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wrote his History of the World, and not feel the force of recollections, melancholy and touching. Essex, Russell, Sydney, Bacon, and numberless other great names are connected with the Tower,

The Kings of England formerly passed some days in it after their accession, for it was once not less celebrated for revel than for crime, for fête and splendour than for tragic horror. In the Tower were imprisoned at one time the Kings of France and Scotland. There, after the battle of Hexham, Harry was imprisoned, and there he ultimately died, in 1471. The list of its illustrious prisoners would fill a volume.

In the Chapel are interred many of the sufferers from regal vengeance ; among them Anna Boleyn, whose beautiful eyes, as she turned them on the executioner, so affected him, he was obliged to have recourse to stratagem to strike the fatal blow. Her body was Alung into an old arrow-case, and interred, while her execrable husband awaited impatiently at Richmond the sound of the guns that told him of her execation. The appeal of Anna Boleyn to Heaven, on her being sentenced to die, is one of the most beautiful on record. “O Father ! O Creator! thou who art the way, the truth, and the life, thou knowest that I have not deserved this death !”

The statements made by those who show the Tower are scarcely any of them correct, and the stranger will do well to make himself master of that very excellent History of the Tower, written by Mr. Bayley, of the Record Ofhce. A few judicious notes from that work will enable him to form a true estimate of all that is interesting there, scarcely any of the portion most interesting in an historical view being shown to strangers by the bired guides to this great national curiosity. Dr. Meyrick has been employed by the Duke of Wellington to arrange the armour according to its real age, a most judicious step, which no one was so, capable of undertaking as that learned antiquary. The old Spanish armoury, hardly deserving the name, as holding little genuine of what it is said to contain, is a fine object in the gloom of approaching evening, in the hour that is so friendly to the contemplation of all objects of antiquity.

Another of the fine old localities of London is the neighbourhood of the church of St. Saviour, Southwark; this is one of the noblest and largest churches in London, and when the new London Bridge is finished, might be made a noble object from the approach on the Borough side. It is a positive disgrace if it be suffered to remain in its present dilapidated state by the parishioners. The massy spaciousness of the structure, and the solidity of its walls, strike the stranger who first beholds it with admiration. In this church lies old Gower the poet, and there are several very curious relics of the olden time scattered about within its walls. Its date is believed to be anterior to London Bridge. All the ground along the river near it towards Blackfriars' Bridge is blled with remains celebrated in the annals of the church, and, what is singular, also of the theatre. · It was no great way off that the Globe Theatre once stood, where Shakspeare trod the stage. Nor must the venerable Bridge of London be forgotten, which will soon disappear for ever, and which, however much deplored by the lovers of antiquity, is little to be lamented on the score of beauty or utility ; its history involving battles, fires, tournaments, and what not. The reflection that for so many ages it stood the only connection between the two shores, gives its present mutilated form nọ small degree of interest. It is probable that the view from above the centre arch of the new bridge will be much finer than that from the old, the elevation being greater. The scene from the old bridge is nevertheless unique, and though that from the other bridges may be nobler, there is not one of them half as novel or picturesque. It is a fine spot to linger about at an early hour, before the busy crowds throng its pavements, and noise and bustle distract the attention. A gate on the Southwark side formerly defended the bridge, and it was generally well serrated with buman heads, if old pictures are to be credited. The beholder of it now can hardly believe that a double row of houses stood on this bridge about fourscore years ago, and that a narrow passage in the centre was the only thoroughfare for passengers. In one of the arches was a chapel, in which several persons were interred. It would seem as if the narrow minds of our fathers governed their dwellings, space is so little visible in the old erections in this country, except in those of the church, which in past days engrossed all that that was worth having, and to aggrandize itself pinched every thing else in the nation.

RAMBLINGS OF A DESULTORY MAN, NO. V..
The Table d'Hôte-The Place of Dreams--St. Radigonde-

The Curiosities--The Bottle of Sautern.
“ If our landlord supplies us with beef and with fish,
Let each guest bring himself, and he brings the best dish."

Retaliation. The table d’hôte of the Boule d'Or was like an olla podrida. There was a little of every thing; all the odd ends and scraps of society hashed up in one dish. Next to me, on the left, was an old noble, grand cordon of one of the orders of merit, who had come to put his son to the college at La Flèche. He had seen much of the world, had been an emigrant and a wanderer. There were the traces of many sorrows, dangers, and cares on his countenance; but if ever the heart finds an interpreter in the eye, his had not been hardened by the trials of life. He had that sort of urbanity in his face which, probably, in youth had been accompanied by a gayer and a quicker spirit, though years had left nothing but the calm placidity of demeanour, which, if it does not spring from benevolence, at least appears to do so.

On my other hand was a young travelling linen-draper, a good example of French education. He had been brought up at a college, but that had not spoiled him for trade ; he would talk with equal learning of Horace and cambric, and spoke as scientifically of the measurement of angles as the measuring of ribbons. He had scraps of Latin and samples of cloth, and added, moreover, a political system, which certainly was of his own manufacture. Near my friend sat a very elegant old man, with a long-waisted Windsor grey coat and ruffles, in the mode of 1700, to his shirt, which peeped timidly out from under the cuffs of his coat, like a poor ci-devant ashamed to show himself amongst the upstarts of fashion. They were kept in countenance, however, by a powdered wig, with two long rows of curls on each side, and a tapering pigtail, that, like a ship furrowing its way through the sea, marked bis coat with a white track all down the centre of his back. Towards the end of the meal, a priest, newly arrived, came in with his servant, and they both sat down to table together. Each was as dirty as can well be imagined ; but the master was, in this respect, preeminent. Nature had given him a round, fat, copper-coloured face, which had evidently little acquaintance with soap and water; and his black rugged beard apparently went from Sunday to Sunday without the touch of innovating steel. His hands, that probably Heaven had designed for pig-driving, were now as dirty as if they still followed that employment; and these he thrust unmannerly into the dish, without vouchsafing a word or a look to those around him.

It is the poetry of life to see a man superior to his station, and rising above his fate; but it is distressing to find the station thus degraded by the man. However, he and his servant sat together, and talked together, and ate together; and most probably the servant would have been very ill pleased if he had dined on meaner fare than his master. A Frenchman of this class can live upon any thing. If he cannot get better, a galette and butter-milk, or soupe maigre and a beurrée, will content him ; but, if they be within reach, two services and a dessert are not at all too much for him. An Englishman of the same rank never aspires to more than a piece of meat and a mug of ale, but he must have that, or he cries starvation.

The French have a kind of irritable jealousy towards the English, which sometimes makes them forget their general politeness. Give them but a civil word, make the least advance, and they receive you with open arms; but show them that cold reserve with which an Englishman generally treats all strangers, and every Frenchman's hand is on his sword.

I believe we had been rather silent during dinner, but the young traveller on my right soon commenced snarling about the English. He began about manufactures, as something in his own line, saying that we pretended to rival the French, but if we lowered our duties, we should soon find how far we were surpassed by the taste and elegance of French productions. The emigré on my right said that he was not quite convinced of that. “ The superiority of our machines, the industry of our population, and the vastness of our resources,” he said, "gave us infinite advantages over every competitor; and he was afraid that France would be obliged to call forth all her energies before she could equal us, without thinking of going beyond."

The gentleman in the ruffles observed mildly, that England must have a most unproductive climate. He had lived long, he said, upon the coast of Britanny, and remarked constant boat-loads of fruit, vegetables, and eggs, embarked for England. The fruit and vegetables he could understand, for that entirely depended upon the atmosphere, but he could not imagine why we had no eggs. I replied, that it was, probably, because our hens, being naturally of colder constitutions than the French fowls, had a greater penchant for celibacy.

“ The truth is,” said the old nobleman, “ that those who have never been in England, do not know what England is. Her productions are perfectly capable of supplying her population ; but her immense wealth giving her the means of excess, she is not content with what she absolutely wants, but drains other countries of their necessaries to furnish her with luxuries, and the least check throws the burden on the lower orders.”

" True," said the young traveller ; " England is glad enough to drain other countries; and without doubt, she now only proposes to open her ports, to overburthen us with her useless gold in exchange for our substantial commodities. England talks of her liberal policy, but it is her own interest only she consults, and would gladly ruin the world to enrich herself with its spoils.”

There was something very warm came rising into my cheek, but the old emigrant made a slight inclination, as much as to say, let me answer him ; so I said nothing. “You are wrong, Sir," replied he to the young man; “ you are wrong and unjust. At a period, too unhappy to France for a Frenchman willingly to recall, did England take any unhandsome advantage of her position ? . Who would have refused her if she had demanded ten times what she required ? And since then, of what has she defrauded the nations ? of what has she robbed the world ? Her only object has been to guard and protect her commerce, which is her existence; and this she has scarcely done as inuch as her able policy and successful arms gave the title to expect, and the power to exact. So much for her Government; now for her people. No one shall say one word against them before me. When I was an exile and a wanderer, without a country, and without a friend, the English received me, protected me, supported me; the nation gave me the means of existence; and individuals inade that existence happy. France is the country of my youth and my love ; in my young days I drew my sword for her, but never unsheathed it against her. France shall have my bones when I die, and my affection while I live; but England shall ever have my gratitude, and Englishmen my esteem.” '

He spoke, and the fire that had animated him passed away, and left his countenance as mild and tranquil as it had been before.

I suppose that all human beings feel alike on these points, but certainly when the sun shines I am materially happier; his brightness seems to penetrate into the heart, and to make it expand like a flower.

The first decidedly fine weather we had had since our arrival in France began at Le Mans, and during our journey towards Tours, through a country that became richer and more rich as we advanced, scarcely a cloud overshadowed the sky, except occasionally one of those light summer vapours that, skimming along over the landscape, gave a partial shadow as it passed, enough to vary, but not darken the scene.

At Chateau du Loir we began to meet with the abundance of. Touraine. Fine peaches at six for four sous, and delicious pears at a price still lower, with grapes for a penny the cluster, all began to show that we progressed in a land of summer. It was here, too, that the first vineyards began to make their appearance, climbing up the sides of the hills on each side of the road, and giving a luxuriant colouring to the view, though not indeed offering half the picturesque beauties which are attributed to them by imagination.

Tours--I know not why, but it excited in my mind a sensation of melancholy. When I visited it before, was at the time of the unbappy and ill-contrived revolt of Berton at Saumur ; and returning with a party of the troops that had been sent to disperse his undisciplined forces, we spent several very agreeable days in the ancient capital of the Lyonnaise. In general, we are fond of fixing upon some spot for building our castles in the air, and Tours and the Loire had yielded me many a foundation for those unsubstantial structures, which, as they always do, had crumbled away, and left me nothing but the ruins behind.

Tours is one of those places which has many recollections attached to it, especially since the wizard of the North has raised again the fallen walls of Plessis les Tours, and conjured up the King of the people, Louis the Eleventh, the effects of whose hatred to the nobility were felt even in the eighteenth century. But his mulberry-trees are no more, and all that he did for the commerce of his favourite city is equally fallen to nothing. The Abbey, too, of St. Martin, whose abbots were once kings of France, is almost entirely destroyed. There are but two of the old towers standing, though at so great a distance from each other as to show the enormous extent of the ancient building. The beautiful Gabrielle d'Estrées owed her birth to Tours : unlike Agnes Sorrel, her best quality, was her beauty, and for that her countrywomen are still deservedly famed.

In many respects, it is a magnificent town. The Rue Royale, 'the cathedral, the bishop's palace, and a fine bridge oyer the river, are the first objects the eye falls upon in entering the city ; but, before all, is the Loire itself, flowing on in calm majesty through the richest part of one of the most fertile countries in the world. Its banks are covered with all Nature's choicest gifts; and, as if feeling the loveliness of the scene, the stream seems to linger amidst the beauty that surrounds it. Long, long ago, it was the song of the Troubadours. The Langue d'oc and the Langue d'oie took its waters for a boundary, and many noble deeds have rendered it famous in history. It is to Tours, also, that France owes the first of her efforts in literature.

It was fair-time at Poitiers, and twelve o'clock at night, so that we had some difficulty in getting beds; but going into the kitchen, by dint of a little love and a great deal of civility, I prevailed upon the chambermaid to give us two, which had been reserved for a couple of gentlemen expected from Tours.

When I returned to the hall, I found my friend with two Frenchmen. Now, under all circumstances, an Englishman generally keeps the distance of two yards between him and a stranger ; but as I go through the world precisely as I do through a menagerie, to see all the strange beasts that are in it, I approximate myself, in general, to those whom Heaven throws in my way as near as I can, without risking to catch the plague. The two Frenchmen were waiting for supper, and so were we; therefore, without more ado, we all sat down together, and as I much wished to find out the famous field of Poitiers, I soon began asking a great many questions. But they knew nothing about it. They had never heard of it, and they had lived in the neighbourhood for years; so that they were sure the battle I spoke of could not have happened in their day. “ Most probably not," said I. “It must have been before the Revolution,” said the other Frenchman, who was a good fat, sub

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