secreted at Woodstock, to prevent his marriage from being known. An ingenious argument might be brought to bear upon the few facts which the Author has collected, but he has written a romance, and not a history, and if giving to Rosamond two husbands, as well as Henry the same number of wives, would have added an additional interest to the story, the Author would have done it. Beside, he has taken the sting out of his book; and in case the moral should never be discovered, he would here advise no young gentleman to marry two wives, nor any young lady to take a husband who has another wife living; for the old adage says, "Two are company, but three none." Some may think that the author has been too severe upon the character of Queen Eleanor; but if we are to believe the old historians, she was, to use a homely phrase, "no better than she should be." She was divorced by Louis of France for intriguing with a Saracen, and six weeks after her separation from that monarch, married to Henry. As she was about ten years older than the King, we must suppose that the realms of Poictou and Aquitaine, which belonged to her by descent, made more impression on Henry than her charms, although she was considered very beautiful. The character of Gamas Gobbo was suggested through reading Gilbert White's "History of Selbourne;" all who are acquainted with that beautiful and interesting work, must be familiar with the character of the poor idiot, who spent all his days in summer in chasing bees, and feeding on their honey-bags. Nearly all the incidents connected with Thomas à Becket, are historically correct; and last spring the Author traversed almost every inch of the ground which the Primate is supposed to have gone over in his flight from Northampton, that he might the better preserve the features of the scenery, which for many a weary mile is doubtless nearly the same as it was six hundred years ago. The Author, in conclusion, might say that he has doubts about several things in the present work which he would have altered, if he could but have afforded the time, and in saying so, speak but the truth. But to say that he felt altogether incapable of his task, would only be abusing his readers, and setting light store by those opinions, which he has won from many eminent literary men and critics of high standing, whose notice in the outset of his career, he scarcely dared to hope to obtain. The few ill-natured rubs he has had, he regards not, for the man who sits down with the firm conviction that he has had more praise than he deserves, must expect to meet with a few draw backs. And although his works are open to criticism, yet there are points about them which ought not to call down the whole weight of the lash: to such belong his humble station in life, his short practice in the craft of authorship, and his lack of education; let these be dealt mercifully with, and he will be content to submit to all fair chastisement, for he has not forgotten the old couplet, that says "The man who printeth his poetic fits, Into the public's mouth, his head commits." T. MILLER. Elliott's Row, Southwark, April 28, 1839. FAIR ROSAMOND. CHAPTER I. Another abbey is there by, Ancient Saxon Poem. THE scene of our story opens amid the sylvan solitudes of Woodstock Park, which, in former days, nearly extended to the walls of Oxford, and was the most ancient of these princely enclosures in England, having been first secluded for regal pleasure by Henry Beauclerk. Here too, in a more remote period, the immortal Alfred retired to translate his beloved Boetius, and brood over those mighty plans which |