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"Thanks, blue-eyed angel, with black hair," I replied, in a romantic tone of voice; "since the lamp of heaven is extinguished, the cat may go out upon the gutters."

With these words, I put on a light surtout, and directed my uncertain steps toward the Palais Royal. Arrived near the bank, I mechanically cast my eyes upon the playbills of the day.

"Theatre de Madame-First representation of The Setting of the Sun.' Comedy vaudeville; M. Perlet will perform the character of Argentières.'

Capital! My instinct as a debtor, irresistibly hurried me to such a representa tion. I entered precisely as the curtain rose, and took the first seat that offered. Argentières was just like myself, a night-bird; invited to a soirée, it there chances that he forgets himself, amid punch and the card-tables. At the rising of the sun he dares not venture into the streets, for he has perceived from the window a visage of bad omen: 't is that of a sheriff-officer, planted at the door of the hotel like a gibbet, and awaiting his victim with fatal vigilance. It was necessary, then, that Argentières should: devise a thousand pretexts for remaining at his post till evening.

"How shall I manage?" exclaimed Perlet.

His embarrassing position drew from me an exclamation and sympathetic applause. My right hand neighbour, a very troublesome fellow, applied his glass and eyed my countenance with an impertinence truly provoking. I silently contented myself with turning my back to him, and offering a more befitting view; but the fellow, whose gaze partook somewhat of the satanical, ceased not from his scrutiny of my person; above all, at that moment when the winding-up of the piece extracted a new burst of sympathy. My patience was exhausted, and I gave him an intentional push, by acci

dent.

"My dear sir! your address," said he to me, while re-adjusting his glass, which had been deranged by my abrupt motion. "Ah! very well," added he, reading the name and number of my street; "you shall see me, sir, early to-morrow morning."

"You will oblige me, sir, by coming very early."

"I shall not fail, I assure you." And as we quitted each other his glass was still pursuing me. I slept ill; I am no coward, but a duel occasions restlessness even to the man most philosophi

cally detached from life. At six o'clock came a knock at my door; it was the quizzing-glass fellow, accompanied by two gentlemen of a sufficiently pleasant

countenance.

"Gentlemen, I am at your service." "You shall not escape us, sir." "These two pistols will decide our difference."

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Quite useless, sir, we have here every thing requisite for us.'

"Since you are armed, then, at all points, we can depart.'

"At all points," replied he with a sneer, "that is the phrase; let us get into the coach."

"Where are we going?"
"Rue de la Clé, sir.'

"How, Rue de la Clé ?"

"By virtue of the peremptory decree issued against you on the first day of June, by the tribunal of commerce, duly registered, and to you notified, a petition, etc. etc., I arrest you, in the king's name: that you may not remain ignorant, I beg leave to inform you, that I am an officer in the guard of commerce, and these gentlemen are my satellites."

At these words I fell into a lethargic despondency, from which I was not roused until I heard the grating of the lock of Saint Pélagie, as it closed behind

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"WELL, Bryce," said Mrs. Maxwell one day to her housekeeper, "what has the gamekeeper sent this week from Maxwell Hall?”— "Why, madam, there are three brace of partridges, a brace of grouse, a woodcock, three hares, a couple of pheasants, and a solan goose."-" A solan goose!" ejaculated the lady; "what could induce him to think I would poison my house with a solan goose?" -"He knows it is a dish that my master is very fond of," replied Mrs. Bryce. 'It is more than your mistress

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is," retorted the lady; "let it be thrown out directly, before Mr. Maxwell sees it."

The housekeeper retired; and Mrs. Maxwell resumed her cogitations, the subject of which was, how to obtain an introduction to the French noblesse who had recently taken up their abode in Edinburgh. "Good heavens!" said she as she hastily rung the bell," how could I be so stupid!-there is nothing in the world that old Lady Crosby is so fond of as a solan goose, and I understand she knows all the French people, and that they are constantly with her.--Bryce," she continued, as the housekeeper obeyed her summons, "is the goose a fine bird?" "Very fine indeed, madam; the beak is broken, and one of the legs is a little ruffled, but I never saw a finer bird.""Well, then, don't throw it away, as I mean to send it to my friend Lady Crosby, as soon as I have written a note." Mrs. Bryce once more retreated, and Mrs. Maxwell, having selected a beautiful sheet of note paper, quickly penned the following effusion:

"My dear Lady Crosby, permit me to request your acceptance of a solan goose, which has just been sent me from Maxwell Hall. Knowing your fondness for this bird, I am delighted at having it in my power to gratify you. I hope that you continue to enjoy good health. This is to be a very gay winter. By the by, do you know any one who is acquainted with the French noblesse ? I am dying to meet with them. Ever, my dear Lady Crosby, yours truly,

za;

M. MAXWELL."

Lady Crosby being out when this billet reached her house, it was opened by one of her daughters. "Bless me, Maria!" she exclaimed to her sister, "how fortunate it was that I opened this note; Mrs. Maxwell has sent mamma a solan goose!"-"Dreadful!" exclaimed Eli"I am sure if mamma hears of it she will have it roasted immediately, and Captain Jessamy, of the Lancers, is to call to-day, and you know, a roasted solan goose is enough to contaminate a whole parish.-I shall certainly go distracted!". -"Don't discompose yourself," replied Maria; " I shall take good care to send it out of the house before mamma comes home; meanwhile, I must write a eivil answer to Mrs. Maxwell's note. I dare say she will not think of alluding to it; but, if she should, mamma, luckily, is pretty deaf, and may never be a bit the wiser.". "I think," said Eliza, "we had better send the

goose to the Napiers, as they were rather affronted at not being asked to our last musical party; I dare say they will make no use of it, but it looks attentive.""An excellent thought," rejoined Maria. No sooner said than done; in five minutes the travelled bird had once more changed its quarters.

"A solan goose!" ejaculated Mrs. Napier, as her footman gave her the intelligence of Lady Crosby's present. 66 Pray return my compliments to her ladyship, and I feel much obliged by her polite attention. Truly," continued she, when the domestic had retired to fulfil this mission, "if Lady Crosby thinks to stop our mouths with a solan goose, she will find herself very much mistaken. I suppose she means this as a peace-offering for not having asked us to her last party. I suppose she was afraid, Clara, my dear, you would cut out her clumsy daughters with Sir Charles."-" If I don't, it shall not be my fault," replied her amiable daughter. "I flirted with him in such famous style at the last concert, that I thought Eliza would have fainted on the spot. But what are you going to do with the odious bird?""O, I shall desire John to carry it to poor Mrs. Johnstone."-" I wonder, mamma, that you would take the trouble of sending all the way to the Canongate for any such purpose; what good can it do you to oblige people who are so wretchedly poor?"-" Why, my dear," replied the lady," to tell you the truth, your father, in early life, received such valuable assistance from Mr. Johnstone, who was at that time a very rich man, as laid the foundation of his present fortune. Severe losses reduced Mr. Johnstone to poverty; he died, and your father has always been intending, at least promising, to do something for the family, but has never found an opportunity. Last year, Mrs. Johnstone most unfortunately heard that he had it in his power to get a young man out to India, and she applied to Mr. Napier on behalf of her son, which, I must say, was a very ill-judged step, as shewing that she thought he required to be reminded of his promises, which, to a man of any feeling, must always be a grating circumstance; but I have often observed, that poor people have very little delicacy in such points; however, as your papa fancies sometimes that these people have a sort of claim on him, I am sure he will be glad to pay them any attention that costs him nothing."

Behold, then, our hero exiled from the

fashionable regions of the West, and laid on the broad of his back on a table, in a small but clean room, in a humble tenement in the Canongate, where three hungry children eyed with delight his fat legs, his swelling breast, and magnificent pinions. "O, mamma, mamma,' cried the children, skipping round the table, and clapping their hands, "what a beautiful goose! how nice it will be when it is roasted! You must have a

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"Run, Bryce! fly! cried Mrs. Maxwell in despair; "put it out of sight! give it to the house-dog!"

Away ran Mrs. Bryce with her prize to Towler; and he, not recollecting that he had any favour to obtain from any one, or that he had any dear friends to oblige, received the present very gratefully, and, as he lay in his kennel, "Lazily mumbled the bones of the dead;"

thus ingloriously terminating the migrations of a solan goose.

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great large slice, mamma, for you had very little dinner yesterday. Why have we never any nice dinners now, mamma?"—"Hush, little chatterbox," said her brother Henry, a fine stripling of METROPOLITAN RAMBLER. sixteen, seeing tears gather in his mother's eyes. "My dear boy," said Mrs. Johnstone, "it goes to my heart to think of depriving these poor children of their expected treat, but I think we ought to

send this bird to our benefactress, Lady Bethune. But for her, what would have become of us? While the Napiers, who owe all they have, to your worthy and unfortunate father, have given us nothing but empty promises, she has been a consoling and ministering angel, and I should wish to take this opportunity of shewing my gratitude; trifling as the offering is, I am sure it will be received with kindness.""I am sure of it," replied Henry; “and I will run and buy a few nuts and apples to console the little ones for losing their expected feast."

The children gazed with lengthened faces as the goose was carried from their sight, and conveyed by Henry to the house of Lady Bethune, who appreciating the motives which had dictated the gift, received it with benevolent kindness. "Tell your mother, my dear," said she to Henry, "that I feel most particularly obliged by her attention, and be sure to say that Sir James has hopes of procuring a situation for you; and if he succeeds, I will come over myself to tell her the good news." Henry bounded away as gay as a lark, while Lady Bethune, after having given orders to her butler to send some bolls of potatoes, meal, and a side of fine mutton, to Mrs. Johnstone, next issued directions for the disposal of the present she had just received.

"La, madam!" exclaimed Mrs. Bryce, as she once more made her appearance before her mistress, "if here be not our identical solan goose come back to us, with Lady Bethune's compliments! I know him by his broken beak and ruffled leg; and as sure as eggs are eggs, that's my master's knock at the door!"

No. II.

THE PANORAMA OF LONDON.

On more mature consideration, I give the reader a respite from the threatened journey, at this chill season, to the cold summit of our metropolitan cathedral, and take him quietly under my arm up the comfortable staircase of the Colosseum panorama.

Lest some of my readers should suspect me of mere indolence or effeminacy in postponing for the present our excursion up the real St. Paul's, let me assure

them that in the course of these rambles

they will find some evidence that the writer is by no means unaccustomed, in the Byronian phrase

To mingle with the elements, in every sort of temperature, and that above all, the act of climbing is as exhilarating to him as it can well be to the most thorough mountaineer-more especially when a wide-extended prospect is the object of his ascent. But though his frame is proof against frost and fog, his vision has no peculiar power of penetrating mist and smoke-least of all, can it pierce the dense compound of both, which overhangs London in the winter. Nor, indeed, in any season, at any hour of the day, can the whole circuit of town and country, visible at different times from that point, be at once distinctly surveyed. And when once the sea of smoke from a million of chimneys has begun to ascend for the day, even the entire stranger to London may well imagine to what a degree it must be lost to the spectator in the vastness of that artificial cloud. Bearing this material circumstance in mind, the reader will at once perceive that the exhibition to which I am now carrying him, withdrawing, as it does, the thick veil that constantly overhangs our capital to a

great degree or rather, judiciously attenuating it, so as to make it quite pervious to our vision without giving that shock to verisimilitude which its total absence would occasion--is decidedly the most appropriate place for a general introductory study of the metropolis in a bird's-eye view.

The panoramic picture in question is assuredly one of the most useful as well as gratifying productions of modern art; and may be regarded as the grand triumph of that valuable department of art to which it belongs. The exertions and the ingenuity of the enterprising projector will be most appropriately dwelt on, because these will be most thoroughly understood and appreciated, in the course of our meditated visit to the cathedral itself; and the eminent skill, spirit, and perseverance of the artist who transferred his sketches to the canvas, shall be detailed in a future visit to the Colosseum. I am anxious to enter at once upon the contemplation of the vast circle of objects which is here so wonderfully exhibited.

Every resident in or visiter of the British capital should visit this exhibition, and, if possible, should visit it more than once; presenting him, as it does, with a species of information, in the most agreeable mode, which whole volumes of description could not so effectively afford him. Every man, too, ever so well acquainted with London and its vicinity, who wishes to give some account of them to his friend or guest from the country, from the continent, or from the new world, will find this double advantage in taking him to this panorama;-that he can give the stranger a better idea of the form and magnitude of London, and of the aspect of its most striking individual objects, than is practicable by any other means;-and that, as regards the more intellectual part of the contemplation that which cannot be painted-the meaning, uses, and relations of those numberless and varied objectsthe wandering of his own eye over this stupendous picture, will spare him the laborious effort of memory, or reference to books, which he must otherwise make, in order to select the objects that he may deem most worthy of observation or explanation in themselves, or most interesting to the individual whose attention he is directing; so that this office of friendship or hospitality, is converted from a toil into a recreation.

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The effect of distance and of immense elevation, here produced upon a canvas

only about fifty feet from the spectator, is so complete as to occasion, at first sight, not only astonishment, but actual giddiness to those unaccustomed to look down and around from great and precipitous heights. "How is it?-I can't at all make it out?-Is it down below? or how is it?" are exclamations frequently heard in the gallery, from visitors quite new to these illusions of art. And very curious it is, to observe the various operation of the picture upon the various classes of spectators, according as they are perfectly or partially acquainted with the metropolis, or nearly or altogether strangers to it. Most of them, however, are astonished, and all delighted, though in various ways.

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The stranger, more especially if he have not yet ascended the real St. Paul's, is in the first instance perfectly bewildered. Crowds of steeples-forests of masts-myriads of chimneys-the broad, far-winding river-near bridges - distant heights-the wide expanse of roofs, in mingled masses of red and blue, looking like some strange, rough, tesselated pavement of Brobdignagian expanse, intersected by interminable channels -- all these glare at once upon his gaze, and stun his apprehension for a moment. But as soon as his eye becomes steady enough to examine this tumultuous assemblage of objects in detail, he is all eager curiosity to learn the names and uses of the most remarkable ones in the town, and the locality and bearing of the most striking points of view in the surrounding country.

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The old resident in the metropolis or its neighbourhood, finds a different, yet perhaps a stronger pleasure, in recognizing in the crowd of objects so many of his old acquaintance, in a new point of view, as he looks down commandingly from this great central elevation, upon many a lofty and imposing pile, which, in his ordinary walks, he has been accustomed to look up to with something approaching to awe. Nay, he takes consolation even for the feeling of shrinking insignificance with which the majesty of St. Paul's himself has so often smote him. He overtops him at last. He stands firm-yes-quite firm-upon his Atlantean shoulders; and London-the mighty-the imperial

that has so oft enveloped his pigmy individuality, as if quite unconscious that such an animalcule had its habitat within his vasty frame-now lies outstretched at his feet!

Between these two classes of spectators (the entire strangers and the old residents) may be reckoned the visitors of the metropolis, in various gradations of familiarity with its leading features, according to their relative opportunities for observation, and the rarity or frequency, the length or shortness of their visits. In the minds of these, at the spectacle before us, recognition and curiosity are mingled in numberless shades; their ordinary course, on mounting our gallery, being, in the first place, to walk round it, and find out in the prospect the objects which they know the next, if leisure serves, to inquire of the attendants or of other spectators, respecting those which are strangers to them.

As for the general survey which I am about to make, in taking a turn round the gallery of the mock St. Paul's, the reader, I trust, will find it to possess some interest, not only for such as have yet to become spectators from the gallery in question, and to such as may never in the course of their lives have such an opportunity, but also for the various classes of spectators above described, by its serving to refresh, to vary, or extend their associations already formed respecting this immense assemblage of objects. Although the superior and more equal light of summer, especially about the metropolis, would seem to point out that season to such as are at liberty to choose their time, as most appropriate for a visit to this exhibition; yet there is one circumstance respecting season upon which I would remark, before entering on our survey. I well remember entering this gallery for the first time, on a bright day in the height of summer-and the first feeling I experienced was a most peculiar one. The sensation of closeness which oppressed you in the gallery, so little harmonized with the free, wide, breezy-looking prospect around, that it seemed as if all London and its environs were undergoing suffocation—an awful hive, it must be owned, to be taken, with its million and a half of tenants, all at once. This unpleasant sensation, how

ever,

abated after the shock of the first sudden transition from the open air had passed away; though I own that I could not, in the course of my stay, get entirely rid of it. But on a recent visit, in the mild commencement of last December, the light happening to be tolerably favourable, I found the coolness of the gallery a great advantage. When the spectator breathes with perfect freedom, as I did this time, the verisimili

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tude of effect is much enhanced; for then he may really imagine himself in the open air.

One of the first things that strikes the eye of the observer in casting a general glance around, is the beautiful diversity of the windings of the Thames, above, through, and below, the metropolis. They who have viewed only small portions of the river, from some slight elevation upon its banks or its bridges, may have some conception of the grandeur, but can have little of the majestic beauty of its course. The view of the river in all its sylvan attractions, from the matchless terrace of Richmond, and that of its maritime splendours from the heights of Greenwich, are both too partial and limited. It is only from the elevation upon which we now stand, that "Old Father Thames," in his relation with this august metropolis, can really be seen and understood. The gleaming of the sunshine upon the upward line of the river from the point beneath our feet, indicates that the time of day represented is, the early afternoon; and in confirmation of this, the attendant points to the turret-clock upon the blue roofing of Newgate Market, just beneath us on the right, which marks the hour of half-past two. have a blue summer sky above us, chequered thickly with light flaky clouds, and a soft smoky haze pervades the atmosphere; for what spectator would believe in the real presence of London by day-light, unless he could see and almost feel its smoke?

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On looking round the horizon, upon which the practised eye naturally rests when a wide landscape suddenly bursts upon it, we perceive soft hills, presenting on the whole a level appearance, bounding the extreme distance, in blue wavy outline, in every direction. Within this line we observe nearer ranges of heights, more broken and diversified, some continuous, and some isolated, nearly encompassing the town, and forming the immediate verge of the basin in which London and its environs lie. This second line is pretty distinctly defined. But to fix, within this interior line, where the town ends and the country begins, were a hopeless task. Could the Londoners of old, who from the Gothic summit of the old St. Paul's (so inferior in elevation to the present) could survey their city almost at a glance, nearly girded in by its ancient walls, gates, and towers, looking to the surrounding hills over a wide expanse of pasture, wood, and marsh, the inner verge of which, all

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