well furnish'd houses, were now reduced to the ornaments, columnes, freezes, capitals, and extreamest misery and poverty. In this calamitous condition I return'd with a sad heart to my house, blessing and adoring the distinguishing mercy of God to me and mine, who, in the midst of all this ruine was like Lot, in my little Zoar, were safe and sound. Sept. 6, Thursday. I represented to his Majesty the case of the French prisoners at war in my custodie, and besought him that there might be still the same care of watching at all places contiguous to unseised houses. It is not indeede imaginable how extraordinary the vigilance and activity of the King and the Duke was, even labouring in person, and being present to command, order, reward, or encourage workmen, by which he shewed his affection to his people and gained theirs. Having then dispos'd of some under cure at the Savoy, I return'd to White-hall, where I din'd at Mr. Offley's, the groome porter, who was my relation. The 7. I went this morning on foote from White-hall as far as London Bridge, thro' the late Fleete Street, Ludgate Hill, by St. Paules, Cheapeside, Exchange, Bishopsgate, Aldersgate, and out to Moorefields, thence thro' Cornehill, &c. with extraordinary difficulty, clambering over heaps of yet smoking rubbish, and frequently mistaking where I was. ground under my feete so hot, that it even burnt the soles of my shoes. In the mean time his Majesty got to the Tower by water, to demolish the houses about the graff, which being built intirely about it, had they taken fire and attack'd the White Tower where the magazine of powder lay, would undoubtedly not only have beaten downe and destroyed all the bridge, but sunke and torne the vessells in the river, and render'd the demolition beyond all expression for several miles about the countrey. At my returne I was infinitely concern'd to find that goodly Church St. Paules now a sad ruine, and that beautifull portico (for structure comparable to any in Europe, as not long before repair'd by the late King) now rent in pieces, flakes of vast stone split asunder, and nothing remaining intire but the inscription in the architrave, shewing by whom it was built, which had not one letter of it defac'd. It was astonishing to see what immense stones the heate had in a manner calcin'd, so that all 1 Dr. Offley was rector of Abinger, and donor of farms to Okewood Chapel in the parish of Wotton, in the patronage of the Evelyn family. projectures of massie Portland stone flew off, even to the very roofe, where a sheet of lead covering a great space (no lesse than 6 akers by measure) was totally mealted; the ruines of the vaulted roofe falling broke into St. Faith's, which being fill'd with the magazines of bookes belonging to the Stationers, and carried thither for safety, they were all consum'd, burning for a weeke following. It is also observable that the lead over the altar at the East end was untouch'd, and among the divers monuments, the body of one Bishop remain'd intire. Thus lay in ashes that most venerable Church, one of the most antient pieces of early piety in the Christian world, besides neere 100 more. The lead, yron worke, bells, plate, &c. mealted; the exquisitely wrought Mercers Chapell, the sumptuous Exchange, the august fabriq of Christ Church, all the rest of the Companies Halls, splendid buildings, arches, enteries, all in dust; the fountaines dried up and ruin'd, whilst the very waters remain'd boiling; the voragos of subterranean cellars, wells, and dungeons, formerely warehouses, still burning in stench and dark clowds of smoke, so that in five or six miles traversing about, I did not see one loade of timber unconsum'd, nor many stones but what were calein'd white as snow. The people who now walk'd about the ruines appear'd like men in some dismal desart, or rather in some greate Citty laid waste by a cruel enemy; to which was added the stench that came from some poore creatures bodies, beds, and other combustible goods. Sir Tho Gressham's statue, tho' fallen from its nich in the Royal Exchange, remain'd intire, when all those of the Kings since the Conquest were broken to pieces; also the standard in Cornehill, and Q. Elizabeth's effigies, with some armes on Ludgate, continued with but little detriment, whilst the vast yron chaines of the Citty streetes, hinges, barrs and gates of prisons, were many of them mealted and reduced to cinders by the vehement heate. Nor was I yet able to passe through any of the narrower streetes, but kept the widest; the ground and aire, smoake and fiery vapour, continu'd so intense that my haire was almost sing'd, and my feete unsufferably surbated. The bie lanes and narrower streetes were quite fill'd up with rubbish, nor could one have possibly knowne where he was, but by the ruines of some Church or Hall, that had some remarkable tower or pinnacle remaining. I then went towards Islington and Highgate, where one might have seene 200,000 people of all ranks and degrees dispers'd and lying along 27. Dined at Sir Wm. D'Oylie's with that worthy gent. Sir John Holland of Suffolke. 10 Oct. This day was order'd a generall fast thro' the Nation, to humble us on the late dreadfull conflagration, added to the plague and warr, the most dismall judgments that could be inflicted, but which indeede we highly deserv'd for our prodigious ingratitude, burning lusts, dissolute Court, profane and abominable lives, under such dispensations of God's continu'd favour in restoring Church, Prince, and People from our late intestine calamities, of which we were altogether unmindfull, even to astonishment. This made me resolve to go to our parish assemblie, where our Doctor preached on the 19 Luke 41, piously applying it to the occasion. After which was a collection for the distress'd loosers in the late fire. by their heapes of what they could save from | ought to walke more holyly in all manner of the fire, deploring their losse, and tho' ready to conversation. perish for hunger and destitution, yet not asking one pennie for reliefe, which to me appear'd a stranger sight than any I had yet beheld. His Majesty and Council indeed tooke all imaginable care for their reliefe by proclamation for the country to come in and refresh them with provisions. In the midst of all this calamity and confusion, there was, I know not how, an alarme begun that the French and Dutch, with whom we were now in hostility, were not onely landed, but even entering the Citty. There was in truth some days before greate suspicion of those two nations joyning; and now, that they had ben the occasion of firing the towne. This report did so terrifie, that on a suddaine there was such an uproare and tumult that they ran from their goods, and taking what weapons they could come at, they could not be stopp'd from falling on some of those nations whom they casually met, without sense or reason. The clamour and peril grew so excessive that it made the whole Court amaz'd, and they did with infinite paines and greate difficulty reduce and appease the people, sending troops of soldiers and guards to cause them to retire into the fields againe, where they were watch'd all this night. I left them pretty quiet, and came home sufficiently weary and broken. Their spirits thus a little calmed, and the affright abated, they now began to repaire into the suburbs about the Citty, where such as had friends or opportunity got shelter for the present, to which his Majesty's Proclamation also invited them. Still the plague continuing in our parish, I could not without danger adventure to our church. 10. I went againe to the ruines, for it was now no longer a Citty. 13 Sept. I presented his Majesty with a survey of the ruines, and a plot for a new Citty, with a discourse on it; whereupon after dinner his Majesty sent for me into the Queen's bed-chamber, her Majesty and the Duke onely being present; they examin'd each particular, and discours'd on them for neere an houre, seeming to be extreamely pleas'd with what I had so early thought on. The Queene was now in her cavalier riding habite, hat and feather, and horseman's coate, going out to take the aire. 16. I went to Greenewich Church, where Mr. Plume preached very well from this text: 'Seeing therefore all these things must be dissolved,' &c. taking occasion from the late unparalell'd conflagration to remind us how we LOVE'S EYES. O me, what eyes hath love put in my head, O cunning Love! with tears thou keep'st me blind, THE SEA CAVE. Hardly we breathe, although the air be free THOMAS DOUBLEDAY. NEW YEAR NUMBERS. [William Sawyer, born at Brighton, 26th July, 1828. Poet and novelist. He was early connected with literature as a contributor to the magazines; in 1846 he published Stray Leaves, and in 1849 Thought and Reverie, two volumes of poems. In 1867 appeared his Ten Miles from Town, and in 1872 his Legend of Phyllisan exquisite new reading of an old story-which established his reputation as a poet. He has also written a number of novels, which have appeared anonymously. Of Ten Miles from Town, Dr. Westland Marston said: "It is long since I have enjoyed, in modern works, pictures so charming, so individual, so earnestly and so conscientiously wrought out as those this book presents; or listened to strains of feeling so high and pure, and so finished in point of execution." Grace, fancy, music, and tender thought distinguish his poems.] Trust Him that is thy God, and have no fear: His eyelids ache not with the drowse of sleep, He cannot tire, and how should He forget? Self centred in His own eternity, The worlds He soweth broadcast with His hand, Yet perfect from His shaping fingers sent The rain drop glitters populous with life; And in a jewelled surcoat wheels the gnat. Behold the yearly miracle of Spring! Art thou more bare than is the winter wood, Or less esteemed of Him who gives thee joy In the first rustle of the April leaves? And if thy prime be gone and thou lament, "The leaves are falling and the fruit is done!" Yet shrink not from the winter of thy days. See where the cruel winds have swept the trees And all are branching bare against the night, There, in the barren spaces, hang the stars. So when the leafage of thy days is past, Nor fear thou death. God's law is gain in loss: Think! Thou wert born and fashioned for a world SOCIETY IN LAST CENTURY. [Frances Burney (Madame D'Arblay), born at Lynn Regis, Norfolk, 13th June, 1752; died at Bath, 6th January, 1840. She was the second daughter of Dr. Charles Burney, the author of the History of Music, and was for five years one of the keepers of the robes to Queen Charlotte. She had many opportunities of studying society and manners, and her works show that she did not neglect them. Her most notable productions are: Berlina, or the History of a Young Lady's Introduction to the World (from which we quote); Cecilia, or the Memoirs of an Heiress; Camilla, or a Picture of Youth; The Wanderer, or Female Difficulties; and the Memoirs of her father Dr. Burney. Her diary, published after her death, contains several valuable sketches of society towards the close of the last century. Dr. Johnson said: "Miss Burney is a real wonder. What she is, she is intuitively." Macaulay thought that "Miss Burney did for the English novel what Jeremy Collier did for the English drama. She first showed that a tale might be written in which both the fashionable and the vulgar life of London might be exhibited with great force, and with broad comic humour, and which yet should not contain a single line inconsistent with rigid morality."] [The characters in the following scenes are: -Mrs. Beaumont, the hostess of the party; Lady Louisa, sister of Lord Orville, affected and vain, and betrothed to Lord Merton, a dissipated man about town, pretending to be reformed; Mr. Coverley, a sporting gentleman; Mr. Lovel, a fop; Mrs. Selwyn, a shrewd sarcastic lady in charge of Evelina, the heroine, who is a beautiful and unsophisticated girl, now betrothed to Lord Orville, a gentleman of sense and position; Captain Mirvan, a retired seaman, rough, and given to practical jokes; Maria, his daughter. Evelina writes:-] The charming city of Bath answered all my expectations. The Crescent, the prospect from it, and the elegant symmetry of the Circus, delighted me. The Parades, I own, rather disappointed me; one of them is scarce preferable to some of the best paved streets in London: and the other, though it affords a beautiful prospect, a charming view of Prior-Park and of the Avon, yet wanted something in itself of more striking elegance than a mere broad pavement, to satisfy the ideas I had formed of it. At the pump-room I was amazed at the public exhibition of the ladies in the bath; it is true, their heads are covered with bonnets; but the very idea of being seen in such a situation, by whoever pleases to look, is indelicate. "Fore George," said the captain, looking into the bath, "this would be a most excellent place for old Madame French to dance a fandango in! By jingo, I wouldn't wish for better sport than to swing her round this here pond!" "She would be very much obliged to you," said Lord Orville, "for so extraordinary a mark of your favour." "Why, to let you know," answered the captain, "she hit my fancy mightily; I never took so much to an old tabby before.' 'Really now," cried Mr. Lovel, looking also into the bath, "I must confess it is, to me, very incomprehensible why the ladies choose that frightful unbecoming dress to bathe in! I have often pondered very seriously upon the subject, but could never hit upon the reason." "Well, I declare," said Lady Louisa, "I should like of all things to set something new a-going; I always hated bathing, because one can get no pretty dress for it! Now do, there's a good creature, try to help me to something.' "Who, me! O dear ma'am," said he, simpering, "I can't pretend to assist a person of your ladyship's taste; besides, I have not the least head for fashions-I really don't think I ever invented above three in my life! but I never had the least turn for dress,-never any notion of fancy or elegance." "O fie, Mr. Lovel! how can you talk so?don't we all know that you lead the ton in the beau monde? I declare, I think you dress better than anybody." "O dear, ma'am, you confuse me to the last degree! I dress well!-I protest I don't think I'm ever fit to be seen!-I'm often shocked to death to think what a figure I go. If your ladyship will believe me, I was full half an hour this morning thinking what I should put on!" "Odds my life," cried the captain, "I wish I'd been near you!-I warrant I'd have quickened your motions a little. Half an hour thinking what you'd put on! and who the deuce do you think cares the snuff of a candle whether you've anything on or not?" "O pray, captain,' cried Mrs. Selwyn, "don't be angry with the gentleman for thinking, whatever be the cause, for I assure you he makes no common practice of offending in that way." "Really, ma'am, you're prodigiously kind," said Mr. Lovel, angrily. "Pray now," said the captain, "did you ever get a ducking in that there place yourself?" "A ducking, sir!" repeated Mr. Lovel: "I protest I think that's rather an odd term!— but if you mean a bathing, it is an honour I have had many times." "And pray, if a body may be so bold, what do you do with that frizzle-frize top of your own? Why, I'll lay you what you will, there is fat and grease enough on your crown to buoy you up, if you were to go in head down wards." "And I don't know," cried Mrs. Selwyn, "but that might be the easiest way: for I'm sure it would be the lightest." "For the matter of that there," said the captain, "you must make him a soldier before you can tell which is lightest, head or heels. Howsomever, I'd lay ten pounds to a shilling I could whisk him so dexterously over into the pool, that he should light plump upon his foretop and turn round like a tetotum." "Done!” cried Lord Merton; “I take your odds." "Will you?" returned he; "why then, 'fore George, I'd do it as soon as say Jack Robinson." "He, he!" faintly laughed Mr. Lovel, as he moved abruptly from the window; "pon honour, this is pleasant enough; but I don't see what right anybody has to lay wagers about one without one's consent." "There, Lovel, you are out," cried Mr. Coverley; "any man may lay what wager about you he will; your consent is nothing to the purpose: he may lay that your nose is sky-blue if he pleases." "Ay," said Mrs. Selwyn, "or that your mind is more adorned than your person;-or any absurdity whatsoever." "I protest," said Mr. Lovel, "I think it's a very disagreeable privilege, and I must beg that nobody may take such a liberty with me.” "Like enough you may," cried the captain; "but what's that to the purpose? Suppose I've a mind to lay that you've never a tooth in your head--pray, how will you hinder me?" "You'll allow me, at least, sir, to take the liberty of asking how you'll prove it?" "How?-why, by knocking them all down your throat." "Knocking them all down my throat, sir!" repeated Mr. Lovel, with a look of horror; "I protest I never heard anything so shocking in my life! And I must beg leave to observe, that no wager, in my opinion, could justify such a barbarous action." Here Lord Orville interfered, and hurried us to our carriages. We returned in the same order we came. Mrs. Beaumont invited all the party to dinner, and has been so obliging as to beg Miss Mirvan may continue at her house during her stay. The captain will lodge at the Wells. The first half-hour after our return was de voted to hearing Mr. Lovel's apologies for dining in his riding-dress. Mrs. Beaumont then, addressing herself to Miss Mirvan and me, inquired how we liked Bath. "I hope," said Mr. Lovel, "the ladies do not call this seeing Bath." "No!-what should ail 'em?" cried the captain; "do you suppose they put their eyes in their pockets?" "No, sir; but I fancy you will find no person-that is, no person of any condition-call going about a few places in a morning seeing Bath." "Mayhap, then," said the literal captain, "you think we should see it better by going about at midnight?" "No, sir, no," said Mr. Lovel, with a supercilious smile, "I perceive you don't understand me; we should never call it seeing Bath without going at the right season." "Why, what a plague then," demanded he, "can you only see at one season of the year?" Mr. Lovel again smiled; but seemed superior to making any answer. "The Bath amusements," said Lord Orville, "have a sameness in them, which, after a short time, renders them rather insipid; but the greatest objection that can be made to the place is the encouragement it gives to gamesters." "Why, I hope, my lord, you would not think of abolishing gaming," cried Lord Merton; "'tis the very zest of life! Devil take me if I could live without it." "I am sorry for it," said Lord Orville, gravely, and looking at Lady Louisa. "Your lordship is no judge of this subject," continued the other; "but if once we could get you to a gaming-table, you'd never be happy away from it." "I hope, my lord," cried Lady Louisa, "that nobody here ever occasions your quitting it." "Your ladyship," said Lord Merton, recollecting himself, "has power to make me quite anything." "Except herself," said Mr. Coverley. "Egad, my lord, I think I've helped you out there!" "You men of wit, Jack," answered his lordship, "are always ready; for my part, I don't pretend to any talents that way." "Really, my lord?" asked the sarcastic Mrs. Selwyn: "well, that is wonderful, considering success would be so much in your power." 66 'Pray, ma'am," said Mr. Lovel to Lady Louisa, "has your ladyship heard the news?" "News!--what news?" |