ded animation. John
Hunter, according to the account, does not seem to have been very
communicative on the subject, even to his philosophical friends at
Slaughter's Oyster Rooms.

T.S.D.

Shooter's Hill.

[Footnote 1: It may not be out of place here to mention one fine feature
in the character of "Tom Hurst;" his deep reverence for men of ability,
whether in literature, science, or art. Take one instance:

Fourteen or fifteen years ago, I called one morning at his place of
business (then 65. St. Paul's Church Yard, which has been subsequently
absorbed into the "Religious Tract Depository"); and, as was my custom,
I walked through the shop to his private room. He was "not in;" but a
gentleman, who first looked at me and then at a portrait of me on the
wall, accosted me by my surname as familiarly as an intimate
acquaintance of twenty years would have done. He and Hurst, it appeared,
had been speaking of me, suggested by the picture, before Hurst went
out. The familiar stranger did not keep me long in suspense--he
intimated that I had "probably heard our friend speak of Ben Haydon." Of
course I had; and we soon got into an easy chat. Hurst was naturally a
common subject with us. Amongst the remarks he made were the following,
and in almost the words:--

"When my troubles came on, I owed Hurst a large sum of money; and the
circumstances under which I became his debtor rendered this peculiarly a
debt of honour. He lent it me when he could ill spare it; yet he is the
only one of all my creditors who has not in one way or other persecuted
me to the present hour. When he first knew of my wreck, he called upon
me--_not to reproach but to encourage me_--and he would not leave me
till he felt sure that he had changed the moody current of my thoughts.
If there be any change in him since then, it is in his increased
kindness of manner and his assiduity to serve me. He is now gone out to
try to sell 'a bit of daub' for me."

Hurst came in, and this conversation dropped; but it had been well had
Hurst been by his side on the day his last picture was opened to view at
the Egyptian Hall. The catastrophe of that night might have been
averted, notwithstanding Mr. Barnum and his Tom Thumb show in the
adjoining room.]

* * * * *

SATIRICAL SONG UPON GEORGE VILLIERS, DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM.

In turning over some old bundles of papers of the early part of the
seventeenth century, I met with the follow