poet has arrayed himself, he is still able often to move with grace and dignity, and sometimes to trip right merrily. This verse, from one of his satirical pieces, for instance, runs glibly enough :-"We'll down with all the 'Varsities,

Where learning is professed,
Because they practise and maintain
The language of the beast,

We'll drive the doctors out of doors,

And arts, whate'er they be;

We'll cry both arts and learning down,

And hey! then up go we!"

In the following there is surely true poetry in the touching simile by which he enforces the blessedness of penitence :

"The ingenuous child, corrected, does not fly

His
angry mother's hand; but climbs more nigh,
And quenches with his tears her flaming eye."

And in this also:

"E'en as a nurse, whose child's imperfect pace
Can hardly lead his foot from place to place,
Leaves her fond kissing, sets him down to go,
Nor does uphold him for a step or two;
But when she finds that he begins to fall
She holds him up, and kisses him withal;-
So God from man sometimes withdraws His hand
Awhile, to teach his infant faith to stand;
But when He sees his infant strength begin
To fail, He gently takes him up again."

But Quarles can rise to grander tones than these; take one more illustration, which has almost a Miltonic ring:

"Alas! my light-in-vain-expecting eyes
Can find no objects but what rise

From this poor mortal blaze, a dying spark
Of Vulcan's forge, whose flames are dark,—
A dangerous, dull, blue-burning light,
As melancholy as the night:*

Here's all the suns that glister in the sphere
Of earth: Ah me! what comfort's here?

Sweet Phosphor, bring the day.

Haste, haste away

Heaven's loitering lamp: sweet Phosphor, bring the day,'

Of our Francis's eighteen children, one (John) inherited his father's political sympathies, illfortune, and poetic gift. He served in the garrison of Oxford, being himself a member of Exeter College, during the Civil War; was brought to great poverty by the overthrow of the cause which he supported; and died of the plague in London, in 1665. We will close this paper with the opening lines of a touching elegy written by him. on the death

of

As one great furnace flam'd, yet from those flames

No light, but rather darkness visible."

--Paradise Lost, I., 60.

"Paradise Lost" was not published till 1667.

his own and his father's friend, Archbishop Ussher :

"Then weep no more; see how his peaceful breast

Rocked by the hand of Death, takes quiet rest.

Disturb him not, but let him sweetly take

A full repose!

He hath been long awake."

T1

historic barwich.

HIS ancient Essex town is chiefly interesting to the general reader by those incidents in its history which associate it with the wider realm of national affairs; although its municipal and commercial history and its connection with the house of Devonshire are not void of interest.

Time has dealt somewhat ungently with the old town, robbed it of some of its ancient importance, and laid the hand of decay upon the monuments of a remoter and more active time. Castle and walls have fallen, no lordly or monastic towers add dignity to this unpretentious port; but it takes to itself a special interest as being the successor of the still older port of Orwell, once standing some five miles further to the East, near the point now known as the West Rocks. Ages ago the encroaching sea pressed upon the mariners of Orwell, and compelled them to leave hearth and altar, homestead and warehouse, to become the sport of winter tempests

and surging waters, that gradually covered its melancholy conquest from the sight of man ; although, so late as the last century, it would occasionally reveal, at extreme low-water, some fragments of ancient masonry.

The new settlement steadily developed into a mediæval port, girt with strong walls, and further defended by a castle with lofty towers and massive walls. But time has carried away those relics of a troublous past, and now fort Landguard keeps grim watch with its heavy guns over the approach to the harbour-a noble expanse of water, which has safely harboured 100 men-of-war and 400 merchantmen, without a single casualty, through the fury of a severe storm.

Long ere Harwich rose from the ruins of Orwell, the Roman legionary carried the Imperial Eagle in the locality: after the Roman came the Saxon and Dane, and upwards of a thousand years ago, A.D. 884, King Alfred's fleet engaged the invader. Thus the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle : "And that same year King Alfred sent a fleet from Kent to East Anglia. So soon as they came to the mouth of the Stour, there met them sixteen ships of pirates; and they fought against