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'CATHOLIC DEVOTION.

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sions, and points to a period when this perturbed and iniquitous world, laid open and exposed, shall be judged in righteousness. It far exceeds the powers of my pen to pourtray the sanctity with which the monastery of Sheen was once contemplated; and Protestants of these latter ages have a faint conception of the pomp with which Catholic worship was conducted within the walls. A modern poet thus happily de

scribes it :

In times when barbarous Superstition reign'd
And Rome's resplendent rites the soul enchain'd,
At SHEEN, in all its bright insignia drest,
Where prostrate kings the hallow'd pavement press'd,
And mitred priests, while wrapt devotion gaz'd,
On high the consecrated chalice rais'd-
How radiant blaz'd the altar's cherish'd fire!
How grand the music of the swelling quire!
Now o'er some valiant chief in battle slain
Symphonious flow'd the solemn dirge-like strain,
While o'er bis dust with funeral pomp inurned
The glimmering lamp of midnight vigil burn'd;
Now in resounding chorus roll'd along
The full o'erflowing tide of sacred song;
A hundred burning censers breathe perfume,

A hundred tapers light the blazing dome!
On wings of fire the fervid soul ascends,
And tow'rds its Parent Source enraptur'd bends,
The beaten cymbals and melodious shell
Sound to the sacred trumpet's solemn swell,
Their powerful aid unnumber'd voices join,
And loud hosannas rend the vaulted shrine.

MAURICE.

54

PETER WARBECK. SIR W. TEMPLE.

The Priory of Sheen was so renowned for its holiness, that Peter Warbeck made it his asylum. This singular young man personated one of the young Princes said to be smothered in the Tower. In this plan he for a time succeeded; but, after various adventures, falling into the hands of his rival, Henry the Seventh, he was hung like a common felon at Tyburn! It is one of the most unique circumstances in the History of England.

At the dissolution of this monastic institution, in the reign of Henry the Eighth, its revenues amounted to £1000, a great sum, considering that money has been trebled in its value since that period. In succeeding times, it has been occupied by Noblemen; and Sir William Temple resided here, enamoured with its gardens and sequestered situation. This eminent Statesman was nephew of Dr. Henry Hammond; and, during Charles the Second's reign, took an active part in the affairs of the nation. He formed the Triple League; "the master-piece," says Burnet, "of Charles's life; and, if he had stuck to it, would have been both the strength and glory of his reign!" King William often consulted him on political affairs. His Works were published in two folio volumes, and the style is much. praised for its neatness and harmony. The following extract from one of his letters will at once evince the elegance of his taste, and the feelings of his heart. He is addressing himself to Lady Essex, of the ancient and honourable family of the Percies, upon the death of a beloved child :-"I was once in hope that

SIR W. TEMPLE'S DEATH.

55

what was so violent could not be long; but when I observed your grief to grow stronger with age, and to increase like a stream the farther it ran-when I saw it draw out to such unhappy consequences, and to threaten no less than your child, your health, and your life-I could no longer forbear this endeavour, nor end it without begging you, for God's sake, and for your own, for your children and your friends, your country and your family, that you would no longer abandon yourself to a disconsolate passion--but that you would, at length, awaken your piety, give way to your prudence, or at least rouse the invincible spirit of the Percies, that never yet shrunk at disaster!"

Sir William Temple died, 1700, in the 72nd year of his age, at Moor Park, near Farnham, Surry; where, according to his express direction, his heart was buried, in a silver box, beneath the sun-dial in the garden! The sun-dial was opposite the window, whence he used to admire the works of Nature, along with an ingenious sister, Lady Giffard, who, as she had shared the fatigues of his public employments, became the solace of his declining age.

7'

Farewell, thou busy World; and may

We never meet again!

Here I can eat, and sleep, and pray,

And do more good in one short day

Than he who his whole age out-wears

Upon the most conspicuous theatres,

Where nought but vice and vanity appears!

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Dear SOLITUDE! the Soul's best friend,
That Man acquainted with himself doth make,
And all his Maker's wonders t' intend,
With thee I here converse at will,

And would be glad to do so still,

For it is thou alone that keep'st the soul awake!

How calm and quiet a delight

Is it alone

To read, and meditate, and write,

By none offended, and offending none!

To walk, ride, sit or sleep, at one's own ease,
And pleasing a MAN's self-none others to displease!

COTTON.

Sir William Temple's only son, a young man of talents and accomplishments, was appointed Secretary at War by King William, soon after the Revolution; but, alas! almost immediately after his appointment, and from a sense of incompetency to his situation, he drowned himself in the Thames, near London Bridge. The father bore the sad event with an exemplary resignation.

The witty and sarcastic Dean Swift, in the early part of his life, passed much of his time at Sheen, along with Sir William Temple; some supposing that he was his natural son. King William visiting Sir William, who happened at one time to have the gout, took Swift into the gardens, and amused him by shewing him how to cut asparagus after the Dutch manner. Here it was that the Dean became acquainted with poor

DEAN SWIFT; HIS DEATH.

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Stella, who was the daughter of the Steward. The conduct of Dean Swift towards this accomplished and beautiful lady, reflects no honour upon his memory. A species of insanity, which pursued him throughout life, and terminated in his death, must be his best apology. For some time previous to his decease, he would neither eat nor drink while the servant who had brought him his provisions remained in the room; his meat was sent up ready cut, which he would eat walking, for he continued his old habit of being on his feet ten hours a day. After this frenzy had continued for months, he had an inflammation in his left eye, the pain of which was so intense, that he was with difficulty restrained from tearing it out of its socket! After this period, however, he had some intervals of reason, so as to recognise the individuals about him; but he soon sunk into a state of apathy, dying on the 29th of October, 1745, in the 78th year of his age. His fortune was left by him to erect and endow a hospital, in Dublin, for idiots and lunatics! According to directions in his will, he was buried, after the most private manner, in the great aisle of St. Patrick's cathedral, where a slab of black marble is placed against the wall, inscribed with an epitaph, written by himself, remarkable only for its misanthropic brevity.

A

The Edinburgh Reviewers, with their accustomed severity, have (in their No. for Sept. 1816) no mercy on the poor Dean's character and memory. They confess, however, that "in humour and in irony, and în

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