There his hero, like other fugitives from the pursuit of bailiffs, obtained protection upon taking the rhyming oath, "By spigot and barrel, By bilbo, and buff, Thou art sworn to the quarrel For the blades of the huff. Like a knight of the Garter." Slash bucklers and bullies, have now given place to coalheavers, gas-men, and glass-blowers. Soon we are under the shadow of Blackfriars' Bridge. Clearing this, St. Paul's becomes the most prominent. object. The huge dome of the Metropolitan Cathedral is crowded round about by the spires and pinnacles of thirty other Churches, many of them the products of the same genius that reared this rival of St. Peter's. Soon we are approaching London Bridge; and here we have in all its perfection, the scene and stir of busy commerce-crowded wharfs with huge cranes still drawing richer cargoes into their deep recesses, and barges floating by laden almost to sinking with country produce. Close to this is the central spot, where "Lofty Trade Gives audience to the world; the Strand around Now we shoot under the magnificent Bridge of Southwark, the first structure of iron, in the shape of a bridge, ever built. How light and yet how strong, its noble arches look! Almost in a line with the present roadway to this bridge, on the Surry side, stood the Globe Theatre, the scene of Shakspeare's first acquaintance with the sock and buskin―the place where he is said to have carried a wick to light the actors on the stage—that stage, he was afterwards to purify, enlighten and illumine, by the brighter rays of his genius. Leaving Southwark's iron bridge behind us, the turreted steeple of St. Mary Overies, or, the modern St. Saviour's, towers up beyond. Our little boat is soon alongside the floating barge built pier, where a dense crowd of passengers, hustle each other, in trying to get first on board. Elbowing our way up the steep ascent, we are soon standing in front of the modernized Church of St. Saviour's. In the olden time, long before the Conquest, a House of Sisters was founded here, by a maiden of the name of Mary, the daughter of the old ferryman; and then called by the name of St. Mary Overies, or St. Mary, over the ferry. Towards the close of the fourteenth century, the old fabric was restored through the munificence of the Poet Gower, Chaucer's master, and but recently has been again restored and modernized. The plan of this Church is a simple one, being in the cruciform shape. An old Church is always a solemn place-the silence, the repose, almost unearthly, which broods there, dispose the mind to serious meditation, and in the presence of the many memorials of the dead scattered around, no one can forget his mortality. In the south transept may be found the monument to old Gower. The Poet, "left his soul to God, and his body to be buried in the Church of the Canons of the blessed Mary de Overies, in a place expressly provided for it." Upon it you may read "Here lyes John Gower, a benefactor to this sacred edifice in the time of Edward III. and Richard II." An effigy of the Poet lies in a recess; on the purple and gold band, adorned with fillets of roses encircling the head of the effigy, are the words "Merci Ihu," or Mercy Jesus. Three gilded volumes, labelled with the names of his principal works, support the head. On the wall at his feet, are his arms, and a hat with a red hood, bordered with ermine, and surmounted by his crest, a dog's head. Near this monument, on a pillar at the side, may be seen a cardinal's hat, with certain arms beneath. To that slight memorial is attached a long train of recollections, many of them highly interesting. The arms are of the Beaufort family: the hat is that of Cardinal Beaufort, whose death-bed Shakspeare has painted with such power. Immediately opposite Gower's monument, we have another, with a life-like bust of John Bingham, saddler to Queen Elizabeth, and King James. The complexion and features, the white ruff, dark jerkin, and red waistcoat of this saddler to royalty, are in most excellent preservation. Crossing to the north transept, may be seen the monument to Dr. Lockyer, a famous empiric during the reign of Charles II. His effigy represents a very respectable looking personage, attired in a thick curled wig, and furred gown, pensively reclining upon some pillows, and looking as if he half-doubted the truth of his own epitaph: His virtues, and his pills are so well known, In the beautiful Lady Chapel, with its slender, treelike pillars, sending off their branches along the roof, until they form a perfect continuity of shade, sleeps the good Bishop Andrews, awaiting in sure and steadfast hope, a glorious awakening. Upon the tomb of one of the ancient Aldermen of London, whose whole family are grouped in effigies there, not forgetting his two wives, CALIFORNIA may be noticed the following beautiful inscription, which is a slightly varied extract from Quarle's poem. Like to the damask rose you see, Or like the blossom on the tree, The rose withers, the blossom blasteth, The gourd consumes, and man, he dies. Upon the floor of this old Church, assembled the Council, that sent Rodgers to the stake. He was the first victim; but for three long years, the spirit of persecution kept the fires alive. Plain John Bradford, here received his sentence; and shortly after leaving the precincts, wrote that touching letter to Cranmer, Ridley, and Latimer, when he said "This day I think, or to-morrow at the uttermost, hearty Hooper, sincere Saunders, and trusty Taylor end their course, and receive their crown: the next am I, which hourly look for the porter to open me the gates after them, to enter the desired rest." Massinger is buried here; but not as we supposed in a gloomy corner, amid a mass of mis-shapen and mutilated graves; but within the sanctified area of the Church. Leaving St. Saviour's, I instinctively turned toward that spot, to which every lover of poetry is glad to direct his steps-the old Tabard Inn-the scene of the feasting of Chaucer's Pilgrims: those Pilgrims, who, to use the language of Shaw, "have traversed four hundred and fifty years-like the Israelites wandering in the wilderness— amid arid periods of neglect and ignorance, sandy flats of formal mannerism, unfertilized by any spring of beauty, and yet their garments have not decayed, nor their shoes waxed old." I soon found it, standing nearly opposite the modern Town Hall of Southwark. The exterior presents simply a square dilapidated gate way, its posts strapped with rusty iron bands, and its gates half covered with sheets of the same metal. As I entered, the landlord greeted me, and I thought of those lines of Chaucer, "A seemly man, ye hoste is withal." Merry doings were there in the old inn yard, five hundred years ago, when Harry Baily, "the hoste" was "the early cock That gathered them together in a flock." The Inn is now known, as "The Talbot," evidently a corruption from "Tabard." There is something extremely venerable in the old weather beaten, and iron-bound posts, which prop up its comparatively modern gateway. They tell of the grazing and grinding of thousands of old wheels, while the stones are worn away by the trampings of many a steed. I was soon in "the Pilgrim's Room." With due reverence, I looked upon its venerable walls, its square chimney pieces, and its quaint old panels, reaching to the ceiling. It is now cut up into small rooms; but upon looking closely at the chambers at either end, it was very clear to be seen, that they had all once formed one chamber. The whole appearance of the building is curious, and quaint beyond. description. "The Wife of Bath,"-"The Knight and his Son," "The Gentle Parish Priest,"-the conceited "Fryar," with all that Pilgrim train, came thronging in |