posed to punch his head-hard as it may be-if I caught him in the fact!"

"Here is an alteration, sir," said the verger-" Jonson's grave-stone -the original has been removed by the gentleman you speak of." "What!" said I; "the one with the incription O rare Doctor Johnson,' which was written by Garrick ?"

"Ben Jonson, sir," suggested the man.

"It's of no consequence," replied I, “which it was. brute who changed it."

The man was a

As it would have been absurd to dwell on names that every one knows, I confined myself to those with which the unlearned are not so familiar, and thus added greatly to the information of my friends, Captain Percale taking notes, as well as he was able, of all I said. I saw his memoranda afterwards, and found he had made one or two slight mistakes, such as describing Old Parr as the father of English poetry; Sir Cloudesley Shovel as the inventor of steam (probably supposing from his name, that he was a stoker); Dr. Busby as the author of "Junius;" and Mason as the builder of the abbey. These, however, are trifles to a Frenchman when he is writing English history.

We quitted the building with regret, and to vary the nature of the sights, I led the way along Great George Street into the Park, and crossed over towards the Horse Guards. We arrived, fortunately, at the moment when the officer commanding was about to troop the guard, who perceiving a foreign corps of observation approaching, came forward, and saluting us with military precision, invited us to be spectators of tho scene. Captain Percale's account of what took place is so graphic, that I give it in the very words he afterwards used:

"On reproaching ourselves of the Colonel of the Royal Guard, le Captaine Green drew his sword, and devancing our party in a short walk, presented us by his name and rank. The colonel then placed us on his sides to witness the defilement of his magnificent Horse Guards, in their noble jack-breeches and boots, a grand and imposeful spectacle. When that ceremony was finish, the officers have invite, with a hearty cordiality, us to breakfast. The repast was very gay, with plenty of rounds of beefs, mutton-shops, red herrings, and all what the English call the delicacy of the season, Champagne, Laffitte, and the London Bottle of Stout's Porter. During the dessert, Brigadier Botargo, one of our companions, carried the first toast to the healths of the lovely Queen of these kingdoms, and all her interesting family. Le Capitaine Green, with eloquence which caused the tears of many to shed, offered wishes reciprocal to the French Republic, and the venerable walls of the Horse Guards of England trembled to the toast. In fine, we have leave that refreshment, carrying with us those wishes of a friendly esteem which remains to his death in the Frenchman's inside."

Percale was right; I did make a good speech; and our fellows,-the regulars,-seemed to wonder who the deuce I was.

After shaking hands all round, we again sallied forth, and left the Park at the Giants' Steps, the fac-simile of those at Venice, down which the Council of Forty used to push the superannuated Doges. We then visited several of the Clubs. At the "Senior United," which was being painted, the veteran porter showed us out of the spacious hall; at the "Athenæum," to which I belong, having been elected by the Committee

on account of my works on France, we saw the only member in town, breakfasting with a degree of dreary splendour that perfectly realised the image of that Oriental potentate who was monarch of all he surveyed; at the "Travellers," the porter refused us admission, in spite of my informing him that I had twice been as far as Paris; but at the "Conservative" we were warmly welcomed by a very courteous member, well known to fame, who only regretted that the shortness of the notice prevented the Club 'from giving the National Guards a ball in their magnificent drawing-room.

We then, to use a military phrase, enfiladed the streets in various directions, debouching on Piccadilly, turning the Duke of Wellington's horse's statue's flank at Hyde Park-Corner, and counter-marching on Charing-Cross by way of Oxford Street and Regent Street. After this we took shipping at Hungerford Wharf, embarking on what has been so truly and poetically called "the silent highway," in the half-penny steamer, though I must say that our party were any thing but silent highwaymen. The brave National Guards were full of admiration at every thing they saw, and paid the British lion, who bestrides the brewery on the Surrey side, some very well merited compliments, highly flattering to him, both as an individual and as the representative of a nation's pride. They winced a little as they passed under Waterloo Bridge, which, I informed them, was built the day the battle of Waterloo was fought, but completely recovered their spirits when they got abreast of the fine botanical gardens of the Temple, that splendid conservatory of Law. There were no black friars visible at the spot under the bridge that bears their name, but to make up for this loss the crow's nest on the top of St. Paul's was plainly to be seen. If the Commissioners of Woods and Forests demolished the Rookery in St. Giles's they have at any rate atoned for that wanton act by encouraging the birds to build on this elevated spot.

At length we landed at the London Bridge Stairs, and passing Billingsgate, whose celebrity for fresh fish and feminine accomplishments my friends were pleased to learn, we proceeded to the Tower, a spot that caused me to expatiate much to my brothers in arms, but which I refrain from repeating here, being warned against it by want of space. The reader may form a general idea of how I entertained them, when I say that I gave the history of that celebrated fortress from the day when, according to Geoffry of Monmouth, it was first erected by Brute, the grandson of Jupiter by his daughter Venus, down to the present governor, Field Marshal his Grace the Duke of Wellington. I did not, of course, omit to mention, that in this remarkable donjon-keep, Richard III. was barbarously murdered by the two young princes, his nephews; and I took especial care to direct their attention to the fact, that it was here the present ex-king of the French was confined when he was only Duke of Orleans, and that he solaced the hours of his long captivity by playing on the harp and writing those agreeable poems, a volume of which, richly illuminated, is now to be seen in the library of the British Museum. It interested them also very much to be told, that the identical crown which the Queen always wears at dinner at Buckingham Palace, was once stolen from the Tower by a certain Colonel Blood, who disposed of it for a very trifling amount to a pawnbroker in the Edgeware Road, shortly after the famous battle, which takes its name from that locality.

On our way home to dinner we inspected the Monument, the only

building left standing after the great fire of London, and paid a visit to the Lord Mayor at the Mansion House, where I had the honour of introducing my fearless companions to his lordship, as he was in the act of distributing civic justice from his bench. The noble peer informed us that he was "proud and happy to see so many brave men in the city, of which he had the pleasure of being the principal ornament, and he trusted that this expression of opinion on his part would have the effect of drawing still closer the bonds of sympathy which already united the two greatest countries in the world."

A slight détour from the direct route brought us into Eastcheap, it being my desire to introduce Captain Percale and his friends to London Stone. It is supposed to have been originally a thunderbolt which fell on the very spot where it now stands; its principal historical interest arises, however, from the circumstance that the famous Jack Cade sat upon it when, as Shakspeare says, he was created "Lord of the City," -in other words, Lord Mayor.

St. Paul's was the last place we entered. I had reserved it as a bonne fortune, and so my friends found it, or I am greatly mistaken. I need scarcely say I told them that they stood in the largest edifice, sacred or profane, that had ever been erected, though, singularly enough, it was built by one of the smallest men that ever breathed. I allude to the architect Christopher, who took the name of Wren on account of his diminutive stature. He might well say, "Circumspice," for a spicier thing than St. Paul's is not to be met with, I will venture to say, in any part of the globe.

The Nationals did not enjoy the monuments so much as I expected, but perhaps as they were raised to the memory of the heroes who thrashed the French in so many different places, this is not to be wondered at. They were struck, however, with the fine wood-carvings, the workmanship, I told them, of Grinning Gibbon, the satirical historian, who could laugh at the "Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire." Lieutenant Haricôt (whose private occupation in Paris is that of a marchand de légumes) was very much pleased with the monument of Dr. Dodd, (so I understood the verger,) that eminent father of the church, who is represented in a shroud, wearing a pair of very long moustaches, and with his feet in a kind of mustard-pot. The party were too much fatigued to mount higher than the Whispering Gallery, so having given vent to a few soft nothings in that place of amusement, much to the astonishment of a young lady in a pink bonnet, who was startled by a very sonorous "I loff you," uttered by Brigadier Botargo, we returned to the street, and proceeded by an omnibus to Leicester Square, or, as Percale persisted in calling it, "Lay-ces-terre Squarr."

I must be brief, or would willingly have described the capital dinner which Monsieur Pagliano gave us, and have dwelt on the convivialities which followed. We did not, however, sit late, as I had a surprise in store.

Amongst the various clubs of London, the most recent and the most moveable, (albeit established under very high literary auspices,) is one called the Kittenton, on account of its innocent, playful tendencies, which are chiefly to afford amusement combined with instruction to young men who might otherwise congregate at the Coal-Hole and Cigar Divan-and then, as the kitten sports with a ball of cotton before it attacks a mouse,

prepare the way in harmless guise for the severer struggles of life. Of the Kittenton Club Podder is a prominent member, and it was with a glow of the ruddiest satisfaction that he handed me a note during the dessert which informed him that the president and members would be most happy to receive an impromptu visit that evening from the National Guards of France. The fondness of the French for society being so well known, no one will be surprised to find that the proposition to adjourn to the Club was received with the greatest pleasure. After a bumper or two to each other's healths which, added to what we had previously taken, put us in very good case for developing our mental energies, I ordered cabs and we drove down to the Strand, that being the most easterly point which the Kittenton migration has yet reached. It happened, singularly enough to be the evening of the weekly réunion of the Club and, as the Morning Chronicle afterwards said in describing the scene, "on their entering the drawing room they were loudly cheered, a gentleman at the piano-forte striking up the Marseillaise,' as if in honour of them." The same paper adds:"The Choeur des Girondins' was then sung in fine style by the visitors, after which, 'God save the Queen' was struck up in chorus by the company, among whom the National Guards were not the least prominent.' This is true enough, but Podder, who sent the account round to all the papers, should have added that it was I who sang the solo parts and was most prominent in the chorus.

I shall continue the extracts :-" Several of the visitors then partook for a short time, with evident Parisian gusto, of the pleasures of the dance," yes-we did, and the lovely girls with whom we polked (ladies being one of the Club emollients) were eloquent in praise of our exquisite tournures which were shown to such advantage beneath our tight uniforms. One soft creature who confided herself to me, tried (for the honour of the Club) to get up a little French, but I think she took fright at the purity of my accent, which was rather too much for her, and I was obliged to continue the conversation-much to her surprise-in English." After this the party adjourned to the dining-room, where a supper à l'improviste had been prepared, the chair being taken by a member of the managing committee. Due honour having been done to 'the roast beef of old England,' (I beg to say it was cold roast beef and pickles, the last rather dangerous on account of the cholera, the best remedy for which in my opinion is Rowland's Macassar) "the chairman in excellent French," (I cannot help smiling at this, as if an Englishman, merely as an Englishman, not having my advantages, could speak "excellent" French), "expressed the extreme gratification it afforded the members of the Kittenton Institution to receive the National Guards as visitors, and after having passed a warm eulogium upon them for the services they had rendered to their country, aided, he must say, by one of the most chivalrous Englishmen whom this age has produced," (cheers, and all eyes directed towards me) " and having dilated upon the benefits that were likely to accrue from the friendly intercourse of nations, and the gratifying contrast it presented to by-gone times, he concluded by giving Prosperity to France and the National Guard.' The toast was received with an enthusiasm peculiarly English, which appeared not a little to startle and amuse the visitors." (It did not startle me; I have been too much used to the Kentish fire at the public dinners at Peckham, myself in the chair.) "The applause having subsided, one of the guests, a captain of the legion, rose and expressed, &c." It was fully

expected, that I would have risen, but I wished to give Percale a chance, and therefore sat still while he spoke (verbatim) as follows.

"Ladies and Gentlemens. It trill my heart wiz a pleasure what I cannot expose to come into zis grand and pleasant contry, to stick my feets into ze Anglish earth where wiz kindness unheard of welcome to us was been given. For to pay such a visit it is now time, ze noble nations of France and England having for too long a while been separate by mutual blows and animosities, what shall nevare be ze case no more. Ze dobble fist of pugnancy shall not no longer clench himself but for him ze opening hand of friendship shall be spreaded in true and religious fra ternity. We shall kick away all our prejudice and de Anglishman and de Frenchman shall loff de ozer, like ze happy family of ze dog and ze cat what I zis day have see in Lay-ces-terre Squarr. I offer you a toast, drink it, my fine fellows: A la fraternité des peuples !'"

The reader will perceive a striking omission in Percale's speech; however, I bear him no ill-will for not alluding to me (although the example had been set him by the former speaker), as he was very nervous on the occasion. This brought the events of the day to a close. There were many incidents connected with the visit of the National Guards to London which, at a future period, I may be tempted to reveal; but at present I shall content myself with quoting from the letter I have already made use of, in which my friend Percale shows that he writes much better than he speaks :

"At length, after a stay of only thirty-six hours, we left London full of gratitude to the inhabitants of the great city who had shown themselves so sympathetic to the French nation."

in

The bill at the Sablonière was a stinger, but it was paid by him, who every vicissitude of life is still the same honest Briton, and still

JOLLY GREEN.

P.S. October 25th.-While I am in the act of putting my monogram to this sheet, I hear loud shouts in the street; I rush to the windowwhat do I behold? -a legion of National Guards in the square! The waiter tells me 1200 more have just arrived. I hasten to fraternise with them and become, I trust, the Tacitus of Gaul.

J. G.

THE HABITUE'S NOTE-BOOK.

BY CHARLES HERVEY, ESQ.

"SHIKSPUR! who wrote Shikspur?" asks one of the masters (or mistresses, I forget which), pro tem., in "High Life Below Stairs," a query answered by one of his or her camarades as follows.

"Why, Kolley Kibber."

With equal correctness might we reply to the question, "Who wrote • Mildred Vernon ?""

"Why, Hamilton Murray."

And yet, in so replying, we should have the title-page of the book itself, aye, and all Mr. Colburn's advertisements into the bargain, to bear us out; sufficient authority, no doubt, for the uninitiated, but for us, Nov.-VOL. LXXXIV. NO. Cccxxxv.

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