sent volume, the contents of which have all been derived from old boxes, such as exist, more or less, in the houses of most British gentlemen of any antiquity. We quite agree with Sir Henry Bunbury that many of these family papers, forgotten or neglected, might extend our views on many subjects of historical, biographical, or literary interest; and we happen to know instances in England and Scotland of a negligence and destruction very closely resembling that of Lord Clancarty's old aunt. If we go a little back in time, our heart is grieved by the impious waste made of such relics. Cooks and sedentary ladies addicted to needlework have been Thalabas in this kind of destroying. Your thread-papers have been the very devil! If our old friend Mr. Brunel had invented his pretty little process of putting sewing-thread up in reels and balls a hundred years ago, many a family manuscript, many an interesting scrap, might have escaped the pitiless shears. But it is vain to regret the past! Let us look to the future, and hope that other gentlemen may be induced to follow Sir Henry Bunbury's example in putting the materiel of such documents out of danger, by submitting them to the press. It is not every owner of a large old house that has such well-filled boxes, but many may have a few interesting scraps, while some, no doubt, have far greater treasures-papers that would furnish a feast to the national historian and antiquary.

The contents of the delightful volume before us are of a very varied character, so much so, that we can scarcely describe them all. We will mention a few of the papers which have most struck us, without any attention to order. The longest piece in the volume is a memoir of Sir Thomas Hanmer, Speaker of the House of Commons, an editor of Shakspeare, and the friend of Pope, Swift, Prior, and the other wits of that time. With a little allowance-a very little-on the score of family reverence, this memoir is well written, and throws some new light on the political intrigues of the last years of Anne, and the first years of George the First. Sir Henry Bunbury is anxious to prove that his ancestor did not deserve to be stigmatised as a trimmer and time-server; and, in fact, if we compare Sir Thomas Hanmer with the mass of the intriguing, selfish, venal politicians of those days, we shall find that he was better than nine-tenths of them. As an editor and annotator, Sir Thomas n'etait pas un aigle, but there was something in his admiring Shakspeare as he did, and devoting time and money to do him honour.

There is a very curious account of France in the year 1648, written by Sir Thomas Hanmer, grandfather of the Speaker. This paper contains several little things not to be found elsewhere, and which may be serviceable to the historian in treating of the relations of England and France, during the commonwealth and the minority of Louis the Fourteenth ; some extracts from the private account-book of Isabella Duchess of Grafton,* from 1708 to 1723, are interesting in many respects, and they afford an index to the manners of those times. Her grace, as she grew old, seems to have tippled a little; for there are many entries of—brandy and usquebaugh. "This alarming item," says the editor good humouredly, makes its first appearance in 1713, (her grace was then in her forty-sixth year,) and it recurs with a fearful growth of frequency in the following years. Charity would make me hope that this brandy might be for the tooth-ache: but it is observable that pence to the poor, losses at cards, and casualties in her grace's jewels, make their appearance about the same time, and multiply with a proportionate rapidity; while operas and plays cease to be numbered among the duchess's expenses." He might have added, that as the consumption of brandy increased, so did the purchase of sermons, snuff, and books of warm devotion.

There is also an extract from "Eroclea; or the Maid of Honour," a

*This lady, in second marriage, was united to Sir Thomas Hanmer, the Speaker.

manuscript romance, in the manner of Scuderi, and big enough to fill some six or seven goodly octavos, the production of Sir Henry North, of Milden Hall, the maternal grandfather of Speaker Hanmer. Then follow in the volume miscellaneous letters, written by a curious variety of personages, from Pope down to poor Bloomfield, the author of the “Farmer's Boy ;" from the Duke of Marlborough down to Lord Nelson. Several of these letters are full of meaning and character-quite a bonne bouche. Two or three of them are truly exquisite. There is one from the poet Crabbe, when in his greatest difficulties, to the benevolent Burke, which will make tears gush to the eyes. If we remember right, there is an extract from this most touching letter in Crabbe's life by his son, a book which we take this opportunity of recommending to all such as have not had the felicity of reading it. Another letter, equally admirable in its way, and honourable alike to the great man who wrote it, and to the great man to whom it was written, is one from Mr. Wordsworth to Charles Fox, upon the condition of the labouring classes of England in the year 1801. Among the writers of the other letters are named Doctor Young, the author of the "Night_Thoughts." Goldsmith, Garrick, Horace Walpole, Jeremy Bentham, Burke, Mrs. Jordan, Madame de Genlis, Dr. Parr, the Marquis Cornwallis, and others. And in addition to all this mixed matter, the volume contains a memoir of Charles Lee, the American general, who was a first cousin of the editor's father, and a singular character; and this is followed by extracts from the poetry of the late Henry F. R. Soame, a cousin of the editor, who died in early life, after giving proof of brilliant talents, and being the delight of a society, many members of which still survive. This gentleman, who died in India in the year 1803, was the author of those beautiful lines on the pains of memory, beginning

"Pleasures of memory !-oh! supremely blest,
And justly proud beyond a poet's praise," etc.

which Mr. Rogers has printed in many successive additions of his "Pleasures of Memory as the production of an anonymous writer. Thanks to Mr. Rogers, we have been familiar with the lines from our childhood, but until now we never could make a guess as to their authorship. The lines are by far the best in the present selection, and they ought to preserve the name of Henry Soame from oblivion.

We could make many pages of choice extracts from this volume, but we must content ourselves with two or three, trusting that they, and the remarks we have offered, will help to direct attention to the volume itself.

As the public mind is now somewhat excited on the subject of Lord Byron's statue, and the Dean and Chapter of Westminster, we will treat our readers with part of another story about a tombstone, in which another great poet was concerned. It appears that Pope's father, though a Catholic, had a tablet erected to his memory by his wife and son in Twickenham church, and that this said tablet was placed over the pew of Lord and Lady Stafford, who were neighbours and friends to the poet. When Sir Godfrey Kneller, the vainest bad painter that ever lived, departed this life, his bouncing and still vainer widow wanted to pull down old Pope's tablet, and to stick in its place a large statue of her defunct husband, with another statue of her living self. The poet, who, on account of his religion, was not likely to find much favour, applied for the assistance of Lord Strafford, and began by wittily representing the danger to his lordship and his noble line.

"A monition from Doctors' Commons was published here last Sunday, wherein that pious widow desires their leave to pull down the tablet set up at the end of your lordship's pew, to fix there a large one to Sir G. and herself, with both their

figures. If your lordship should really chance to take no great pleasure in beholding my name full before your eyes, (which I should not wonder at,) yet, at least (dan gerous as that name is, and dreadful to all true Protestant ears) it cannot incommode you so much as a vast three hundred pounds pile, projecting out upon you, overshadowing my Lady Strafford with the immense draperies and stone petticoats of Lady Kneller, and perhaps crushing to pieces your lordship's posterity! period sounds very poetical, and yet Reeves seriously tells me, and allows me to tell your lordship as seriously, that the main wall at the pews will be greatly in danger of falling by the addition of such a tomb."

This

Lady Godfrey would hear no reason: she said that she would have the place over his lordship's pew because she liked it, and because Pope had promised the place to her husband on his deathbed. To the latter allegation the poet answers

Sir God

"The only ground of this silly pretence of hers is what follows. frey sent to me just before he died. He began by telling me he was now convinced he could not live, and fell into a passion of tears. I said I hoped he might live; but if not, he knew it was the will of God, and therefore would do his best to resign himself to it. He answered with great emotion-No, no, no!—it is the evil spirit.' The next thing he said was this By God! I will not be buried in Westminster Abbey.' I asked him why? He answered, They do bury fools there.' Then he said to me, My good friend, where will you be buried?' I said, 'Wherever I drop; very likely in Twickenham.' He replied, So will I;' then proceeded to desire I would write his epitaph, which I promised him. It would be endless to tell your lordship the strange things be suggested on that head. 'It must be in Latin, that all foreigners may read it; it must be English too,' &c. I desired him to be easy in all that matter, I would certainly do the best I could. Then he desired me that I would take down my father's monument, for it was the best place in the church to be seen at a distance.' This (as your lordship may well imagine) surprised me quite. I hesitated, and said, 'I feared it would be indecent, and that my mother must be asked as well as I.' He fell crying again, and seemed so violently moved, that in pure humanity to a dying man, (as well as to one I thought non compos,) I would not directly persist in denying it strongly, but begged him to be easy upon the whole, and said, I would do for him all that I could with decency.' Those words, and that reserve, I can swear to.'

As the portrait painter's wife was obstinate, the chancellor of the Bishopric of London went down to Twickenham church, and there he, and Pope, and the sexton, and my Lady Kneller, and my Lady Kneller's mason, had quite a field-day. The parson of the parish sided with her ladyship.

Upon this a very silly thing happened, which I ought not to conceal from you. The minister, Dr. Booth, with a good deal of ridiculous warmth, told Dr. Henchman that of all men, my Lord Strafford's objections ought to have no weight, for he never came to church. And added, that you had never given him anything since he was parson; with more to that idle purpose. Two that were present said, my Lord Strafford had given 50l. to the church; and I observed you had scarce been in the country since this parson came, and that he himself had been but once a month, or not so often, here. You will smile at Dr. Henchman's grave answer, which was, Is my Lord Strafford a Roman Catholic or a Dissenter? If he were either, that would not lessen his right of objecting, or any other man's.' This was all that passed."

·

But Pope was not a man to let the matter pass so easily. He wrote an epigram upon the " very large and very wide lady." and he hit the parson very hard in a subsequent letter to Lord Strafford. He says, among severer things

"The truth is, the black puppy provoked me, which was more than all the fat woman could do, with all her other dirty gownmen: a dull blockhead sometimes galls one more than a smart cunning rogue; as a blunt knife cuts and mangles worse than a keen one. I wonder the man should be angry at your lordship, of all men, who (by his own account) are the only one of his parish that does not know him to be a dunce, by never having heard him hold forth."

The next letter, by the hero of Trafalgar, relates not to making a monument, but to making a lieutenant without Admiralty patronage.

My dear Sir Charles,

Only this moment have I been favoured with your letter of Feb. 4th, 1804. Where is this Mr. Stewart? let him come forth! and if I can take the enemy's fleet he shall be made a lieutenant; if not, he must get an Admiralty recommendation, for all except death vacancies are considered as belonging to them; but be assured I am ever happy to meet your wishes, and believe me, my dear Sir Charles,

"Your most obliged,

"Humble Servant,

"NELSON."

In less than a month after writing this letter, Nelson was killed. Collingwood, who succeeded him, took a good number of the enemy's ships into port; but that excellent officer was not allowed to make lieutenants out of the brave unpatronised who had won the victory. That office still remained with the Admiralty, and the Court, and the boroughmongers; and the navy was disgraced-ay, at that very moment-by the promotion of inefficient, untried striplings, while the men who had saved their country were, in great part, passed over. O the good old times!

The next describes, with touching simplicity, a perambulation made among the great, in search of patronage, by poor Bloomfield.

"I think you will pardon my thus writing to you instead of calling, when I inform you that a violent cold has caused me several fits of the headache, and I cannot this wet day persuade myself to venture out. Your zeal in my service entitled you to an earlier intimation of its success; but convinced as I am, that you, sir, know well that the great and fashionable part of the world are not so easy of access as yourself, I anticipate rather a smile at my adventures than that you will feel anything like disappointment. Mr. Windham was too much engaged to see me. The Earl of Carlisle sent a message to the same effect, but added, that if I would call any morning in the following week, he would be glad to speak with me. Accordingly I took a charming walk in Hyde Park, and called a second time, when his lordship sent down for my address, and said he should see Sir Charles Bunbury. On the same day I met with a civil reception from the servants at Devonshire House. But the duchess was not up. I therefore left your letter and the book; perhaps I herein acted wrongbut I felt at that instant as if I should be much happier out of the house than in. I had all along a great desire to see Mr. Fox, and therefore twice declined calling, because there appeared several carriages at the door, and because I conceived that, as I have as little as possible the appearance of a minister of state, the porter would not think me of importance enough to attend to. But finding that my first objection was of a kind not likely to be avoided by waiting, I at last called, when some gentleman, whose carriage stood at the door, was probably engaged with Mr. Fox, and I had an intimation to that purpose. I had, however, so far anticipated my fortune, and so far disclosed my mind in a note enclosed, as to say that I ought, for my country's sake, to wish that he might not find time to read the poems.'

Letters on Paraguay; comprising an Account of a Four Years' Resi-.. dence in that Republic, under the Government of the Dictator Francia. By J. P. and W. P. ROBERTSON.

This is an interesting work on a somewhat novel subject. The republic of Paraguay, situated in the heart of South America, is but little known, Sept. 1838.-VOL. XXIII.—NO. LXXXIX.

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and we do not remember any work that treats exclusively of it, with the single exception of Davies' " Account of Paraguay," published about thirty years ago. The authors tell us they were the first British subjects, with the exception of a Scotch sergeant, who visited the country. The first five letters, which are termed introductory, relate to South America generally, and give a rapid sketch of the rise and progress of society in the different states once under the dominion of old Spain. After detailing the course of events which brought about the revolt of the colonies, and their recognition as independent states, we are introduced to the government and society of the infant republic of Paraguay, which is the main object of the present work.

Having formed the determination of visiting Paraguay, with the view of settling there, Mr. J. P. Robertson thus describes the expedition.

"The expedition which I undertook to Paraguay was a mercantile one; and the ship engaged for the purpose, being equipped and stored with all things necessary, commenced, in December 1811, the laborious navigation of the river Paraná. She had twelve hundred miles alternately to sail and warp against a stream which runs at the rate of three miles an hour; and she was not expected during the summer season (for December there is the veriest midsummer) to make the passage in less than three months, while I could perform the distance on horseback in fifteen or sixteen days."

He therefore determines to go per terra. His equipment as a land traveller is amusing.

"Doffing the habiliments of an Englishman, I put on a light jacket, hidden under a poncho, of a sort of fustian manufacture of the country. The lightness of its material kept me cool, while the closeness of its texture, and the flapping position in which it hung, preserved me from rain. My poncho did more than this; for it served me as a coverlet during the night, and as an awning over head while I sat at my meals, or slept my siesta during the heat of the day. The next, and most conspicuous part of my dress, was a huge straw hat, with the circular amplitude of a large parasol. Round my waist I wore a broad leathern girdle, fastened in front by a large button. At one side of this belt was my carving knife, projected by a curiously wrought sheath, and opposite were stuck a brace of pistols. A red silk sash tied round my smallclothes kept them up; and a pair of stout loose boots, armed with silver spurs, of which the rowels were nearly an inch in diameter, completed my travelling attire. My horse furniture was equally well adapted to the country as my own apparel, and quite as little like that in use here. The hunting saddle was exchanged for the recado, a sort of pack-saddle, underlaid by a large piece of leather covering the whole of the horse's back and haunches, and made with a view to prevent the sweat penetrating to the clothes or upper gear of the saddle. *** Such an apparatus must be cumbrous; but seeing no bed is to be procured in travelling over the country, a saddle thus capable of being converted into a comfortable couch is extremely convenient."

He arrived at Santa Fé, a town on the banks of a tributary stream of the great river Paraná, which, he says, presents a poor appearance—the houses being low-roofed, with the rafters exposed to view, the walls whitewashed. Here he is shocked "to see, for the first time, a great proportion of the ladies, openly and undisguisedly, not only smoking, but smoking cigars of a size so large that those of their male companions bore no comparison to them." His nerves are doomed to a still greater shock! On being asked by the ladies to accompany them to the bath, our author (then scarcely out of his teens) says-

"I never doubted we were to part company at the water's edge. I of course consented to become one of so novel and interesting a party, and forth we sallied. The ladies were attended by a great many female slaves, bearing their mistresses' wearing apparel. As we moved onward en masse, many was the joke, and loud the laugh, which cheered us on our way. Much too plain and primitive, however, for reiteration was the language in which the whole conversation was couched. At