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scarce a walker in its middle aisle *." The houses, too, looked uninhabited; no ladies in their "bravery and beauty,"

To their closed wickets made repair,

The empty casements gaped wide for air.

A more perfect picture of sorrow and desolation could scarcely be conveyed than in this line. Disease brought its companion, poverty; numbers wandered about the streets in miserable destitution. Wither relates an affecting instance. Wandering forth on his customary walk one evening,

When the waning light

Was that which could be called nor day nor night. he met with one who on him "cast a ruthful eye."

Methought I heard him somewhat softly say,
As if that he for some relief did pray.

He bashfully replied, that indeed

He was ashamed to speak aloud what need
Did make him softly mutter. Somewhat more
He would have spoken, but his tongue forbore
To tell the rest, because his eyes did see

'Their tears had almost drawn forth tears froin me,

And that my hand was ready to bestow

That help which my poor fortunes did allow.-Canto 4.

If, oppressed with the loneliness and mourning of the

The aisles of St. Paul's were very generally frequented by the idle and inquisitive; allusions to this custom abound in our older poets. In the Mastive, &c., written about the year 1604-5, it is asked,

Who's yond' marching hither?

Some brave low-country Captain, with his feather
And high-crown'd hat: see, into Paul's he goes,
To show his doublet and Italian hose.

In Jonson's Every Man in his Humour, the celebrated Captain Bobadill is "a Paul's man:" and in Every Man out of his Humour, the first scene of the third Act is laid in the middle aisle of St. Paul's.--See Gifford's edition of the works of Ben Jonson, and Reed's Old Plays, vol. vii, p. 136.

town, he wandered into the fields, the scene was scarcely less painful :

About the fields ran one, who being fled,

In spite of his attendants, from his bed,
This way a stranger by his host expell'd,

That way a servant, shut from where he dwell'd,
Came weakly staggering forth (and crush'd beneath
Diseases and unkindness) sought for death,

Which soon was found.

Canto 4.

It was natural that the poet should contrast with the present melancholy, the cheerfulness of past summers, when the dash of the oar kept time with the music upon the crowded river, and "Islington and Tottenham-court" were visited by pleasure-parties for their "cakes and cream *."

Among the most terrible symptoms of the plague was the insanity that sometimes accompanied it. A painful instance occurred in the house where Wither resided. "A plague-sick man," under the influence of this delirium, believing that Death had assumed a dreadful and loathsome shape, besought those around, with most piteous cries, to draw the curtains; and, having "rested awhile," he started from the bed, and running to the couch on which his wife lay, threw himself upon his knees, and

Both his hands uprearing,

As if his eye had seen pale Death appearing,

To strike his wife,

entreated him to spare hert.

• During the reign of James the First and Charles the First, Islington was a favourite resort, on account of its rich dairies. In that part of the manor of Highbury at the lower end of Islington, there were, in 1611, eight inns, principally supported by summer visiters.-See Nelson's History of Islington, p. 38, 4to., 1811.

+ Cases of sudden death from the plague sometimes occurred. Mr. Joseph Mead, writing to Sir Martin Stuteville, July 2d, says, “I am

But it was not until after many weeks, when Wither had gone out in the morning and returned in the evening in safety, that it pleased God to send his "dreadful messenger" to the poet's dwelling. The pestilence attacked the occupants with so much violence as quickly to destroy five, and leave "another wounded." Wither now began to feel all the terrors of doubting faith and superstitious alarm. He grew weaker every day, but communicated his sufferings or apprehensions to no

man.

After having passed a sleepless night, he awoke one morning with the round ruddy spots, the fatal signs of infection, upon his breast and shoulders, but the mercy of the Almighty, in whom he had put his trust, brought him out of this great danger. The ominous spots, however, continued for some time upon his body.

The plague having now attained its height, began to decline; the number of deaths diminished daily, and before the winter was ended, the citizens had returned to their homes, and

Another brood

Soon fill'd the houses which unpeopled stood.-Canto 5.

John Fletcher, the dramatic poet, perished in this pestilence. He had been invited to accompany a gentleman, "of Norfolk or Suffolk," into the country, and only remained in London while a suit of clothes was being made; but before it was completed, he fell sick of the plague, and died. We are indebted for this anecdote to Aubrey, who had it from Fletcher's tailor. I may

told that my Lord Russel being to go to Parliament, had his shoe-maker to pull on his boots, who fell down dead of the plague in his presence. Whereupon he abstains from that honourable Assembly, and hath sent the Lords notice of this accident."-Ellis's Original Letters, vol. iii. P. 205.

add the name of Thomas Lodge, who is supposed to have been removed by the same calamity. He was a physician in the reign of Queen Elizabeth, and Philips, in the Theatrum Poetarum, calls him "one of the writers of those pretty old songs and madrigals which were very much the strain of those times." Lodge, perhaps, deserves higher praise. A sweet and serious vein of feeling runs through some of his poems, particularly Old Damon's Pastoral.

It is impossible to contemplate the conduct of Wither during this season of grief and suffering without a feeling of admiration and respect. Beneath the power of a frightful pestilence, human life was poured out like water. The strength of youth, to use the noble language of Quarles*, was no privilege against it, the soundness of a constitution was no exemption from it: the sovereignty of drugs could not resist it; where it listed it wounded, and where it wounded it destroyed. The rich man's coffers could not bribe it; the skilful artist could not prevail against it; the black magician could not charm it. In the midst of all these perils the Christian poet dwelt serene and undisturbed; throughout the continuance of the plague he never removed from the centre of infection, "the distance of a mile." Yet the arrow flew harmlessly past him by day, the terror did not strike him in the night. He knew that an arm was around him which never wearied, and an eye watching over him which never slumbered or slept. The passages quoted from Britain's Remembrancer contain some vivid sketches of the city of the plague. We behold the poet wandering forth in the uncertain twilight among the forsaken walks of the city, and almost hear, so na

• Prayers and Meditations.

turally does he bring the scene before us, the heavy fall of his lingering footsteps along the grass-grown streets, and the creaking of the shutters of some deserted house as they moved to and fro in the midnight wind. Many affecting stories might be added to those already given. The picture of the anxious wife listening to every sound during the absence of her husband, and starting up in terror if any one "knocked or called in haste," is a copy from nature.

After the publication of Britain's Remembrancer, we lose sight of Wither until 1631, when we find him assisting the Rev. William Bedwell in the publication of the Tournament of Tottenham. Warton, who in his History of Poetry particularly mentions this old poem, has omitted to state that it was published from a MS. communicated by Wither; but Bedwell, in the epistle to the reader, confesses the obligation. "It is now," he says, "seven or eight years since I came to the sight of the copy, and that by the means of the worthy and my much honoured good friend, Mr. Ge. Wither; of whom also, now at length I have obtained the use of the same: and because the verse was then by him, a man of exquisite judgment in this kind of learning, much commended,

as also for the thing itself, I thought it worth the while, especially at idle times, to transcribe it, and for the honour of the place to make it public."

This was written in the March of 1631. Bedwell was the Rector of Tottenham, to which he had been presented by Bishop Andrews, whom he calls his honourable good Lord and Patron*, He was also one of the translators of the Bible, and an able Oriental scholar.

He bequeathed some valuable Arabic MSS. to the

In the dedication of the Kalendarium Viatorium Generale, 1614.

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