of the dealers over the fronts of their stores were a whole Encyclopædia Metropolitana in themselves, and the sight of the people looking out of the first-floor windows, and thinking what they were thinking of, was as good as a play.' I am terræ filius; my purview is earthward; and an immensity of matter for cogitation comes to me from studying the brass-plates, and even the knockers and bellhandles, on the doors; while larger fields for philosophising offer themselves when you take to looking down the areas. There are unfortunately no areas, but only grated soupirails, or cellar entrances, to the Cedars and to Dr. Molossus's Academy; but there were brassplates on the portals, and they became to me tablets whereon to grave imaginary annals. Take my advice, ye who would emulate Ulysses, by knowing men and cities, and never neglect to con the door-plates. Even those, battered, tarnished, their inscriptions half obliterated, unscrewed years perchance from their original panels, and lying loose on brokers' stalls and in second-hand dealers' windows, present infinite matter for profound reflection. They are as plates wrenched from the coffins of dead families. They smell mouldy of the graves of households; and I may discreetly hint that the view of two such doorless plates, one of brass and the other of zinc, but both having references in blunted lines to the education of youth, set my dull imagination in a German-tinder-like state of incandescence, and made me think there might be such phantom schools as the Misses Scrymgoar's and Dr. Molossus's, in Rhododendron-terrace and Rapknuckle-place, Great Rollingstone-road, S.

LA BELLE SAUVAGE

SAD, ragged shore of Brittany, long wed
To death, where by false fires fix'd on the head
Of feeding kine, as an old record saith,
Full many a wandering sailor once was led

To grasp for friend's hand the cold hand of Death;
Thine income of ripe sorrows is less rich
Now from thy cruel creeping waves, o'er which

A woman's beacon broadly throws its breath.

It breathes far-saving fires into the night,
Set on her husband's battlements, to fright

Stray ships from that inhospitable strand;
And under it, all fully arm'd to fight

Those who would strip the dying, with maim'd hand Grasping his sword which gleams in the flamelike gore, After the oath he to his lady swore,

Stands he, and so till death each night will stand.

6

Had he not sworn to her, May I ride in rain
Blind, nor my heron seek marsh or cloud again,
Nor any lure or quarry more be mine;
Yea, may my hawk no more strike swan or crane,
When this thy beacon I forget to tine!
Then from the fight may I be first to flee,
Then may fair breezes fail me on the sea,

When night's waves roll not lighten'd by its shine'?

For once himself, lying shipwreck'd on that shore,
A girl had spied, who with fierce fingers tore

From his body, half dead, a rich and varied prize; And a gem which his wet swollen finger bore,

With one knee on his breast, her wild brown eyes Fix'd on his dying eyes, with white sharp teeth Had sever'd from his hand, biting beneath

The jewel, nor pitied him in anywise.

But left him, yet soon after, by some shade
Of sorrow touch'd, return'd. But he afraid,

Wonder'd how Death should take a form so sweet,

More wonder'd when she tended him, and made

Bands for his wound, and when with tottering feet

She bore him to her cabin, where he conceal'd
Lay all alone, until his wound was heal'd,

While she halved her poor living for his meat.
Fair was she? Ah, far more fair than I can say,
Fairer than sunshine on a summer's day,

With smooth small throat, round arms, and sorrel hair : Dearer than sun or shadow, or rose of May,

Or April rain; one hundredfold more fair
Than all maids she to him, who marvell'd yet
How, looking on her face, he must forget

Her deeds, not knowing marvels of love more rare.
For women's power is such, that as they please
They can make ease of hardship, of hardship ease,
And false of true, and true of false again,

And of men's hearts in their hands they hold the keys,
And cure with one little kiss a harder pain

Than Galen's herbs can cure. Men gods have grown,
And gods, to change to men for these alone,

Nay, to be brutes, for their dear sake once were fain.
So hour by hour he loved her more and more,
And with soft words and wise, which good fruit bore,
Tamed her wild hard heart to his gentle hand,
As when Spring's day-star breaks dark Winter's floor,
And snow and frost flee frighten'd from our land.
Thus he baptised her to a milder creed,
Making each thought of cruelty and greed

Leave her, a new and gracious deodand;

And christen'd her with kisses to his wife,
And dwelt in that stern land, albeit the strife

Sown in her soul made her sad harvest reap
Of tears, and she grew weary of her life,

And for past sins went sighing unto sleep,
Sobbing on sorrow's sackcloth like a child;
So, till he swore to rule that people wild

With rapine, and his lonely watch to keep.
Therefore he stands high on his topmost tower
Alone, and watches many a leaden-heel'd hour,
Through the deep darkness of blind night's dead noon;
Nor wintry wind, nor might of sleet, or shower

Of summer hail, may move him, till the moon
Dims in the western heaven her blunted horn,
And the last star, failing in the face of morn,
Leads him to her soft side, ah! not too soon.

SECOND SERIES, VOL. X. F.S. VOL. XX.

JAMES MEW.

GG