because she once was loved herself, and loved again, and she knows what it is for two fond hearts to be sundered." "My dear Mrs. Aprhys," I said, "I perceive this is going to be something of a love story. If you will permit me to run up stairs for my slippers, I shall be back directly, and will not interrupt you again on any account; but in the first place, it seems likely the tale may be a little protracted, and secondly, I have always found it impossible to appreciate sentiment in boots." This arrangement having been completed, I nodded to my companion, who had apparently remained in deep thought duing the interval, and she continued her recital in a low and feeling voice, as if soliloquising, rather than addressing another person: "I can just remember what she was about five-and-thirty years back; but my old man could tell you of her much earlier. She lived up on the hill there with her blind father, and was as bonnie a maiden as any Snowdon top could see. Many and many a time I've seen her lead him through the town to the market (there was no market-house then), and there the old carle would chaffer and wrangle about a penny; for he was awful miserly, and the folk always let him have his way in the end, for the young lady, they well knew, would suffer nobody to lose, but made it right at last, herself. I cannot say I ever liked the look of him; but Miss Ellen would gaze upon his white head and sightless eyes as though she were a-worshipping. I suppose there is a love which child bears to parent, and parent to child, such as I, who never knew either, can scarcely understand. Anyways, she doted upon him, and, indeed, he on her; but there are, you know, two kinds of affection-one which only cares for the happiness of its object, and the other, which looks after its own as well." (I objected to Mrs. Aprhys' putting the remark in this personal form, but gravely nodded my assent.) "She would have died to save his life, and he would have died for grief, perhaps afterwards. "They used to sit together in the summer-time under their cottage porch, which was then, as now, a mass of round red roses, for he loved their beautiful perfume, although of course their color was nothing to him; the lilies in the tarn close by, too, and all the wild-flowers on the hillside, were lost to him; but he liked to hear the wind coming through the tree-tops of the copse, and bending the feathery tops of the brook-rushes. He knew all the fairness of nature that way, he said: and perhaps she does whisper more things to the blind than she does to us; not but that Miss Ellen was always by, to guide his finger right from east to west. She told him of the wood-crowned hill Penallyn, which the sun makes golden in the morning, and over whose shoulders rises old Snowdon's hoary head from far away; of the harbor and the pier, and the great black nets on the shingle; of the red-sailed vessels putting out to sea. They could hear, if it was a calm day, the shouts of the sailors as they heaved their anchors, the roll of their oars in the rowlocks, the dip of the oar-blades, and all the pleasant stir of the little town. She read aloud to him, as from an open book, all things that passed, and through her music, I warrant, they lost but little. From quite in the early morning to sunset, when the damsels would be crossing the stepping-stones that lead from the pasture-meadows, each with her uplifted arm and her full pitcher, and when the mountains to westward were reddening and burning, the teacher and the taught would sit there-the girl and her blind father. Now, I don't mean to say but that poor Miss Ellen had a delight of her own in this, besides that of pleasing him. There was, indeed one fishing-boat in Penlanrhyndoldovey which carried in her eyes a richer freight than all the rest besides; and she knew when it was on board by a little white flag. I think, too, Richard Owen, whose vessel it was, had generally a glimpse of a white handkerchief waved from the cottage on the hill when he set his red sails or furled them; and it took him, in the latter case, but a short half hour to come from the pier to the porch of roses. It must have been a great convenience, after all, that the old gentleman who made the third of that little company was blind; and I think Aprhys would have preferred it, at one time, himself, under like circumstances. Mr. Davies soon saw or heard enough, at all events, to tell him that those two were lovers, and he hardened his heart against them from that time. I believe that he was jealous of Richard Owen because he could see, because he was young, and because he was generous; and that he hated him because he had divided, or stolen a portion of his daughter's heart, which he wanted wholly for himself. The old man's ear was keener than that of love itself to catch young Richard's footfall, as he came over the hill; and then upon his sightless face a shadow would fall, which Ellen could not but see. He would never speak out about it, but would mutter: "They are waiting for my death-they wish me dead!" And she heard him, and wept bitterly. This went on for a long time, and the poor thing hoped and hoped; but never, I think, had any intention of leaving her old father. Richard was no tardy or backward wooer, and had not much patience to be so sorely tried; and one day he spoke to her boldly in the old man's presence, telling her how she was sacrificing herself when there was no cause. For he can live with us,' he said, and be tended by you, even as now; but it is twelve long months that I have waited for you, Ellen dear, and you are no nearer to me now than at first. I shall come up to-night for your final answer, and I pray that your father's heart may be turned towards us; but else I leave the town tomorrow for good and all; and it may be, you will be sorry never to see the bonnie white flag again.' 6 "The old man said not a word all that time, and never let go nor ceased stroking his daughter's hand; but, when Richard was gone, he so worked upon her feelings with his piteous selfish talk, that she told him to have no further trouble for her sake. 'I will never leave thee alone and blind, my father,' she said, although my own Richard loves me so well.' And what a bitter struggle that must have been for her, we now know. "When her lover came up, then, for that last time, she gave him a steadfast answer, although it nigh broke her heart, and it stirred his man's pride within him so, that he strode away through the windy night without so much as a good-bye. morning, although there was no hand to be got to help him work his ship. And he did sail as soon as the day dawned; and, for all it was so early, the whole town was as near the beach as they durst go, to see him and his little crew off; and there was one, we may be sure, in the house on the hill, whose tearful, sleepless eyes were fastened upon the bonnie boat more than all. She watched it for hours, as it now lay upon its side in the heaving bay, and now sank out of sight except for the white pennant (which he had nailed to the mast) that shone out against the black water, and now rose high, as if upon a mountain. She saw it grow dimmer and dimmer, in spite of the gale, and the points rounded one after the other, and nearly into the open sea; so far had the good ship got at last, though it scarcely seemed to move; but while it was beating up opposite Hell's Mouth, and near to Bardsey Island, she lost all sight of it for that time. She saw it again the same evening, alas! for the wind and the tide brought it back to harbor, keel uppermost. She was not more than twenty or so, poor girl; but her hair turned from that hour as white as it looks now. She grew thin and pale, but never let a word of complaint escape her, nor her father know how her heart had lost its hope, or her form its beauty; only once, when he attempted to condole with her, and thank her for what she had done for him, and suffered for his sake, she stopped him with a word or two in such a tone as he never dared to draw forth from her again. She tended him hour by hour, while his feet were treading the downward way, for years, and the flowers upon his grave are kept alive till now by her loving hands; but her heart is not buried, I think, with him at all, but somewhere under the deep sea with her drowned lover's. "The old man left her very wealthy (for these parts), which I dare say he "I well remember that same evening; thought would make up to her for all the for he came into the Leck to bid adieu to rest. Our town is quite another place in his old friends, whom he was about to consequence; and, as I told you at first, leave; and my uncle, who then kept the the poor folk whose trade is on the great inn, but had been a sailor in his youth, waters, she seems to consider as if they besought him not to think to put to sea were her own children; them that are in such tempestuous weather; for the laden with the like trouble as herself esOctober gales had set in, and the waves pecially, who have lost husband or kinsswept right over the pier-head, and made man at sea, and for whom her almshouses the very harbor unsafe. What a fine were built, she visits and cares for conbrave young fellow I thought him, when tinually; and on this day, above all-this he replied that he would sail the morrow | day, thirty years ago, upon which poor Richard Owen perished, she comes to them in the morning, as sure as the sun itself, and keeps his memory green amongst them by good deeds. "And," observed Mrs. Aprhys, in conclusion, as she wiped her eyes and rose from her seat, "tis the best way of keeping a death-day that I know, sir.” "It is, indeed, my dear madam," I said "and I thank you very much for your affecting story. And do you think the dear old lady, poor Miss Ellen, is happy now ?" "Not like she might have been with her lover, perhaps. I have no right to say that much, with so good a man as Aprhys yonder for my husband; but happy she ought to be; for I think God must love her, and I am sure her fellow-creatures do." I put on my slippers, which had entirely dropped off during this feeling recital, and retired to my bed. I had all kinds of pleasant dreams and angelic visions; but none came up to the reality of that dear old lady in black, Miss Davies. From Chambers's Journal, ANTIQUITIES AT GUILDHALL. Saxon fibula, or sword found elsewhere, may pass into the hands of the private individual, and be his through purchase; but abstractedly considered, and, indeed, in any enlarged view of right, they are national, or rather incorporate property, and as such should be alone held and preserved. Hence, when we find the public and domestic antiquities of London sown broadcast here, there, everywhere, and owing their preservation only to the intelligence and patriotism of private individuals, it is a matter of infinite regret that there is no general receptacle to which the seller or presenter of such heir-looms might resort with confidence. THE stranger in London, or its thought- | statue, dredged from the Thames; the ful resident, who may be willing to pass into pleasant stillness from the throngs of Cheapside, and spend a little while with profit-though attached to it there be a regret more than transient-should turn down King street into the most interesting old porchway of the Guildhall of the city of London. Here, to the right, a modern doorway and staircase will lead him up into a small room containing the few antiquities possessed by the Corporation of London; thence some winding stairs will conduct him into the reading-room of the City Library, where the most urbane and kindly of librarians will take pleasure in showing him what is preserved as corporate property of the prolific riches which research, excavation, or accident, has given up from the generations of the past to those of the present. We use the word regret advisedly, and the feeling is shared by hundreds of the intellectual classes, who conceive, with us, that the museum of the corporate body of London should be a splendid and truly national thing, worthy alike the first city in the world, and of the relics of the mighty races who have lived, labored, and died upon its soil. The amphora, dug up in Cheapside; the bronze The re-building of the Royal Exchange and London Bridge opened two great storehouses to the antiquarian collector. From the latter, Mr. Roach Smith procured some of the chief riches in his remarkable collection; the former gave the objects of interest we are about to describe. The reader may recollect that the old Royal Exchange, built after the Great Fire, and immortalized by the pamphlets and pillory of the illustrious Defoe, was burnt down in January, 1838. Upon tak ing measures for its re-building, the Gresham committee, with whom the matter rested, wisely specified in their contract of work, that all antiquities brought to light should be preserved, and considered as the property of the corporation. But this specification seems only to have been partially carried out, as many relics found were dispersed, and are now to be found in private collections. The first excavations, which included the eastern portion of the old Royal Exchange, gave but few relics of antiquitythe spot having, as was evident, been already disturbed to the depth of the Roman level; and from tiles and fragments brought to light, buildings and walls had already been removed. This might have taken place on the first building of the Exchange, 1566-1569, or, more probably, on its re-building after the Great Fire, as Wren's foundations were generally laid as low as those of Roman London. In making further progress, the soil was found still more disturbed. Thirty-two cesspools were opened, in which a few objects of curiosity were found. In April, 1841, in destroying the western wall of the merchants' area of the old Exchange, the workmen discovered that this had been erected partly on some small but interesting remains of a Roman building evidently still standing in situ, and resting on the native gravel. Amongst these remains were Roman bricks, and the bases of two large pedestals, one covered with stucco, and moulded, and still showing traces of coloring. Upon proceeding further, where these small remains of Roman work ceased to afford a support for the walls of the Exchange, outpiles and sleepers were found; beneath these, again, an older rubble-wall and foundations. On removal, this ancient work was discovered to be founded on what was considered a large pit or pond, sunk thirteen feet lower through the gravel, quite down to the clay. But it was much more likely to have been the place of outfall for a large sewer-the stercoraceous matter, the broken pottery, the remnants of leathernwork, and the vast mass of miscellaneous articles found therein, being a certain indication. If it was not this, it must have been one of those rubbish-pits so invariably found outside the walls of Roman towns; for Londinium proper did not extend northward beyond the line of the present Cheapside; and the flow of the Wallbrook, then a considerable stream, to the west of this vast rubbish-pit, could have admitted no more than scattered surburban dwellings. From the date of the coins found, it seems probable that the pit was built over about sixty-five years before the Roman power ceased in Britain. The pottery, which we now proceed to look at, is, with scarcely an exception, fragmentary. The remnants of two amphoræ are both of a very coarse and common description; but a large mortarium— a vessel used for culinary purposes, and shaped somewhat like a marble mortar of the present day-is not only almost perfect, but one of the most beautiful we have ever seen. Near its spout and across the channeled rim, the name of the potter is stamped between two lines of leaves, and this stands out as freshly as the day it was impressed. Amongst the urns, vases, cups, and pipkins, (ollula,) are some good forms; and a few of the smaller vessels used for pouring out unguents and perfumes in drops, are remarkable for the beauty of the outpouring lip. The specimens of Samian ware are scanty, and all imperfect; but most of the fragments have the fine coralline hue of the true ware, and are varied and graceful in decoration. One specimen is remarkable, as yet exhibiting the leaden rivet with which the vessel was originally mended. The terra-cotta lamps are likewise mostly fragmentary. One, of pale-colored earth, is rare, for having been formed without a handle. It is impressed with the head of an empress; it was found in one of the old cess-pools referred to, and broken by the pick-axe during excavation. The lamps of darker hue wear a metallic look, as though originally gilded; but this has proceeded from their long inclosure in decomposing animal remains. Their most interesting feature is, that in all, the traces left by the wick in burning are as distinctly visible as though the flame had only died out yesterday. The specimens of Roman glass are likewise fragmentary. They are chiefly the remains of vessels of the common Aretian manufacture, which was but little valued, compared with the rare and costly crystallina, made in, and brought from Egypt. Some of these fragments once belonged to bottles of rectangular shape, which had usually low necks and short handles; others formed part of round flasks, with longer necks; others were like broad vases or basins, cast with thick flutes, or covered tions, still, owing to the imperfect knowledge the Romans had of manipulating iron, or of converting it into steel, as the scoria of the Roman forges scattered over Britain still show, there can be no doubt that a Sheffield knife of the present day had no likeness in the widest domains of the Cæsars. The pair of tongs, though black from time and rust, are, if Roman, great curiosities. They are about thirteen inches and a half in length, the bow being formed without a handle; and were probably used for the fires of the hypocausts, or warming apparatus. Our archæological collections contain so few domestic implements and utensils of the Roman period, as to make these unique. The remarkable collection of Mr. William Chaffers contains two bronze cooking-vessels or pans, one with a long handle of beautiful form; but the food of the Romans consisting principally of soups and stews, there can be little doubt that it was cooked in earthen vessels set on stoves. Some of the mortaria in Mr. Roach Smith's collection still show distinct marks of the fire. with concentric circles; and others resem- | domestic knives in this and other collecble the phials of the middle ages. Most of these specimens have the metallic and iridescent appearance peculiar to ancient glass, and arising from its long interment. The rubbish-pit referred to gave up an unusual amount of tablets and styles for writing. Some of the former are very interesting. As they lie within the case assigned to them, they look like cork, or some very dry wood. With the exception of the outer sides forming the covers, the wooden leaves have a border or margin averaging three eighths of an inch in breadth; within this, the wood is slightly channeled from top to bottom; this, of course, for the better retaining of the wax on which the writing was made. Another interesting fact connected with several of these tabellæ is, that the creases made by the strings which bound the leaves together are still distinctly visible. These tabellæ were all found thirty-one feet below the level of modern London. The styli, or pens, are very various. The majority seem to be made of iron, whilst there are others of brass and bronze. Some are good in form, the worn appearance of the erasing end showing how much they had been used. One shows where it had been mended; another, formed of brass, has the erasing end circular, and slightly concaved like a spoon, for collecting the wax from the sur face of the tablet. The miscellaneous antiquities embrace some curious things :-Fragments of Roman armor; fibule, or brooches; a portion of a spatula, or surgeon's plasterspreader, formed of bronze, the handle being well shaped, and terminating in a ring; brass eyelets, rings, and box-clamps; instruments for the bath; small-tooth combs formed of wood; pins in bronze and brass; knives; needles, pin-cases; weaving-bobbins; a bodkin of ivory; forceps, or rather tongs; salt-spoons; the remains of a steelyard-balance; and tesseræ, or dice. Of these, the fragments of the combs are clumsy; the centre of one is very thick, the teeth sloping off on each side, and, compared to what we use at present, more like lumps of wood than combs. If the Romans gave more elegance of form to many common things, we immeasurably excel them in many points of adaptation and utility: this is especially the case with respect to knives. Though it must be admitted that time and long interment have done much to destroy the specimens of Imbedded in the chalk-steening on the south side of this rich receptacle of the domestic remains of Roman London, was found a mason's gouge. Though somewhat corrugated, it is still well preserved and defined. It is more than ten inches in length, and of considerable thickness. Another gouge, broken and imperfect, was also found, as well as portions of both a saw and an auger; likewise a bolt-rivet, linchpins, and a large quantity of varioussized nails. One of the last is eight inches long; and all have larger heads than modern nails, the flange of one side usually standing out broader than the other. The remains of leather-work, found principally on the western side of the great rubbish-pit, were considerable; so much so as to give rise to the idea at the time, that there had been shops in this vicinity, one of which was a taberna sutrina, or shop of a shoemaker. But this we think wholly improbable. The masses of leather-principally the remains of worn-out shoes and sandals-were amongst the natural accumulations of a rubbish-pit, or the outfall of a sewer. Though not so varied or so well preserved as Mr. Roach Smith's, this collection of leather-work has some interesting specimens. Amongst the soleæ, or sandals, are some still retaining a portion of the slight, sharp, yet broad-headed nails |