Pi

Thou art her image; - and the mystery
Confounds my purposes. Take other form,
Foul sorceress, and I will baffle thee!

Mir. I have no other form than this God gave;
And He already hath stretched forth his hand,
And touched it for the grave.

Pi. It is most strange.

Is not the air around her full of spells?

Give me the son thou hast seduced!

A heart too prone to worship noble things,
Although of earth; - and he, alas! was earth's!

I prayed,

-in vain!

I strove,
In all things else
I might have stirred his soul's best purposes.
But for the pure and cheering faith of Christ,
There was no entrance in that iron soul.
And I Amid such hopes, despair arose,
And laid a withering hand upon my heart.
I feel it yet! We parted! Ay, this night
We met to meet no more.

Pi. Maid!

Hath then my son withstood thy witchery;
And on this ground ye parted?

Mir. It is so.

Well thou mayst, for it hath wrought his pardon.
That he had loved thee would have been a sin
Too full of degradation,-infamy,

Had not these cold and aged eyes themselves
Beheld thee in thy loveliness! And yet, bold girl!
Think not thy Jewish beauty is the spell

That works on one grown old in deeds of blood.
I have looked calmly on when eyes as bright
Were drowned in tears of bitter agony,

When forms as full of grace, and pride, perchance,

Were writhing in the sharpness of their pain,
And cheeks as fair were mangled —

Eu. Tyrant! cease.

Wert thou a fiend, such brutal boasts as these
Were not for ears like hers!

Mir.

I tremble not.

He spake of pardon for his guiltless son;

And that includeth life for those I love.
What need I more?

Eu. Let us go hence. Piso !

Bid thou thy myrmidons unbar the gates,
That shut our friends from light and air.
Pi. Not yet,

My haughty boy, for we have much to say,
Ere you two pretty birds go free. Chafe not!
Ye are caged close, and can but flutter here
Till I am satisfied.

EXERCISE CXXV.

LONDON. Anon.

WHEN a stranger visits London, for the first time, he finds a vast deal to astonish him, which he had not previously calculated upon. Before he sees it, he has formed his own ideas of its appearance, character, and extent; but his conceptions, though grand, are not accurate: so that, when he actually arrives within its precincts, when he is driven for the first time from the Exchange to Charing-Cross, he is, generally, much amazed, and, in no small degree, stupified. London can neither be rightly described as a town, nor as a city it is a nation, a kingdom, in itself. Its wealth is that of half the world; and its amount of population, that of some second-rate countries. Its conventional system of society, by which the human being is rounded down like a pebble in a rapid river, and its peculiarities of different kinds, mark it as quite an anomaly, — something to which the topographer can assign no proper title.

It is

London was originally a town, on its own account. now composed of the cities of London and Westminster; the latter having once been a seat of population on its western confines, besides a number of villages, formerly at a distance from it in different directions, but now engrossed within its bounds, and only known by the streets to which they have communicated their appellations. All now form one huge city, in a connected mass, and are lost in the common name of London. By its extensions in this manner, London now measures seven and a half miles in length, from east to west,

by a breadth of five miles, from north to south. Its circumference, allowing for various inequalities, is estimated at thirty miles; while the area of ground which it covers, is considered to measure no less than eighteen miles square.

The increase of London has been particularly favoured by the nature of its site. It stands at the distance of sixty miles from the sea, on the north bank of the Thames, on ground rising very gently towards the north; and so even and regular in outline, that among the streets, with few exceptions, the ground seems perfectly flat. On the south bank of the river, the ground is quite level; and, on all sides, the country appears very little diversified with hills, or any thing to interrupt the extension of the buildings.

The Thames, which is the source of greatness and wealth to the metropolis, is an object which commonly excites a great deal of interest among strangers. It is a placid, majestic stream of pure water, rising in the interior of the country, at the distance of a hundred and thirty-eight miles above London, and entering the sea, on the east coast, about sixty miles below it. It comes flowing between low and fertile banks, out of a richly ornamented country on the west, and, arriving at the outmost houses of the metropolis, a short way above Westminster Abbey, it pursues a winding course between banks thickly clad with dwelling-houses, manufactories, and wharves, for eight or nine miles; its breadth being, here, from a third to a quarter of a mile. The tides affect it, for fifteen or sixteen miles above the city; but the salt water comes no farther than thirty miles below it. Such is the volume and depth of water, however, that vessels of seven or eight hundred tons reach the city, on its eastern quarter.

Most unfortunately, the beauty of this exceedingly useful and fine stream, is much hidden from the spectator, there being no quays or promenades, along its banks, as is the case with the Liffey, at Dublin. With the exception of the summit of St. Paul's, the only good points of sight, for the river, are the bridges, which cross it at convenient distances, and, by their length, convey an accurate idea of the breadth of the channel. During fine weather, the river is covered with numerous barges or boats, of fanciful and light fabric, suitable for quick rowing; and, by means of these pleasant conveyances, the Thames forms one of the chief thoroughfares.

London consists of an apparently interminable series of streets, composed of brick houses, which are commonly four

stories in height, and never less than three. The London houses are not by any means elegant in their appearance; they have, for the most part, a dingy, ancient aspect; and it is only in the western part of the metropolis that they assume any thing like a superb outline. Even at the best, they have a meanness of look, in comparison with houses of polished white freestone, which is hardly surmounted by all the efforts of art, and the daubings of plaster and stucco.

The greater part of the dwellings are small. They are mere slips of buildings, containing, in most instances, only two small rooms on the floor, one behind the other, often with a wide door of communication between, and a wooden stair, with balustrades, from bottom to top of the house. It is only in the more fashionable districts of the town, that the houses have sunk areas with railings in all the business parts, they stand close upon the pavements; so that trade may be conducted with the utmost facility and convenience. The lightness of the fabric of the London houses, affords an opportunity for opening up the ground stories as shops and warehouses. Where retail business is carried on, the whole of the lower part of the edifice, in front, is door and window, adapted to show goods to the best advantage to the passengers. The London shops seem to throw themselves into the wide expansive windows; and these, of all diversities of size and decoration, transfix the provincial visitor with their charms.

The exhibition of goods in the London shop-windows, is one of the greatest wonders of the place. Every thing which the appetite can suggest, or the fancy imagine, would appear there to be congregated. In every other city, there is an evident meagreness in the quantity and assortments. But, here, there is the most remarkable abundance, and that not in isolated spots, but along the sides of thoroughfares, miles in length. In whatever way you turn your eyes, this extraordinary amount of mercantile wealth is strikingly observable; if you even penetrate into an alley, or what you think an obscure court, there you see it in full force, and on a greater scale than in any provincial town whatsoever.

It is equally obvious to the stranger, that there is, here, a dreadful struggle for business. Every species of lure is tried to induce purchases; and modesty is quite lost sight of. A tradesman will cover the whole front of his house with a sign, whose gaudy and huge characters might be read, without the aid of a glass, at a mile's distance. He will cover

the town with a shower of coloured bills, descriptive of the extraordinary excellence and cheapness of his wares; each bill measuring half a dozen feet square, and, to make them more conspicuous, will plaster them on the very chimney-tops, or, what appears a very favourable situation, the summit of the gable of a house destroyed by fire, or any other calamity calculated to attract a mob.

You can

The

The struggle which takes place for subsistence, in London, is particularly observable in the minute classification of trades, and in the inventive faculty and activity of individuals in the lower ranks. Money is put in circulation through the meanest channels. Nothing is to be had for nothing. hardly ask a question without paying for an answer. paltriest service which can be rendered, is a subject of exaction. The shutting of a coach-door will cost you twopence; some needy wretch, always rising up, as if by magic, out of the street, to do you this kind turn. An amusing instance of this excess of refinement in the division of labour, is found in the men who sweep the crossing places from the end of one street to another. These crossings are a sort of hereditary property to certain individuals. A man, having a good deal the air of a mendicant, stands with his broom, and keeps the passage clean; for exercising which public duty, the hat is touched, and a hint as to payment muttered, which, in many cases, meets with attention, for there is quite a number of good souls who never miss paying him for his trouble.

EXERCISE CXXVI.

FRENCH POLITENESS.

[Translated from Saint-Simon.]

THE first president of the Parliament of Paris, D'Harlay, was a man whose character will well repay the study. SaintSimon, who hated him, and he was generally both feared and hated, has touched off his minutest peculiarities with a felicity inspired by warm admiration of his talents, and the deepest contempt of his character. The high office held by D'Harlay brought him repeatedly into contact with the king. and more especially with the aristocracy, with whom it was