang, which doth me tell That I ere morning may be dead,

Though now I feel myself full well :

But yet, alas! for all this, I

Have little mind that I must die!

The gown which I am used to wear,

The knife wherewith I cut my meat;
And eke that old and ancient chair,
Which is my only usual seat;
All these do tell me I must die,
And yet my life amend not I.

My ancestors are turn'd to clay,

And many of my mates are gone;

My youngers daily drop away,

And can I think to 'scape alone? No, no; I know that I must die, And yet my life amend not I.

Not Solomon, for all his wit,

Nor Samson, though he were so strong;
No king nor power ever yet

Could 'scape, but death laid him along.
Wherefore I know that I must die,
And yet my life amend not I.

Though all the East did quake to hear
Of Alexander's dreadful name;

And all the West did likewise fear
To hear of Julius Cæsar's fame;
Yet both by death in dust now lie,
Who then can 'scape, but he must die?

If none can 'scape Death's dreadful dart,
If rich and poor his beck obey;

If strong, if wise, if all do smart,

Then I to 'scape shall have no way:
Then grant me grace, O God! that I
My life may mend, since I must die."

JOHN KYRLE, "THE MAN OF ROSS."

THAT distinguished model of benevolence, "The Man of Ross," was a native of Gloucestershire. The exemplary tenor of his actions, his extensive charities, and goodness of heart, procured him the love and veneration of all his contemporaries; and, happily for his fame, Pope, during his visits at Holm-Lacey, obtained a

sufficient knowledge of his beneficence, to render due homage to his worth, in his "Moral Essays."

In the Appendix to Mr. Singer's edition of "Spence's Anecdotes," are some curious particulars of "The Man of Ross:" we extract the following from a letter to Mr. Spence, written by Mr. Stephen Duck, the Poet." He was, it seems, a tall thin man; sensible and well bred; and went so very plain in his dress, that, when he worked in the fields with his own labourers, (which he frequently did,) he was not distinguished from them by any thing more than a certain dignity in his air and countenance, which always accompanied him. He kept two public days in a week-the market-day and Sunday. On the former, the neighbouring gentlemen and farmers dined with him; and if they had any differences or disputes with one another, instead of going to law, they appealed to The Man of Ross' to decide and settle them; and his decisions were generally final.

"On Sunday, he feasted the poor people of the parish at his house; and not only so, but would often send them home loaded with broken meat and jugs of beer. At these entertainments

he did not treat with wine, but good strong beer and cyder. On these two days, great plenty and generosity appeared: at other times, he lived frugal. He had, it seems, a most incorrigible passion for planting, insomuch that he embellished the parish with many beautiful groves of trees, some of which were a mile in length. In works of this nature, he chiefly employed very old men, such whose age or infirmities rendered them incapable of doing such very hard labour as the farmers required their servants to do. With these old men he would frequently work with a spade himself; pay them amply for their labour; and often feed them at his own table." He died December, 1724, at the advanced age of 84.

ROBERT CLARE.

THIS Northamptonshire Peasant, whose poems have recently excited much attention, was born at Helpstone, a village most unpoetically situated at the easternmost point of Northamptonshire, adjoining the Lincolnshire fens. He learnt to spell of the village schoolmistress, and, before he was six years old, was able to read a chapter in the Bible.

At the age of twelve, he assisted in the laborious employment of threshing: the boy, in his father's own words, "was weak but willing," and the good old man made a flail for him somewhat suitable to his strength. When his share of the day's toil was over, he eagerly ran to the village school under the belfry, and in this desultory and casual manner gathered his imperfect knowledge of language, and skill in writing. At the early period of which we are speaking, Clare felt the "poetic fever." He relates, that twice or thrice in the winter weeks, it was his office to fetch a bag of flour from the village of Maxey, and darkness often came on before he could return. The state of his nerves corresponded with his slender frame. The tales of terror with which his mother's memory shortened the long nights, returned freshly to his fancy the next day; and to beguile the way and dissipate his fears, he used to walk back with his eyes fixed immoveably on the ground, revolving in his mind some adventure" without a ghost in it," which he turned into verse; and thus, (he adds,) he reached the village of Helpstone before he was aware of his approach.

The clouds which had hung so heavily over