As you know my seed is infertile with all women, they are no more than cattle, but it was not so with my Rhea. Here the ribs of a thousand pounds beating against the Needles— those dangerous rocks, credulity here floated, to and fro, silks, stuffs, camlets, and velvet, without giving place to each other, according to their dignity; here rolled so many pipes of canary, whose bungholes lying open, were so damaged that the merchant may go hoop for his money," A less picturesque, but more truthful, and, therefore, more melancholy description of the same scene, is furnished by the shrewd and satirical Ned Ward, who informs us, in the "Delectable History of Whittington's College," that "When the prisoners are disposed to recreate themselves with walking, they go up into a spacious room, called the Stone Hall; where, when you see them taking a turn together, it would puzzle one to know which is the gentleman, which the mechanic, and which the beggar, for they are all suited in the same garb of squalid poverty, making a spectacle of more pity than executions; only to be out at the elbows is in fashion here, and a great indecorum not to be threadbare. "Mr. . “His dress for no man lays a snare; A man scores always, everywhere. In any place her beauty would have been an uncommon thing. But it was almost choked up with fallen stacks of chimneys, broken beams of timber, and shattered tiles. “You must come home to him at once,” said Miss Stanley. ’ The lady stamped her foot. .
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