May. We went to Mrs. Browne's, where sir W. Pen and I were godfathers, and Mrs. Jordan and Shipman godmothers. And there before and after the christening we were with the woman above in her chamber. I did give the midwife 10s, and the nurse 5s. and the maid 28. But forasmuch I expected to give the name to the child but did not, I forbore then to give my plate, which I had in my pocket, namely, six spoons and a porringer of silver.

July. A messenger brought me word that my uncle was dead. I rode over and found my uncle's corps in a coffin, standing upon joynt-stools in the chimney in the hall, but it began to smell, and so I caused it to be set forth in the yard all night, and watched by my aunt. In the morning my father and I read the will; after that done we went about getting things, as ribands and gloves, ready for the burial, which in the afternoon was done; we served the people with wine and other things.

November. To church, and heard a simple fellow upon the praise of church musique, and exclaiming against men's wearing their hats on in church.

Civet cats, parrots, and apes, sent as presents to ladies; and gentlemen lighted home by link-boys. Pepys.

The faire and famous comedian, Roxalana, was taken to be the earle of Oxford's

1666. February. This morning came up to my wife's bedside little Will Mercer to be her valentine; and brought her name writ upon blue paper in gold letters, done by himself very prettily. But I am also this year my wife's valentine, and it will cost me 51. I find that Mrs. Pierce's little girl is my valentine, she having drawn me. But here I do first observe the fashion of drawing of mottos, as well as names: my wife's motto was "Most courteous, most fair;" mine I have forgot. One wonder I observed to-day, that there was no musique in the morning to call up our new married people, which was very mean methinks.

1667. June. Find my wife making tea, a drink which her potticary tells her is good for her cold and defluxions.

A flaggon of ale and apples drunk out of a wood cup as a Christmas draught.

1669. May. My wife got up by 4 o'c. to go to gather May Dew, which Mrs. Turner hath taught her is the only thing in the world to wash her face with. Pepys.

lewd women.

Dined at Chaffinch's house warming.

Evelyn.

1663. October. To Guildhall; we went up and down to see the tables. By and by the lord mayor came into the hall to dinner, with the other great lords, bishops, &c. I set near Creed. We had plenty of good wine, but it was very unpleasing that we had no napkins, or knives, nor change of trenchers, and drunk out of earthern pitchers and wooden dishes.

1664. Home to bed, having got a strange cold in my head, by flinging off my hat at

dinner.

To my lord chancellor's (sir Orlando Bridgman, lord keeper,) in the garden, where we conversed above an hour, walking up and down, and he would have me walk with my hat on.

1665. At this time I have two tierces of claret, two quarter casks of canary, and a smaller vessel of sack; a vessel of tent, another of Malaga, and another of white vine, all in my own cellar,

1683. I went with others into the duchess of Portsmouth's dressing-roome within her bedchamber, where she was in her morning loose garment, her maids combing her, newly out of her bed, his majesty and gallants standing about her. preached before the king. I saw this even1685. January 25, Sunday. Dr. Dove ing such a scene of profuse gaming, and the king in the midst of his three concubines, as I had never seen before, luxurious dallying and prophaneness.

February 6. The king died. I can never phanenesse, gaming, and all dissoluteness, forget the inexpressible luxury and proand, as it were, total forgetfulness of God, (it being Sunday evening,) which this day sitting and toying with his concubines se'nnight I was witnesse of. The king Portsmouth, Cleavland, and Mazarine, &c. and a French boy singing love songs; whilst about twenty of the great courtiers and other dissolute persons were at basset round a large table, a bank of at least 2000 in gold before them.

Evelyn,

that remains to mark the village as the birth-place of Giles, and all that now remains in it belonging to the Bloomfields."

G. B.

With a sentence or two, by way of continuation to the appeal already made in behalf of George Bloomfield, it was purposed to conclude the present article; but just as the sheet was ready for the press a packet of his manuscript papers arrived, and extracts from these will exemplify his character and his necessities. The following address to one of his old friends is a fair specimen of his talent for versifying :

TO MR. THOMAS WISSET, OF SAPISTON,
PSALM SINGER, PARISH CLERK, AND
SEXTON, &c. &c.

Respectfully I would impart,

In language most befitting,
The sorrows of an aching heart,

With care and trouble smitten.

I've lost the best of wives, d'ye see,
That e'er to man was given;
Alas! she was too good for me,
So she's remov'd to heaven.

But while her happiness I trace,
Fell poverty pursuing,
Unless another takes her place,
"Twill be my utter ruin.

My children's clothes to rags are worn,
Nor have we wit to mend 'em ;
Their tatters flying all forlorn-
Kind Providence, defend 'em.

Dear Tom, thou art St. Andrew's clerk,
And glad I am to know it;
Thou art a witty rhyming spark,
The merry village poet.

Make some fond woman to me fly,
No matter what her form be;
If she has lost a leg or eye,
She still with love may

charm me.
If she loves work, Oh! what delight,

What joy it will afford her,

To darn our clothes from morn to night,
And keep us all in order.

Would some kind dame but hear my plaint,

And would thou to me give her,
St. Andrew !-he shall be my saint,
And thou his clerk for ever.

"When on the wrong side of fifty I married a second time! My best friends declared it was madness to risk a second family, &c. &c. We married 7th of Fe bruary, 1807. Early in 1808 it was discovered I should have an increase, and Charles Blomfield, Esq. asked me when it would happen. I answered, in April 'Sure,' says he, 'it won't happen on the First!'-I felt the force of the remarkthe probability of my being an April Fo -and wrote the following lines, and sen them to Mr. B., from whom I received a note enclosing another, value one pound The note said, 'My daughters are foolis enough to be pleased with your April Foo and I am so pleased to see them pleased, send the enclosed, &c." "

Trifles like these are only of importanc as traits of the individual. The next abstracted from a letter to an overseer, wit whom George Bloomfield necessarily co responded, as may be surmised from th

contents.

To Mr. HAYWARD, Thetford.

Bury St. Edmund's, Nov. 23, 181 Sir,-When a perfect stranger to yo you treated me with great condescensi and kindness, I therefore enclose som lines I wrote and addressed to the gua dians of the poor in this town. They hay assessed all such persons as are not lega settled here to the poor and church rate and they have assessed me full double wh I ought to pay. What renders it m distressing, our magistrates say that the local act they are restrained from terfering, otherwise I should have be exempt, on account of my age and pover So I sent my rhymes, and Mr. Gall, one the guardians, sent for me, and gave m piece of beef, &c. I had sold the o coat I had that was worth a shilling, a was prepared to pay the first seven shilli and sixpence, but the guardians seem think, (as I do,) that I can never go paying they are confident the gentlen of St. Peter's parish will pay it for me bade me wait a fortnight, &c. The press of the times is so great that the bla poor the rich, and the rich blame the poor. There is a figure in use called hyperbole; thus we sometimes say of old man, "he is one foot in the grave, a

I

"No quarrel exists-be át ease. ve this morning seen your excellent letters your son, and your poem on the Thetrd Waters, and am with my son and ughter delighted to find that your spark ems to brighten as you advance in years. ou think that I have been weak enough be offended-there has been no such ing! I have been extremely unwell, and still a poor creature, but I now force yself to write these few words to thank u for the pleasure you have just given

2.

"My son, or my daughter, shall write

me soon.

"Yours unalterably,
'Brother, and Brother Bard,

"ROB. BLOOMFIELD."

It may be remembered that Giles, the Farmer's Boy," was Robert Bloomfield mself, and that his master, the "Farmer," is Mr. W. Austin of Sapiston. In reence to his home at the farm Robert ote, of himself,

"the ploughman smiles, doft the joke runs hard on sheepish Giles, ho sits joint-tenant of the corner stool, converse sharing, though in Duty's school."

Farmer's Boy.

he son of the benevolent protector of obert in his childhood sunk under misrtune, and George records the fact by the llowing lines, written in 1820:

THE UNFORTUNATE FARMER. hen Giles attuned his song in rural strains, sang of Sap'ston s groves, her meads, and plains;

Described the various seasons as they roll'd,
Of homely joys and peace domestic told.
The Farmer there, alas! no more bears rule,
And no "joint-tenants" sit in "Duty's school:"

No happy labourers now with humble fare
His fire-side comforts and instruction share.
No longer master he of those sweet fields,
No more for him the year its bounty yields,
Nor his the hope to see his children round
With decent competence and comfort crown'd.
These scenes and hopes from him for ever flown,
In indigent old age he lives to mourn.

George Bloomfield subjoins, in explanation, on these lines," My reading in the Bury paper of the 6th of Dec. 1820, an advertisement of an assignment for the benefit of creditors of the effects of Mr. Willian Au

stin, gave rise to the above. Mr. A. was the young master of Giles, when Giles was the Farmer's Boy; and the admirers of rural poetry, as well in the new as the old world, have been made acquainted with the Austin family by means of the poem of that name. Mr. A. held the farm near thirty years, and

'twas the same that his grandfather till'd. He has ten children, some of them very young. He has been by some accused of imprudence: but the heavy poor-rates, (he paid 367. last year,) the weight of a numerous family, and the depreciation of the price of produce, were the principal causes of his fall. He has been a most indulgent father, a kind master, and a good neighbour."

Twenty years after writing the lines to the "Psalm-singer, Parish Clerk, and Sexton" of Sapiston, George again berhymed him. Preceding the effusion, is the following

MEMORANDUM.

"My old friend Wisset has now entered his eighty-third year, and is blind, and therefore cannot write; but he sent his kind regards to me by a young man, and bade him repeat four lines to me. The young man forgot the lines, but he said they were about old age and cold winter. I sent him the following:

DEAR OLD BROther Bard,

Now clothed with snow is hill and dale, And all the streams with ice are bound! How chilling is the wintry gale!

How bleak and drear the scene around!

Yet midst the gloom bright gleams appear, Our drooping spirits to sustain,

Hope kindly whispers in the ear

Sweet Spring will soon return again.

'Tis thus, old friend, with you and me Life's Spring and Summer both are flown, The marks of wintry age we see,

Our locks to frosty white are grown.

O let us then our voices raise,

For favours past due homage bring;
Thus spend the winter of our days,
Till God proclaims a glorious Spring.

GEORGE BLOOMFIELD.

January 23, 1823.

The MSS. from whence the present selections have been hastily made, were accompanied by a letter from George Bloomfield, written nearly a month ago. They were delayed by the person who transmitted the parcel till the opportunity of noticing them in this work had almost passed. All

that could be done in an hour or two is before the reader; and no more has been aimed at than what appears requisite to awaken sympathy and crave assistance towards an aged and indigent brother of the author of the Farmer's Boy. George's present feelings will be better represented by his own letter than by extracting from it.

2, High Baxter Street, Bury St. Edmond's, Dec. 5th, 1827.

TO MR. HONE,

Sir,-A gentleman desires me to write to you, as editor of the Table Book, it being his wish that a view which he sent of the little cottage at Honington should appear in that very curious work. The birth-place of Robert Bloomfield I think may excite the interest of some of your readers; but, sir, if they find out that you correspond with a superannuated cold water poet, your work will smell of poverty.

Lord Byron took pains to flog two of my brothers, as poachers on the preserves of the qualified proprietors of literature. It is hought, if he had not been wroth with the Edinburgh Reviewers, these poor poachers might have escaped; they, like me, had neither birth nor education to entitle them to a qualification.

If, sir, you ever saw an old wall blown down, or, as we have it here in the country, if the wall "fall of its own accord," you may have observed that the first thing the workmen do, is to pick out the whole bricks into one heap, the bats into another, and the rubbish into a third. Thus, sir, if in what falls from me to you, you can find any whole bricks, or even bats, that may be placed in your work, pick them out; but I much fear all will be but rubbish unfit for your purpose.

So much has been said, in the books published by my brothers, of "the little tailor's four little sons," who once resided in the old cottage, that I cannot add much that is new, and perhaps the little I have to relate will be uninteresting. But I think the great and truly good man, the late duke of Grafton, ought to have been more particularly mentioned. Surely, after near thirty years, the good sense and benevo lence of that real nobleman may be mentioned. When in my boyhood, he held the highest office in the state that a subject can fill, and like all that attain such preeminence, had his enemies; yet the more Junius and others railed at him, the more revered him. He was our "Lord of the

Manor," and as I knew well his private character, I had no doubt but he was "all of a piece." I have on foot joined the fox chase, and followed the duke many an hour, and witnessed his endearing conde scension to all who could run and shout When Robert became known as the Farm er's Boy, the duke earnestly cautioned him on no account to change his habits of living, but at the same time encouraged him in his habits of reading, and kindly gave him a gratuity of a shilling a day, t enable him to employ more time in reading than heretofore. This gratuity was alway paid while the duke lived, and was con tinued by the present duke till Robert death.

Could poor Robert have kept his childre in their old habits of living, he might hav preserved some of the profits arising from his works, but he loved his children to tenderly to be a niggard; and, besides, h received his profits at a time when brea was six or seven shillings per stone: n wonder that with a sickly family to sup port, he was embarrassed.

The duke likewise strongly advised hi not to write too much, but keep the groun he had gained, &c. As hereditary seal of the writs in the Court of King's Benc the duke gave Robert the situation of und sealer, but his health grew so bad he w obliged to give it up; he held it sever months, however, and doubtless many poor fellow went to coop under Rober seal.

It was peculiarly unfortunate could not keep his place, for I think M Allen, the master-sealer, did not live abo two years, and it is more than probable th duke would have made Robert maste sealer, and then he would have had suff cient income. The duke's condescensio and kindness to my mother was very grea he learned her real character, and called o