monished that he will "have old Hays (as he is affectionately and familiarly termed) after him." Indeed, it is supposed by many that he is gifted with supernatural attributes, and can see things that are hid from mortal ken; or how, it is contended, is it possible that he should, as he does,

"Bring forth the secret'st man of blood?" That he can discover "undivulged crime" -that when a store has been robbed, he, without stop or hesitation, can march directly to the house where the goods are concealed, and say, " these are they" -or, when a gentleman's pocket has been picked, that, from a crowd of unsavoury miscreants he can, with unerring judgment, lay his hand upon one and exclaim, "you're wanted!"- -or how is it that he is gifted with that strange principle of ubiquity, that makes him "here and there and everywhere," at the same moment? No matter how, so long as the public reap the benefit; and well may that public apostrophize him in the words of the poet :

"Long may he live! our city's pride! Where lives the rogue but flies before him! With trusty crabstick by his side,

And staff of office waving o'er him." But it is principally as a literary_man that we would speak of Mr. Hays. True, his poetry is " unwritten," as is also his prose; and he has invariahly expressed a decided contempt for philosophy, music, rhetoric, the belles lettres, the fine arts, and in fact all species of composition excepting bailiffs' warrants and bills of indictment-but what of that? The constitution of his mind is, even unknown to himself, decidedly poetical. And here I may be allowed to avail myself of another peculiarity of modern biography, namely, that of describing a man by what he is not. Mr. Hays has not the graphic power or antiquarian lore of Sir Walter Scott-nor the glittering imagery or voluptuous tenderness of Moore-nor the delicacy and polish of Rogers-nor the spirit of Campbell-nor the sentimentalism of Miss Landon-nor the depth and purity of thought and intimate acquaintance with nature of Bryant-nor the brilliant style and playful humour of Halleck, the American-no, he is more in the petit larceny manner of Crabbe, with a slight touch of Byronic power and gloom. He is familiarly acquainted with all those interesting scenes of vice and poverty so fondly dwelt upon by that reverend chronicler of little villany; and if ever he can be prevailed upon to pub

Yet with all his great qualities, it is to be doubted whether he is much to be envied. His situation certainly has its disadvantages. Pure and blameless as his life is, his society is not courted-no man boasts of his friendship, and few indeed like even to own him for an intimate acquaintance. Wherever he goes, his slightest action is watched and criticized; and if he happen carelessly to lay his hand upon a gentleman's shoulder and whisper something in his ear, even that man, as if there were contamination in his touch, is seldom or never seen afterwards in decent society. Such things cannot fail to prey upon his feelings. But when did ever greatness exist without some penalty attached to it?

The first time that ever Hays was pointed out to me, was one summer afternoon, when acting in his official capacity in the city-hall. The room was crowded in every part; and as he entered, with a luckless wretch in his gripe, a low suppressed murmur ran through the hall, as if some superior being had alighted in the midst of them. He placed the prisoner at the bar-a poor coatless individual, with scarcely any edging and no roof to his hat-to stand his trial for bigamy, and then, in a loud, authoritative tone called out for "silence," and there was silence. Again he spoke-" hats off there!" and the multitude became uncovered; after which he took his handkerchief out of his left-hand coat-pocket, wiped his face, put it back again, looked sternly around, and then sat down. The scene was awful and impressive; but the odour was disagreeable in consequence of the heat acting upon a large quantity of animal matter congregated together. My olfactory organs were always lamentably acute: I was obliged to retire, and from that time to this, I have seen nothing, though I have heard much, of the subject of this brief and imperfect, but I trust, honest and impartial memoir.

Health and happiness be with thee, thou prince of constables-thou guardian

scornful eye,

Nor sell for gold what gold can never buy." And again :

"Shakspeare has not only shewn human nature as it is, but as it would be found in situations to which it cannot be exposed."

"When first young Maro in his noble mind

A work t'outlast immortal Rome design'd."

HOME.

"Beneath a mountain's brow the most remote,

And inaccessible, by shepherds trod." "The river rushing o'er its pebbled bed Imposes silence with a stilly sound."

Many admirers of Shakspeare have, doubtless, discovered a few of the following anachronisms and palpable errors.

In "Macbeth," we hear of cannon and dollars.

In "King Henry V." the Turks are put in possession of Constantinople, which did not fall into their hands till upwards of thirty years after Henry's death.

In "Henry VI." Michiavel, who was not born till 1469, is twice introduced. Printing is also prematurely mentioned.

In " King Lear," we have a plentiful crop of blunders. Glo'ster talks of not standing in need of spectacles. We have Turks, Bedlam-beggars, St. Withold, a Marshal of France, dollars, paper, &c. &c. There is an allusion to the old theatrical moralities; and Nero, who did not live till several hundred years after Lear, is mentioned by Edgar as an angler in the lake of darkness.

The anachronisms in "Henry IV." We find pistols, silk are very numerous. stockings, gilt two-pences, ten-shilling pieces a ballad with a picture on it, evidently alluding to the wood-cuts on these compositions. The game of shrove-tide or slide-shrift, which was not invented before the reign of Henry VIII. Mention is also made of John Chogan, jeşter to Edward IV., and of Arthur's Show, though not introduced till a long time afterwards.

In "Anthony and Cleopatra," Anthony talks of packing of cards, and deals out his knaves, queens, kings, hearts, and trumps, as if he were a whist-player.

In "Cymbeline," we find mention of the recreation of bowling-of paper-of rushes strewed in apartments-of a striking clock-and a chapel, as a burial place. Cymbeline is made to knight Bellario and his sons on the field of battle, by dubbing them according to the fashion of the middle ages.

The scene of the "Midsummer-Night's Dream" lies at Athens, in the time of Theseus; yet we find the mention of guns, French crowns, and French crown-coloured

beards of coats in heraldry-new ribbons and pumps-marks of Jack and Gill, &c.

In the "Comedy of Errors," mention is also made of ducats, marks, and of several modern European kingdoms, and of America-of a striking clock-of Lapland sorcerers-Satan, and even of Adam and Noah. In one place Antipholes calls himself a Christian.

Any one who will take the trouble of following Mr. Douce in his march through Shakspeare's Plays, will discover numerous other anachronisms and

errors.

CROCODILE ISLAND.

My favourite inn at Oxford was the Golden Cross. The Angel was admirable in its way, the Star celestial, and the Mitre fit for an archbishop, but the snug room on the left of the inner court of the Golden Cross was superior to them all. There seemed to be more comfort there than in the gaudier apartments of its rivals, and the company one met with was generally more inclined to be social. About eight o'clock in the evening was "the witching time o' night," for at that hour the multitudinous coaches from the North poured in their hungry passengers to a plentiful hot supper. In these hurried refections I invariably joined. Half an hour very often sufficed to give me glimpses of good fellows whom it only required time to ripen into friends. Many strange mortals I saw, who furnished me with materials for thinking till the next evening; and sometimes I have been rewarded for the wing of a fowl by a glance from a pair of beautiful bright eyes, which knocked all the classics, and even Aldrich's logic, out of my head for a week. Three coaches, I think, met at the Golden Cross. There was very little time for ceremony; the passengers made the best use of the short period allowed them, and devoted more attention to the viands before them than to the courtesies of polished life. I made myself generally useful as a carver, and did the honours of the table in the best manner I could. One night I was waiting impatiently for the arrival of the coaches, and wondering what sort of company they would present to me, when a young man came into the room, and sat down at a small table before the fire, who immediately excited my curiosity. He called for sandwiches, and rum and water, and interrupted his active labours in swallowing them only

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by deep and often-repeated sighs. He was tall, and strikingly handsome. I should have guessed him to be little more than one or two and twenty, had it not been for a fixedness about the brow and eyes which we seldom meet with at so early a time of life. I was anxious to enter into conversation with him; for, as I have said, I was greatly interested by his appearance. I thought I knew the faces of all the University; and I was certain I had never met with him before. He had not the general appearance of a gownsman; he was tastefully and plainly dressed; obviously in very low spirits; and finished his second tumbler in the twinkling of a bed-post. the third was set down before him, I had just given the preliminary cough with which a stranger usually commences a conversation, when a rush was made into the room by the occupants of all the three coaches, and the Babel and confusion they created prevented me from executing my intention. On that occasion I did not join the party at the per table. I maintained my position at the corner of the chimney, very near the seat occupied by the youth who had so strongly excited my attention. The company was more than usually numerous; and a gentleman, closely muffled up, finding no room at the principal board, took his station at the same table with the stranger. The intruder threw off one or two cloaks and great coats, and untied an immense profusion of comforters and shawls, revealing the very commonplace countenance of a fat burly man, about fifty years of age, with great staring blue eyes, and a lank flaxen wig of the lightest colour I had ever seen. This personage gave his orders to the waiter in a very imperious tone, to bring him a plate of cold beef, and a quart of brown stout, and exhibited various signs of impatience while his commands were executed.

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"Cold night, sir," he said, at length addressing the youth. "I've travelled all the way from Manchester, and feel now as hungry as a hunter."

"It takes a man a long time to die of starvation," replied the other. "Men have been known to subsist for ten days without tasting food."

"Thank God, that has never been my case. I would not abstain from food ten minutes longer to save my father from being hanged.—Make haste, then, waiter !"

The young man shook his head, and threw such an expression of perfect mi

"I'm afraid," he said, "you are unhappy, in spite of being so young. You haven't wanted meat so long yourself, I hope. Waiter, what the devil's keeping you with that 'ere beef?"

"Worse, worse," replied the other, in a hollow voice. "Youth is no preventive against care, or crime, or misery, or-murder!"

He added the last word with such a peculiar intonation, that the traveller started, and laid down his knife and fork, which he had that moment taken possession of, and gazed at him as if he were anxious to make out his meaning.

"Don't judge of me harshly," continued the youth; "but listen to me, I beseech you, only for a moment, and you will confer a great obligation on a fellowcreature, and prevent misery of which you can have no conception."

The man thus addressed remained motionless with surprise. He never lifted his eyes from the deeply melancholy countenance of the narrator; and I must confess I listened with no little earnestness to the disclosure he made myself.

"At sixteen years of age," he said, "I found myself a denizen of the wilds. Shaded from the summer heats, by magnificent oaks of the primeval forest, where I lived; and secured from the winter's cold, by skins of the tiger and lynx, I had not a desire ungratified. Groves of orange-trees spread themselves for hundreds of miles along our river: cocoanuts, and all the profusion of fruits and flowers with which the Great Spirit saw fit to beautify the original paradise of man, supplied every want. The eaglet's feather in my hair, the embroidery of my wampum belt, pointed out to my followers where their obedience was to be rendered; and I felt myself prouder of their unhesitating submission, and the love with which they regarded me, than that the blood of a hundred kings flowed in my veins. I was Chief of the Chactaws and Muscogulges. My mother was of European origin: her grandfather had visited the then thinly populated regions of North America, in company with several hundred bold and heroic spirits like himself, whose aspirations for the independence and equality of man, had carried them beyond the dull cold letter of the law. His name yet survives in Tipperary; his boldness was the theme of song; and the twelve dastard mechanics, who, at the bidding of a judge, consented to deprive their country of its ornament

nobility of his nature fresh upon him, were stigmatized as traitors to the cause of freedom. In spite, however, of their cowardice and meanness, they could not resist displaying the veneration in which they held him, by entwining his wrists with massive belts; and even around his legs they suspended majestic iron chains, which rattled with surpassing grandeur whenever he moved. He had not been long in the new land to which his merits had thus transferred him, when his name became as illustrious in it as it had been in his own. The name of O'Flaherty is still, I understand, a word of fear to the sleepy-eyed burghers of the law-oppressed towns. But his course was as short as it was glorious. In leading a midnight attack on the storehouse of some tyrannizing merchant, he was shot in the act of breaking open a box which contained a vast quantity of coin. He fell and though he lived for several weeks, he kept his teeth close upon the residence of his followers. He died, as a hero should die, calm, collected, fearless. Even when the cord with which they had doomed him to perish was folded round his neck, he disdained to purchase an extension of his life by treachery to his friends. An O'Flaherty,' he said, 'can die—but he never 'peaches.' He left a son, who was worthy of his father's fame. Like him he was inspired with an indomitable hatred of tyranny and restraint; with a noble and elevating desire to bring back those golden days, when all things were in common-when man, standing in the dignity of his original nature, took to himself whatever pleased his fancy, and owed no allegiance to the debasing influence of the law. From this noble stock my mother was descended; and when her beauty and the heroism of her character had raised her to be the consort of the Forest King, she seemed to feel that she was just in the situation for which she was destined by her nature. The pride of ancestry, and the remembrance of the glorious achievements which had rendered the names of her forefathers illustrious, beamed from her eye, and imprinted a majesty upon her brow, which we seek for in vain in females of inglorious birth. Attakul-kulla, which, in the puerile language of the whites, means the Little Carpenter, was my father's name. On his head, when going forth to battle, he wore a paper cap of the most warlike form, surrounded with miniature saws, and surmounted with a golden gimlet. When I was born, the