57. LONDON BRIDGE. The scene at noonday on London Bridge, with the streams of traffic passing to and fro between the City and the Borough, is one that seldom fails to make an impression on the minds of foreigners or provincial strangers when they see it for the first time. In no thoroughfare of this vast metropolis, with its circuit of thirty miles, and its population of three millions, is the restless, everchanging multitude of figures, who hasten along the foot-pavement on both sides, accompanied by such a variety of carriages in the roadway, heavily-laden waggons, carts, as well as cabs, omnibuses, and the equipages of those who drive horses of their own. The effect of this diverse assemblage is the more striking, because the attention is not distracted from it by the tall fronts of houses and the display of tempting wares in shop-windows, as in Cheapside or the Strand. The Thames, with its steamers and other shipping, may indeed be a pleasant sight for the eye to rest upon in fine sunny weather; and the flow of its waters may invite us to think of holiday afternoons at Greenwich or at Richmond, such as we hope to enjoy again next summer, free from the din and turmoil that surrounds our working life in town. Or we may be led to bolder thoughts of the autumnal vacation, with its trip by sea to some bright and breezy shore of England, Scotland, France, or Flanders; where, during the few days or weeks of our furlough, it may be granted us to forget the annoyances of business, and the troubles of an established household. But the passenger over London Bridge must not allow himself to be wholly engrossed by these agreeable reveries, or he will be rudely summoned back to the world of present realities by the rough jostling of the crowd in which he has to walk, and which forbids any person to stand still, except within the recesses of the stone parapets overlooking the river. Wordsworth, it is true, was able to compose a meditative sonnet on Westminster Bridge; but that was at daybreak on a midsummer morning, when he could bear witness how placidly and silently "The river glideth at his own sweet will; It is rather different on London Bridge at noon. 58. EARLY LONDON. The primitive aspect of the site on which the City of London stands was notable for its beauty. It consisted of a range of hills covered with verdure, gently rising from the north bank of the Thames, divided by two luxuriantly wooded vales, through which swift translucent streams, known afterwards as the Wallbrook and the Fleet, descended to the river. From the commanding summits of the hills, the Thames was seen at low water, ebbing and flowing clear and transparent at their feet, while it appeared at high water spread out into a lake, covering the level tract of low ground now occupied by the densely populated districts of Rotherhithe, Southwark, and Lambeth. Immediately to the north of the City a great morass or fen, the site of Moorfields and Finsbury, extended eastward to Bishopsgate, westward to Smithfield, and northward towards Islington; whilst the country stretching away to the river Lea on the one hand, and to the river Brent on the other, and to the picturesque northern heights of Hornsey, Highgate, and Hampstead, was covered by a dense forest, which was afterwards known as the Forest of Middlesex. It abounded with game, deer, wolves, wild boars, and wild bulls; and that portion of it which extended from Islington to the healthy uplands of Hampstead, and thence to Highgate and Enfield, was for centuries a famous hunting-ground. Perennial brooks, fed by a thousand crystal streamlets, flowing off nothing but verdure, wandered through the forest, by massy oaks, emerald glades, and fern-clad knolls, down to the river; for during the existence of the forest the rainfall was greater, and consequently much more water passed down the brooks than after it was removed. Caen and Bishop's woods, Hampstead, and the wood on the eastern slope of Highgate, are remnants of this ancient forest. In primitive times Celtic tracts traversed it from Ludgate through Fleet Street and the Strand, from Newgate through Holborn and Oxford Street, from Cripplegate through Highbury and Highgate, and from Aldgate through Bow and Stratford. It was, however, gradually cut down for supplying the City with timber for house-building and fuel for cooking and warming; and the ground, as it was cleared, was converted into parks, gardens, meadows, and cornfields.-Builder. 59. PARIS. The situation in Paris during the last three or four days has been such as no pen could adequately describe. It even passes the bounds of imagination; picture to yourself what you will, you cannot 'realise' it. Palaces and public buildings in ruins ; houses burned down, or burning; new fires breaking out here and there; incessant rolls of musketry and cannon not far off; shells whizzing overhead, and killing or maiming people, and perforating roofs and houses in this or that quarter; small troops of prisoners, male and female, led along every street, guarded by soldiers with fixed bayonets; at this or that mairie a sudden volley of musketry, and to your question, 'What is it?' the reply, 'They are shooting prisoners!' barricades literally in every street; pools of blood in abundance; dead bodies in not a few places, and carts crammed with others passing along the streets; shops closed everywhere; consternation on every face; death, incendiarism, ruin, desolation around you wherever you go! And that was only, so to speak, the material part of the situation; the moral was far worse. For it was said that men and women, chiefly the latter, were going about with incendiary bombs, and matches, and petroleum, to throw into the orifices of cellars (houses in Paris are built differently from those of London), into the windows-into each spot, in a word, in which there was a chance of lighting up a conflagration. It was said, too, that vast quantities of explosive materials were collected in the sewers, and that at any moment entire districts were in imminent danger of being sent flying into the air. At the same time it was quite certain that, as hundreds of people were being arrested in all directions, with or without reason, and as many of them were being shot immediately afterwards, you, whoever you were, ran the risk of being seized, placed against a wall, and fired into. In addition to all this you had no certainty that, on returning home, if you did return, you would not find that an abominable shell had not killed the family dear to you, or demolished your household goods.-Globe. 60. THE APOTHECARY OF NEWCASTLE. A man in many a country town, we know, Yet some affirm, no enemies they are, Though the apothecary fights with Death, A member of this Esculapian line No man could better gild a pill, Or mix a draught, or bleed, or blister; His fame full six miles round the country ran; All the old women called him a fine man ; Benjamin Bolus, though in trade (Which oftentimes will genius fetter), Read works of fancy, it is said, And cultivated the belles-lettres. And why should this be thought so odd? Can't men have taste who cure a phthisic? Of poetry though patron god, Apollo patronises physic. Bolus loved verse, and took so much delight in 't, That his prescriptions he resolved to write in 't. No opportunity he e'er let pass Of writing the directions on his labels Apothecary's verse! and where's the treason, He had a patient lying at death's door, Some three miles from the town, it might be four; And, on the label of the stuff, He wrote this verse, Which one would think was clear enough And terse: 'When taken, To be well shaken.' Next morning early, Bolus rose, Who a vile trick of stumbling had. For what's expected from a horse Bolus arrived, and gave a doubtful tap, The servant lets him in with dismal face, Portending some disaster; John's countenance as rueful looked and grim, 'Well, how's the patient?' Bolus said. 'Indeed!-hum !-ha !-that's very odd! He took the draught?' John gave a nod. |