"It is seven by me."

They presented their watches to each other, he in an apologetical, she in a reproachful attitude.

"I rather think you are too fast, my dear," said the gentleman.

"I am very sure you are to slow, my dear," said the lady. "My watch never loses a minute in the four and twenty hours," said he.

"Nor mine a second," said she.

"I have reason to believe I am right, my love," said the husband, mildly.

"Reason!" exclaimed the wife, astonished, "what reason can you possibly have to believe you are right, when I tell you I am morally certain you are wrong, my love?"

"My only reason for doubting it is, that I set my watch by the sun to-day."

"The sun must be wrong, then," cried the lady, hastily. "You need not laugh, for I know what I am saying.” "Well, my dear, that is sufficient."

Maria Edgeworth.

THE FIRE OF LONDON.

I was sitting in the parlour at Mickleham, looking on a beautiful moon, and delaying to go to bed, when my servant came in and told me that there was a dreadful fire in London. One of the tradesmen had brought news of a dreadful fire the day before; but, as every fire was dreadful, and as I had seen the people of London run away from a cow, crying out "A mad bull!" I thought nothing of it, and was prepared to think as little of the new one. however, strongly assuring me that both fires were one and the same, and that it had burnt a night and day, and was visible as far as Epsom, I thought it time to see into the truth of the matter. I ordered my horse, and promising to bring back a correct account, purely to satisfy the house that there was no such thing, I set off at a round gallop, looking towards the

The old man,

north as if I could already discern what I had doubted. Nobody was stirring at Leatherhead, but at Epsom, sure enough, there was a great commotion; all the people being at their doors, and vowing that they saw the fire, which however, I could not discern. That there was a fire, however, and a dreadful one, was but too certain, from accounts brought into the town, both by travellers and inhabitants; so, with the natural curiosity which draws us on and on upon much less occasions, especially on a road, I pushed on, and soon had pretty clear indication of a terrible fire indeed. I began to consider what the King might think of it, and whether he would not desire to have his active servants about him. At Morden the light was so strong, that it was difficult to persuade oneself the fire was not nearer; and at Tooting you would have declared it was at the next village. The night was, nevertheless, a very fine one, with a brilliant moon. Not a soul seemed in bed in the village, though it was ten o'clock. There was a talk of the French, as if they had caused it. By degrees, I began to meet carts laden with goods; and on entering the borders of Southwark, the fearfulness of the scene was rendered truly awful, there was such a number of people abroad, yet in such a gazing silence. Now and then, one person called to another, but the sound seemed as if in bravado, or brutish. An old man, in a meeting of cross roads, was haranguing the people in the style of former years, telling them of God's judgment, and asserting that this was the pouring out of that other vial of wrath which has been typified by the fiery sword,-a spectacle supposed to have been seen in the sky at the close of the year sixty-four. The plague was thought to have been announced by a comet.

Very different from this quieter scene was the one that presented itself on my getting through the last street, and reaching the water-side. The "comet" itself seemed to have come to earth, and to be burning and waving in one's face, the whole city being its countenance, and its hair flowing towards Whitehall in

a volume of fiery smoke. The river was of a bloodred colour, like the flame; and the sky over-head was like the top of a pandemonium. From the Tower to St. Paul's there was one mass of devastation, the heat striking on our eyes, and the air being filled with burning sparks, and with the cries of people flying, or removing goods to the river. Ever and anon distant houses fell in, with a very terrible gigantic shuffling noise, and a crash. I saw a steeple give way, like some ghastly idol, its long white head toppling, and going sideways, as if it were drunk. A poor girl near me, who paced a few yards up and down, holding her sides as if with agony, turned and hid her eyes at this spectacle, crying out, "Oh, the poor people! oh, the mothers and babies!" She thought, as I did, that there must be a dreadful loss of lives; but it was the most miraculous circumstance of that miraculous time, that the fire killed nobody, except some women with fright.

I took boat, and got to Whitehall, where I found the King in a more serious and stirring humour than ever I saw him Mr. Pepys, begging our forgiveness for having an appetite at such a crisis, and interrupting his laughter at the supper they gave him, with tears of pity and terror, had brought word to his Majesty that the whole city would be destroyed, if some of the houses were not blown up. The King accordingly not only despatched myself and others to assist, but went in person with his brother, and did a world of good. I never saw him look so grim, or say so many kind things. Wherever he went he gave the people a new life, for they seemed dead with fright. Those who had not fled (which they did by thousands into the fields, where they slept all night) seemed only to have been prevented from doing so, by not knowing what steps to take. The Lord Mayor, a very different one from his predecessor, who showed a great deal of courage during the plague, went about like a mad cook with his handkerchief, perspiring, and lamenting himself; and nobody would have taken the citizens for the

same men who settled my court friends at the battle of Naseby. The court, however, for that matter, was as frightened as the city, with the exception of the King and one or two others; so terrible is a new face of danger, unless there is some peculiar reason for meeting it. The sight, indeed, of the interior of the burning city was more perilous, though not so awful, as its appearance outside. Many streets consisted of nothing but avenues between heaps of roaring ruins, the sound of the fire being nothing less than that of hundreds of furnaces, mixed up with splittings, rattlings, and thunderous falls; and the flame blowing frightfully one way, with a wind like a tempest. The pavement was hot under one's feet; and if one did not proceed with caution, the fire singed one's hair. All the water that could be got seemed like a ridiculous dabbling in a basin, while the world was burning all around. The blowing up of the houses marked out by the King was the ultimate salvation of some of the streets that remained; but, as a whole, the city might be looked upon as destroyed. I observed the

King, as he sat on his horse at the beginning of Cheapside and cast his eyes up that noble thoroughfare; and certainly I had never seen such an expression in his countenance before. Some said that he now began to see the arm of heaven in these visitations, and that he resolved to bethink himself from that time, and lead a new life. But the new life certainly was not led. The opinion of its cause that secretly obtained the most ground was, that it was a punishment for the sin of gluttony; the greatest argument, next to the looks and consciences of the aldermen, being the appalling fact, that the fire began at Pudding Lane, and ended at Pye Corner. The fire raged four days and nights; and on the 5th of September, London, from the Tower to Fleet Street, was as if a volcano had burst in the midst of it and destroyed it; the very ruins being calcined, and nothing remaining in the most populous part to show that the inhabitants had lived there, except a church here and there, and an

old statue. I looked into it three days afterwards, when the air was still so hot, that it was impossible to breathe; and the pavement absolutely scorched the soles of my shoes.

The loss of property by the fire was of course far greater than that by the plague; and yet, assuredly, it was not felt a thousandth part so much, even in the city; for money, unless with the lovers of it, is not so great a thing, after all, as old habits and affections. The wits at court never chose to say much about the plague; but the fire, after the fright was over, was a standing joke. The beneficial consequences to the city itself soon became manifest, in the wider and better building of the streets-an improvement which came in aid of the cleanliness which was resorted to against the plague: so that the misfortune, instead of, as might have been presumed, being productive of evil to the nation, proved of incalculable benefit.

Esher.

A FABLE.

Once upon a time, a Giant and a Dwarf were friends and kept together. They made a bargain that they would never forsake each other, but go seek adventures. The first battle they fought was with two Saracens, and the Dwarf, who was courageous, dealt one of the champions a most angry blow. It did the Saracen but very little injury, who lifting up his sword, fairly struck off the poor Dwarf's arm. He was now in a woeful plight, but the giant coming to his assistance in a short time left the two Saracens dead on the plain, and the Dwarf cut off the dead man's head out of spite. They then travelled on to another adventure. This was against three bloody-minded Satyrs, who were carrying away a damsel in distress. The Dwarf was

not quite so fierce now as before; but for all that, struck the first blow; which was returned by another, that knocked out his eye: but the Giant was soon up with them, and had they not fled, would certainly have