. Punch . n wept at the ruinof Babylon, so will some men—descendants of those very mourners—drop some natural tears at the doomed, departing glory ofFarringdon. A few days since we beheld one of these stricken deer. Cross-ing to Ludgate, and thinking we would have a twopenny peep at abit of St. Pauls Cathedral, we saw a man profoundly contemplatingthe walls of the Fleet Prison. His face was relaxed, uncorded bygrief—by sorrow, not hysterical, but deep, deep as his breeches-pocket. It has been our fate to read more faces than bank-notes,and therefore—perusing that bit of human Mosaic before us—
. Punch . n wept at the ruinof Babylon, so will some men—descendants of those very mourners—drop some natural tears at the doomed, departing glory ofFarringdon. A few days since we beheld one of these stricken deer. Cross-ing to Ludgate, and thinking we would have a twopenny peep at abit of St. Pauls Cathedral, we saw a man profoundly contemplatingthe walls of the Fleet Prison. His face was relaxed, uncorded bygrief—by sorrow, not hysterical, but deep, deep as his breeches-pocket. It has been our fate to read more faces than bank-notes,and therefore—perusing that bit of human Mosaic before us—wesaw in the mourner one who was taking a fond, long, last look at theplace of departed joys. The sorrowing man—alas ! we knew him—was a gallant officer in the service of the sheriff. He looked uponthe Fleet as an old Trafalgar tar would look upon the hull of theVictory, his bosom meekly swelling with the thoughts of long-pastcaptures. Two tears—big- and bright as his diamond shirt-studs—. THE SHERIFF S OFFICII AMONG THE RUINS OF THE FLEET. stood in his precious eyes, for Jews eye3 are proverbially laudable thrift he safely dropt them in his pocket-handkerchief,and looked—and stared again. Who shall say what he read in thosewalls ? What legends more profound, more pregnant with socialmeaning, than any writ in Babylonian bricks ! What—to him—profitable sentences ! What ca. stampt in gold ! And the sen-tences were fading in the ray of better light—fading like characterswrit in phosphor—and radiant ca. dying like tl e departingsun ! The one sweet, dear lesson of his life—the theme he haddwelt upon in youth—was passing from his eyes—and henceforth theworld would be to him as a blank copy-book, ruled indeed by ajudge ! In a moment of forgetfulness he violently slapt his breast,when, as was to be expected, hurting his knuckles very much, heawoke from his meditation. Sucking the back of his hand, hemuttered the vorlds at an end,
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