pings of thy steed, and on that thick plated mail, has flashed the sun of Palestine. Thou perchance did'st stand with that gallant host, led on by the wondrous Hermit, on the last hill-top that overlooks Jerusalem; and when the Holy City was seen lying like a beautiful vision below, glittering in the soft light of an eastern sunset, that flooded Mount Moriah, Mount Zion, and Mount Olivet, with its garden of suffering, and more than all, Mount Calvary, thy voice did go up with the mighty murmur of the bannered host, Jerusalem ! Jerusalem! On that very helmet perchance has the scimetar broke; and from that mailed breast the spear of the Infidel re-bounded. Methinks I hear thy battle-shout, "to the rescue!" as thy gallant steed is borne into the thickest of the fight, where thy brave brethren are struggling for the Cross and the Sepulchre.

But Crusades and Crusaders are well-nigh forgotten. For centuries the dust of the desert has drifted over the bones of the chivalry of Europe. The Arab still spurs his steed through the forsaken streets of ancient Jerusalem, and the Muezzin's voice sings on the Sepulchre of the Saviour.

I next passed into Queen Elizabeth's Armoury, where the rusty blades and enormous shields, picked from a hundred battle-fields, were gathered. The old glaive and bill, the boar-spear, halberds and pikes, the battle-axe, the mace and the crossbow, with a thousand instruments of war and desolation were piled around the room. Here also were all the hideous apparatus of torture, the thumb-screw, the collar of torment, the bilboa, and there the beheading-axe, which is said to have severed the neck of the beautiful Ann Boleyn.

Omitting a thousand interesting objects, the visitor at length entered the Small Arm Armoury, a magnificent room 345 feet in length, which has been well called "a wilderness of arms." Here were seen arms for over 100,000 men, all new flinted and ready for immediate use. In the Jewel Room were preserved the Crown Jewels, the Regalia, the Royal communion service, &c. The room was dark and these superb jewels were seen by lamp light. It was a blaze of diamonds-the eye was dazzled with the glittering wealth scattered around. In other apartments I was everywhere met with emblems of England's power; here she has clustered the crowns and jewels of whole races of kings.

Wearied and overpowered with the feelings such objects conspired to awaken-borne over so many battle-fields, and startled at every step by some unexpected figure rising in my face from the past, scowled down upon by kings on their war steeds, shaking their battle-axes over my head-I was glad to escape into the pure air, and take one long look up into the far spreading quiet sky.

From the Tower I ascended the Monument, which is near by, to look around upon the World of London, heaving with its excited, busy millions, like a stirred ocean. I once more looked on the actual and the real. The rolling of ten thousand carriages, the sound of its mighty population going up in one ceaseless, confused roar to heaven, contrasted strangely with the silence and solitude of those fearful cells and chambers. "This then," I exclaimed " is England!" In a few moments I had passed from the feudal age with its darkness and gloom, to the turbulent scene of action in our own times. England's Glory is in the past, her shame in the present, and her danger in the future. Proud of victories she has achieved, vain of her splendor, she stood fairly represented in those trophies and jewels. And yet, who, of the thousand half starved wretches that moved in such masses below me, ever think of the Tower! The feudal age has gone by forever. That distant manufactory is greater than the Tower, for it is a living thing. That powerful steam ship is an object of deeper interest than the relics of a thousand victories, for it does something. Men can no longer fall back on the past for support they must move with the onward flow of the present, or fall and be crushed by the trampling tide of the millions whom it were idle for them to dream of stopping or staying. The aristocracy of England regard the Tower as they do the halls of their ancestors; they gaze on its treasures, and hug with greater tenacity the more it is assailed, the spirit of feudal times; they feel there is something ominous to them in the activity and restlessness of the present age.

As from this height I looked down on miserable habitations of the poor, and cast my eye over distant Spitalfields and thought of the 150,000 who knew not where they were to sleep that nightof the myriads crying for bread within sight of so much splendor-how that Tower sunk in my sight. It had but an hour ago stirred my heart like a trumpet-call, but now as I saw its white turrets against the sky, I hated its grandeur. What were its emblems of greatness? emblems of tyranny. The power that once wielded those instruments for self-aggrandizement, now used for the same purpose the sweat and toil of the poor. To gather these treasures the blood of many thousands of England's subjects had been spilt. To sustain the pomp and royalty they minister to, tens of thousands now pine in ignorance and die of famine. Give me that Jewel-room to convert into bread, and I will send a shout of joy over the land that never before shook England. Give me the useless diamonds that glitter on from age to age by lamplight in that dark and narrow cell, and before to-morrow night there shall go up more thanksgiving from London than ever before rose from its receptacles of woe. Convert these monuments of royal vanity into money which shall clothe and feed the naked and the hungry, and in one single day, they will purchase more happiness, than they will impart though they shine on for a thousand centuries. How strong must be the love of pomp, when it can overcome, not only sympathy for the suffering, but the fears and dangers of a mad and desperate population. Yes, I exclaimed, England's magnificence is based on suffering hearts, formerly purchased by blood, now by tears-formerly won in the hot fierce fight that filled hundreds of villages with mourning-now in the darker conflict of tyranny with liberty at home of the few with the many-the rich with the poor, and which leaves the land filled with pallid poverty, wan famine, and scowling hate.

War of some sort England must wage to sustain her privileged classes-war with other nations, or war with her own subjects. Spoils she must win from somebody, or her oligarchy or hierarchy go to the ground. To support so large an unproductive, and yet spendthrift class, money must be obtained by unjust means. The spoils of war or the spoils of home oppression, it matters not which, if they can but lay their hand upon them. Slothful and luxurious, they will not produce; they only spend. Let another Tower be erected to trumpet forth England's magnificence, and all the trophies of it gathered there. Let the relics be picked from any battle-field where the people's rights have fallen, and piled within. Place on his appropriate pedestal, (a straw couch,) that wan and haggard man who died for want of the bread which the Corn Laws had placed beyond his reach. Close by him arrange the squalid family in the damp, foul cellar, famishing because an