*6.1820--H.R. H. Duchess of York died. Although her Royal Highness did not mix much in general society, yet she was sincerely esteemed in the select circle in which she moved. Her charities were numerous, though unostentatious; and the poor of her neighbourhood, as well as other objects of her benevolence, will have but too much reason to lament her loss. This, however, is in part alleviated by the noble conduct of the Duke, who, it is said, has ordered the pensions to many of the distressed persons to be continued. 7. NAME OF JÉSUS. Before the Reformation, this day was dedicated to Afra, a woman who had been converted to Christianity by Narcissus, Bishop of Jerusalem, and who afterwards suffered martyrdom; and the breviary was recognized by Paul V. Afterwards Donatus, who became a martyr in the time of Julian for refusing to sacrifice, was substituted in her place. Our reformers devoted it to the NAME OF OUR BLESSED LORD. 10.-SAINT LAWRENCE. St. Lawrence was, by birth, a Spaniard, and treasurer of the church of Rome, being deacon to Pope Sextus, about the year 259. Soon afterwards, his bishop was killed by the soldiers of Valerian the emperor, with whom our saint would willingly have died. Lawrence refusing to deliver up the church treasure, which they imagined to be in his custody, he was laid upon a gridiron, and broiled over a fire. The celebrated palace of the Escurial is dedicated to this saint. See this described in T. T. for 1814, p. 199. 12. 1762.-KING GEORGE IV BORN. *13. 1667.-BISHOP JEREMY TAYLOR DIED. He had the good humour of a gentleman, the eloquence of an orator, the fancy of a poet, the acuteness of a schoolman, the profoundness of a philosopher, the wisdom of a chancellor, the sagacity of a prophet, the reason of an angel, and the piety of a saint. He had devotion enough for a cloister, learning enough for a university, and wit enough for a college of virtuosi; and had his parts and endowments been parcelled out among his clergy that he left behind him, it would, perhaps, have made one of the best dioceses in the world! Such is the splendid and deserved panegyric of Dr. Rust, who preached the Bishop's funeral sermon; yet amidst all this praise, it must be observed, that Jeremy Taylor is seen to most advantage as a moral writer. To use the language of an eminent living critic, 'He does not pretend to annihilate the passions and pursuits of mankind in the pride of philosophic indifference, but treats them as serious and momentous things, warring with conscience and the soul's health, or furnishing the means of grace and hopes of glory. In his writings, the frail stalk of human life reclines on the bosom of eternity. His Holy Living and Dying is a divine pastoral. He writes to the faithful followers of Christ, as the shepherd pipes to his flock. He introduces touching and heartfelt appeals to familiar life; condescends to men of low estate; and his pious page blushes with modesty and beauty. His style is prismatic. It unfolds the colour of the rainbow; it floats like the bubble through the air; it is like innumerable dew-drops that glitter on the face of morning, and tremble as they glitter. He does not dig his way underground, but slide upon ice, borne on the winged car of fancy. The dancing light he throws upon objects is like an aurora borealis, playing betwixt heaven and earth— Where pure Niemi's faery banks arise, And, fringed with roses, Tenglio rolls its stream. His exhortations to piety and virtue are a gay memento mori. He mixes up death's heads and amaranthine flowers; makes life a procession to the grave, but crowns it with gaudy garlands, and "rains sacrificial roses" on its path. In a word, his writings are more like fine poetry than any other prose whatever; they are a choral song in praise of virtue, and å hymn to the Spirit of the Universe'.' 15.-ASSUMPTION. This is a festival in the Greek and Romish churches in honour of the supposed miraculous ascension of the Virgin Mary into heaven. *19. 1782.-ROYAL GEORGE SUNK2. Toll for the brave! The brave that are no more! All sunk beneath the wave, Eight hundred of the brave, Whose courage well was tried, Had made the vessel heel, And laid her on her side. A land breeze shook the shrouds, Down went the Royal George, Toll for the brave! Brave Kempenfelt is gone; His last sea-fight is fought; His work of glory done. It was not in the battle; No tempest gave the shock ; She sprang no fatal leak; She ran upon no rock. Hazlitt's Lectures on the Literature of the Age of Queen Eliza beth, &c. p. 308. 2 See our last volume, p. 194. His sword was in its sheath; His fingers held the pen, With twice four hundred men. Weigh the vessel up, Once dreaded by our foes! And mingle with our cup The tear that England owes. Her timbers yet are sound, And she may float again, And plough the distant main. But Kempenfelt is gone, His victories are o'er; And he and his eight hundred Shall plough the wave no more. COWPER. *22. 1818.-HON. WARREN HASTINGS died, Late Governor General of Bengal. When Mr. Hastings returned from his Government in India, instead of being hailed, as he had been proclaimed, its saviour, he was met with accusation as its greatest oppressor; and he was kept on a trial of Impeachment for seven years at the bar of the House of Lords. During this unprecedented trial, every act of his government of fourteen years' continuance was sifted and bolted to the bran;' but though the greatest talents of the country, though all the powers of eloquence were exerted, yet truth and innocence *prevailed, and he was honourably acquitted by the judgment of the House of Lords. Some years after his trial had ended, and when parliament was deliberating on the renewal of the company's charter, Mr. Hastings was examined by the House of Commons on this occasion; and when he was about to retire, all the members spontaneously rose, as if by that generous and honourable act, so contrary to their practice, they intended to offer an atonement for the injuries he had formerly suffered in the same place. The following is a favourable specimen of Mr. Hastings's poetical talents: IMITATION OF HORACE, Book xvi, Ode 2. ON the PASSAGE from BENGAL to ENGLAND. For ease the slow Mahratta spoils While both their ease forego; For neither gold nor gems combined He who enjoys, nor covets more, No fears his peace of mind annoy, Which laboured years have won; Short is our span; then why engage The restless thought and wayward will, |