have I heard my father repeat Mompessan's warning. He heard it uttered himself when there were scarcely enow of the living to bury the dead. And in token of its truth, two of Giles Gurton's horses-one of them a gallant gray that bore his eldest daughter Bell when she was married-and a sorrowful marriage she made of it-the horses, as I tell ye, broke loose on a time, and ate the long grass off these graves, and they went mad, that's certain-and came home foaming, and sweating sweat of blood, and tore one another, and died. It's true, I tell ye and I would not be the man who ploughs up Riley graves for the lordship of Chatsworth and that's a wide word." Troth, and it's all too true," said another of the village dames; "I'll warrant ye have all heard of Glype Glanvil, the pedlar-a good packman and a keen one. He would not sleep in the public-house, for that would cost him money; he would not lie at the farmer's hearth, lest he should have to give ribbons to the lasses; but he would lie beneath the bonnie moon on a fine summer night-and he laid his head on one of the Riley graves, and a sleep fell he. But he had a doleful wakening, and ran wild into Eyam in the mid hour of night-I think I hear his yells yet, and see the delirious man-for the plague had sprung out of the grave-and I doubt not, for scripture says trouble springs- I forget what scripture says but that neither mars nor makes my story. He was spotted like a leopard, and he died of the pest: and that's as true as malt makes ale, and lips like it." An ancient dame, with a staff in her hand, had tottered out after her friends, and for no sedater purpose than to partake, as far as the infirmities of seventy-seven years would permit, of the holiday pastime. "Ah!" she said, striking her staff into the ground before her, as she sat down," here sits one who can yow to and avouch every word ye have uttered, and many more. Have ye never heard how in the year of grace ninety-and-eight-many, many years after the calamity came upon us-that one who feared not God-a man who lived by the strong and the

cunning hand, came and dug into one of the graves at dark midnight, for the love of lucre? What sought he, think ye, but the gold ring-the bride ring from the finger of fair Prudence Rolfe-and what think ye he saw there when he bared the earth away? A lady laid out in her bridal weeds-in her damasked silks and satins. The foul worms of the earth had touched her not-the undying spirit of the strong pest had preserved her strangely. He touched her finger, and the plague touched him; and his body soon helped to fill the hole his avarice had dugso let men take warning: the corn blade which springs from these graves will pierce ye as with a poisoned sword; and each corn-pipe will be a passage by which the plague will ascend from the grave into the world."

The

The story and admonition of the old dame was received with a laugh and a shout from a young ploughman, who sat entrenched among empty bottles, and crusts of bread, and bones." May barley no more produce beer, nor fat beef come from a fat field," said the rustic, “if old mother Winifred isn't as clever at preaching and prognostication as parson Pestertext himself. sweetest herb grows in the most unsavoury place the fairest flower grows next the dunghill-stink in the root, is sweet in the fruit-the deeper the dunghill, the higher the stack-yard-and the finest flower of the field is a churchyard daisy. All these, and a thousand proverbs more, made by the sages of the sickle and the share in the vales of old Derby, disprove thy fears, and dispute thy sayings. What, woman, think ye that what's done by act of parliament is not done righteously and wisely? I'll warrant the parson's tithe from the first crop of corn will be so large, that he will seek scripture authority for ploughing up, and sowing all the repositories for cold flesh in the dales-and here's to the living, say -the dead have had their day on't:"-and elevating a tankard of ale as he spoke, he soon left nothing visible save the empty vessel and a wreath of foam.

During this conversation, I had sought, and found, a seat among the

peasants; and willing to show that I had no ill will to holiday pastime and early cheer, I had not suffered the ale and the beef to pass me with out bearing away the token of a sufficient appetite. One of the rustics came and eyed me closely, and wilfully perhaps misinterpreting my vocation from my dress, shouted out "Hilloah! my stars! what have we got here? a travelling parson, by the powers of smoke!-the beardless forerunner of some ponderous bishop or profound dean, with a belly unequal to the narrow way to the pulpit. Come, come, my gifted sir; -damme, he drinks like a whole Chapter of divines, and the beef disappears before him as though he were the head of the hierarchy. Come, my lad in the raven-coloured coat, take another drink, an ye wish to be a sound divine-and then we will have ye preach-I swear by the seventeen score of links in our best bucket-chain, we will. Here's Cucklet-church vacant, damme-I present ye to the living, with Robin Hood's roving right over the wild deer of Eyam dale and the free tithe of the fowls of heaven. A noble presenta tion, I vow, and with no rigid dio cesan to rule ye, save Kate Fowler and me. A yearly sermon shall ye preach in my honour, and pray an nually for all the subterranean men in Derbyshire, and the superannuated men of all other counties. And now, when I think on't, ye shall mount Cucklet pulpit, and give us this sermon now. He shall, I vow by all the lead veins in Derby-else let my name be no longer Gib, but Gibbet." A roar of applause followed this wild sally; and the rustic confronted me with a look of mischievous earnest, to enforce, if he could, his threat.

Old Winifred had compassion on a stranger, who, whatever his gifts might be, had never presumed to preach: she came with a halt and a groan to my side, and thus she accosted my tormentor. "What, thou scape-rope well it beseems thee to talk of texts and preaching-and ye have given him a text, have ye? if he wants a text of infamy, let him take thee. Think ye I know ye not? Your name shall be no longer Gib, but Gibbet! Wise were thy words! for thy grandfather lost his life

in a hanging-wood that grew at the jail door of Derby-thy father sailed for his health: he was threatened with a shortness of breath; and never came back, by the advice of old Gabriel Munday the magistrate-and for thyself, if ever I find thee stealing my poultry again under pretence of coming to woo my maid-servants, the blacksmith's tongs shall weave thy stockings-ye have worn the work of the same loom before. It sets ye well to talk of sermons indeed

though a prayer and a psalm will be the last things ye will hear and so I have told thy fortune."

This timely and effectual interposition of ancient Winifred saved a stranger the shame of farther abuse. The women applauded her speech with many a suppressed laugh and titter; and the men seemed all pleased at the rebuke, and shouted, "And his name shall be no longer Gib, but Gibbet," till all the vale rang again. "Come, come," said one of the rustics, "let us enjoy our ho liday, and let canker fall: we came here for mirth, and strife has found us out-and strife too about sermons. O'my conscience, if ye want sermons, wait till the parson of Eyam comes to-day, at twelve, to Cucklet rock here, to preach the Pest Sermon-an affliction which comes annually-the plague came but once, and ye shall all have sermon enough and slumbering enough. But come, since strife lives in the upland, let us go down, and see if mirth dwells in the dell." And into a little wild rocky dell he accordingly descended, with all his companions.

A

This little sequestered nook formed one of a long chain of dells which united the uplands with the more expanded vales of Derbyshire. small rivulet, which had its source in the dell described at the beginning of this narrative, wound its way among them, and, augmented in its course by innumerable springs, formed at length a considerable stream, frequented by the angler, and remark able for the little deep pools or basins which it ground out of the solid rock in its passage. It was also remarkable, during the time of the plague, as a boundary between the pure and tainted part of the county; to its banks provisions were

ran

brought at a stated hour, and placed on a range of smooth flat stones; and to this market, when the sellers were gone, the people of Eyam came and deposited the price in a trough of stone through which a springlet -so careful were they, lest the contamination should spread. These rude unhewn tables, and that trough of stone, have long been removed-the first to pave stables, and the latter to feed swine; but the stream still carries-and long may it carry !-the name of the pastor of Eyam, Mr. Mompessan. By the brook bank he sat, and ministered to the wants of his people; and collecting them into that natural temple of rock, since called Cucklet-church, he preached, and prayed, and counselled them, during the continuance of the plague.

By the side of Mompessan's brook the peasants seated themselves; and old Winifred, planting her staff before her, and shaking her head, thus addressed them:-"I could tell ye a very pretty story about this little wild dell. Ye see these two grassy ridges, side by side, on the other bank of the stream, and ye see the year 1666 cut deeply in the rock at their head. It is of these graves, and that fatal year, I speak; and, let me tell ye, woe to them who live to see three figures alike in the same year again-they never came together for man's good. It befel in the year 1666-woe's me that I should ever have occasion to name it!—that Edom Wodensly married Emma Rode: a fairer pair never darkened the door of Eyam church-on a whiter finger the marriage gold never glittered-but who has not heard of her beauty and of her woe? She was much sought after-but Wodensly won her from them all; and much mirth was at their bridal. I was then but a girl of fifteen; and old and crooked though I be now, I know what a handsome man is like-but, alas! what are the outer graces or the inner gifts-and what was it to him or her, ere three short weeks flew past, whether they were fair or comely? Ere the bridal lights had done burning, the plague came into Eyam-the young and the active fled, and the old and the helpless remained-there was weeping soon, and wailing, for bridal mirth

and song. To this wild little dell, where we now sit, Edom and Emma fled for refuge. He made a little bower; and their bed was the rushes, and their drink was that stream; and one faithful friend came regularly, like the raven in scripture, and brought them bread. Alas, for poor human nature, that I should have to tell all my story. But there was a young man rich and high born-I name not his name-I never named him but once, and I asked forgiveness of God before I named him-he had long loved Emma, and sued for her hand, and sorely was he disquieted when she scorned him and married another. I saw him mix among the guests at her bridal-himself an unbidden one-and I marked his changing looks from pale to dark-fear of the Lord, and love for his fairest works, went out of his heart, and the blackest devil came in. I could not take my eyes off him; for he seemed changed, like the enemy of old, from an angel of light into an infernal demon. This man knew whither they had fled, and how they were supported-and he went to a house in Eyam

the house of Joel Hancock by name, where the whole people, seven in number, had died of the plague; and, taking tainted food in his hands, he went and watched till the hour of evening came, and he saw the friend of Emma and of her husband place bread on a stone and depart. And he came from his hiding-place, and changed the pure bread for the impure-then he lay down on that little knoll top which rises green above the delve, and watched-and when he saw them go from their bower of rushes, and eat of the bread, he arose, and laughed aloud for joy, and shouted

and they lay down and died, and were buried in these two graves before you. But he-he whom I shall never name-shall I say he died? -alas, there is no punishment heavier here than death, and the wicked and the good feel pangs alike. He died-and I saw him die-the plague held him in chace, and the sword of man overtook him-and he is now answering in fire the wrongs wrought in the flesh-and who has more to answer for?"

When Winifred had told her story, and the young men were adding

cause, whatever were the supposed improvements in the octavo copy, said to have been revised by the Bishop's son, it is clear, that the ori ginal manuscript was further departed from in this, than it had been in the folio, edition, which has now been followed. To this text are added the notes of William Legge, first Earl of Dartmouth; those of Philip Yorke, second Earl of Hardwicke; of Arthur Onslow, Speaker of the House of Commons; of Dean Swift; a few by Henry Legge and Mr. Godwyn; and, lastly, a very large proportion by the present editor, who has prefixed a judicious and very manly introduction.

A collection of notes on such a work as Bishop Burnet's, by men so well known as those we have just enumerated, cannot but be read with great interest; particularly as they are understood to have entertained political opinions diametrically opposed to each other. Lord Dartmouth's (to use the words of the editor)" abound in curious and well-told anecdote; Swift's are "shrewd, caustic, and apposite, but not written with the requisite decorum;" the Speaker's "contain many incidental discussions on political subjects, and are sensible and instructive;" whilst those of the Earl of Hardwicke "are so candid and judicious, that one cannot but wish them to have been more numerous." To this we may add, that the additional annotations (which, as they do not bear the signature of any of the above persons, are, we apprehend, to be entirely ascribed to the Oxford editor) contain a great deal of historical information, particularly on obscure points, together with much acute remark on political occurrences and private character; and the whole expressed in terms of candour and moderation, which bespeak the honesty of the writer, and reflect great credit on his accuracy and research.

If we could have spared the remarks of any of the aforenamed annotators, they would have been those of the Dean of St. Patrick's, which, some few excepted, have little value in our estimation. In many instances they contain mere personal abuse, and in some the expressions are of a nature so remote from decency and good manners, as might

well have excused their omission. Perhaps we cannot give a better specimen of Swift's critical hostility than the following: Not liking some statement of the Bishop's, the Dean very unceremoniously calls him "Dog!" He reads a little further, and still further disagreeing in opi nion, bestows the additional appellations of " Dog! Dog!!" Going on, and discovering perhaps somewhat that created yet more displeasure, he concludes with calling the offending author "Dog! Dog!! Dog!!!" and so leaves him. It seems, indeed, that three of the Dean's notes have been omitted as too indelicate for insertion, and that the same number out of those by Lord Dartmouth have shared a similar fate, as reflecting too severely on private character. It is impossible to do otherwise than applaud the caution and propriety that dictated these suppressions: for no wit, however brilliant, can excuse indelicacy; nor can there be any reasons for perpetuating scandalous anecdotes, in no way connected with the public conduct of the persons to whom they relate.

We extract the following just and sensible observations on the political character of the times, and principal actors in the scenes, of which Burnet writes: our quotation forms the conclusion of the editor's preface:—

"The great influence which personal character had formerly on events, together with other causes, occasions the reign of Charles the First, in which the contest for political power commenced, to form the most interesting period of English history, whether we are disposed to triumph with the conquering party, or to espouse and commiserate the cause of high honour and markable changes of government during suffering loyalty. The frequent and rethe interregnum, as well as the singular and energetic character of the Protector Cromwell, secure the attention of every reader. The disputes which arose between an unprincipled, but good humoured monarch, regardless alike of his own honour and the national interest, and a restless, violent, and merciless faction, are subjects of deep concern, on account of their melancholy results. At the same time, the mind feels consolation in the virtues of Ormond, withstanding the enormities of courtiers and Clarendon, and Southampton. And, notanti-courtiers, we reflect with pleasure on the freedom then first securely enjoyed, from every species of arbitrary taxation, and from extrajudicial imprisonment; on