house of Arabian romance with many magnificent imageries.' It is the inspiration of two of the noblest romances in this or any language --'St. Leon' and 'Zanoni.' And its idea, transfigured into a transcen- dental form, gave light and life and fire, and the loftiest poetry, to the eloquence of the lamented Samuel Brown, whose tongue, as he talked on his favourite theme, seemed transmuted into gold; nay, whose lips, like the touch of Midas, seemed to create the effects of alchymy upon every subject they approached, and upon every heart over which they wielded their sorcery. We pass now from this comparatively barren age in the history of English poetry to a cluster of Scottish bards. The first of these is ROBERT HENRYSON. He was schoolmaster at Dunfermline, and died some time before 1508. He is supposed by Lord Hailes to have been preceptor of youth in the Benedictine convent in that place. He is the author of 'Robene and Makyne,' a pastoral ballad of very considerable merit, and of which Campbell says, somewhat too warmly, 'It is the first known pastoral,' (he means in the Scottish language of course,) 'and one of the best, in a dialect rich with the favours of the pastoral muse.' He wrote also a sequel to Chaucer's 'Troilus and Cresseide' entitled 'The Testament of Cresseide,' and thirteen Fables, of which copies, in MS., are preserved in the Advocates' Library, Edinburgh. One of these, 'The Town and Country Mouse,' tells that old story with considerable spirit and humour. 'The Garment of Good Ladies' is an ingenious and beautiful strain, written in that quaint style of allegorising which continued popular as far down as the days of Cowley, and even later. DINNER GIVEN BY THE TOWN MOUSE TO THE COUNTRY MOUSE. * * * Their harboury was ta'en Into a spence,[1] where victual was plenty, Both cheese and butter on long shelves right high, With fish and flesh enough, both fresh and salt, And pockis full of groats, both meal and malt. After, when they disposed were to dine, Withouten grace they wuish[2] and went to meat, On every dish that cookmen can divine, Mutton and beef stricken out in telyies grit;[3] A lorde's fare thus can they counterfeit, Except one thing--they drank the water clear Instead of wine, but yet they made good cheer. With blithe upcast and merry countenance, The elder sister then spier'd[4] at her guest, If that she thought by reason difference Betwixt that chamber and her sairy[5] nest. 'Yea, dame,' quoth she, 'but how long will this last?' 'For evermore, I wait,[6] and longer too;' 'If that be true, ye are at ease,' quoth she. To eke the cheer, in plenty forth they brought A plate of groatis and a dish of meal, A threif[7] of cakes, I trow she spared them nought, Abundantly about her for to deal. Furmage full fine she brought instead of jeil, A white candle out of a coffer staw,[8] Instead of spice, to creish[9] their teeth witha'.