Durham House, which formerly occupied that extensive space of ground on the southern side of the Strand, now covered by the stately pile of buildings called the Adelphi, was erected, according to Stow,4 in the reign of Edward III., by Thomas de Hatfield, created Bishop of Durham in 1345. Pennant,5 however, but upon what authority does not appear, traces its foundation to a period prior to the abovementioned, that of Edward I., when he says it was erected by Anthony de Beck, patriarch of Jerusalem and Bishop of Durham, but was afterwards rebuilt by Bishop Hatfield. In 1534, Tonstal, the then bishop, exchanged Durham House with Henry VIII. for a mansion in Thames Street, called "Cold Harborough," when it was converted by that monarch into a royal palace. During the same reign, in the year 1540, a grand tournament, commencing on "Maie daie," and continuing on the five following days, was held at Westminster; after which, says Stow, "the challengers rode to Durham Place, where they kept open household, and feasted the king and queene (Anne of Cleves) with her ladies, and all the court." 6 In the reign of Edward VI., a mint was established at Durham House by the ambitious Thomas Seymour, Lord Admiral, under the direction of Sir William Sharington.

This mansion was bestowed on the princess Elizabeth, during the term of her life, by her brother Edward VI., when it became the residence of the Earl of Northumberland, and the scene of those important transactions we have just endeavoured to relate. On the death of Elizabeth, Sir Walter Raleigh, to whom the mansion had been given by that queen, was obliged to surrender it to Toby Matthew, the then Bishop of Durham, in consequence of the reversion having been granted to that see by queen Mary, whose bigoted and narrow mind regarded the previous exchange as a sacrilege.

In 1608, the stables of Durham House, which fronted the Strand, and which, says Strype,7 "were old, ruinous, and ready to fall, and very unsightly in so public a passage to the Court of Westminster," were pulled down and a building called the New Exchange erected on their site, by the Earl of Salisbury. It was built partly on the plan of the Royal Exchange; the shops or stalls being principally occupied by miliners and sempstresses. It was opened with great state by James I., and his queen, who named it the "Bursse of Britain." 8

In 1640, the estate of Durham House was purchased of the see, by Philip, Earl of Pembroke and Montgomery, for the annual sum of 200l., when the mansion was pulled down, and numerous houses erected on its site; and in 1737, the New Exchange was also demolished to make room for further improvements.

Towards the close of the last century the whole estate was purchased of the Earl of Pembroke, by four brothers of the name of Adam, who erected the present buildings, named by them the Adelphi, from the Greek word αδελφοι [Greek: adelphoi], brothers.

S.I.B

THE DEATH OF MURAT

(For the Mirror.)

"Where the broken line enlarging Fell or fled along the plain, There be sure was Murat charging: There he ne'er shall charge again."

BYRON.

Perhaps the features of romance were never more fully developed than in the last days and death of Murat, King of Naples. To speak panegyrically of his prowess, is supererogatory; as his bravery has been the theme of history and of song. But a pathetic paper in Blackwood's Magazine, affectingly describes his fall from splendour and popularity to servile degradation and unmerited military death. He has many claims on our interest and pity; whether we view him as the enthusiastic leader of Napoleon's chosen, against the wily Russians, in the romantic array of "a theatrical king," bearing down all impediment; or the plumeless and proscribed monarch of "shreds and patches," hiding from his enemies amidst the withered spoils of the forest. The writer of the paper referred to, in describing his arrival at Ajaccio, says, "I was sitting at my door, when I beheld a man approach me, with the gaiters and shoes of a common soldier. Looking up, I beheld before me Joachim II. the splendid King of Naples! I uttered a cry, and fell upon my knees!"

Escap'd from wreck and storm of fickle seas, Degraded, plunder'd, sought for by his foes, Brave Murat went, a weary, exil'd king, Unto the land that gave Napoleon life; And he who was the head of armies, when His sabre slew opposing multitudes; Whose dauntless spirit knew no other words In fiercest strife, but "Soldiers, follow me!" Came a poor, drooping, broken, lonely man, To meet reproach, and harsh vicissitude, Base persecution, and destroying hope; To drain the cup of human suffering dry, From which his fever'd lips had scarce refrain'd; When in the tangled wood he trembling lay, Weary and worn, expos'd to sun and storm, Hunger and cold, and nature's helplessness. And when Ajaccio's walls rung with the shouts For Naples' ruler, he of warlike fame, It wrung his spirit to remember when That city hail'd him as her only star, Worthy to reign where Masaniello rul'd. Dejected chief! the tears forsook his eyes, When on his vision rush'd the bygone love Applauding thousands bore him, as he rode In pride imperial 'midst the bending throng. The gathering crowds along Ajaccio's streets Felt Freedom's fervor kindle in their souls; And Murat's banner fann'd the glorious flame. "'Tis past," he cried, "and now I proudly come, O, shameless Naples! in thy arms to die, Or nobly live." "Now blood for tears! my sword, my sword! Be thou unsheath'd in Naples' cause, I'll meet again the battle horde, And beard the bravest of my foes! "Proud Austria! I will drive thee back, Deem not that Naples' throne is thine; For soon shall Murat's bivouac Keep watch upon thy tented line. "Nor taunt of enemy shall move, Nor bitterest suffering shall degrade, My heart—for with my people's love My daring will be richly paid. "Hearts like my own! that hem me now, The ground we tread is sacred earth, Prove not the soil from which ye sprang Unworthy of Napoleon's birth. "On to the struggle! we shall gain Adherents to our patriot cause; Shake off the exile's hated name, And abrogate the despot's laws. "Insulted, wrong'd, and robb'd of all, My feelings scarce could brook my fate; But I will gain my crown or fall Before degraded Naples' gate!" Midnight descended on Calabria's coast, And Murat's little fleet wore sailing there; No peering moon lit up the lonely sea, But all was sable as his wayward fate. A storm dispers'd them, and Sardinia's isle Receiv'd the bark that held the hapless king, And morn beheld it on the main again; But far apart his faithful followers. Calabria's beach was gain'd; where Murat stood Amidst the dastard throng that hemm'd him round, With heart of adamant, and eye of fire. There is a majesty in kingly hearts Which changing time nor fickle fate can quell: He stood—reveal'd from his own lips, "The King Of fallen Naples." At those stirring words A hundred swords unsheath'd; for on his head A princely price was set, and flight he scorn'd; For grasp'd his hand the well-accustom'd blade; And vainly fought— His hour is come! behold the dauntless man Baring his bosom to the stern platoon: And parted friends, and pardon'd enemies, Relinquish'd glory, and forgotten scorn, Are naught to him—but o'er his war-worn face A momentary gleam of passion flits— To think that he who wore that diadem The second Caesar placed upon his brows, (No cold inheritance of legal right, But truly bought by bravery and blood.) Should die with traitor branded on, his fame. His hand enfolds a small cornelian seal, A portrait of his queen,—on which his eyes Are fondly fix'd. The final word is given, And Murat falls: ah! who would be a king!

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The Mirror of Literature, Amusement, and Instruction. Volume 14, No. 384, August 8, 1829

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S.I.B

THE DEATH OF MURAT

(For the Mirror.)

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