carriage wheel. That's the stuff for corns, I tell ye! capital too for razor straps! addressing himself now to one and now to another of the bystanders, and either by accident or design so as to hit rather hard here and there, and raise a good-natured laugh at the expense of a little somebody with pinched feet, and a cross-looking old woman with a beard. Clear grit as ever you see! gut sech a thing as a jacknife about ye marm?-to the latter, who stood stooping over the box with a most inquisitive air, eyeing him through her golden-bowed specta cles, and occasionally touching the contents of the box, and then smelling her fingers in a way that he didn't appear to relish with a red-haired girl in very tight shoes on one arm, and a sleepylooking coxcomb with mustachios on the other-clear grit, I tell ye!-take a notch out of a broad axe!whoa; (to the nigger,) who-a! there, there!-best furnitoor-polish ever you come across mam. There, there, stiddy-stiddy! don't kick-plastering the foot all over with his furniture polish, and wrapping it up with a bandage of loose oakum ah, hah! begin to feel nicely aready, don't it mister?

"O, yessa massa, groaned the poor negro-him peel berry moodch nicealy; tankee massa-berry mudch-boo-hoo! -gorrigh!

"Told ye so! slickest stuff ever you see, aint it mister? snatching up a rag of tarred canvass and a bunch of spunyarn, that somebody held near-good for the lock jaw-tried it on myself; nobody talks faster 'an I do now, do they marm? fuss chop to for yeller-fever, an moths, and lip-salve, and bed bugs-try a leetle on't, mister (to the youth in mustachios), or may be you'd like a box or yer own some call it a new sort o' tooth paste with more varter in't than nineteen sea hosses; only a quarter dollar a box at retail, or two dollars a dozen box in all, and take your pay in most anything marm (to the red-haired girl); boxes worth half the money, and more too, marm-take 'em back at double price, if you aint satisfied, if I ever come across you agin-sell ye the privilege right out for any o' the States, so't your son there could make his for tin' by sellin' it for bear's greese; don't kick, I tell ye !-to the nigger-sartin cure for the itch-help yourself, mister -why if you'll believe me, but I know you wunt, I've seen it cure a whole neighbourhood so privately, they did'nt know it themselves-chincough-striped

fever and back-bitin' to boot, only by rubbin' it over the minister's wig-mortal fine stuff for the hair!-turns it all manner o' colours-there; letting the limb go and lifting the poor man up with a bandage on it about as big as a moderate-sized pillow-see there! enough's enough, I tell ye-boo-hoo-boo-hoo! If yer don't stop your blartin' an' boohooin, you'll take cold inside, and that'll take all the varter out o' the greeseand then arter that's done, I defy yer to stop-I call it greese; but it's no more greese than you air (to a very fat man who had been laughing at all the others in succession-it was their turn now), an' what's more (to the nigger) your foot 'll turn all the colours of a peacock's tail. *

*

*

COURSE OF THE THAMES THROUGH

LONDON-CONTINUED.

THE grand sweep of the Thames from Westminster bridge to that of Blackfriars, almost at our feet, now demands our attention. This is the most remarkable bend of the river that we find in the nearer portion of the view, and is the broadest part of it in its course through the metropolis. The stream coming here suddenlyin contact with the steep northern verge of the valley in which it more immediately flows, makes a rounded angle rather than a curve, presenting to our view a deep indentation on its left shore, and on its right a remarkable, acutelooking projection of the Lambeth district of the town, shooting far into the watery expanse; the Surrey ends of the Westminster and Blackfriars bridges forming the two extremities of its base; while from its apex the level line of the Waterloo bridge seems to run out directly across to the corresponding angle of the stream on the opposite bank. Let us first consider the objects on this latter verge.

I must here call the spectator's atten

tion to a point of division in the line under consideration. Let him fix his eye just on this side of the right-hand extremity of Waterloo bridge, and of the great fore-shortened façade and terrace immediately adjoining it, upon those tree tops which peep out from among those long, lofty, and for the most part old-looking ranges of building. That spot is the Temple, the uses of which, for centuries past, have been so different from those original ones of which its crusading name, as well as the mail-clad effigies within its venerable church, remain a memorial. I point to that locality on this occasion, because it marks the confines of the city of London, extending on this side of it, and that of Westminster, the southern limit of which stretches up the river side beyond it.

The whole sweep of that shore, from Westminster bridge down to the Temple, now so irregularly crowded with buildings of such various uses and aspects, is not less crowded with interesting historical recollections. It has undergone a strange alteration within the last two centuries, and that portion of the river view has assuredly much decreased in beauty. The whole line of buildings towards the water, which was occupied, in its higher part by the buildings and gardens of the ancient royal palace of Whitehall, and in its lower by a long range of mansions of the principal nobility with their ornamented lawns and terraces, now presents but few objects of picturesque interest.

Carrying our eye downwards from Westminster bridge, we distinguish the lofty roof of the Banqueting House, the only striking remnant of the buildings of Whitehall palace, which, so famed and so frequented under the Tudors and the Stuarts, seems almost identified in his torical remembrance with the assertion of high prerogative and divine right, and were fated not long to survive the revolution which exploded those pretensions for ever, being destroyed by an accidental fire in the reign of William the Third. The site of those buildings will be found to be now occupied, towards the water, by a number of excellent mansions irregularly ranged, to several of which ornamental gardens are attached, but none of which have anything imposing in their exterior. Behind them we can just trace the line of the wide street which still bears the name of Whitehall, running just by the front of the Waroffice or Horse-guards, of which we may

distinguish the small central dome, with St. James's park and its tufted avenues stretching away behind it.

Coming on, down the same line, carrying our eye over the high buildings about the nearer extremity of Whitehall, over which, through our telescope, we may discover the telegraph on the roof of the Admiralty; we may next discern, in the picture, almost among the chimney tops, the stone lion over the gateway of Northumberland House, the princely town residence of the head of the house of Percy, and the only one of the great mansions that once lined the whole bank of the river from that point down to the Temple, which is still appropriated to its original use, and which, with its great court on the town side and its gardens towards the water, has alone resisted, as it were, to the present day, the inundation of ordinary buildings, and of business-like purposes, in which all the others have been submerged.

Northumberland House marks the situation of the great opening of Charingcross, just at the right of which we distinguish the spire of the elegant church of St. Martin, with its fine ring of bells. It also shews us the commencement of the well-known line of street, called the Strand, from the circumstance of its running along at a short distance from the river side, and which, in the view, we can pretty distinctly trace, to its nearer extremity at Temple-bar, our eye being guided, first by the elegant tapering steeple of St. Mary-le-Strand, and then by that of St. Clement's, both of which it embraces, while a dense interminable mass of town lies on the right of it.

The only striking objects towards the water, in this southern belt of Westminster, as seen in this prospect, are, the extremely fore-shortened front of the modern Adelphi terrace, of elegant private houses, just above the Waterloo bridge, and that of Somerset place, as it is now called, just below the bridge, both raised high upon their vaulted basements above the surface of the water, and the latter filling up with its immense quadrangle the space between the river and the Strand, from which street it is entered. This fine and extensive stone edifice, though looking more like a palace than any other of the buildings that now overlook the river, and than most of those now existing in the metropolis, has long been converted, as the spectator is probably aware, into a variety of government offices, certain portions being

appropriated to the use of the Royal Society and of the Royal Academy, whose yearly exhibition of works of living British artists, held here, is one of the most attractive public resorts in the height of the London season.

The name of the Waterloo bridge, as well as its aspect, is sufficiently indicative of its very recent date. Magnificent and unique as it is, as a specimen of civil architecture, yet to the eye, its flat, aqueduct-looking line is less attractive than either the statelyelevation of the Westminster, or the graceful sweep of Blackfriars. Its name, too, is a sort of solecism, and, we cannot help thinking, an affectation, not quite worthy of the solid and lasting dignity of that metropolis which acquired in the erection of this structure one more noble feature in addition to the many which it had already accumulated. The names of all the other great bridges of the capital, have grown out of their respective localities; so that their permanence is not liable to be affected either by political changes or by changes of opinion. Those names are intimately associated with the steady rise, the splendid progress, and magnificent prospects of the capital itself: their continuance is not dependent on the judgment which future generations, or even the present, may form as to the degree of public benefit that may have resulted from a particular political or military achievement. But even had British history had time to pass its final verdict upon the transactions in question, the taste would still have been very questionable which suggested the introducing of a name inseparably associated with all the darkest horrors of wholesale butchery, among those of the Westminster bridge, &c. which hold their steady, quiet place in the mind, linked with ideas of cheerful business, of peaceful pomp, and tranquil pleasure. And once more let me repeat, that, of all cities that are or have been, our own great capital may most fairly claim the right, before all other localities upon earth, to furnish names for her own magnificent bridges.

The portion of the Surrey shore lying between the Westminster and Blackfriars bridges, presents little that is striking to the eye, except the bold projection, already mentioned, of its own area into the course of the Thames. Exactly from the apex of that angle, and from the extremity of the Waterloo bridge, there shoots up a remarkable-looking, slender, lofty round tower, of which, from this elevation we see the whole length relieved

against the gleaming surface of the river. That modern tower, like a tapering square one of inferior elevation, which stands a little to the left of it, rather less conspicuously, just on this side of the same extremity of the bridge, forms an important part of a shot-manufactory. In a picturesque view, they are quite precious, on so flat a locality and among so ordinary a range of buildings as crowd that part of the river's bank. To the left of them, we can trace the Waterloo road running out in a direct line, past the steeple of the Lambeth new church, towards the Obelisk in St. George's fields.

Reverting to the Middlesex side of the water, we find, in bringing our eye downwards from the Temple, nothing, apparently, but the roofs of great warehouses and similar erections, till we reach the fine opening and handsome buildings of Chatham place at the foot of Blackfriars bridge, consisting of elegant private houses and commodious offices; from which we perceive Bridge street, running up into the heart of the western portion of the city. At the opposite extremity of Blackfriars bridge we see the nearly corresponding range of Albion place, commencing the fine straight avenue of Surrey street or the Blackfriars road; this one, of all the bridges, happening to possess, on each side of the river, the finest and most commodious approaches.

From the point where we stand, we see in fine perspective the elegant curve of this bridge, and eight of its nine arches, the nearer one almost disappearing behind the lofty range of building forming the eastern side of Chatham place. This bridge is a younger sister of the Westminster, having been completed about twenty years subsequently, adding not less to the beauty than to the commodiousness of the growing metropolis.

We come now to that portion of the river line which lies immediately at our feet, extending from the Blackfriars to the Southwark bridge, and sweeping horizontally through the picture_along the southern border of the city. In this extent, there is little to arrest the eye on either shore. On the hither side, we look almost plumb down upon the long, broad roofings of the immense range of great warehouses that occupy the whole length of shore, and to which Thames street forms the access. The foundations of St. Paul's itself being laid upon the summit of this one of the range of hills

immediately inclosing the basin of the Thames, we consequently look down here from a most commanding elevation upon this part of the river, and the intervening portion of the City; which, however, offers little to our observation but a dense aggregation of roofs and angles of buildings of a similar character to those already mentioned as bordering the river side with their wharfs and quays; diversified, it is true, by the steeples of several of the city churches, which, however, present little that is striking except by dint of the contrast their grey elevations afford to the flat expanse of roofings chequered with slaty blue and dingy red. Some little relief, also, to this dull uniformity, is afforded by the range of tree tops shading the long narrow garden of Doctors' Commons, which lies beneath our eye, parallel with the river, as we look towards the nearer extremity of Blackfriars bridge. One solitary tree, too, we observe, towards the lower extremity of this portion of the river's brink, apparently overhanging the water, at the extremity of a long range of warehouses at the spot called Queenhithe-an object in itself ordinary enough, but refreshing to the eye, as presenting one soft green spot amid that close hard mass of brick, and tile, and slate.

The further or Surrey side of the river, towards the water's edge, is still more devoid of either picturesque or historical interest. Along that level line are ranged, besides timber yards, iron wharfs, &c., the buildings belonging to a great variety of manufactures,-as iron-founders, stone-cutters, dyers, soap and oil makers, glass-makers, &c.-with their tall, black-mouthed chimneys, shooting up at intervals,—which, though they have little to engage the eye, have much, on a closer examination, to interest an excursive mind, in their varied display of the magical operations and effects of ingeniously directed mechanical and chemical powers. They exhibit, in short, a fine specimen of that richly varied manufacturing industry which is so interesting to all but the most frivolous minds, as having contributed so largely to advance Great Britain, in the possession of the means of national happiness, so far before every other country of the old world.

The Southwark bridge itself, of more recent erection even than the Waterloo, springing lightly from its elevated abutments on either shore, and obstructing

the current with two piers only, supporting its vast central arch of eighty yards span, and its five or six thousand tons of iron, which seem to float rather than weigh upon the bosom of the river

is one of the great modern triumphs of mechanical skill and power-such a work as only British genius has yet been able to achieve.

Now again, the river, which has been gradually contracting its breadth from Blackfriars bridge downwards, is gently receding in the view and widening by degrees, as if to shew us old London bridge to greater advantage. The new London bridge, opened but the other day, we shall not fail to visit on a future occasion: but for the present let us be content to look upon the aspect of the old one, the image of which is here more vividly presented to us than it can be by any other mode. This, we conceive, is the finest original full-length portrait of the latest that remained of the greater features of the gothic city, the London of the middle ages; and the sight of it alone is well worth a visit to the Colos

seum.

The coffer dams, &c. (preparing for the erection of the new bridge) which we see encroaching upon the surface of the river just above its further extremity, already announce to us that its doom is sealed-to the affliction of the antiquary, the disturbance of numerous traders carrying on business at each of its approaches, the greater security and satisfaction of all quiet navigators or passengers upon the river, and the everlasting privation of all those amateurs of unprofitable risk who delight in rụn; ning the chance of being upset in shooting the old bridge, that is, in descending in a wherry the sort of cataract which the excessive obstruction prevented by such a number of enormously-massive piers and starlings, compels the river to form at every ebbing tide.

This is the only one of the bridges before us that can be regarded as an his, torical monument; and often in our rambles through the past, shall we find it in our track,-crowded, loaded, and overhung with the sharp-angled, fantastically-gabled houses of the gothic period, projecting story beyond story.

This was the great and only thoroughfare over the Thames at London, until the middle of the last century; and countless have been the trains of warriors, of traders, of travellers, of pilgrims, that rode over it, before the state of English

roads and wheel-carriages would admit of any long journey being performed otherwise than on horseback.

In later times, the vast increase of the port of London, and the immense circulation of great depositories for goods on both sides of the river below this the last bridge going down the Thames, have caused it to be, during the hours of business, more densely thronged than any other communication of the like nature in the world, with all manner of vehicles and passengers, immediately or indirectly kept in motion by the various branches of the amazing commerce of London. This accumulated pressure necessitated an entire metamorphosis of the upper line of the bridge by removing all the grotesque and unsightly incumbrances of the land passage, long before the recent and final demolition of the disproportionately massive lower masonry which so seriously impeded the water-way.

The ancient borough of Southwark, to which this bridge forms the grand approach, greets our view with the first historical interest afforded us by the objects on that level, banked-in shore, after quitting Lambeth palace. The mean low brick tower of St. Olave's church, indeed, almost at the foot of the bridge, looks insignificant enough; but carrying on our eye towards the right in a straight line with the bridge itself, it meets one of the finest architectural remnants in

London of the gothic times, in the great, square, storied and pinnacled tower of St. Saviour's church, as it is now called, originally that of the great monastery of St. Mary Overies.

This steeple of the fourteenth century, carries us back at once to the days of Chaucer and Gower, the former of whom has consecrated this locality by assembling his pilgrims at the Tabard, hard by, in the great thoroughfare to Canterbury; while the bones of the latter lie mouldering in that very church. Different indeed in fortune were the courtier poet, and the reformer!-as different as patronage and affluence are from persecution and poverty. Death has long levelled them in fortune;-but as for fame,—could the fortunate Gower speak from the dust, well might he exclaim :

:

So were I equalled with him in renown! Even the little mean tower of St. Thomas's church, which strikes the eye just to the right of that of St. Saviour's, has some claim upon our notice, if only as marking

the spot where "our host" of the Tabard made his company halt.

Nor, at a future opportunity, shall we forget, as associated with this locality, Shakspeare's Globe Theatre, Allen's Royal Bear-garden, &c. &c., of a later period.

Towards the opposite or nearer end of London bridge, shoots up across the river's face, the lofty and rather elegant steeple of St. Magnus' church, the aspect of which, with its projecting clock, and the arched passage under its tower, is so inseparably associated with the approach to London bridge in the mind of every passenger that way from the City; but which, now that the bridge itself to which it scemed so necessary an append. age has disappeared, "stands alone in its glory," looking, to such as now pass by it, solitary and comfortless.

To the left of it extends, parallel with the water-side, the long quadrangular flat-roofed top of the new Custom-house, erected, on the destruction of the old one by fire, in 1814. That immense repository and revenue office is well worthy of our visiting it at a future opportunity.

The lofty summit of the Monument, as it is called by distinction, next catches our eye, though its base is at some distance from the water-side, up the steep bank which we find still bounding the river's verge on this side.

There

-London's column pointing to the skies,

in magnificent elevation, with the golden flame upon its summit, literally blazing in the sun, commemorates at once the awful though eventually beneficial conflagration of the City in the seventeenth century, and, like the pile on which we stand, the splendid genius of its great architectural restorer; as the English inscription round its base attested, until recently, to the most ordinary reader, the almost incredibly gross blindness of religious and party prejudice prevailing in those times, and justified the sarcasm of Pope in the fellow line to the one above quoted

Like a tall bully, rears its head and lies. This finest modern pillar in the world will demand our more particular attention; and, fortunately for the eye of architectural taste and curiosity, the late City improvements connected with the rebuilding of London bridge have, for the first time, enabled the spectator to contemplate its whole length in one view.