never having again entered the church where his son's remains were deposited. She then told me a circumstance which I was little prepared to hear, and which I must add contributed greatly to the pleasure of my visit. It was the fact that her good, honest and portly son-in-law whom I saw before me, was the very infant whom Sir Joshua Reynolds took as the model of his well-known picture of the Infant Hercules. This pocket Hercules had now, indeed, grown up into a real one, stout of limb and bone, broad-chested, and as fine a specimen as could be well seen of a real English yeoman. It was therefore no difficult matter to suppose that in his cradle he bore a due proportion to the appearance he now exhibited. The story of the infant Hercules is soon told, and I only regret that I cannot relate it in the very words in which I heard it.

It appears that the infant's father was the farm bailiff of Mr. Burke, with whom he was an especial favourite, that great man frequently coming to the cottage, sometimes eating potatoes roasted in the embers of a wood-fire, and once trying the merits of a rook or jackdaw pie, or rather a mixture of both. It was on one of these occasions that he saw this stout boy, then seven or eight months old, and was much struck with his appearance. Soon afterwards, Sir Joshua Reynolds came to Gregories, and informed him that the

celebrated Catherine, Empress of Russia, had sent him an order to paint her a picture, but that he was at a loss for a subject. In the course of a walk, Mr. Burke took Sir Joshua Reynolds to his bailiff's cottage. The boy was in a cradle in the kitchen, and as they entered it, he was discovered nearly naked, having kicked off the clothes, and thus exposed his chest and brawny limbs. Sir Joshua Reynolds was delighted with the subject before him. He sent to London immediately for his palette and colours, and painted his Infant Hercules Strangling two Serpents. This was supposed to be a compliment paid to the empress, allegorically alluding to her victories over her enemies. Sir Joshua Reynolds was so pleased with his subject, that he painted two others, at least, from the same model. One is in the fine collection of pictures of Lord Northwick.

But to return to Mr. Burke. I had little details of his kindness, benevolence, and popularity, amongst his poorer neighbours of the numerous great men who frequented his house, and of the splendour of his funeral, which was headed by a benefit club, of which Burke was a member. Then there were the details of his going to town in his carriage with four horses-of a highwayman riding up to the leading postilion with a pistol in his hand, threatening to blow his brains out if he did not stop of the men flogging their horses on,

heedless of the threat, and only mindful of their beloved master-of the carriage stopping at a village of Burke's anxious enquiries about the cause of the rapid movement of his blaming them for risking their lives, and then giving them ten pounds a piece for their care of him. There was also an account of Burke's being let down the shaft of a chalk-pit — of his bailiff's refusal to follow him, and of his calling out from the bottom of the pit-"Oh, John, what a coward you are."

These anecdotes perhaps are scarcely worth mentioning, but I must confess they interested me. Anything, I think, of a great man, however minute, is worth preserving, and especially of such a man as Burke, that great luminary of his age, and who was equally an honour and an ornament to his country.

I may, in conclusion, mention, that the dagger which Burke, on a memorable occasion, threw on the floor of the House of Commons, was long preserved at Beaconsfield, but I could not discover what had become of it when I was there. I also regretted that some correspondence of his, which the worthy farmer had possessed, had been destroyed.

I cannot take leave of this excellent family, without thanking them for their kindness to a perfect stranger, and assuring them that I shall long entertain a pleasing recollection of the very agreeable hour I passed in their picturesque old

farm-house. May they long enjoy the love, tranquillity, and happiness, which now surround them, and may their fine children be a blessing and comfort to them.

DROPMORE.

Long midst thy groves, fair Dropmore, could I stray,
For you are fair, indeed! From the bare heath

You sprung by magic of his classic mind-
And owe your landscape to a Grenville's skill.

W. NICOL.

DROPMORE is classic ground. Indeed, there are few spots where finer taste has been displayed, or where more celebrated men have at various times met together. Beautiful and interesting as the place now is, it was once, and it may be added, of late years, a barren heath, having a few straggling trees growing upon it. This barren heath is now, however, smiling in all the charms of woods and lawns, adorned with an infinite variety of beautiful trees, many of them of great rarity, and boasting of a Pinetum unequalled perhaps in Europe. The ground may be said to be in an elevated position, with a well-kept lawn in the front of the house, and an extensive flowergarden near it. But the varied walks are the chief objects of attraction. As they are per