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WILLS OF SHAKSPEARE, MILTON AND BUONAPARTE.

(To the Editor.)

The last wills and testaments of the three greatest men of modern ages are tied up in one sheet of foolscap, and may be seen together at Doctors Commons.  In the will of the “Bard of Avon” is an interlineation in his own handwriting—­“I give unto my wife my brown best bed, with the furniture.”  It is proved by William Byrde, 22nd July, 1616.

The will of the Minstrel of Paradise is a nuncupative one taken by his daughter, the great poet being blind.

The will of Napoleon, to whom future ages, in spite of legitimacy, will confirm the epithet “le grand,” is signed in a bold style of handwriting; the codicil, on the contrary, written shortly before his death, exhibits the then weak state of his body.

T.H.K.

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VERNAL STANZAS.

(For the Mirror.)

  The earth displayed its robe of gorgeous hues,
  And o’er the tufted violets softly stole
  The downy pinions of the fragrant wind,
  Which tuned the brook with music; there were clouds
  O’er the blue heaven dispersed in various shapes,
  And touch’d with most impassive light, whereon
  The heart might dwell and dream of future bliss;
  And as the sound of distant bells awaked
  The echoes of the woods, they raised the thoughts
  To worlds more bright and beautiful than ours!

G.R.C.

The spring has waved her sunny wing
Upon the verdant earth,
And winds from distant, places bring
The festal tones of mirth;
The sky appears an azure field,
With clouds emblazoned like a shield.

A golden light has touched the woods,
And o’er the silent dell
A languid breathless quiet broods,
Scarce broken by the swell
Of streams that whisper through the air,
As if they were awaked to pray’r.

  Survey the lovely scene around,
    The river beams in gold,
  Its rippling waves with song resound,
    And rainbow light unfold,
  And as the flow’rs unclose their eyes,
  Their hue seems coloured by the skies.

  The mould’ring church on yonder slope,
    Perchance by heaven designed
  To consecrate the heart with hope,
    In ivy-wreaths is shrined: 
  Its rural tombs are green with age,
  And types of earthly pilgrimage.

  On this delightful vernal day,
    In scenes so rich and fair,
  The spirit feels a hallow’d ray
    Kindling its essence there;
  And Fancy haunts the mourner’s urn,
  “With thoughts that breathe, and words that burn.”

Deal. G.R.C.

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