"Ay, ay, sir," was the brisk reply, as the bustling man of brandy and basins threw open a small door, and ushered me into a little den, with a mingled odour of tar, Stilton, and wet mackintoshes. "All to yourself here, sir," said he, and vanished. AFTER AN OSTRICH. to explore the sand for footprints of ostriches, and track them to their feeding-ground. We were fairly mounted upon animals not so fat as to conceal the beautiful lines of their ribs. The bones of their haunches seemed ready to start out through the skin. These features, however, are common enough in Arab thoroughbreds. We ourselves were as light weights as we could be, having dispensed with four out of five thick pieces of felt which invariably form an Arab's saddle-cloth, and thrown off every superfluous article of clothing; only taking care to have our heads well wrapped up as precaution against danger from the sun. In lion-hunts and in tiger-hunts, and in boarhunts, there are joys and risks of which all men have heard; but of the ostrich hunt the world that is not used to running after ostriches, has heard very little. Little more, indeed, than some broken-down story about negroes who, being We started about two hours after sunrise, dressed in the skins of the birds, are mistaken and followed leisurely on the trace of our scouts. by the flock for actual ostriches, and are suf- After proceeding thus for about six miles, we fered to come near enough to shoot any bird they came upon a scout who said that five fine birds may pick out with their arrows. There is also were a little way off, grazing in a wady. Knowing a pretty fable (which is only a fable), that the that they would not stray far, we dismounted to ostrich when pursued will hide his head in the give ease for a few minutes to our horses and oursand, and believe himself invisible. I know the selves, and to allow our time to run still further ostrich has a stupid face, but he is, for all into the "kaila," or mid-day heat. A sultry that, a sharp fellow, who knows his own interest feverish wind blew from the south, and the sun's as well as the rest of us. He is wary and long-glow was returned from the white sand under sighted, one of the last creatures to put his own our feet with almost unlessened strength. What head in a hole. I have hunted him in his own a drying-ground was here for washerwomen! deserts and can testify. Wet clothes, dry in three minutes, might be taken in as fast as they were taken out. Every year as summer sets in, horsemen arrive at the oasis of Derej from the mountains in the north, distant about six days' journey. They come after the ostrich, and stay only during the summer; as it is only when the heat is greatest that a horseman can have any chance of overtaking the swift-footed bird. In cold weather he will outstrip every pursuer. From the The Arabs, who are made of very porous clay, absorbed long draughts of water, and hung little gourd bottles of water to their saddle-bows. We mounted again and set off. top of a little hill, if you could call by that name a height of about ten yards above the bottom of the wady, we saw the ostriches; I suspect An Arab friend of mine, with the short they had some knowledge of us before we were name of Sidi Mohammed hen Omar ben es- visible. They had already started at full trot; Sheikh Abderrahman Burjoob el-Rujbani, who and seemed to skim along without any exertion, was bound for the hunting-ground, persuaded flapping their small downy wings to help them me to go with him and try my skill at running onward, and, like horses in full career, kicking down an ostrich. My friend Sidi Etcetera has up stones behind them. We went after them a grand air, and lost no dignity although his at a canter: had we tried at once to catch them trip to Derej was made for the sake of gain. I, in a gallop, our horses would soon have been who went only for sport, was looked upon with blown, and the birds would have got out of much respectful wonder by my fellow-sports-reach. Our plan was to follow them as closely as might be, without frightening them into their quickest pace, and to keep them in view. men. We managed to reach Derej a day or two before the hunt, that we might rest and prepare for our fatigues to come. The hunt began on a sultry morning in the middle of July. The hot Gibli wind or simoom had been blowing for several days, and the thermometer had only fallen to ninety-eight degrees, or blood-heat, just before sunrise. We were to have one of the hottest days of a Saharan summer. So much the better. The warm-coated ostriches shall find it hot, and so shall we. The dangers of this chase do not arise from the fierceness of the animal pursued, but from the fierceness of the sun that may strike down the huntsman. An Englishman is much more likely to come off unscathed from an encounter with a lion, than to return from an ostrich-hunt without getting sunstroke or brain fever. Our party consisted of ten horsemen, and a few scouts who had been sent out at daybreak The birds soon parted: two going together one way, and the others starting each in a different direction. We followed a single ostrich, a fine male; the feathers of the male being more valuable. Noon passed, and the sun was rapidly declining. We had been following our ostrich for more than four hours; but not in a straight line, since these creatures have a whim for running in large circles. My hands and face began to feel as if they had been skinned and salted. The excitement and emulation amongst us made me, however, forget everything but the object of our chase. One by one the horses of the Arabs dropped behind, dead beat. Sidi Etcetera, two of the Arabs, and myself, being the best mounted, alone kept up the hunt. Our aim was to turn the ostrich, and so drive him back to our companions. The two Arabs pricked their steeds into a full gallop, one to the right and one to the left, and tried, by making a circuit, to get ahead of him. Sidi did not like the idea of being outdone by the other Arabs, so he made a dash at the game on his own account. His horse had a little spirit left, and a few long bounds brought him alongside. The bird saw that he was outrun and outwitted. With a little stick, such as we all carried for this especial purpose, Sidi tapped him on the neck, turned him, and drove him back to me like a tame creature. Our two companions now rejoined us, crying out, "Sahait! sahait! Allah yatick es-saha!" which means, "Well done! well done! God gives you strength!"-Arab equivalent for "Hurrah! hurrah! go it again, old boy!" The ostrich was, of course, a Mussulman, and was convinced that it was in vain to strive against his fate. One by one we came up with our beaten companions; and we then surrounded our bird, caught him, and cut his throat, with the pious words, "Bism-Illah Akhbar" (in the name of the great God). It would have been simpler to tap him on the head and strangle him, for then there would have been no fear of damaging the feathers with the blood. But such a death is not in accordance with the Moslem creed concerning holy and unholy food; and of an animal so slaughtered, the flesh could not have been eaten. Ladies, I trust, are satisfied with the amount of trouble taken to get for them their court plumes. But it is a pity that each feather which costs them a guinea scarcely brings a shilling to the Arab sportsman. When we had skinned our bird and cut off the best joints, we rode leisurely back to Derej, which we reached a little after sunset, pretty well knocked up. Heartily glad was I, after a good supper of broiled leg of ostrich which is a meat, not choice but welcome to the hungry-to lie on the soft sand and take a nap that lasted until sunrise the next morning. I passed the following day with my fellowsportsmen, and learned much about the habits of the ostrich, and the various ways of taking it. Running it down in the manner just related is considered the best way, though the most tedious, for it involves least chance of injuring the feathers. The commonest plan, however, is to lay snares of rope in places which the birds frequent. Another way is to dig a hole in the earth near a bush, or some slight cover, in a valley to which the ostriches come to graze. One of the hunters, armed with his long gun, hides in the hole, and his companions having strewed brush wood over him, efface their footmarks from the sand. The pitman remains, with only the muzzle of the gun visible outside his hiding-place, until an ostrich passes: when, if the bird be near enough, he is an easy prey. Ostriches pair about the beginning of March, and the female begins laying her eggs towards the end of April. She generally puts a score or two dozen in her nest, which is but a shallow basin scraped out of the sand. She arranges the eggs in a triangle, with the point in front of her when she is sitting. Two or three of them, therefore, do not get sufficiently warmed by her body, and these unhatched eggs she breaks to provide food for the young birds during the first few days after they have left their shells. The young birds, hatched in six weeks, take three years to attain their full size; they appear to live much with their parents, and even make their nests near theirs. Thus, sometimes there will be found the nests of a whole family together, grandfather and grandmother in the middle, and the younger generations round about. Does the patriarch in the middle receive from the young ostriches upon the outskirts of such a colony the reverence to which he may suppose himself entitled? In the first year of her breeding, the female lays smaller eggs than afterwards; but the birds hatched from them grow to the usual size. Cock and hen sit on the eggs alternately: one sitting whilst the other goes for food; never, in the Sahara, do they leave their eggs to be hatched by the sun. The The male is very attentive when he begins his courtship, and follows the lady about wherever she goes. After marriage, however, his conduct undergoes a change. If, while sitting, he smells danger, he immediately leaves the eggs, fetches his wife, and makes her take his place. He then watches at a distance, and if after a long delay he satisfies himself that all is safe, he allows his mate to return to her meal, and resumes his place over the eggs. Arabs, when they find a nest near any convenient bush or other shelter, make a pit as before described. The birds, on their approach, take flight. The men having worked as fast as possible, leave one of their number with his gun in the pit, and disappear. When the birds come again to reconnoitre the ground, if they think matters satisfactory, the hen is sent to sit, and she often remains sitting for twelve hours. The sportsman does not shoot her, as his aim is to bring down the male. He waits, therefore, till she is relieved in her duties by the bird he wants. The best shot among the Arabs is always chosen for pitman. When he kills the bird, he receives double share of the profits; when he misses the bird, he must pay a fine and lose his office. After the male is killed, the female will frequently come to look for him, and to visit the eggs, when she also may be taken. But were the female bird shot first, the male would never trouble himself any more about the eggs, but would go from the spot, probably for ever. Ostriches are not particular in the selection of their food. They live generally on grass, seeds, and even insects; but they have, when domesticated, a great partiality for halfpence, steel pens, nails, keys, spoons, snuff-boxes, and so forth. Whether they can digest these titbits, I do not know, but I have heard many tales of ostriches being found with such things half-digested in their stomachs. Certainly they swallow them with great avidity, and must find it in some way to their advantage so to do. They are a sort of bird easily tamed, and, when once used to the society of men, are very sociable, wandering about the neighbourhood of their owner's house, and paying visits wherever they find an open door. When annoyed, they are dangerous; for, besides biting, they will knock a man down with a flap of the wing, or a stroke of the foot. They are generally sedate silent birds, and if not frightened, walk about slowly and solemnly. Their cry is a short roar, but with this they seldom favour human ears, though when out of temper they will sometimes utter a low hissing noise. The upper part of the neck of the ostrich is bare. Then come very delicate black feathers, which, increasing in size towards the tail, cover the whole body. In the wings and tail, are the beautiful white feathers so much admired upon the heads of ladies. The female has not such fine white feathers as the male, and even her black feathers want his raven hue. Indeed, the greater part are rather greyish brown than black. The skin of the female (Rabda, it is called by the Arabs) does not fetch nearly so high a price as that of the male (Dhaleem). One of the best skins in its nuptial plumage, will sometimes bring the Arabs seven or eight pounds. But this is an unusually high price. FIVE HUNDRED YEARS AGO. calibre as those of five hundred years ago. The enormous increase of population has necessitated a greater division of labour, and created a larger class of brain-toilers; but that the mettle which won Cressy and Agincourt has lost nothing in quality or quantity by the lapse of time, is periodically demonstrated whenever a war, a rumour of invasion, an Arctic expedition, or a shipwreck, calls it forth. What national peculiarities characterised our forefathers that do not characterise ourselves? The same political and social contentions that we witness, agitated the Englishmen of the middle ages. The contest between free trade and protection was just as violent. Labour and capital were as often at war, and as quickly and inevitably reconciled. The readiness of the rich to tax, and the disinclination of the poor to pay, were as strongly asserted. Commercial panics and religious revivals were as frequent phenomena. Fraudulent bankers, swindling specu lators, frantic preachers, and credulous fools, were quite as numerous. How little have we deviated from many modes of life familiar to medieval Englishmen! Could they reappear on the scene, they would recognise the main features of their own social fabric. The peer would meet his fellows in the Upper House; the knight of the shire his fellows in the Commons. The priest would find little difference in the form and arrangement of his church, and would remember the greatest portion of the service. The lawyer would have few formulas to forget or to learn in the process of an action at the Exchequer or Common Pleas. The citizen might take his place among his brethren at wardmote or common council, and scarcely feel a stranger. The lord of the manor would hold his court baron, and pocket his chief rents and fines as of yore. If he missed his hawking, and thought shooting new-fangled, he would turn with the old zest to hunting and fishing. The labourer on many a farm would handle plough, harrow, and fork, and see no change in his tools. The jollity at Christmas, the fasting in Lent, crossed-buns on Good Friday, and salt fish on Ash Wednesday, would go far to persuade the risen generation that England had stood still. Ir is probable that the greatest alterations in the aspect of England since the fourteenth century have been wrought within living memory. A lapse of five hundred years is a geological second, and no instances of upheaval or subsidence on a large scale are recorded within the period. The railway system, by its junction of town and country, its creative operations within its line of progress, and its destructive influence elsewhere, has effected in thirty years the work of ages. Yet the city or town keeps its cathedral, churches, and castle, its gateways, market-cross, and town-hall, scarcely altered in external appearance. The village has still its Gothic church, its mill, its pond, its green, sometimes even its maypole. Essex, Kent, and Lincoln yet have their marshes; Oxfordshire, Gloucestershire, and Berkshire their forests; Westmoreland and Cumberland their lakes; York- There is a healthy sense in the scorn whereshire, Lancashire, and Surrey, their moors and with business men of average intellect and commons. Even the Roman roads preserve education, treat the proceedings of most of their traces. If the bridge has somewhat our antiquarian societies. The error into changed its form, it has kept its position. which such scorners fall, is in supposing Though often ruinous, the baronial castle still that the gentlemen who "communicate" their occupies the heights, and the abbey nestles twaddling lucubrations touching fragments of among woods beside the stream. North, south, Roman pipkin and medieval parchment are areast, and west, those immemorial landmarks, the chæologists. The error is natural, however, for church and the mill, unfailingly meet the eye. until lately the professors of antiquarian science In the rural districts, at least, the typical tim-in England-with honourable exceptions-were bered mansion is scarcely less common than its successor in stucco. Prior to the present century the labourer's cottage might have defied art-critics and antiquaries to predicate its age rom its style. As with the work, so with the worker. Despite the medievalists, the Englishmen of the nineteenth century prove themselves of the same all of this kidney. Accordingly, while the soil of the Wiltshire downs has been probed and honeycombed again and again, the dust on our public records has never been blown off. Profoundly acquainted with the mode in which our ancestors were buried, we have remained ignorant as to the mode in which they lived. But, for those who care to study the per sonal and domestic life of our forefathers specting it. If they fail, their negligence will be there are daily fresh materials provided. Mr. stoutly petitioned against by the citizens, to the Hudson Turner's Domestic Architecture, Mr. king and his council. Fine and imprisonment Shaw's Illustrated Dress and Decoration, the of inferiors and superiors concerned, have been Household Accounts published by the Rox-in most cases the immediate reply. The bridge, burgh and Camden Societies, are full of details which has recently received repair, is not unfor ample and correct medieval pictures. Dur- worthy of the stream. Its architect, Peter de ing the last three years the present Keeper of Colechirche, lies buried in the chapel on the the National Records, the Master of the Rolls, eastern side, where there is daily performed has been unearthing and publishing, through divine service. That drawbridge is movable for the commendable munificence of the powers at the passage of vessels to this haven of QueenWhitehall and Downing-street, a collection of hithe, crowded with foreign ships. We will stop manuscripts, chronicles, or historical memorials, to inspect it on another occasion, when we show of all periods connected with the public bio-you the chief abodes of our commerce. graphy anterior to the reign of Henry the Eighth. Respecting the men and women, the business and play, the houses, dress, and food of England five hundred years ago, our information could scarcely be fuller than it is. The amount of alteration and the extent of advance that we have made in political and social life during the period can only satisfactorily be shown in detailed sketches. The reader is requested to put himself unreservedly in our hands for an imaginary tour through the England of five centuries ago; and he must, taking the Barmecide's feast as a precedent, accept the ideal as actually tangible. We will begin with a walk round the walls of London. One morning of the year 1360, some eighteen years before the close of the reign of Edward the Third, we are met at the landing-place of Queenhithe, on the Middlesex side of the river Thames. It is well you have not much luggage, as the wharfage dues are heavy. The civic regulations, however, allow of your bring. ing ashore, without payment, that small malle or bundle of clothes. Let us give it to yonder varlet of the hostel to which we have commended you, situate not far hence in Thames street, or Stockfishmonger-row, by the riverside, where the hostelers chiefly dwell. Here we have secured you a privy-chamber-a luxury not indeed universally accorded to guests, but not so rare amongst us as many of your travelled countrymen would have you think. Your host will inform you of the rules which he is enforced by the authorities to see observed by his guests. The law forbids the carrying of arms, save to the servants of royal and noble families, leave, therefore, your weapons, if you have any, with the malle. As you do not need refreshment, let us sally forth to obtain the. bird's-eye view of the City which you desire. The walls are little more than two miles in circuit, and as the town ditch which surrounds them has not long since been cleansed, the walk is a pleasant one. Turn back first, however, to look at the river and its bridge. This noble Thames, which is the glory and support of our City, is deservedly the object of its tenderest care. The mayor and corporation are its conservators, and bound to exercise the strictest observance of the laws passed re We may say, in passing, that the place takes its name from one of the Norman queens, to whom the landing-place and customs were granted by her husband. Crossing Thames-street, we see to our left the turning to Old Fish-street, where a fish market is held. Yonder house is the Bishop of Hereford's inn or mansion. It was formerly the residence of the Lords Montalt of Mold, in North Wales, and the church hard by, which was their chapel, retains their name in its title of St. Mary Monmouth. Turning to the right, we come to the street called La Reole, from yonder mansion of that name. It is often known as the Queen's Wardrobe, having been given by our present sovereign to his late queen, who so used it; but of late, since her lamented death, he has bestowed it on his college of St. Stephen's, Westminster. On the left, at the corner of Knightrider-street, is the residence of one of our wealthiest Flemish merchants and money-lenders, John of Ipres. Here, was lately an attack made by the citizens upon the Duke of Lancaster and Sir Henry Percy, who chanced to be unpopular. They were at dinner with the said John, when one of the duke's knights brought news that the citizens, after a vain search at the Savoy Palace, were coming hither with murderous intent. Thereupon the duke and Sir Henry forthwith fled from the house, and escaped by boat into Surrey-on the other side of the river-taking refuge at the royal manor of Kennington. Further on, in the same direction, you see a large mansion, with arched gates of Caen stone, the residence of the Gisors, a rich citizen family. It is known as Gisor's Hall. Our course is across the old Roman road of Atheling or Watling-street, and so into Sopers-lane, where dwell most of our pepperers, who have been recently incorporated under the title of Grocers. The street into which it leads us, is that of Westchepe, or Chepeside, one of our largest thoroughfares and market-places. To day we will pass by these goldsmiths' shops and market-stalls, which would too long detain us. Chepe has other than commercial fame alone: it was a goodly sight, as we all remember, in the fifth year of the new king's reign, when he held a jousting here for three days; all the paving was strewn with sand, that the horses should not slip; and a wooden gallery was built across the street, whence Queen We leave to our right the little church of St. Michael in the Quern (or Corn, from the market held here) and the old cross at its eastern end. And now comes in sight the great cathedral church of St. Paul, covering a space of nearly four acres in extent. Let us enter for a moment and glance at the Norman nave and transepts, the pointed choir, and lady chapel, and the rich rose window at the east. The high altar is a miracle of costliness and splendour. St. Erkenwald's shrine yonder has recently been enriched by the dean and chap Philippa might gaze on the show with her clear the streets of garbage do their duty. The ladies. Many a course had been run, many pavement of the road is kept in repair by the a spear shivered, and many a gallant knight civic officers, who levy a toll, called "pavage,' unhorsed, when suddenly the wooden gallery, from carts entering and leaving the gates-and on which the queen and her maidens were that of the pathway by the householders, each seated, gave way. Though the royal party of whom is bound to pave in front of his own happily escaped harm, many others were house. grievously wounded, both of those who were thrown down, and those on whom the timbers fell. The king was fiercely wrath with the carpenters who had built up so weak a framework, and would have condignly punished them, had not the queen, ever tender-hearted, unwilling that the day's tragedy should be increased, begged off the culprits; whereby she gained for herself yet more love, if that might be, than her sweetness of nature had already won from all men. To avoid accidents hereafter, the king ordered yonder shed of stone to be erected, near the church of St. Mary-le-ter with precious metals and gems, being a Bow (not a little to its disfigurement), that thence the court might behold the joustings in safety. This shed is called the Crowne silde. The cross near it, in the centre of the street, is the Standard of Clife, where public proclamations are issued, and executions of felons occasionally take place. To the right, where you see the water-carts standing, is one of our largest conduits. The water, which we are strictly charged not to waste, is brought in leaden pipes from the brook of Tyebourne, in the village of Paddington, of which the Lord Abbot of Westminster has the seignory. Advancing up Chepe, we pass Fryday-street, with its hide market. Down that further turning to the left, is the King's Exchange, where the assay of metal for coinage is carried on. Near thereto dwell also the chief moneyers of the City. The houses are nowhere statelier in London than here. They appear mean to your eyes, doubtless, accustomed to structures of many stories high, whereas these have rarely more than two, of which the upper almost uniformly projects; yet, to our view, what is thereby lost in grandeur, is partly recompensed in quaint picturesque beauty, by the long white lines of overhanging chambers, and angular gables, mingling with the church spires and towers. The height of the footway, which is raised on piles above the road, adds to the effect presented by Westchepe in particular. You will observe that we use wood for building purposes far more commonly than stone, though, by an ancient regulation or Assize of the City, the party walls of each house are ordained to be of stone. We have a great liking, too, for this clean whitewashed aspect, to which in your country such objection prevails. It is not long since there was so great an outcry raised against the dyers and brewers for using sea-coal, which blackened the houses with smoke, that its employment was rendered penal; but of late years the needs of trade have reconciled men to the annoyance. These kennels on each side of the road are made to receive the droppings from the house gutters. No nuisance need arise from them, if the rakeres appointed by each ward to great resort of the devout, on whom many miracles have been there wrought. Beneath the cathedral is the crypt church of St. Faith. Adjoining the southern transept you see the circular chapter-house, which leads into the pointed cloister, two stories in height. Returning now to the churchyard, you see the bishop's palace on the north-western side, a stately and spacious pile. On the opposite side dwell the dean, prebendaries, and other dignitaries of the church. In this churchyard, before the wall was built round it, the citizens were wont to hold their folkmotes, or popular assemblies, being thereto summoned by the great bell in the steeple. On every Sunday forenoon, yonder wooden pulpit cross, with its stone steps, is occupied by some eloquent priest or monk, round whom the citizens flock. If the weather be wet, the preacher takes his stand under the penthouse beside the cathedral, known as the Shroudes. In the street of Paternoster-row, on the right, dwell bead-turners for rosaries, and the writers of texts, aves, and paternosters. Further on in that direction are the mansions of the Earl of Warwick and the Duke of Bretagne. Passing down Bowyer-row, where many of the Bowyers dwell, we soon come upon the turning to the Baylye, where the City Chamberlain holds his court. Our course is through the gate named Ludgate, which takes its name from a fabled King of Britain, whose quaint image, with that of many another monarch, fabled and historic, adorns the front. There is a talk of shortly turning the gatehouse into a debtors' prison. At present, like the other city gates, it is inhabited by a serjeant-at-arms, who, with an attendant provided by himself, keeps watch at night. The two armed men on guard, are daily furnished by the ward or district in which the gate is situated. Crossing the drawbridge of the town ditch, which is about two hundred feet in width, we are now without the walls. Their materials are ragstone and flint, with layers of varicoloured tiles, and in places they are nearly ten feet thick, and eighteen deep. The turrets, to the left, are those of the tower on the |