cumbered by houses, at a distinguished distance from the foot-pavement and the high road. It seemed, as he approached the scene of Hicks's glories, that there was an evident disposition to call attention to the name of the immortal man, whoever he might have been. He was persuaded that he should now learn all about Hicks ;— the passers-by must be full of Hicks;-the dwellers must reverence Hicks. He went into a pastrycook's shop opposite the triumphal stone. He bought a penny bun, and he thus addressed the maiden at the counter: "Young woman, you have the happiness of living near the spot where Hicks's Hall formerly stood. I have walked ten miles to see that place. Which is the road ?” The young woman replied, "Hicks, the greengrocer, lives over the way; there is no other Hicks about here." This was satisfactory. Hicks, the greengrocer, must be a descendant of the great Hicks; so he sought Hicks, the greengrocer, and, bowing profoundly, he asked if he could tell him the way to the spot where Hicks's Hall formerly stood? Now Hicks, the greengrocer, was a wag, and his waggery was increased by living in the keen atmosphere of the Angel at Islington, and by picking up something of the wit that is conveyed from the West to the East, and from the East to the West, by the omnibuses that arrive every three minutes from the Exchange at one end, and from Paddington at the other. To Jones, therefore, Hicks answered by another question, "Does your mother know you're out?"* This was a difficult question for Jedediah to answer. He had not communicated to his mother-good old lady-the object of his journey; she might have disapproved of that object. How could Mr. Hicks know he had a mother? how could he know that he had not told his mother all his anxieties about Hicks's Hall? He was unable to give a reply to Hicks, the greengrocer; so Hicks, the greengrocer, recommended him to get into an omnibus which was standing opposite the door. *The favourite mode of salutation in the streets in the year 1837. Into the omnibus Jedediah Jones accordingly went, and he desired the gentleman called a conductor to put him down at the spot where Hicks's Hall formerly stood. The gentleman grinned; and something passed between him and another gentleman, called a cad, which had better be trusted to the immortality of their unwritten language than be here inscribed. On went the omnibus, and after a tedious hour Jedediah Jones found the carriage deserted, and the conductor bawled out "Elephant and Castle, Sir." During his progress our worthy schoolmaster had put sundry questions to his fellowpassengers touching Hicks's Hall, but he found them of an ignorant and perverse generation; they knew nothing of Hicks-nothing of Hicks's Hall-nothing of the spot where Hicks's Hall formerly stood. The ignorance of the people, he thought, was beyond all calculation; and he determined that not a boy of Barnet should not, henceforward, be thoroughly informed of matters upon which mankind were called upon, by the very milestones, to be all-knowing. At the Elephant and Castle our traveller had lost all traces of Hicks's Hall. The milestones had forgotten Hicks and his hall. They were full of another glory"the Standard in Cornhill." What was the Standard in Cornhill? Was it the Royal Standard, or was it the Union Jack? Perhaps it might be the new standard of weights and measures. He was clearly out of the region of Hicks, so he would make his way to the Standard at Cornhill. Who could tell but he might there find the standard of the English language, which he had long been searching for? At any rate they would there tell him of the place where Hicks's Hall formerly stood. By the aid of another omnibus our pains-taking Jedediah was placed in the busiest throng of the London hive. He was in Cornhill. Jones was somewhat shy, according to the custom of learned men,-and he, therefore, knew not how to address any particular individual of the busy passengers, to inquire about the Standard at Cornhill. He did, however, at last venture upon a very amiable and gentlemanly-looking man,-who politely offered to show him the desired spot. The promise was not realised;-in a moment his friend slipped from his side, and Jedediah found that his purse, containing two pounds seven shillings and sixpence, had vanished from his pocket. He forgot the Standard in Cornhill; and in despair he threw himself into a Hampstead stage, resolved not to give up his search after Hicks's Hall although he had only a few shillings in his waistcoat pocket. In a melancholy reverie Jedediah arrived in the Hampstead stage at Camden Town. He knew that he ought not to go further, unless he was quite prepared to abandon the original object of his inquiry. It was a bitter afternoon. The rain fell in torrents. He had a furious appetite, he had lost his purse, yet still he would not sleep till he had found the spot where Hicks's Hall formerly stood. He left the Hampstead stage, and there was light enough for him to ascertain whether the milestones were still faithful to Hicks. A new difficulty presented itself. The milestone in Camden Town informed him that he was two miles from St. Giles's Pound. What was St. Giles's Pound? Why did a saint require a pound? If it was a pound sterling, was there not a slight anachronism between the name of the current coin and the era of the saint? If it were a pound for cattle, was it not a very unsaintly office for the saint to preside over the matter of strayed heifers? He was puzzled ;- -so he got into a cab, being disgusted with the ignorance of the people in omnibuses, for the opportunity of a quiet colloquy with the intelligent-looking driver. * My worthy friend," said Jones, "we are only two miles from St. Giles's Pound-what sort of a pound is St. Giles's Pound ?" "For the matter of that," said the cab-driver, "I have driv here these ten years, and I never yet seed St. Giles's Pound, nor Holborn Bars,no, never, though ve always reckons by them." "Wonderful!" replied Mr. Jones, "then please to - *In 1837 the driver and the driven rode lovingly together. Cabs are now unsocial. drive me to the Standard in Cornhill," "The Standard in Cornhill,--that's a good one!-I should like to know who ever seed the Standard in Cornhill. Ve knows the Swan with Two Necks in Lad Lane, and the Golden Cross, and the Vite Horse Cellar in Piccadilly, but I never heard of anybody that ever seed the Standard in Cornhill." 6.6 Then, Sir," said Jones, breathlessly, "perhaps you don't know the place where Hicks's Hall formerly stood?” "As for Hicks's Hall," said the cabman, "it's hall a hum. There's no such place,-no more than the Standard in Cornhill, nor Holborn Bars, nor St. Giles's Pound, and my oppinnun is, there never wor such places, and that they keep their names on the milestones to bilk the poor cabs out of their back carriage. Jedediah Jones was discomfited. He did not quite understand the cabman's solution; and he had a vague notion that, if the milestones were placed with reference to the Post-office, or St. Paul's, or some place which did exist, the back carriage and other carriage of cabmen and hackney-coachmen would be better regulated. He, however, made the best of his position. He spent one of his remaining shillings upon a very frugal dinner; and, wending his way back to Islington, he bestowed the other upon the coachman of a Holyhead mail to convey him to Barnet without further loss of time or property. THE WOODMAN'S MEMORIAL. "Go not forth hastily to strive, lest thou know not what to do in the end thereof."-Proverbs, xxv. 8. "An hasty fighting sheddeth blood." Ecclesiasticus, xxviii. 11. I AM fond of a solitary walk. sible to the delight of looking wonders of creation with some It is not that I am insenupon the beauties and companion who can par take of the feelings thus excited, and direct them to their proper use; but that when alone the voice of Nature speaks more audibly to the heart, than the most impassioned eloquence of human lips. In the deep stillness of a thick wood-on the quiet bank of a gentle river-we feel the littleness and the greatness of human nature ;—we forget the distracting cares and empty joys of the world; --there is room within us for gratitude, and devotion, and hope that looks on high. I was once rambling in the most unfrequented part of Windsor Forest. It was on an evening during a singularly fine season between the hay and the corn harvest. Everything about me was verdant and beautiful. I had passed along a little green, skirted with cottages, on my way to a yet unvisited part of the Forest;- and I had remarked the healthful and innocent looks of the children who were playing on the road-side, and had beheld, with an equal satisfaction, many an industrious labourer either reposing at his cottage-door, or cheerfully prolonging his exertions, to train the beans, or weed the potatoes, of his little garden. In several cottages, "the swink'd hedger at his supper sate," as Milton has naturally expressed this characteristic of an English evening-and whilst I saw several groups of parents and children gathered round their humble but cheerful meal, I felt that man is never more virtuous or more happy, than in the interchange of domestic kindness. My way conducted me from this scene of animated existence, to one of the deepest solitude. I struck across a field or two which at once led me into one of the most unfrequented paths of the Forest. The sun was yet brightly shining in the west, but his rays did not pierce the thick gloom of the elms and beeches into which I had penetrated. The place was singularly wild, and seemed scarcely to belong to the quiet scenery of our inland counties. A rapid stream, which in winter must become a torrent, had formed a deep ravine, with high and precipitous banks. The fern grew about in the wildest profusion ;-the old roots of the trees which hung over this bourn, as the people of the Forest still call it, |