of different trades inhabit the same house, to see their doors, or the tops of their windows, or boards expressly for the purpose, all written over from top to bottom, with large painted letters. Every person, of every trade or occupation, who owns ever so small a portion of an house, makes a parade with a sign at his door; and there is hardly a cobler, whose name and profession may not be read in large golden characters, by every one that passes. It is here not at all uncommon to see on doors in one continued succession, “children educated here;”, "shoes mended here;" "foreign spirituous liquors sold here;" and, "funerals furnished here." Of all these inscriptions, I am sorry to observe, that "dealer in foreign spirituous liquors' " is by far the most frequent. And indeed it is allowed by the English themselves, that the propensity of the common people to the drinking of brandy or gin, is carried to great excess: and I own, it struck me as a peculiar phraseology, when, to tell you, that a person is intoxicated, or drunk, you hear them say, as they generally do, that he is in liquor. In the late riots, which even yet are hardly quite subsided, and which are still the general topic of conversation, more people have been found dead near empty brandy-casks in the streets, than were killed by the musket balls of regiments, that were called in. As much as I have seen of London, within these two days, there are on the whole, I think, not very many very fine streets and very fine houses, but I met every where a far greater number, and handsomer people, than one commonly meets in Berlin. It gives me much real pleasure, when I walk from Charing Cross up the Strand, past St. Paul's to the Royal Exchange, to meet in the thickest crouds, persons, from the highest to the lowest ranks, almost all well-looking people, and cleanly and neatly dressed. I rarely see even a fellow with

a wheelbarrow, who has not a shirt on; and that too such a one, as shews it has been washed; nor even a beggar, without both a shirt, and shoes and stockings. The English are certainly distinguished for cleanliness.

It has a very uncommon appearance in this tumult of people, where every one, with hasty and eager step, seems to be pursuing either his business or his pleasure; and every where making his way through the croud, to observe, as you often may, people pushing, one against another, only perhaps to see a funeral pass. The English coffins are made very economically, according to the exact form of the body; they are flat, and broad at top; tapering gradually from the middle, and drawing to a point at the feet, not very unlike the case of a violin.

A few dirty looking men, who bear the coffin, endeavour to make their way through the croud as well as they can; and some mourners follow. The people seem to pay as little attention to such a proCession as if a hay cart were driving past. The funerals of people of distinction, and of the great, are, however, differently regarded.

These funerals always appear to me the more indecent in a populous city, from the total indifference of the beholders, and the perfect unconcern with which they are beheld.

The body of a fellow-creature is carried to his long home, as though it had been utterly unconnected with the rest of mankind. And yet, in a small town or village, every one knows every one; and no one can be so insignificant as not to be missed, when he is taken away.

That same influenza, which I left at Berlin, I have the hard fortune again to find here; and many Feople die of it. It is as yet very cold for the time of the year, and I am obliged every day to have a

fire. I must own, that the heat or warmth given by sea-coal, burnt in the chimney, appears to me softer and milder than that given by our stoves. The sight of the fire has also a chearful and pleasing effect. Only you must take care not to look at it steadily, and for a continuance, for this is proba bly the reason that there are so many young oldmen in England, who walk and ride in the public streets with their spectacles on; thus anticipating, in the bloom of youth, those conveniences and comforts which were intended for old age.

I now constantly dine in my own lodgings; and I cannot but flatter myself, that my meals are regulated with frugality. My usual dish at supper is some pickled salmon, which you eat in the liquor in which it is pickled, along with some oil and vinegar; and he must be prejudiced, or fastidious,' who does not relish it, as singularly well tasted and grateful food.

I would always advise those who wish to drink coffee in England, to mention before hand how many cups are to be made with half an ounce; or else the people will probably bring them a prodigious quantity of brown water; which (notwithstanding all my admonitions) I have not yet been able wholly to avoid. The fine wheaten bread which I find here, besides excellent butter and Cheshire cheese, makes up for my scanty dinners. For an English dinner, to such lodgers as I am, generally consists of a piece of half-boiled, or halfroasted, meat; and a few cabbage leaves boiled in plain water; on which they pour a sauce made of Hour and butter. This, I assure you, is the usual method of dressing vegetables in England.

The slices of bread and butter, which they give you with your tea, are as thin as poppy leaves. But there is another kind of bread and butter usually caten with tea, which is toasted by the fire, and is

incomparably good. You take one slice after the other and hold it to the fire on a fork till the butter is melted, so that it penetrates a number of slices all at once: this is called Toast.

The custom of sleeping without a featherbed for a covering, particularly pleased me. You lie here between two sheets: underneath the bottom sheet is a fine blanket, which, without oppressing you, keeps you sufficiently warm. My shoes are not cleaned in the house, but by a person in the neighbourhood, whose trade it is; who fetches them every morning, and brings them back cleaned; for which she receives weekly so much. When the maid is displeased with me, I hear her sometimes at the door call me the German; otherwise in the family I go by the name of the Gentleman.

I have almost entirely laid aside riding in a coach, although it does not cost near so much as it does at Berlin; as I can go and return any distance not exceeding an English mile, for a shilling; for which I should there at least pay a florin. But, moderate as English fares are, still you save a great deal if you walk or go on foot; and know only how to ask your way. From my lodgings to the Royal Exchange, is about as far as from one end of Berlin to the other; and from the Tower and St. Catharine's, where the ships arrive in the Thames, as far again; and I have already walked this distance twice, when I went to look after my trunk, before I got it out of the ship. As it was quite dark when I came back the first evening, I was astonished at the admirable manner in which the streets are lighted up; compared to which, our streets in Berlin make a most miserable shew. The lamps are lighted, whilst it is still day-light; and are so near each other, that even on the most ordinary and common nights, the city has the appear. ance of a festive illumination; for which some Ger

man prince, who came to London for the first time, once, they say, actually took it, and seriously be lieved it to have been particularly ordered on ac count of his arrival.

To be continued.)

ACCOUNT OF PONT Y POOL.

(From Cox's History of Monmouthshire.*)

HE town of Pont y Pool is singularly placed

Ton the edge of a steep cliff, overhanging the

Avon Lwyd, and on the slope of a declivity under impending hills, partly bare, and partly mantled with wood. The line of the canal is seen winding above the town; a rapid torrent, descending from a lake at the foot of the Mynydd Maen, flows under the canal, and rushing impetuously along the outskirts of the town, precipitates itself into the Avon Lwyd, which rolls in an abyss beneath.

The appellation of Pont y Pool is modern, sup posed to be derived from a bridge thrown over a large pool, which supplies water for a forge, but is a corruption of Pont ap Howell, or Howell's bridge.

Pont y Pool is a large straggling place, containing 250 houses, and 1500 souls. Several neat ha bitations, and numerous shops, present an appearance of thriving prosperity, notwithstanding the dusky aspect of the town, occasioned by the adjacent forges The inhabitants derive great support from the iron works and collieries, and have been recently benefited by the trade of the canal. The place is the principal mart for the natives of the mountainous district, and the weekly market is not the least considerable, and the cheapest in Mon

* For an account of this work, see our Review for July last.