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And so it was for many a day,
But change with Time will come,
And he (Alas! for him the day!)
He heard the little drum.

"Follow," said the drummer-boy,
"Would you live in story;
"For he who strikes a foeman down,
"Wins a wreath of glory!"

“Rub-a-dub and rub-a-dub,”

The drummer beats away-
The Shepherd let his bleating flock
On Cheviot wildly stray.

On Egypt's arid waste of sand
The Shepherd now is lying,
Around him many a parching tongue
For water's faintly crying.

O that he were on Cheviot's hills
With velvet verdure spread,
Or lying 'mid the blooming heath,
Where oft he 'd made his bed.

Or could he drink of those sweet rills
That trickle to the vales,

Or breathe once more the balminess
Of Cheviot's mountain gales.

At length upon his wearied eyes
The mists of slumber come,
And he is in his home again-
Till waken'd by the drum.

"Take arms! Take arms," his leader cries, "The hated foeman's nigh;"

Guns loudly roar-steel clanks on steel,
And thousands fall to die.

The Shepherd's blood makes red the sand,
"Oh! water-give me some!
"My voice might reach a friendly ear,
"But for that little drum!"

'Mid moaning men-'mid dying men,
The drummer kept his way,
And many a one, by "glory" lured,
Did curse the drum that day.

"Rub-a-dub and rub-a-dub,"

The drummer beat aloud-
The Shepherd died, and ere the morn,
The hot sand was his shroud.

And this is glory? Yes; and still
Will man the tempter follow,

Nor learn that glory, like its drum,

Is but a sound and hollow.-Mark Lemon.


During the confinement of king John, the provost of the merchants and sheriffs of Paris made a present to the church of Notre Dame, of a wax-candle, (probably rolled up,) of the same length as the circumference of the walls of Paris.-St. Foix.

In the Formulæ of Marculphus, edited by Jerome Bignon, he tells us, with respect to lights, that the use of them was of great antiquity in the church; that the primitive Christians made use of them in the assemblies, which they held before day, out of necessity; and that afterwards they were retained even in day-light, as tokens of joy, and in hone of the Deity.


1666. 2d September. This fatal night about ten began that deplorable fire near Fish Streete in London.

3d. The fire continuing, after dinner I took coach, with my wife and sonn and went to the Bank side in Southwark, where we beheld that dismal spectacle, the whole citty in dreadful flames near ye water side; all the houses from the Bridge, all Thames Streete, and upwards towards Cheapeside, downe to the Three Cranes, were now consum'd.

The fire having continu'd all this night (if I may call that night which was light as day for ten miles round about, after a dreadful manner), when conspiring with a fierce eastern wind in a very drie season, I went on foote to the same place, and saw the whole south part of ye citty burning from Cheapside to ye Thames and all along Cornehill (for it kindl'd back against ye wind as well as forward), Tower Streete, Fenchurch Streete, Gracious Streete, and so along to Bainard's Castle, and was now taking hold of St. Paule's church, to which the scaffolds contributed exceedingly. The conflagration was so universal and the people so astonish'd, that from the beginning, I know not by what despondency or fate, they hardly stirr'd to quench it, so that there was nothing heard or seene but crying out and lamentation, running about like distracted creatures, without at all attempting to save even their goods, such a strange consternation there was upon them, so as it burned both in breadth and length, the churches, publiq halls, exchange, hospitals, monuments, and ornaments, leaping after a prodigious manner from house to house and streete to streete, at great distances one from ye other; for ye heate with a long set of faire and warme weather had

even ignited the air and prepar'd the materials to conceive the fire, which devour'd, after an incredible manner, houses, furniture, and everything. Here we saw the Thames cover'd with goods floating, all the barges and boates laden with what some had time and courage to save, as, on ye other, ye carts, &c., carrying out to the fields, which for many miles were strew'd with moveables of all sorts, and tents erecting to shelter both people and what goods they could get away. Oh the miserable and calamitous spectacle! such as haply the world had not seene the like since the foundation of it, nor be outdone till the universal conflagration. All the skie was of a fiery aspect, like the top of a burning oven, the light seene above forty miles round about for many nights. God grant my eyes may never behold the like, now seeing above ten thousand houses all in one flame: the noise, and cracking, and thunder of the impetuous flames, ye shrieking of women and children, the hurry of people, the fall of towers, houses, and churches, was like an hideous storme, and the aire all about so hot and inflam'd, that at last one was not able to approach it, so that they were forc'd to stand still and let the flames burn on, wch they did for neere two miles in length, and one in bredth. The clouds of smoke were dismall, and reach'd upon computation near fifty miles in length. Thus I left it this afternoone burning, a resemblance of Sodom or the last day. London was, but is no more.

4th. The burning still rages, and it was now gotten as far as the Inner Temple, all Fleete Streete, the Old Bailey, Ludgate Hill, Warwick Lane, Newgate, Paul's Chain, Watling Streete, now flaming, and most of it reduced to ashes; the stones of Paules flew like grenados, ye mealting lead running downe the streetes in a streame, and

the very pavements glowing with fiery rednesse, so as no horse nor man was able to tread on them, and the demolition had stopp'd all the passages, so that no help could be applied. The eastern wind still more impetuously drove the flames forward. Nothing but ye Almighty power of God was able to stop them, for vaine was ye help of man.

5th. It crossed towards Whitehall: Oh the confusion there was then at that court! It pleased his May to command me among ye rest to looke after the quenching of Fetter Lane end, to preserve, if possible, that part of Holborn, whilst the rest of ye gentlemen tooke their several posts (for now they began to bestir themselves, and not till now, who hitherto had stood as men intoxicated, with their hands acrosse), and began to consider that nothing was likely to put a stop but the blowing up of so many houses, as might make a wider gap than any had yet been made by the ordinary method of pulling them down with engines; this some stout seamen proposed early enough to have sav'd near ye whole citty, but this some tenacious and avaritious men, aldermen, &c., would not permit, because their houses must have been of the first. It was therefore now commanded to be practis'd, and my concern being particularly for the hospital of St. Bartholomew, neere Smithfield, where I had many wounded and sick men, made me the more diligent to promote it, nor was my care for the Savoy lesse. It now pleas'd God, by abating the wind, and by the industrie of ye people, infusing a new spirit into them, that the fury of it began sensibly to abate about noone, so as it came no farther than ye Temple westward, nor than ye entrance of Smithfield north. But continu'd all this day and night so impetuous towards Cripplegate and the Tower, as made us all despaire; it also broke out againe in the Temple, but the courage of the multitude

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