LIVES OF EMINENT STATESMEN.* SIR JOHN FALSTAFF. ERHAPS there is no man who has had Sir J. Falstaff was the son of his obscurity, and we lose all authentic accounts of his life; although it is supposed that he, at one time, supported himself by writing for the press. It is even pretended that "Grafton's Kronykle, or Lyfe in Chepe," was the periodical for which he reported the leading events of the day. This, however, giving some umbrage at the bar (of the Boar's Head) where he was greatly in the habit of practising-a hint was given, in high places, that if his reports did not cease, they would be followed by a discharge. The far-sighted subject of this memoir evinced his judgment, and at once relinquished (though not without a sigh) that pursuit which had cheered and comforted his humble lot. It was at this period that his zeal and activity attracted the attention of the Crown-Prince; then endeavouring to form a party on whom he could rely, in case of a struggle with the throne. It is now necessary that we should glance at the state of politics in Europe at that time. Richard the Second had just paid the price of his audacious treachery (in sending the lawful monarch to the Crusades, while he had placed his second nephew in a subordinate situation in the Post-office), and Henry the Fourth had begun that course of innovation which finally alienated England from the Papal power. The Puritans, under the guidance of Archbishop Wiclif, were shaking the faith of Catholic England, and Henry at one time encouraged them by favoursat another, exasperated them by oppression. * Translated from the French of M. Jenesaisquoi. It was at this eventful period, that the Prince (afterwards so well known by the name of Edward the Sixth, but who had assumed the name of Mad-cap Hal to veil his ambitious designs) looking around him for influential adherents and councillors, cast his eyes on Sir John. Ably did this truly great man sustain the onerous duty thus thrust upon him. Though the infirmities of age and ill-health were making rapid inroads upon him, he devoted his entire energies to the service of his youthful master, and is believed to have frequently devoted whole nights, as well as days, to assisting at his councils. At length, all things being ripe for a rebellion, the Prince of Wales repaired to his dominions, and raised the standard of revolt. Followed by ten thousand wild mountaineers, under the guidance of Glendoveer (round whose fame posterity has at least cast the halo of mythology), he proceeded towards the Metropolis, where he had already, by the intrigues of Falstaff, ensured the fidelity of the Lumber Troop, He stormed Cremorne House, the residence of the heretical Primate, ravaged Whetstone Park, and threatened the fortress of Milbank itself, where he was met, at Shrewsbury, by Duke Humphrey, the uncle of the King. and (as alderman) leader of the civic forces. The carnage on both sides was terrific Falstaff, despite his infirmities, was everywhere; he infused new courage into the soldiery, wounded the King (who was fighting in the disguise of a common soldier; but Falstaff, as he afterwards said, "knew him by instinct"), and is even said to have recruited the drooping spirits of his Prince by the timely offer of a glass of brandy from his own flask. It is from this circumstance that the flasks carried by sportsmen have obtained the name of pocket-pistols. At this critical moment the fate of the day was turned, by the equivocal behaviour of the Lumber Troop, who refused to fight at all, on either side. This conduct is, by some, attributed to treachery; by others, with more nobility of sentiment, to a lingering doubt of the justice of the Prince's cause. Falstaff and his master were immediately apprehended by a sheriff's officer, and conveyed into the presence of the victor. "I appeal," said our hero, "to my Country." This heroic sentiment touched the heart of the King, and they were both permitted to take their trial at the Old Bailey. The intemperate behaviour of the judge, the infamous Jefferies, and Falstaff's dignified rebuke are well known to all lovers of freedom. The Prince and his Councillor were suffered to languish in obscurity, it being supposed by the King and his advisers that the Heir-apparent would not have been so violent had he not had too ample an allowance. Among other expedients for raising money, the Prince attempted to steal the Crown, in order to effect on it the temporary loan of five shillings. The rebuke of the King is well known: Henry," said the aged VOL. IV.-NO. I. C Monarch, still fond of his joke, "though Heir-apparent, would you cease to be so ere a parent is dead?" This instance of what the English term, "the ruling passion strong in death," is the last record of Henry, who shortly after died-not without suspicion of poison. He was, however, worn out by the violence of his own passions, and has left behind him a name which will always be a paradox to historical enquirers. Elevated to the Throne, Prince Hal's first care was to provide for his zealous adherent. Struck with his literary abilities (which have been before glanced at) he raised him to the title of Baron of the Old Castle, and made him Poet Laureate. In earnest of this office he presented him with a pipe of his favourite wine, or, in other words, gave him the sack;" and it is therefore difficult to account for the palpable but specious fabrications with which Henry's enemies have endeavoured to assail his character. " Lord of the Old Castle-for by this title we must now call him-in his old age turned his attention to animal magnetism (then beginning to be studied in England), and embraced the tenets of the Lollards or Puritans. In the meanwhile the King died, and his successor, the inhuman Mary, ordered the faithful friend of her family to be roasted alive, which was done by a slow fire of jokes from her own chaplain, the bigoted Dean Swift. Thus did this truly great man conclude his eventful life by obtaining the Crown of Martyrdom. AN HUMBLE ATTEMPT TO DEVELOPE "MISSIE-ISM" AS IT EXISTS IN THE PRESENT CENTURY. A Miss is as good as a mile.-DR WATTS. MR. EDITOR,-You will be pleased to know that I present myself before you in the capacity of a great reformer. I am seized, Sir, with an irresistible desire of exposing a never-sufficiently-to-be-censured style which may sometimes be detected exercising a despotic sway over the minds of the youngest and loveliest of the softer sex, and which I would attribute to a faulty education. This mental demon of the feminine gender I would distinguish from all other female demons by the appellation of " Missie-ism." You may not, Sir, at first sight comprehend the character and habits of this evil spirit. I shall, therefore, with your permission, attempt an explanation, by laying before your editorial vision a series of epistles supposed to be written by a fair one labouring under this pitiable complaint. Read then, Sir, and digest THE FIRST LETTER From Carolina to Priscilla. My dearest dear Priscy,-You are a very naughty good-for-nothing creature not to write more frequently to your own Carolina, who misses you amazingly, and is never happy but in your company. Oh! we have been so gay, and you cannot think how I have enjoyed myself for the last few weeks. Mamma has just gone out, and though you don't deserve it, I shall, like a good girl, sit down, and tell you all the news I can pick up. I am all agog to discover what can have put mama so out of temper this morning. They all say that Sir Frederick Varely has actually proposed to his old flame, Miss Rawlinson, who refused him when a boy, and I shrewdly suspect mama intended him for me. I am sure she is very welcome to the hideous monster;-but this is quite a secret, and if you let it go a bit further, I shall never forgive you as long as I live. The Hawthorns gave one of their dull parties last night, and I only went with the hopes of meeting Major Simpson, and observing the little flirtation that is said to exist between him and Emily Betterson. He certainly did seem rather smitten, and was most particular in his attentions. Lady L. tells me she has no doubt it will come to something. Poor girl! she has quite lost her complexion; and between you and me, I don't at all like her style. Marianne Benson was there; and—would you believe it?—she only danced once the whole evening, and that was with a nobody. They say that she has lately refused Mr. Patricks, the handsome barrister; but from what her aunt let drop the other day, I am pretty certain he never popped the question at all. You know, my dearest Priscy, that people will talk, and such an ill-natured place as this, I am sure I never saw. Who of all the people in the world should I see moping in the corner, but Poles, your antediluvian beau!-old Fogy, as you always called him. I thought I should have died, when he came to ask me for the next set. I assure you that he looked most pathetic when I mentioned your name. Horrid man! he smells so frightfully of cigars, and talks of nothing but the Lord Mayor's Dinner, as if I cared for politics. Do you remember Higgy-poor Higgy-who used to bring bouquets to us every morning, and blush when he presented them? Silly creature; my maid Hylton tells me he is very sweet in the youngest Stubb's quarter, now; but Jane will never have him, unless she can't catch Lord Collier; and, after all, Mr. Higgy has expectations. But now, my dearest Priscy, how shall I describe Mr. Saveton ? You would be charmed with him,-such a gentlemanly, tall man, with 12,000 a year already, and comes in for 20 at his father's death! Mark my words, Eliza Dashwood will set her cap at him the moment she returns from Beau Castle. I am told she has entirely failed in making an impression on that conceited wretch Middleton, who used to call us "pretty gigglers" to his friends. They say he has an awful character; and I shrewdly suspect-drinks! Oh how I miss our long cozy chats together. I don't like any body here, and can converse freely to no one but Hylton, who, after all, you know, is nothing but a servant. A loud knock, my dear Priscy, at the door. I must finish this stupid scrawl.—Mama, I do declare, returned with Mr. Saveton-how provoking. I ought to be practising, or something, you know of the kind. I am told he is so particular. In haste, my dearest Priscilla. Ever and ever, your affectionate and loving friend, You shall hear from me in a fortnight-adieu ! CAROLINA. SONG. The Summer night is calm; and bright The languid Summer day; Clear is the Autumn morn, and soft The vernal warmth of May; And sweet it is at early prime To gaze upon the sea, But, ah! to me the sweetest time Is eventide with thee, My love, An hour at eve with thee. Faintly the distant village sounds, Gently the tide beneath, The stars send down their silent smiles, And wild winds hold their breath; Thus oft when far away, alone, The hours come back to me, That now for evermore are flown, My love, The hours at eve with thee. P. C. |