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but the courler himself said otherwise ; wretch that thou art!”—at these words be he went his other journeys, and either raised his carbine, and swinging it round forgot, or tried to forget the circumstance his head with all his force, struck the altogether. It would have been happy unfortunate courier on the forehead, and for him if others had been so inclined, or ere I had time to interpose, the other tried to have buried the affair in oblivion. two had buried their knives in his breast, It was on the evening after that on which and with their leader ascended the emi. we had started that we entered the prin- nence and disappeared. I raised the un. cipality of the prince of Lucca; a beautiful happy man in my arms; his head fell scene was before me, and I leant out of back; he spoke not a word; and in a few the carriage windows to view the lovely moments breathed his last. I had the scenery and admire the beauty of an body conveyed to the next inn, and made Italian setting sun. Upon a little emi- a deposition of the circumstances before nence on one side of the road were three the commissary, who promised that no men, apparently on the watch for some pains should be spared to bring the one; they were peasants, and by their offenders to justice; but though I staid dress, of the very lowest order; but what some months at Nice, I never afterwards appeared to me a most unusual thing heard the affair mentioned. was, that two of them held carbines in

J. M. B. their hands. The carriage was obliged to pass the acclivity where the men had CHARACTER OF THE EUROplaced themselves, and it soon became PEAN POWERS IN 1187. evident that it was the object of their watchfulness ; for no sooner had we ap- The Emperor Frederick Barbarossa of proached than one of them fired his Germany wrote a very vaunting letter carbine in the air; the postilion threw to Saladin, previous to his taking the himself on the ground, where he lay, cross in 1187, in the course of which with his face to the earth, and began occurs the following curious description repeating all the Ave Marias and Pater of some of the principal European nations Nosters he either ever knew or could at of that period, that time remember. The men imme- The tall Bavarian-crafty Swedediately hastened to the carriage and wary France-provident and ingenious opened the door. I concluded their England — Saxony sporting with the object was to rob, and immediately offered sword-agile Brabant-Loraine unacthem my watch and purse. No, signor, quainted with peace-unquiet Burgundy said one of them, who seemed to act as - Friesland excelling in the slingthe leader, 'tis not your money we want, Bohemia fiercer than the wild beastsbut the miserable wretch beside you; the pilot Pisan.

Α. Η. descend, sir, if you please, we mean you no harm. The man spoke with as much calmness as if he were going through one of the ordinary occurrences of every-day

METROPOLITAN RAMBLER. life, whilst the eyes of his companions

No. IV. glared with a frightful spirit of malevolence on my fellow traveller. I had no sooner descended from the carriage than the poor courier was seized upon and RESUMING our station at the Panorama dragged to the ground; he fell on his of London, I proceed to fulfil the proknees, and with clasped hands and im- mise given in the conclusion of a former ploring looks besought them for mercy, paper of this series, of tracing“the course take all, all but life;—every amends that through London and its vicinity, of their man could make, would he make; he grand and mighty river.” would give up all; he had been deceived; If ever stream deserved to be deified oh, mercy! mercy! for heaven's sake by the dwellers on its banks, “ Father grant me mercy! * Mercy," cried the Thames” has surely merited to be so. man, with a still, quiet laugh, that Without such a river, London could not, curdled my very blood, “mercy! didst have arisen. The conquest of the world, thou shew mercy when others wept and indeed, might raise a metropolis equal to prayed, and besought thee to save a father London in magnitude, and approaching and a husband's life? didst thou shew it in comparative wealth and magnifimercy? No; you never thought it cence, on the banks of the Tiber. But would soon be thy turn to sue and pray if England have indeed, been the conin vain for mercy; but I waste time- queror of the world, it has been much

THE

COURSE OF THE THAMES TBROUGH

LONDON.

more by her steady industry, her perse. those gardens, is clearly distinguishable vering enterprise, her maritime and from the point where we stand, rather to commercial spirit, than by her arms; and the right of Isleworth church,and shooting it was only the broad bosom of a river up, at that distance, like a simple obelisk. like the Thames, gently swelled by every The white face of Sion House itself, partide, that could bear the wealth of the tially embowered, is discernible a little world into the arms of one favoured to the right of this latter object, and on port.

the left bank of the river. The beneficent influence of the Thames Of the stream itself we have no further in nourishing the growth of this mighty glimpse for a considerable distance down city, has been repaid by the grandeur its course. Flowing quite hidden beand beauty with which British industry tween Brentford and Kew, and under the and consequent wealth have graced his well-known bridge at the latter place, it banks; and the grand result is, that his emerges to view for the second time at course now lies through a thick succession one of its turnings just above the contiof objects possessing variety and an guous villages of Mortlake and Barnes amount of interest unparalleled in either on its Surrey shore, close over the redthe ancient or the modern world.

roofed houses of which we trace its unLooking almost due west, between the broken line running horizontally across two campanile turrets of St. Paul's, we the picture to its next great bend against discover in the extreme distance, on the Chiswick, which we recognize by the confines of the three counties of Middle- dark stunted spire of its church standing sex, Bucks, and Berks, a thick, bold almost upon the water's brink, and Hamprojection, formed by the towered heights mersmith, with its grey, ordinary-looking of Windsor. Close at their feet, over- steeple, rather nearer us and more to the looked by that stately pile, so long the right, and its long ranges of unfinished great rural mansion and for two genera- houses. tions past the favourite home of English Sweeping again to the left, the river royalty, flows the Thames, in that disappears entirely as it approaches the course of rich and varied sylvan beauty tower of Putney church, which we see which he runs, after visiting the classic distinctly on its right bank, and the spire shades and time-honoured monuments of Fulham on its left—the high wooden of Oxford.

bridge there, again, being completely At that point, about nineteen miles hidden from our view by intervening west of us, “as the crow flies," the ground and trees. It is in its course Thames may be considered as first en- from hence down to Wandsworth, on its tering the grand circle visible from the right, which we recognise by the steeple point on which we stand. But from that of its old church, towards the river, and point, in his advance, he winds, close that of its new one on the hill to the left, hidden from our view, by height, and that the surface of the Thames is once grove, and distance, until he reaches the

more becoming visible. far-famed hill of Richmond, which we The great curve towards the northperceive at some distance to the left of east at Wandsworth, where it receives, the former point, forming a bold ridge in from the Surrey side, the truly silver what may be termed the third distance in waters of the picture.

“ The blue transparent Vandalis," Behind that ridge he still is hidden, and behind the upper portion of the shews us at that point the full breadth royal gardens of Kew, just on the right of the stream, which again tapers off to of it. Ata turn which he makes close to the eye into a narrow line, until it opens the little old tower church of Isleworth, out in the grand wide bend just above on his left, we catch, as he approaches, Chelsea and Battersea, where we observe the first interesting glimpse of his wel- the spire of the former

on the right bank come and quiet face. It is pleasant, as and the brick tower of Chelsea old church many of our readers are doubtless aware, on the left, while Battersea bridge, on a fine spring morning or summer rather singularly, disappears entirely be. evening, after crossing the finely-wooded hind that projection of the Middlesex park of Sion House, to be ferried, at that shore, and the objects upon it as if it point, across the cheerful, sparkling cur- had been purposely contrived that as few rent, and stroll up to Richmond on the of the bridges as possible in the upward other side, with the river on the right line of the river should be discernible hand, and Kew gardens on the left. from St. Paul's.

The tall pagoda in the lower part of It is here that, viewed from this elevation, the Thames begins to look “an elephant turned on his back.” Be metropolitan. Battersea spire itself is this as it may, we shall find, when we come seen just over the towers of Westminster to a nearer survey, that, notwithstanding Abbey. We now find its Middlesex the severity of satire levelled against Sir bank thickly lined with buildings, among John Vanburgh, the architect of that which we distinguish the long slated edifice, there is much elegance in its roofs and tufted groves of Chelsea college, details, as well as something imposing in the grand military asylum being the first its general aspect. object of great national interest that But the grand point of interest to the marks the entrance of the river into the eye on that portion of the river's bank, is present metropolis.

And in the rear, the solemn-looking mass of edifices which to the right, lies the thickly-peopled, rises to our view just over the norththough openly-built district of Chelsea, western extremity of Westminster bridge, with its innumerable streets of small thick-clustering, like the historical assohouses of the dingy London brick, ciations that hover around them. These, erected for the most part within the last as a whole, we see to great advantage twenty years, and forming a dull, levels from the point where we stand, and are looking congregation of habitations, also well situated for discriminating the scarcely varied, except by the truly several masses. First, and most prominent, elegant Gothic tower of the new church, the two great western towers, well and which this vast increase of population distinctly shewn as we look obliquely had rendered necessary.

behind and between them ;-then the Descending the river-passing, on the massive fore-shortened ridges of the nave Middlesex shore, two remarkably lofty and transept, with the pinnacles of Henry chimneys, one of which, I believe, is that the Seventh's chapel peeping over and of the Chelsea water-works, and on the relieving the great ridge of all, the long Surrey side, several windmills which, it sharp roofing of Westminster Hall, must be owned, are objects more desira- which plants its portly presence across ble in a landscape, -we come now to the that end of the line of ecclesiastical elegant modern bridge of Vauxhall, the buildings; and against which, again, with first we arrive at, that can, perhaps, be its grand western gable looking upon the strictly regarded as a metropolitan struc- river, and just discernible, a little to the ture; forming the communication, across right of the high crown of Westminster the Thames, between the extreme western bridge, is the House of Commons, as it parts of modern London, and Vauxhall, appeared before the late conflagration. Kennington, Clapham, and the Brighton The buildings of the House of Lords and Dover roads, &c. on the Surrey side. having been for the most part hidden This bridge is one of the results of the from view in this direction by the Hall amazing increase of the metropolis within and the House of Commons, the late fire the present century.

has made little alteration in the appearBetween it and Westminster bridge, ance of the whole mass as seen from this the next as we come down the stream, position. several objects demand our attention on The tower of St. Margaret's, Westeither shore. First, on the left bank, minster (the fellow-parish of St. John's, looking fortress-like, with its round in the ancient city), which, elsewhere, turrets, its long curtains, and its loop-hole would look by no means insignificant, windows, is the Milbank Penitentiary, seems there, nestling close under the giant close squatted on its marshy site. Just sides of the Abbey, like something out of below it, and to the right, we distinguish its place-like a superfluity at least, if not a low group of four pointed turrets,

Yet, since the Abbey peeping

above the houses of the older part towers have so long been mute, we could of Westminster, and shewn dark, like the ill spare the cheerful voices of St. Mar. two black-mouthed chimneys above men- garet's bells, enlivening our holidays and tioned, against the light face of the long state processions. The majestic sweep of river line which extends from Chelsea to Westminster bridge, spanning the river Vauxhall; which we should hardly have almost in its broadest part, and seen here suspected to be the top of a church; but in fine perspective, adds much to the they are, in fact, the small corner towers general grandeur of effect of that group of the church of St. John the Evangelist, of objects as seen in this distant view. one of the two original parishes of ancient We cannot here pause to meditate Westminster, They are the feet of the upon the countless sources of interest elephant-if there be any truth in the about a locality which has been the scene jocose simile, that this structure resembles of so many august spectacles—so many

an excrescence.

solemn deliberations and momentous A NIGHT'S ADVENTURE. decisions, which has rung for so many (Translated from the French). ages with the thunders of the English bar and parliament,—where the fate of “ Hist! hist! are you still there ?” mighty nations has so often trembled in “We are, both of us. Have you seen the scales,—which enshrines the dust of him?" many a lion-hearted warrior, many a “ Yes, the wretch! I have tried for resistless orator, many a heaven-touched the last time to obtain from him-you bard,—to merit a grave in which has know what: he received me no better stimulated, through a course of centuries, than usual. So now, since extremities The poet's, scholar's, soldier's eye, tongue,

have become indispensable, let us prosword,

ceed as agreed upon. Kirmann, courage, to unwearied effort, and to glorious my boy! 'Tis close upon the stroke of achievement. This is a spot to which, twelve; he will then go out: follow, hereafter, we must often ramble.

till you see him entering a dark and The opposite shore presents us with deserted street, then pounce upon him, some objects of a different character. It hand to wrist, and make him deliver up is refreshing to turn from the solemn the objects in question. No pity, my and the stony, from “ the dark grey tint friends! swear that you will have none.

“ We swear !” of centuries,” the stern and the sepulchral, to the deep groves of Vauxhall, and to

"'Tis well ; I shall be near at hand, think of their fairy splendours, and the and watch the result !” myriads of gay feet and light hearts that

The three individuals thus conversing, each succeeding summer sees roving did not present the ordinary resemamong them.

blance to malefactors. One of them, he Midway between these gardens and the who would appear to direct the enterSurrey side of Westminster bridge, a prise, seemed to be a good sort of citizen, grotesque-looking cluster of buildings

well clothed, healthy, of honest dimenrises to our view over another tufted mass

sions, and such a one as you may see of trees, and cuts its outline upon the every day in any frequented street, with river's face. There is the grand seat and

a full handkerchief under his arm, or an centre of English ecclesiastical jurisdic- empty one in his hand. Something tion, the ancient archiepiscopal palace of observable in the gait, starched look, and Lambeth, looking old and odd. There apparently disjointed haunches, would is its Lollards' tower of old black-red lead you to believe that this man employiron-looking brick-Persecution's fa- ed himself at some very common trade, vourite hue ;-while the rough grey

which, that we may make no mistake, tower on the left, with its staircase turret

we shall not yet name. oddly projecting above it, looks also like

The smaller of the remaining two had some close appendage to the primate's

one of the most grotesque faces you can residence, but is in fact the ancient parish conceive. His projecting proboscis trusschurch of Lambeth. The fine old elm. ed up between the eyes, might prove groves in the archbishop's grounds, verg- that nature had not forgotten to make ing to the water, and, as viewed from this some noses for the convenience of specside, embowering the antique mansion, tacles; his mouth was encircled with combine with those of Vauxhall to give a scanty and large teeth, and add to all beautiful variety to that level shore.

this-he was humpbacked. By the unWestminster bridge itself dates only steady glimmer of a lamp swinging in from the middle of the last century; and the night wind, it was not impossible to the opening of that fine communication perceive that the keen sight of the dwarf has contributed greatly to the rapid glanced with delight upon a pistol which increase of buildings over that great he held in his right hand. level tract extending from the Thames in

The third personage, owing to his this part to the nearest line of the Surrey physical conformation, partook in some hills, and included for the most part in

manner of a relationship between his the newly-formed borough of Lambeth.

two associates. Gaunt, withered, and cadaverous looking, his left arm raised, as if to point his weapon at the breast of

a giant, it gave him no distant resemA person once asked a compositor why blance to a gibbet. Ever and anon he he had an unusual quantity of the capital was quaking. Was it from cold, or fear? letter I in his case. “ Sir," said he, “I It struck the hour of midnight. am composing a book of travels.”

From a house well known in the

EGOTISI

TOURISTS.

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cross-streets.

BY JOHN INMAN.

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quarter of St. Martin, slowly poured out forward by the fresh morning breeze, and
nearly a dozen men; the two suborned a slight crack of a whip which descended
individuals, ever on the alert, were issuing on his shoulders, as he was turning the
at intervals, for the purpose of reconnoi- first corner. He received the following
tring, from the dark alley, which they morning by the earliest post, a billet
had chosen for concealment; they were thus penned :
obliged at least twenty times to go back Considering you as much a coward
and wait anew.

At length they espied as a swindler, I contrived last night to the being of their search. It was a kind set my two journeymen, Paul and Kirof fashionable animal, frizzed, scented, mann, across your path, each furnished and adopting a peculiar tie of the cravat. with a chocolate pistol. You might He crossed over to the other side of the have supped off them. I had them prestreet, shivering and humming an air, viously attested by my worthy friend, and was soon lost in one of the narrow the commissary of police. You preferred

He walked on rapidly, as restoring the clothes with which I had if to avoid coming in contact with another furnished you, and for which you had wayfarer, whose heavy footsteps sounded refused paying me; you have done right, not far off; but changing all at once for we are now quits. Get angry, if from the disposition of dread to that of you choose, and receive the felicitations boldness, he suddenly stopped short, and of your very humble servant, allowed sufficient time for those to come

YouR TAILOR." up who were effectually pursuing him.

“ Halt!” cries one of them : “money A MARRIED MAN'S REVERIE. or life !"

“ Eh? what? eh?" Money, or life !"

What a blockhead my brother Tom is, And the mouths of two pistols were not to marry! or rather, perhaps, I presented, the one at his hat, the other should say, what a blockhead not to marry at the height of his stomach.

some twenty-five years ago, for I suppose "Speak but a word and you are a he'd hardly get any decent sort of a body dead man,” chimed in the two voices. to take him, as old as he is now. Poor

“ For heaven's sake, gentlemen! I fellow! what a forlorn, desolate kind of a have nothing to give you. I possess but life he leads; no wife to take care of him this watch, and 't is a pinchbeck one.” -no children to love him-no domestic

“In that case, then, off with your enjoyment—nothing snug and comfortclothes !!

able in his arrangements at home-nice “ Do, kind gentlemen, be content with sociable dinners-pleasant faces at breakmy hat. I have of late made the dearest fast.-By the way, what the deuce is the sacrifices to clothe myself. My poor reason my breakfast does not come up ? aged mother denied herself her little I've been waiting for it this half hour. earnings to pay for my outfit."

Oh, I forgot; my wife sent the cook to “ Liar! off with your coat, and no market to get some trash or other for delay, or else Ah, to commence,

Dick's cold. She coddles that boy to throw away that switch.”

death. But, after all, I ought not to find There, then, gentlemen; there is fault with Tom for not getting a wife, my beautiful superfine black coat and for he has lent me a good deal of money velvet collar ; you can get a hundred and that came quite convenient, and I suptwenty francs for it anywhere, if the pose my young ones will have all he's tailor has not deceived me.'

worth when he dies, poor fellow! They'll “ Now your vest.

want it, I'm afraid ; for although my “Would you send me away en che- business does very well, this house-keepmise ?”

ing eats up the profits, with such a large « Now off with the rest.”

family as mine. Let me see; how many “ Oh! merciful heaven! the sole pair mouths have I to feed every day? There's I possess : for pity's sake, gentlemen, my wife and her two sisters—that's three; for pity!” A peal of laughter answered and the four boys-seven ; and Lucy his supplication. And the same voice and Sarah and Jane, and Louisa, four continued,

more-eleven; then there's the cook Away with you, and beware how and the house-maid, and the boy-fouryou look behind you."

teen ; and the woman that comes every The bird so strangely plucked of his day to wash and do odd jobs about the plumage, waited not for a second injunc- house-fifteen; then there's the nursery. tion. He sped on his course, propelled maid-sixteen; surely there must be

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