spurs to his horse, and plunged down the steep road towards home, scattering the mud and slush in all directions. He rode by the dray without further notice, and was soon out of sight. Three or four successive hills and valleys were passed on a road of ample width, enclosed on both sides by a four railed fence, and through a thickly wooded country, partly cleared and partly cumbered with trees, some standing, some fallen, and occasionally smouldering with a fire that had continued burning for many weeks. In this manner they passed Annandale and Elswick, and finally turned up a narrow lane, some three furlongs in length, at the end of which lay the garden and cottage residence of Feversham. In a secluded part of the road, Joe, having first looked around him to see that he was not observed, drew near the side of the dray, and explained to Lucy that the horseman who had thus preceded them was their master, and that he was apprehensive of the consequences of the robbery that had been committed. Master," said he, "is a wide awake chap, and will spare neither of us; but, my girl," he continued, "shut your eyes and see nothing; shut your ears and hear nothing; shut your mouth and say nothing; or you will lead but a so so life, I can promise you." Lucy made no reply, but inwardly determined to use all the discretion she was mistress of, in dealing with her master and her fellow-servants, until she should learn with some certainty the true nature of her position. St. James were very conspicuous. The shops were full of business; the streets resounded with the hum of men; and evidence of the English origin of the place was no where wanting. Gradually, however, the houses ceased to be continuous; open fields, which are now covered with the habitations of men, succeeded; and the turnpike-gate, of English aspect and construction, proved the limit of the town. The roads were deep in mud and clay; deep ruts and pools swallowed up the wheels, and the gutters on either side of the streets rolled their headlong torrents down the brick-field hill. The rain fell continuously, and gave no signs of intermission. To wrap herself in a coarse great coat belonging to the driver, and to take refuge beneath the folds of a heavy tarpaulin which lay upon the dray, was a natural and obvious measure. Dejection and low diet made the young woman shrink and shudder on the jolting vehicle, and a few scalding tears coursed one another down her cheeks, as the helpless, homeless, friendless nature of her position forced itself upon her thoughts. But Lucy's meditations were soon interrupted. The dray stopped by the road-side, where a red bull's portrait indicated the presence of a public-house, one only of the very many which abound in the neighbourhood of Sydney. Here, without any attempt at concealment, an official of the inn picked a few stitches in the seam of a sack of flour deposited at the side of the dray; and having permitted the meal to flow forth in a full stream, which he received into a stable pail, he quickly disappeared Feversham house, built on the ground floor, after the with the plunder down a gateway. The driver looked fashion of this colony, was a quadrangle, open in the on with apparent indifference, until the same person centre, and surrounded on three sides by a wide reappeared, bearing in each hand an overflowing glass verandah, sustained by white columns of wood at due The driver handed one of them to Lucy, and intervals. The south side, which in this hemisphere is bade her "take a ball" to keep out the wet; at the rarely cheered by the sun, was occupied chiefly by the same time he poured the contents of the other down offices, and was without the shelter afforded to the other his throat, and proceeded to light his short and blackened sides. Here Joe assisted Lucy to alight; and the poor pipe. Lucy Cooper, however, without tasting the coarse girl, feeble with the privations of the voyage, ill-fed, and and acrid stimulant, returned the glass to her fellow-drenched with rain, could hardly summon strength to servant, who testified no small amazement at her refusal to exhaust it, but showed no unwillingness to finish what his new acquaintance had left undone. of rum. The bullocks resumed their plodding pace; the flour trickled from the dray into the mud; the rain continued to descend, and Lucy shrunk back into her shelter. At this moment a horseman, buttoned and cloaked up to the chin, suddenly drew up his powerful beast, and called upon the driver to stop his team. He swore vehemently at the man, and bade him secure the sack. "But stay," said he; "what scheme is this, Joe? Who eut the sack?" "I don't know, sir," was the reply. "Well," said his master, "I will make you know to-morrow morning, if you don't find out to night. Let us see, the seam is opened, and your track is marked upon the road by a long white line. Get home as fast as you can, and I will follow you." Joe sounded his heavy bullock-whip, and his sluggish cattle again set forward. But his master, intent upon tracing a clue so obviously presented to his scrutiny, trotted back to the Red Bull, whither the evidence of the flour guided him, and, taking to the gateway without inquiry or delay, seized upon John Ostler in the stable, with the pail of flour in his hand. A constable was immediately procured, who, at a single word from the horseman, carried off the ostler and his pail to the nearest watch-house, which in this colony stands open day and night for the reception of visitors. Although this scene passed with as little noise and delay as possible, the landlord from within was alarmed, and with many bows and scrapes to the horseman, begged to know what was the matter. I will tell you," said he, " to-morrow morning at nine o'clock. You will not give me the trouble, I am sure, to send for you. At the police-office, to-morrow morning." "Yes, your worship," said the publican, and bowed the magistrate out of his stable-yard, who once more set walk into the kitchen, whilst Joe proceeded to unload on it gone." "Ah! Joe, Joe, you are always meeting some misfortune. The Doctor is just come home, and says he will put a stitch or two between your shoulders to-morrow." "Aye, aye," said Joe, "my back must suffer for it, I know. Whatever happens, the scourger is the man to set all to rights." Two or three more of the men came up to assist in getting the dray unloaded, which was no sooner done, than the oxen were unyoked and turned into the paddock, the dray left standing at the kitchen-door, and the men retired to their huts to waste the day, which was wholly unfavourable for labour in the open air, and therefore spent in sleep, as soon as their scanty rations had been cooked and devoured. Mrs. Caveat now returned to the kitchen, where an old and ill-favoured Irish woman was engaged at the washing-tub, stealing glances at the new comer, but without attempting to show her any kindness. "What is your name, young woman," said Mrs. Caveat. "I am afraid you are very wet. But take off your shoes and stockings, and change your clothes, if your bundle contains a change, at least. Walsh shall give you a basin of hot tea and a damper, and then you shall tell the Doctor what happened upon the road; and mind you tell the truth, or you will begin by getting into trouble. The Doctor will be your friend if you deserve it; but he never pardons those who treat him ill." Mrs. Caveat left Lucy by the fire-side, which glowed in the midst of an Australian summer, with three or four logs of "iron-bark" lying on the bricks, and ministering flames to the blackened sides of a huge cauldron suspended from a ponderous bar in the chimney, and neighboured by a boiler with a brass top, designated here as a kitchen." The roof was unceiled, the rafters black with smoke; the window was not glazed, but furnished with the necessary complement of iron bars, a check curtain, partly drawn, and a wooden shutter of the clumsiest construction. The dresser and the shelves exhibited the shattered remnant of what had once been a costly service of crockery ware, now reduced by reckless servants and intruding poultry to the true colonial condition of shabby-genteel. A huge settle, a heavy but crippled cedar table, and a few three-legged stools, completed the furniture of the kitchen. Walsh, who, in obedience to her mistress's orders, had made a cup of tea, now pointed to the smoking beverage as it stood upon the table, and bade Lucy make it as sweet as she pleased. But Lucy looked for milk, which Walsh quickly understood, and said, "You will get no milk here, until you find the way to help yourself; all you prig you have; and if you go without, it is your own fault. Do not snivel, but drink your tea, and eat your bread; master will send for you in about an hour's time, when he has dined and taken his wine. But if he gets anything out of you against Joe, you will have reason to be sorry as long as you live. Take my advice, and keep your own counsel." The forlorn and wretched girl was overwhelmed with her own miseries, rendered doubly oppressive by the circumstances of the weather and her situation. She could form no opinion of the extent and nature of the danger which threatened Joe or herself, and felt almost indifferent about whatever might befal her. However she gradually recovered her cheerfulness, and was replying to certain inquiries of her repulsive acquaintance, when a smart lad, in a pink jacket, who had been attending on his master at dinner, put his head in at the kitchen door, and said, "Now, then, Miss Newcome, it is your turn. Come this way, and show yourself. Joe is in for it, and you have begun early. Mind your answers, and don't blow upon him. Come round by the verandah these is the bed rooms; here is master's, and this is the dining-room." They had reached the north-east corner of the cottage; an outer door was opened, and Lucy found herself in the presence of Dr. Caveat. The room was covered with a magnificent Turkey carpet; there were three or four large paintings, done in a good style, upon the wall; a sideboard with a profusion of glass and plate; the windows were curtained, and every thing combined to testify to the wealth and consequence of the owner. Dr. Caveat had not removed from table; Mrs. Caveat, if she was entitled to the name, sate by his side; and a parcel of briefs and legal documents lay loose among the glasses and the fruit. The Doctor, without looking round, began the conversation. "You are just landed, I believe," said he; "have you had a tolerable passage?" "We were five months, and had a great deal of bad weather, sir." Had you any sickness on board?" "A good deal, sir." "How many deaths?" Thirteen deaths, sir; amongst the rest"-Lucy began to sob. Amongst the rest?"--continued the doctor, in a tone of inquiry. "Amongst them, sir, was my poor sister." "What was her age-How old are you?" "I am twenty, sir; my sister was twenty-one." "Were you well treated?-Have you any complaints to make?" None at all; we were as well treated as our condition allowed, and better, I am sure, than we deserved." Well, I rejoice to hear you say so. My inquiries have hitherto been productive of some good, at any rate. Your name," continued Dr. Caveat, examining a scrap of paper which had been forwarded with the prisoner, whose description it bore, " your name, I sce, is Lucy Cooper." Lucy acknowledged her name in a quiet way, and without speaking. "Well, Lucy," said the Doctor, whilst he sipped his wine," do you remember seeing me upon the road?" "I should not have known you again, sir," Lucy fal tered out. "You had halted at the Red Bull, had you not?" "We stopped for a minute at a public-house, but I did not notice the sign, sir." "What had you to drink?" demanded the Doctor. "I drank nothing, sir," was Lucy's answer. "I see," said Doctor Caveat, "you have already acquired the colonial accomplishment of keeping a secret. If you drank nothing, tell me girl, what did Joe drink?" "I cannot say, sir," was Lucy's answer. "Cannot and will not are all one," said Doctor Caveat, "but Joe shall tell us in the morning himself, if whipcord can make him speak. As for you, young woman, I was in hopes, from your youth and inexperience, to have found you faithful to my interest, and attached to my family-when you became acquainted with us, I mean-but you will choose your friends, I suppose, and go your own ways in spite of any thing I can offer you." "Indeed, sir," replied Lucy, "I feel the want of a friend, and hope that my good conduct will recommend me to your consideration." "Enough, enough, young woman," interrupted Mrs. Caveat, startled at a word or two that Lucy uttered, and not greatly pleased with the gentle tones in which they were conveyed; "if you have nothing further to communicate to the Doctor, you may go back to the kitchen. Walsh will find you something to do." It would seem that the examination which had taken place had been diligently reported in the kitchen by him in the pink jacket, and had produced a favourable effect upon the company there assembled, which now consisted of Jenny Muckle from the laundry, an old Scotchwoman, Betsy Shindles, the cook, a young Londoner of three-andtwenty, the foresaid Anne Walsh, and Tom Collins, in the pink jacket, who had been born in the colony, and brought up in the Male Orphan School at Liverpool. These assigned women of the Doctor's, and the privileged boy, who had the run of the whole house from the kitchen upwards, and also visited the men's huts whenever he pleased, and who thus formed an easy mode of communication between all hands, and on that account had acquired the honourable appellation of Pug Mischief, were all regaling themselves upon that choice luxury of Australia, a cup of tea; and were calculating the probability of an amour between the Doctor and Lucy; the desir ableness of a change in the executive by the removal of the acting Mrs. Caveat, and the suitableness of her prospective successor to the wants and wishes of the community there assembled. Jealousy and the elder women were not unacquainted, notwithstanding all the disqualifications of original ugliness, and the dilapidations of a lengthened colonial service in the ranks of vice and debauchery; ceaseless exposure to the sun by day, and the visitations of mosquitoes by night; but with Betsy Shindles, who had already made some progress towards intimacy with her learned master, and whose hopes were accordingly raised much higher than the due value of her merits justified, that unpleasant feeling rose in her throat with suffocating power, and she gave vent to her uneasiness by staring at Lucy, and turning up her nose at her. "I am glad you did not split upon Joe," said Walsh, "though I believe his luck's against him." "Yes, he is booked for fifty before breakfast tomorrow," added Tom Collins. "They'll curl his hair for him, puir fellow," said Jenny Muckle, turning her tea into a soup-plate that stood upon the dresser, and blowing upon the steaming surface; "we ne'er blow upon one anither, lassie; that's aye the rule, and so you'll find it." Bring your pannikin, girl, and take your tea," said Walsh, who had been cooking the beverage since Lucy first came in, "and see you get your rashions (rations) | excited. At length, when Doctor Caveat left his room, served out to you." Rashions," said Lucy, glad to say something, and yet unwilling to speak of master or servant, what are rashions?" A loud laugh followed this betrayal of ignorance, which a week's residence in the land would have rendered impossible. 66 There is an innocent," said Shindles; "we must send her for some pigeon's milk." But Walsh was inclined to patronize Lucy, and took upon herself to explain. "Your rashions is your week's whack." 66 66 My what?" said Lucy. Well," said Tom Collins, "she is fresh, that's certain; I must teach you, Lucy, all about your rashions, and a thing or two besides." "As if," interposed Betsy Shindles, "the ladies of the Pyramus were dumb, and did not enlighten one another. Such innocence won't do with me. I am not so flat, nor she neither, as all that comes to." But the tea-party was broken up by the entrance of Mrs. Caveat into the kitchen, whereupon the ladies suddenly dispersed in various directions to resume the drudgery of their calling, which was now augmented a hundred fold by the deluge of rain streaming through the roof in various places, and soaking under the doors, whilst the unpaved courts were ankle deep in mud, the eaves dripped in torrents, the rain descended perpendicularly; there was no wind, no motion among the trees, no noise of any kind to break the dull monotony of a weeping day, in the midst of which the poor shoeless and drenched women paddled to and fro about their several occupations. It was not any addition to Lucy's comfort during this first day at Feversham, that no employment was allotted to her to occupy her thoughts, and distract her mind from the intense feeling of loneliness and desertion which overwhelmed her. At length, however, the night came on, and very early in the evening, the women of the household crawled up a steep ladder into a close and heated cock-loft, subject alike to the rain and the influence of the sun, where, upon a stretcher bedstead and a straw mattress, each of the assigned servants wrapped herself in her blanket and horse rug, and after a long and tedious gossip fell asleep. Pu it was understood, without further reserve, that Joe, the driver, had run away from his master's service in the night, or, in the Colonial phrase, had taken to the bush, accompanied by a younger man named Burton, who had chosen to go with him, although under no immediate provocation. Dr. Caveat's service was peculiarly severe; the toil, perhaps, was not heavier nor of longer duration than elsewhere, but there were no circumstances of alleviation, no kindness of manner, nor forbearance. nishment followed offence infallibly; it was always more severe than the demerit, and not unfrequently quite undeserved. Doctor Caveat was looked upon, therefore, with much dislike; to which the contrast of his practice with his opinions gave additional weight; for he always advocated liberal opinions, proclaimed the natural rights of the people, and was a decided and uniform opposer of all the measures of government. Besides all this, he exacted with watchful rigour the full labour of his men, at the same time that he took every unfair advantage of them in the quality and quantity of their rations: for these reasons, his character was widely known from one end of the Colony to another; and there was, perhaps, not a single ironed gang in New South Wales, in which his name and conduct were not freely discussed and rendered odious. It is not to be wondered at, therefore, that Joe should have come to the resolution he had taken, amidst the encouragement of his companions, and under the well-grounded apprehension of a punishment hardly less severe than that in store for him, should it be his fate to be re-captured and dealt with accordingly. SIR RICHARD WHITTINGTON, KNT. WHO is there that has not heard of the renowned Sir Richard Whittington, the thrice lord mayor of London, and, probably, the only one who was thrice buried? His name is a household word; we learned to lisp it with the imperfect accents of early childhood, when the adventures of himself, and of his immortalised cat, were to us as a pleasant tale. In after years, still mindful of our early impressions, we think of him with yet greater admiration, for his industry, his integrity, his munificence, and his piety: still do we remember the industrious servant, the prosperous merchant, and the munificent benefactor to that city, over which he thrice presided as chief magistrate. Other nursery tales lose their interest with us, as we grow up: the impossibility of some, and the fact of our not feeling any sympathy with others, cause them to become to us as forgotten dreams; save when we hear them mentioned by our children. But the story of "Whittington and his Cat" possesses attractions for all, of a peculiar nature. But, if the previous day had been rainy in the extreme, the following morning was as delightful and splendid. Long before sunrise, the whole of the eastern firmament glowed with rosy brightness. There was not a single cloud to be seen. The sloping sunbeams now poured their radiance from the Annandale ridge, lighting up ten thousand jewels in the grass, wet with the blessing of yesterday. A bed of monthly roses, which nearly closed the north verandah, glistened with the drops, and bore as many flowers as leaves; the garden plots were full of the choicest plants, English and Australian, whilst the cleared land rose in many an undulating slope, till in the distance it was closed by the bush, full of gigantic trees and smaller shrubs. The cows were slowly returning to their pasture in the bush, having been early It is well remarked by Mr. Thoms,' that "the brought to the pail, or, in Colonial phrase, having been nursery story of Whittington and his Cat,'-the early bailed up, a process which consists of securing the main incident of which is one of the most remarkhead of the beast between two stout posts, and oftentimes able and wide-spread in the whole circle of legendaccompanied by securing one of her hinder feet with aary lore, as the reader may learn from Keightley's leg rope. Nothing can be finer than the early morning; but the heat soon becomes more and more oppressive, until towards ten o'clock a breeze generally rises and mitigates the ardent ray. But servile occupations and the enjoyments of nature are somewhat incompatible; the wearied wretch rises from his bed little refreshed by sleep, which swarms of mosquitoes interrupt; and the day brings with it only a succession of toil, and a new series of annoyance and temptations. Something, moreover, had evidently occurred during the night, as was manifest by the whispering of certain of the women, and the uneasy attention which every circumstance obviously Tales and Popular Fictions,'-affords striking evidence of the influence of national character upon the popular tales of a country. Neither in the Bibliothèque Bleue of the French, nor in any of the German Volksbücher, is there to be found any similar tale, developing, as this obviously does, the two grand principles of action which distinguish the merchants of England,-integrity and perse () Stow's Survey of London, edited by W. J. Thoms, Esq. F.S.A. 1812; p. 91. verance. Tales of love, and tales of war, are there | little bundle of clothes hanging over his shoulder, in plenty; but a tale in which the success of the hero is made to depend upon the happy issue of a commercial enterprise, could only be expected to have its rise among a people, whom Buonaparte, in the bitterness of his heart, designated a nation of shopkeepers.' "The carliest narration of Richard Whittington's adventures, is in Johnson's Crown Garland of Golden Roses,' 1612; but a still earlier allusion to the famous fable of Whittington and his Puss,' is in the play of Eastward Hoe,' written soon after 1603; and the popularity of the story is shown by Granger, ('Biographical History of England,'i. 65,) who, describing the print of Whittington, engraved by Elstrake, in which he is represented in a collar of SS., with his right hand on a cat, adds:-'The cat has been inserted, as the common people did not care to buy the print without it: there was none, originally, in the plate, but a skull in the place of it, I have seen only two proofs of the portrait in its first state, and these were fine impressions,"" Of how much fabulous matter the history of Sir Richard Whittington-and, chiefly, that pertaining to his cat, (certainly the most celebrated one that ever existed,)-might be divested, we cannot now determine. Born of humble parents, and left an orphan at a tender age, it is probable that a great part of his boyhood was occupied in such manual labour as he was capable of undertaking; save the portions passed in the school of a monastery, if the neighbourhood possessed one of those places, which formerly filled the gap now occupied by our hospitals and our public schools-where he would lay the foundation of that learning which was eventually to be of service to him, as a merchantprince, a worshipful knight, and the head of the most opulent and powerful corporation in the world. We need not his quarrel with the cross cook, nor his memorable resting near the foot of Highgate-hill, nor his listening to the sound of the Bow-church bells, and returning to the city, nor his cat and its eventful exportation, nor the grim-visaged emperor of Morocco, nor the mice which the aforesaid awful face failed to scare from his table ;-we need none of these to give to Whittington a charm and an interest, which are not equalled in the history of the whole of the other lord mayors of London. He stands alone. As he succeeded (after a period of seventeen years) Sir William Walworth in the mayoralty, we may conclude that he was a cotemporary of him, who also stands out from the long list, and occupies a prominent place in the city annals, and in English history, as having knocked from his horse the rebel, Wat Tyler. Before proceeding, we may just premise, that Whittington's history commences in the latter end of the long reign of Edward III., A. D. 1326-1377. We see Richard Whittington leave his fatherless home, and, with a tearful eye, turn his back on the pleasant village which had given him birth, his 1 (1) Hugh Todd. D. D., sometime prebendary of Carlisle, in his MS. "History of the Diocese of Carlisle,"-speaking of the parish of Great Salkeld, Cumberland,-says, that in his time, (circa 1660 -1728) it was reported, that Sif Richard Whittington, thrice lord mayor of London, was born of poor parents, within that parish; that he built the church and tower from the foundation; and that he intended presenting three large bells to that parish, which, by some mischance, stopped at Kirkby-Stephen, in Westmoreland, on their way to Great Salkeld. A similar tradition is to seek his fortune in London, whose streets of "golden pavement" he longed to sec. After a long and a weary journey, he finds himself on the summit of a hill; and, stretched out before him, in the south, is a city, more vast and mightier than any he had seen in his travels. The glorious array of the unnumbered towers and spires, overtopped by the cross on the spire of the cathedral church of St. Paul, looked dim in the dense cloud of smoke resting over them; and his heart tells him, that is the city of his destination; but little wots he that he is, eventually, to become its chief magistrate. Passing through the village of Iseldon, his impatience brings him along Aeldresgate; and he soon finds himself in the bustling centre of the city, at the end of West-Cheape,' near the cathedral of St. Paul. How magnificent does it appear to him! (exceeding in dimensions any we now have in England,) its loftiest part crowned, then as now, with the symbol of redemption. Here, then, is Richard Whittington, in the heart of London, "Unknowing and unknown." How sinks the heart of the poor orphan-boy, in the throng and crowd of that busy thoroughfare! Nothing is so impressive as the solitude of a vast city, to the poor and indigent stranger. Of the numberless persons who pass him, none are like the old familiar faces of his native village; and he is now oppressed with feelings of a greater loneliness and desolateness than he had hitherto felt, even when crossing the dismal heath and the gloomy forest, on his journey hither. He enters the church, and his heart is relieved of much of its sadness, as he joins in the same services to which he had been accustomed at his home. He was soon fortunate enough to enter into the service of Hugh Fitzwaren, a merchant of London. But here he was persecuted by an elder fellowresolved to leave London, and bend his steps back servant; and at length, weary of his sufferings, he towards his native village. This he did, on the morning of the feast of Allhallows, now known among us as All Saints' Day. Before he commenced the ascent of the long hill of Highgate, he sat down by the way-side to rest himself. The south wind, which was then blowing rather fresh, bore on its wings the sound-that for some time had been familiar to his ears—of the bells of the parish church of St. Mary-le-Bow; and, as he listened to their well-known tones, he half fancied as others have done-that there was speech and language in the harmonious peal. Listening, with a saddened spirit, to the bells, he imagined they repeated the distich, which is now so familiar to all : "Turn again, Whittington, Lord Mayor of London."(5) Those bells, and that fancy of the poor youth, were the means of his attaining the eminence to yet current in that neighbourhood. But the long distance from London, (nearly 300 miles,) the bad state of the roads, and the great inconvenience of travelling, in his time, render it very improbable that Whittington was born in Cumberland. (2) The height of the spire of the fine old church of St. Paul, when Whittington came to London, was 520 feet. The magnificence and extent of that pile, which was destroyed in the great fire, A. D. 1666, may be inferred, from comparing its dimensions with those of the present building, erected by Sir C. Wren. The height of the present cross is only 356 feet. (3) Now Islington. (4) Now Cheapside; formerly called West-Cheape, to distinguish it from East-Cheape. (5) At that fime the peal contained only six bells. which he succeeded in after years. He still listened, and still did the merry peal seem to repeat the same couplet in yet more distinct tones. This was "the tide in his affairs," which led to fortune. Gathering up his stick and his bundle, he did "turn again;" and hope inspirited him as he wended his way back to the smoke-covered city. Here he remained in the service of the same kind master under whose roof he had before dwelt, gradually rising in his estimation and confidence. and the apparently disgraceful and slovenly manner in which he was again buried, seem to have rendered it imperative on the parishioners of the time of Queen Mary, to exhume the remains, and to re-inter them with decency. Nor is this al'. It appears that his monument was "broken," if not utterly destroyed, as is implied in the words, "to place his monument, or the like, over him again." Of some of the other charities of Whittington, honest Stow can tell us :-" In the year 1421 [he] We may now recur to a later period of his his- began the library of the Grey Friars, in London, tory. In a few years we find him married to his to the charge of four hundred pounds. His execumaster's daughter, the fair mistress Alice, a worthy tors, with his goods, founded and endowed Whitwife for such a husband. In process of time, he tington College, with alms-houses for thirteen rose to wealth and importance as a British mer- poor men; and divinity lectures, to be read there chant; and after serving the office of sheriff of the for ever. They repaired St. Bartholomew's Hos city of London, he was thrice elevated to the dig-pital, in Smithfield; they bare some charges to the nity of Lord Mayor. He enjoyed the confidence glazing and paving of the Guildhall; they bare half of Richard II., and of Thomas of Woodstock, Duke the charges of building the library there; and they of Gloucester, for whose good estate the master, built the west gate of London, of old time called ' fellows, and others of the college which he founded, | Newgate," &c. were enjoined to pray. He appears to have died between 1419 (the last year of his mayoralty) and 1422, as in the latter year we are told that "the west gate of London was begun to be built by the executors of Richard Whittington."1 He was buried in the church of St. Michael-dePaternoster, near Tower Royal. We learn from Stow, that "this church was new built, and made a college of St. Spirit and St. Mary, founded by Richard Whittington, Mercer, four [three] times mayor, for a master, four fellows, masters of arts, clerks, conducts, chorists, &c., and an alms-house, called God's house, or hospital, for thirteen poor men, one of them to be tutor, and to have sixteen pence the week; the other twelve, each of them to have fourteen pence the week for ever, with other necessary provisions, a hutch with three locks, a common seal, &c. These were bound to pray for the good estate of Richard Whittington, and Alice his wife, their founders; and for Sir William Whittington, Knight, and dame Joan his wife; and for Hugh Fitzwaren, and Dame Molde his wife; the fathers and mothers of the said Richard Whittington, and Alice his wife; for King Richard II.; and Thomas of Woodstock, Duke of Gloucester; special lords and promoters of the said Richard Whittington."2 This foundation was suppressed at the Reformation, by the statute of Edward VI. As his charities were not allowed to remain, so neither did they allow his bones to rest in peace. Stow says, "This Richard Whittington was in this church three times buried; first, by his executors, under a fair monument; theu in the reign of Edward VI., the parson of that church, thinking some great riches (as he said) to be buried with him, caused his monument to be broken, his body to be spoiled of his leaden sheet, and again, the second time, to be buried (!!); and in the reign of Queen Mary, the parishioners were forced to take him up, to lap him in lead as afore, to bury him the third time, and to place his monument, or the like, over him again, which remaineth; and so he resteth."4 Whittington's College, (or alms-houses,) was rebuilt about twenty years since, within five hundred yards of the place where he is said to have sat and heard the bells of Bow church. It consists of a chapel, houses for the chaplain and the matron, and twentyeight residences for the inmates. In the centre of the ground fronting the college, is a statue of the founder, represented as a boy, sitting, and lifting up the fingers of his right hand, attentively listening to the bells. He is dressed in a tunic, with a belt round his waist, and he has his bundle and stick. One shoe is taken off, apparently to ease his foot. Some miscreants have broken off some of the fingers and toes, and his stick is also broken. We never pass the place, near the foot of Highgate-hill, pointed out by the stone that bears his name, and which is traditionally said to be the spot where Whittington, the friendless boy, sat and rested himself, but we remember his eventful history; we think of the manifold troubles of his early life, and the years of opulence and dignity, of which they were the precursors. The blessings of Providence, which so remarkably attended him, he gratefully acknowledged, as we have seen, in works of benevolence, of alms-deeds, and of pious munificence. "He delivered the poor that cried, and the fatherless, and him that had none to help him. The blessing of him that was ready to perish came upon him: and he caused the widow's heart to sing for joy.... He was eyes to the blind, and feet was he to the lame." The nursery tale, commemorating his life, which is so eagerly listened to in childhood, may be the means of inciting many, as they grow up, to such industry and integrity as characterised the life of Whittington. Other men may have done like virtuously, and also have been thrice Lord Mayor; but the nursery tale has embalmed his memory more surely than the spices and the swathing of the Egyptian mummies; and the very children have learned his fame. So long as London retains its unapproachable pre-eminence, (5) It appears, from Stow, that their library was robbed by "with promise to be restored," but they were never returned." (6) Stow's Survey, ed. 1842, p. 41. The infamous treatment which the body of Edward, Duke of Somerset, lord protector, who sent for the books, Whittington received from the mean-hearted" parson of that church," in the reign of Edward VI., (7) Job xxix. 12, 13, 15. (8) Henry Fitz Alwin, the first mayor, filled the office from 1st of Richard I., until the 15th of the reign of King John, upwards of twenty-one years. On the other hand, the year 1484 was remarkable for its three sheriffs, and three lord mayors, 46 by means of the sweating sickness, &c." |