With which expression he was so terrified, that ever after he did nothing but flatter and present him, which must needs be a great mortification to a prince who had been obeyed all along by so many brave men much above the doctor's quality.

The king had ordered several cruel prisons to be made, some of iron, some of wood, but covered with iron plates both within and without, with terrible cages about eight foot wide and seven high; the first contriver of them was the Bishop of Verdun, who was the first that hanselled them, being immediately put in one of them, where he continued fourteen years. Many bitter curses he has had since for his invention, and some from me, having lain in one of them eight months together, in the minority of our present king. He also ordered heavy and terrible fetters to be made in Germany, and particularly a close ring for the feet, which was extreme hard to be opened, and like an iron collar with a thick weighty chain, and a great globe of iron at the end of it, most unreasonably heavy, which engines were called the king's nets. However, I have seen many eminent and deserving persons in these prisons, with these nets about their legs, who have afterwards been advanced to places of trust and honour, and received great rewards from the king: among the rest a son of the Lord de la Grutase (who was taken in battle), whom the king married very honourably afterwards, made him his chamberlain, and Seneschal of Anjou, and gave him the command of a hundred lances. The Lords de Viennes and Verger, both prisoners of war, had commands given them in his army, were made his or his son's chamberlains, and had great estates given them. Monsieur de Rochefort, the constable's brother, had the same, as also one Roquebertin, a Catalonian and prisoner of war, besides others of several countries too numerous to be mentioned in this place. This by way of digression. But to return to my principal design. As in his time this barbarous variety of prisons was invented, so before he died he himself was in greater torment, and more terrible apprehension than those whom he had imprisoned, which I look upon as a great mercy towards him and part of his purgatory; and I have mentioned it here to show that there is no person, of what station or dignity soever, but is punished some time or other, either publicly or privately, especially if he has been the cause of other people's sufferings and misfortunes. The king, towards the latter end of his days, caused his castle of Plessis-les-Tours to be encompassed with great bars of iron, in the form of a grate, and at the four corners of the house four watch-towers of iron, strong, massy, and thick, to be built. The grates were without the wall, on the other side of the ditch, and went to the bottom. Several spikes of iron were fastened into the wall, set as thick by one another as was possible. He placed likewise ten bowmen in the ditches to shoot at any man that durst approach the castle till the opening of the gate; ordered they should lie in the ditches, but retire into the watchtowers upon occasion. He was sensible enough that this fortification was too weak to keep out an army or any great body of men, but he had no fear of such; his great apprehension was, that some of the nobility of his kingdom, having intelligence within, should attempt to make themselves masters of the castle by night, and having possessed themselves of it, partly by affection, partly by force, should deprive him of the regal authority, and take upon themselves the administration of public affairs, upon pretence he was incapable of business, and no longer fit to govern. The gate of du Plessis was never opened, nor the drawbridge let down, before eight in the morning, at which time the courtiers were let in; and the captains ordered their guards to their several posts, with a main guard in the middle of the court, as in a town upon the frontiers that was closely besieged. Nor was any person admitted to enter but by the wicket, and those only by the king's order, unless it were the steward of his household, and such officers as were not admitted into the presence. Is it possible then to keep a prince (with any regard to his quality) more strictly

confined than he kept himself? The cages which were made for other people were about eight foot square; and he (though so great a monarch) had but a small square of the court of the castle to walk in, and seldom made use of that, but generally kept himself in the gallery, out of which he went into the chambers, and from thence to mass, but not through the court. Who can deny but he was a sufferer, as well as his neighbours? considering his being locked up, guarded, afraid of his own children and relations, and changing every day those very servants whom he had brought up and advanced; and though they owed all their preferment to him, yet he durst not trust any of them, but shut himself up in those strange chains and inclosures. If the place where he confined himself was larger than a common prison, his quality was as much greater than a common prisoner's. It may be urged that other princes have been more given to jealousy than he, but it was not in our time, and perhaps their wisdom was not so eminent nor their subjects so good. They, too, might probably be tyrants and bloody-minded, but our king never did any person a mischief who had not offended him first. I have not recorded these things purely to represent our master as a suspicious and mistrustful prince, but to show, that by the patience which he expressed in his sufferings (like those which he inflicted on other people), they may be looked upon, in my judgment, as a punishment which God inflicted upon him in this world, in order to deal more mercifully with him in the next, as well in those things before mentioned as in the distempers of his body, which were great and painful, and much dreaded by him before they came upon him; and likewise that those princes, who are his successors, may learn by this example to be more tender and indulgent to their subjects, and less severe in their punishments than our master had been. I will not accuse him, or say I ever saw a better prince, for though he oppressed his subjects himself, he would never see them injured by any body else.

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In hunting, his eagerness and pain were equal to his pleasure, for his chase was the stag, which he always run down. He rose very early in the morning, rode sometimes a great way to his dogs, and would not leave his sport let the weather be never so bad; and when he came home at night was always very weary, and generally in a violent passion with some of his courtiers or huntsmen, for hunting is a sport not always to be managed according to the master's direction; yet, in the opinion of most people, he understood it as well as any man of his time. He was continually at his sports, lying up and down in the country villages as his recreations led him, till he was interrupted by the war.

[THE Faustus' of Goethe has perhaps the widest European reputation of any poem of modern times. There are several translations of it in our own language. Without undervaluing other translations, that of Dr. Anster, of Trinity College, Dublin, (parts of which were originally published in Blackwood's Magazine,) appears to us to combine many of the highest requisites of a good poetical version, with faithfulness and facility. We cannot attempt an analysis of this remarkable drama, which, amidst all its merits, has many passages, and suggests many ideas, which are scarcely within the limits of the pleasurable in poetry; but we subjoin a scene or two, from its commencement, which beautifully depict the feelings of a mind satiated with all worldly knowledge, and aspiring to penetrate mysteries which are wisely put beyond the comprehension of man. The story of Faustus,' the daring student who made a compact with the powers of darkness, was treated by other German poets before Goethe: and it is the subject of a very remarkable drama by Marlowe, the early con temporary of Shakspere. Goethe was born in 1749; died in 1832.]

Faustus. River and rivulet are freed from ice.
In Spring's affectionate inspiring smile-

Green are the fields with promise-far away
To the rough hills old Winter hath withdrawn
Strengthless but still at intervals will send
Light feeble frosts, with drops of diamond white,
Mocking a little while the coming bloom-
Still soils with showers of sharp and bitter sleet,
In anger impotent, the earth's green robe;
But the sun suffers not the lingering snow-
Every where life-every where vegetation-
All nature animate with glowing hues-
Or, if one spot be touched not by the spirit
Of the sweet season, there in colours rich
As trees or flowers, are sparkling human dresses!
Turn round, and from this height look back upon
The town; from its black dungeon gate forth pours,
In thousand parties, the gay multitude,
All happy, all indulging in the sunshine!
All celebrating the Lord's resurrection,
And in themselves exhibiting as 'twere
A resurrection too-so changed are they,
So raised above themselves. From chambers damp
Of poor mean houses-from consuming toil
Laborious-from the workyard and the shop-
From the imprisonment of walls and roofs,
And the oppression of confining streets,

And from the solemn twilight of dim churches—
All are abroad-all happy in the sun.

Look, only look, with gaiety how active,

Through fields and gardens they disperse themselves! How the wide water, far as we can sce,

Is joyous with innumerable boats!

See, there, one almost sinking with its load

Parts from the shore; yonder the hill top paths

Are sparkling in the distance with gay dresses!

And hark! the sounds of joy from the far village!

Oh! happiness like this is real heaven!

The high, the low, in pleasure all uniting

Here may I feel that I too am a man!

Wagner. Doctor, to be with you is creditable-Instructive too: but never would I loiter Here by myself—I hate these coarse amusements: Fiddlers, and clamorous throats, and kettle drums, Are to my mind things quite intolerable; Men rave, as if possessed by evil spirits, And call their madness joy and harmony! (Peasants dancing and singing.) The shepherd for the dance was drest In ribands, wreath, and Sunday vest; All were dancing full of glee,

Underneath the linden tree!

'Tis merry and merry-heigh-ho, heigh-ho,
Blithe goes the fiddle-bow!

Soon he runs to join the rest;
Up to a pretty girl he prest;
With elbow raised and pointed toe,

Bent to her with his best bow

Pressed her hand: with feigned surprise,

Up she raised her timid eyes!

""Tis strange that you should use me so,
So, so-heigh-ho—

"Tis rude of you to use me so."

All into the set advance,

Right they dance, and left they dance-
Gowns and ribands how they fling,
Flying with the flying ring;

They grow red, and faint, and warm,
And rested, sinking, arm-in-arm.
Slow, slow, heigh-ho,

Tired in elbow, foot, and toe!

"And do not make so free," she said,
"I fear that you may never wed;
Men are cruel"-and he prest
The maiden to his beating breast.
Hark! again, the sounds of glee
Swelling from the linden tree.

"Tis merry, 'tis merry-heigh-ho, heigh-ho,
Blithe goes
the fiddle-bow!

Old Peasant. This, doctor, is so kind of you.
A man of rank and learning too;

Who, but yourself, would condescend
Thus with the poor, the poor man's friend,

To join our sports? In this brown cheer
Accept the pledge we tender here,
A draught of life may it become,
And years, on years, oh! may you reach,
As cheerful as the beads of foam,

As countless, too, a year for each!

Faustus. Blest be the draught restorative!
I pledge you-happy may you live!

[The people collect in a circle round him

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Faustus. A few steps farther, and we reach yon stone;

Here sit we down and rest after our walk;-
Here have I often sate in thoughtful mood

Alone and here in agonies of prayer,

And fast, and vigil-rich in hope-in faith
Unwavering-sought with tears and sighs, and hands
Wringing in supplication, to extort

From Him in heaven that He would stay that plague.

These praises come upon my ear like scorn-
Oh, could you read the secrets of this heart,
You then would see how little we deserved,
Father or son, the thanks of these poor people.
My father, a reserved and moody man,

Not without pride, felt by himself and others,
Living almost alone, held strange opinions
Tinged with the hues of his peculiar mind,

And, therefore, even the more indulged and cherished.
Thus fanciful, and serious in his fancies,
O'er nature and her consecrated circles,
That with vain interdict sought to oppose,
Oft would he try his wild experiments:
In his black cell with crucible and fire
(One or two adepts his sole company)

He toiled; and, following many a quaint receipt,
Would force rebellious metals to obey,
And in indissoluble union link
Antagonists irreconcileable.

There, passionate adorer, the Red Lion
With the White Lily, in a tepid bath
Was strangely wedded-and his silver bride
And he from chamber hurried on tc chamber,
Tortured and tried with many a fiery pang,
Suffered together, till in coloured light,
Ascending in the glass, shone the Young Queen:
This was our medicine-they who took it died,
None asked, or thought of asking, who recovered.
Thus have we with our diabolic mixture,
In these sweet valleys, 'mong these quiet hills,
Been guests more fatal than the pestilence.
I have myself to thousands given this poison,
They withered, and are dead-and I must live,
I, who have been their death, must live to hear
This lavish praise on the rash murderers.

Wagner. How can this be so painful? Can a man
Do more than practise what his own day knows-
All that thy father taught must have been heard,
By thee, as by a young man learning then-
Heard in the docile spirit of belief.

When thy time came to teach, thou didst enlarge
The field of science; and thy son, who learns
From thee, will for himself discoveries make,
Greater than thine, perhaps-yet but for thine
Impossible. If this be so, why grieve?

Faustus. Oh, he, indeed, is happy, who still feels,
And cherishes within himself, the hope
To lift himself above this sea of errors !

Of things we know not, each day do we find
The want of knowledge-all we know is useless:
But 'tis not wise to sadden with such thoughts
This hour of beauty and benignity:
Look yonder, with delighted heart and eye,
On those low cottages that shine so bright
(Each with its garden plot of smiling green),
Robed in the glory of the setting sun!
But he is parting-fading-day is over-