PLAGUE IN LONDON.

O UNREJOICING Sabbath! Not of yore

Did thy sweet evenings die along the Thames
Thus silently! Now every sail is furled,
The oar hath dropt from out the rower's hand,
And on thou flowest in lifeless majesty,
River of a desert lately filled with joy!
O'er all that mighty wilderness of stone
The air is clear and cloudless, as at sea
Above the gliding ship. All fires are dead,
And not one single wreath of smoke ascends
Above the stillness of the towers and spires.
How idly hangs that arch magnificent
Across the idle river!

Not a speck

Is seen to move along it. There it hangs
Still as a rainbow in the pathless sky.

Know ye what you will meet with in the city?
Together will ye walk through long, long streets,
All standing silent as a midnight church.
You will hear nothing, but the brown red grass
Rustling beneath your feet; the very beating
Of your own hearts will awe you; the small voice
Of that vain bauble, idly counting time,
Will speak a solemn language in the desert.
Look up to heaven, and there the sultry clouds,
Still threatening thunder, lower with grim delight,
As if the spirit of the plague dwelt there,
Darkening the city with the shadows of death.
Know ye that hideous hubbub? Hark! far off
A tumult, like an echo, on it comes,

Weeping and wailing, shrieks and groaning prayer;
And, louder than all, outrageous blasphemy.
The passing storm hath left the silent streets.
But are these houses near you tenantless?
Over your heads from a window suddenly
A ghastly face is thrust, and yells of death

With voice not human. Who is he that flies,
As if a demon dogged him on his path?

With ragged hair, white face and bloodshot eyes,
Raving, he rushes past you: till he falls,

As if struck by lightning, down upon the stones,
Or, in blind madness dashed against the wall,
Sinks backward into stillness.

Stand aloof,

And let the pest's triumphal chariot

Have open way, advancing to the tomb.
See how he mocks the pomp and pageantry
Of earthly kings! A miserable cart,
Heaped up with human bodies: dragged along
By shrunk steeds, skeleton anatomies!

And onwards urged by a wan meagre wretch,
Doomed never to return from the foul pit,
Whither, with oaths, he drives his load of horror.
Would you look in? Grey hairs and golden tresses,
Wan shrivelled cheeks, that have not smiled for years,
And many a rosy visage smiling still:

Bodies in the noisome weeds of beggary wrapt,
With age decrepit, and wasted to the bone;
And youthful frames, august and beautiful,
In spite of mortal pangs,—there lie they all
Embraced in ghastliness; but look not long,
For haply, amid the faces glimmering there,
The well-known cheek of some beloved friend
Will meet thy gaze, or some small snow-white hand,
Bright with the ring that holds her lover's hair.

THE RESTORATION, A.D. 1660 (Charles II.).

On the 29th of May, 1660, England delivered itself from a long and intolerable military despotism. Eleven years before this, King Charles I. had been put to death by order of the House of Commons, on the ground that he had trampled on the liberties of the people, and had

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declared on his trial that his death would be followed by the destruction of their liberty. The years that followed had proved the truth of his prophecy, and the English people, full of such bitter experience, recalled their murdered king's son from the continent, to which he had fled.

It was no sooner known on the continent that the English had returned to their ancient loyalty, than Spain invited Charles to take shipping for his country at one of her ports in the Netherlands, France offered Calais, and Holland sent deputies to request he would repair at once to the Hague. The latter offer he accepted, remarking with his native humour, that "it was wondrous to see all the world so piteously inclined to him;" and certainly it appeared as if, on a sudden, the whole of Europe had roused itself to give joy to a prince who had, in many years of anxiety and absolute distress, lived as one forgotten of the world; and whose condition had been singularly slighted, when most deserving of commiseration.

Charles embarked on board the fleet, of which his brother, the Duke of York, afterwards James II., took the command; and having landed at Dover, hastened with a few attendants to Rochester. From this town the royal procession commenced. Accordingly, on horseback, supported on one side by the Duke of York and on tho other by the Duke of Gloucester, his brothers, he, on his birthday, May 29, quitted the inn, at which he had passed the previous night, for the great metropolis. The road was everywhere strewed with flowers; triumphal arches, crowned with garlands, were erected at almost every mile of the way; in all the villages, butts of wine were set running; and the fronts of the houses were hung with pieces of tapestry, and (commemorative of Boscobel* tree) with immense boughs of oak, having the apples gilded; while the inhabitants, in a sort of military array, took their station on the paths, armed with halberds, and anything which would give them the semblance of a tem

*After the Battle of Worcester, Charles hid himself from Cromwell's troopers in an oak tree at Boscobel.

porary militia. Many of the trainbands of London had drawn themselves up at the top of Shooter's-hill, arrayed in costly suits, purposing to accompany the king to the city. On Blackheath, the main body of the army, under the command of General Monk, was posted, and received the monarch with a shout, which displayed how truly his restoration was the national wish. From this point to London, so vast was the assemblage of persons, that the king was oftentimes carried by the press, as if in the air, though those about him tried by good words, and often by blows, to keep off the crowd; but when the royal party had reached the city boundaries, the mayor and aldermen, with the trainbands, all in new clothing, kept the way clear, and made a part in the procession to Whitehall.

All that day, bonfires were burning in the principal streets of the city; at which the crowds amused themselves by roasting rumps of beef and mutton, in derision of the Rump Parliament:* while the butchers, at the Maypole in the Strand, killed a large number of sheep and oxen, amid the clang of marrow-bones and cleavers, and the clashing of their knives of slaughter. From Prince's 'Parallel Universal History.'

TRIAL AND EXECUTION OF KING CHARLES THE FIRST.

ON January 20th, 1649, the High Court sat in the Painted Chamber, and prayers were just over, when it was announced that the king, borne in a close sedan chair between two rows of soldiers, was approaching. Cromwell ran to a window, and as suddenly returned, pale yet highly excited, calling out, "He is here, he is here, sirs; the hour for this grand affair draws nigh. Decide, I pray ye, what ye intend to reply; for he will instantly inquire in whose

*The Rump Parliament was the name given to the House of Commons after Cromwell had forcibly turned out of it all the members who did not agree with his measures.

name, and by what authority, we presume to try him." No one replying at the moment, Henry Martin at length observed, "In the name of the commons and of all the good people of England." To this no objection was made, and the court adjourned to Westminster-hall, headed by Bradshaw, the president. Bradshaw took his scat in a chair of state; on the right and left were the members of the court on seats of scarlet cloth; while the guards filled the ends of the hall. The doors being thrown open, the crowd rushed in, and the prisoner was ordered to be brought forward. Under guard of Colonel Hacker, and thirty-two other officers, the king entered, walking with a gold-headed cane; and on coming to the arm-chair placed for him at the bar, fixed a long and severe look upon the court, and then seated himself, without taking off his hat. Suddenly he rose, looked first at the guard, and then at the spectators, again fixed his eyes upon his judges, and sat down amidst the general silence of the court. Bradshaw now rose, and calling him "Charles Stuart," desired him to listen to the charges to be preferred against him. The attorney-general then walked forward to recite them; when Charles, putting out his cane, touched him on the shoulder, and cried "Silence!" and at the same instant the gold head of the king's cane fell audibly on the ground. The monarch, who was, in common with the people of his day, swayed by superstitious notions, seemed much affected by this incident, picked up the ornament, resumed his seat, and said no more. When the attorney-general, with great bitterness, pronounced him "a tyrant, traitor, and murderer," the king laughed, but replied not; but when called on to plead guilty or not guilty, he refused to do so, unless informed by what authority the court ventured to sit in judgment upon him. A discussion ensuing between himself and Bradshaw on this point, the latter insolently ordered his removal; and on the next day, being in like manner brought up, the president began by saying, "We sit by authority of the commons of England, an authority to which you are to be held responsible;" and when the