to be lifted into his carriage, which was surrounded by a crowd, among whom were many gentlemen on horseback, who had loitered about to gaze on the scene. His children were deeply affected, and Mrs. Lockhart trembled from head to foot, and wept bitterly. Thus surrounded by those nearest to him, he alone was unconscious of the cause or the depth of their grief, and while yet alive seemed to be carried to his grave."*

On the 7th of July, 1832, Sir Walter embarked on board the steam-vessel for Scotland. On the 11th his eye once more brightened up as it caught the familiar waters of the Tweed, and when at length he recognised the towers of his own Abbotsford, he sprang up in the carriage with a cry of delight. On the 21st of September the mighty master of romance and song had ceased to exist.

Oh! who, like him, could soar from zone to zone,
And paint alike the cottage and the throne!
Feelings that still from every bosom flow,
Yet flowed the same a thousand years ago;
Joy in her wildness, anguish in her throes,
The rich man's pageantry, the poor man's woes;
Nature, the same in all her various climes,
The picture of all countries and all times;
Warming each heart to soar on Fancy's wings,
And making peasants intimate with kings.
His name is blazed in many a distant land,
By foreign tongues his wondrous words are scanned;
Millions unborn, their magic to partake,

Shall learn the language for the poet's sake.

* Lockhart's "Life of Scott."

Him, too, shall virtue mourn, whose muse begot "No line which dying he could wish to blot;" The master-spirit, who has left behind

An universal debtor in mankind!

Then, had ye seen him heave the generous sigh,
Where Anguish groaned, and Want retired to die;
Seen how his glance in gentlest pity fell,

To soothe those pangs his pen

could draw so well;

Or, where the circle closed around the fire,

Watched the kind husband, and th' indulgent sire;

Warm from your hearts would flow the fond regard,—

Ye'd love the Christian, as ye prize the bard.
Ev'n when he wandered on a foreign shore,

To seek that health which must return no more;
Ev'n then from that worn frame no groan was wrung,
No fretful murmur faltered on his tongue;

But one fond wish his native land to reach,

And fix his dying eyes on that loved beach;

The land his childhood roamed, his manhood prized, The scenes his genius has immortalised!

J. H. J.

121

PALL MALL.

FORMER STATE OF PALL MALL.SIR THOMAS WYATT.-MURDER OF THYNNE. CHARLES THE SECOND'S MISTRESSES.-BEAU FIELDING'S STRANGE ADVENTURE.-SCHOMBERG HOUSE.-STAR AND GARTER. -DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM'S RESIDENCE.-CARLTON HOUSE.

ABOUT the year 1660, the tract of ground on which Pall Mall, St. James's Square, and Piccadilly now stand, consisted of open fields; St. James's Street alone being partially built. The wall of St. James's Park ran along the site of the houses on the south side of Pall Mall, and the only buildings to be seen west of Charing Cross were a small church, the name of which is not remembered, -the conduit, a small Gothic building, which stood nearly on the site of St. James's Square,-and a house of public refreshment. The latter building was probably the tavern, called the "Old Pall Mall," at which Pepys informs us that he occasionally supped. Anderson, who wrote in the middle of the last century, observes, "I have met with several old persons in my younger days, who remembered when there was but one single house (a cake-house) between the Mews Gate at Charing Cross and St. James's Palace Gate, where now stand the stately piles of St. James's Square, Pall Mall, and other