poses of either party. As the papists were the chief objects of public detestation, the rumour which threw the guilt on them, was more favourably received by the people. No proof, however, or even presumption, after the strictest inquiry by a committee of parliament, ever appeared to authosize such a calumny; yet, in order to give countenance to the popular prejudice, the inscription engraved by authority

on the monument, ascribed this calamity to that hated sect. This clause was erased by order of King James, when he came to the throne; but after the revolution it was replaced. So credulous, as well as obstinate, are the people, in believing every thing which flatters their prevailing passion.

The fire of London, though at that time a great calamity, has proved in the issue beneficial both to the

city and the kingdom. The city was rebuilt in a very little time; and care was taken to make the streets wider and more regular than before. A discretionary power was as

sumed by the king to regulate the distribution of the buildings, and to forbid the use of lath and timber, the materials of which the houses were formerly composed. The necessity was so urgent, and the occasion so extraordinary, that no exceptions were taken at an exercise of authority, which otherwise might have been deemed illegal. Had the king been enabled to carry his power still farther, and made the houses be rebuilt with perfect regularity, and entirely upon one plan, he had much contributed to the convenience, as well as embellishment, of the city. Great advantages, however, have resulted from the alterations, though not carried to the full length. London became much more healthy after the fire. The plague, which used to break out with great fury twice or thrice every century, and indeed was always lurking in some corner or other of the city, has scarcely ever appeared since that calamity."

The picture we have given is a representation of the Monument to which the historian refers. It was erected near the spot where the fire was supposed to have broken out. It is a noble pillar, but being on low ground, is not so commanding an object as it would have been on an eminence. But even now, all strangers who visit the metropolis, take care to go and see the Monument.

case.

You will see in the picture that there is a balcony at the top of the monument, which is reached by a winding stairIt is now covered at the top, as well as at the sides, to prevent accidents. The prospect of the river and the city is very grand from the balcony; but it is a dizzy height, and fearful to look down below.

SPENSER THE POET.

EDMUND SPENSER lived in the days of Queen Elizabeth, and died about 260 years ago. He is regarded as one of our best old English Poets, and though some of his writings were such as we could not approve, yet he left many very beautiful specimens of pious poetry behind him, as a legacy to posterity; among which none are more beautiful than his "Hymn to the Saviour," which we give below. Our young readers will find some curious old English words in the verses here and there, but by a little attention we hope they I will be able to make out the sense. The spelling of some words too is different from ours. If any word cannot be made out, we hope they will ask their parents or teachers, and thus be able to ascertain its meaning. It would not have been right in us to alter them.

HYMN TO THE SAVIOUR.

O BLESSED Well of Love! O Flower of Grace!
O glorious Morning Star! O Lamp of Light!
Most lively image of thy Father's face,
Eternal King of Glorie, Lord of Might,
Meek Lamb of God, before all worlds behight,
How can we thee requite for all this good?
Or what can prize that thy most precious blood?

Yet nought thou ask'st in lieu of all this love,
But love of us, for guerdon of thy pain:

Ay me! what can us less than that behove?

Had he required life for us again,

Had it been wrong to ask his own with gain?
He gave us life, he it restored lost;

Then life were least, that us so little cost.

But he our life hath left unto us free,

Free that was thrall, and blessed that was band:
Ne ought demands but that we loving be,
As he himself hath loved us aforehand,
And bound thereto with an eternal band,
Him first to love that was so dearly bought,
And next our brethren, to his image wrought.

Him first to love great right and reason is,
Who first to us our life and being gave,
And after, when we fared had amiss,

Us wretches from the second death did save;
And last, the food of life, which now we have,
Even he himself, in his dear sacrament,
To feed our hungry souls, unto us lent.

Then next, to love our brethren, that were made
Of that self mould, and that self Maker's hand,
That we, and to the same again shall fade,
Where they shall have like heritage of land,
However here, on higher steps we stand,
Which also were with self-same price redeem'd
That we, however of us light esteem'd.

And were they not, yet since that loving Lord
Commanded us to love them for his sake,
Even for his sake, and for his sacred word,
Which in his last bequest he to us spake,

We should them love, and with their needs partake;
Knowing that, whatsoe'er to them we give,

We give to him by whom we all do live.

Such mercy he by his most holy reede
Unto us taught, and to approve it trew,
Ensampled it by his most righteous deed,
Shewing us mercy (miserable crew!)

That we the like should to the wretches show,
And love our brethren; thereby to approve
How much, himself that loved us, we love.

Then rouse thyself, O Earth! out of thy soil,
In which thou wallowest like to filthy swine,
And dost thy mind in dirty pleasures moil;
Unmindful of that dearest Lord of thine;
Lift up to him thy heavie clouded eyne,
That thou this soveraine bounty mayst behold,
And read, through love, his mercies manifold.

Begin from first, where he encradled was
In simple cratch, wrapt in a wad of hay,
Between the toylful ox and humble ass,
And in what rags, and in how base array,
The glory of our heavenly riches lay
When him the silly shepherds came to see,
Whom greatest princes sought on lowest knee.

From thence read in the storie of his life,
His humble carriage, his unfaulty ways,

His canker'd foes, his fights, his toyle, his strife,
His pains, his povertie, his sharpe assayes,
Through which he past his miserable dayes,
Offending none, and doing good to all,
Yet being malist both by great and small.

And look at last, how of most wretched wights

He taken was, betrayed, and false accused,

How with most scornful taunts, and fell despights

He was reviled, disgraced, and foule abused;

How scourged, how crown'd, how buffeted, how bruised;

And, lastly, how 'twixt robbers crucified,

With bitter wounds through hands, through feet, and side!

Then let thy flinty heart, that feels no pain,

Empierced be with pitiful remorse,

And let thy bowels bleed in every vein,

At sight of his most sacred heavenly corse,

So torn and mangled with malicious force;
And let thy soul, whose sins his sorrows wrought,
Melt into tears, and groan in grieved thought.