"Who will doubtless be highly indebted to the people," observed the North, in his most unpleasant manner.

"And what may be that heavy-looking temple opposite?" inquired the East, pointing to the Opera-house.

"That is celebrated as the resort of beauty, rank, wealth, and fashion."

Here the West wind nodded his assent, as if perfectly cognisant of affairs so particularly appertaining to his quarter of the metropolis. "Where the aristocracy of this kingdom assemble to lavish their wealth and favours on foreign artistes, as they are called, while native industry and talent are neglected and unrequited. But my sentimentality outruns my prudence; I patronise the Opera, notwithstanding," said the Devil.

"And I," said the West.

Continuing their perambulation, they reached the present site of Waterloo-bridge.

"A splendid structure," observed their conductor, "will here span that mighty stream, on whose waves float a thousand argosies freighted with riches from every distant land. Speculation will soon furnish means sufficient for the enterprise, and—”

"The profits?" inquired old Boreas, too far north to lose sight of the main chance.

"Will be shared among the subscribers."

"By what rule?"

"Short division," was the answer.

"This building on the right is Somerset House, where the Royal Academy holds its annual exhibition of British artists, at which persons pay a shilling to view their own portraits that have cost most exorbitant sums, if painted by popular professors of the art."

"A noble institution," said the South, in simplicity of soul," and most encouraging to rising talent."

"Very," was the devilish dry reply.

"And where young exhibitors have fine opportunities afforded them to profit by the experience, skill, and fostering care of their superiors."

"Exactly," said the Devil, with a malicious smile. "In the arrangement and distribution of the pictures the committee show an intimate knowledge of light and shade,' which is particularly instructive to others. They appropriate all the 'light' to their own pictures, and the shade' to their neighbours'. Yonder dirty-looking gate is Temple-bar, where in the olden time traitors' heads stood in goodly row, as plentiful as the portraits in the Exhibition, only that the bodies' never came to own them. But"-and here the Devil sighed like a furnace " innovation and improvement have destroyed all venerable customs."

So, venting his regrets, they journeyed down Fleet-street, when the attention of the gentle South was attracted to the large gloomy edifice which is so prominent in that locality.

"Ah!" said their guide, "that is the Fleet."

"Where?" said the East, springing up at the idea of stiff breezes and swelling sails; "I see no ships."

"Yet there is no lack of craft, I promise you," replied the Devil. "One of the considerate laws of this realm declares that a debtor

shall pay in person what he is deficient in pocket: a sapient method to man his Majesty's fleet, and as pretty a piece of legislation as I would propose."

Turning from the prison and its solid-looking brickwork, the first glimpse of St. Paul's met their astonished gaze. The strangers were enraptured at that mighty monument of man's power and perseverance. After surveying the exterior, the Winds expressed an eagerness to view the inside of the cathedral; but their importunities were negatived by their companion, who intimated in strong terms his repugnance to such a proposition. "Besides," he observed, "which of you will pay the twopences demanded for admission? By-the-bye, do me the favour to wait here a few moments. Some most intimate and particular friends are now assembled at the Chapter Coffeehouse."

"Do not let us detain you unwillingly," growled the North.

"We are much indebted for your care and guidance," murmured the South.

"I feel more at home in my own quarter of the town," said the East; "let me prove no hindrance."

"But promise me to remain,-rely upon my speedy return," said the Devil.

"Agreed !" roared the North, who seemed to think the spot a good place to make himself heard.

"Then I depend upon your awaiting my coming. For the present, farewell!"

"Au revoir!" lisped the West, as the arch deceiver disappeared down one of the narrow avenues which abound in that locality.

Well, the poor Winds went whistling up and down, looking at the shops, watching the crowd, and amusing themselves as best they could under such disagreeable circumstances. They made several rounds of the church, the hands of the clock made several rounds of the dial, yet the absent one appeared not; and their patience was nearly exhausted, when the South modestly offered to sing them a song, if indeed such feeble powers could lighten the time and lessen their suspense, and then breathed the following words to a soft plaintive air:

SONG OF THE SOUTH.

I.

I love to roam where the spice-groves send
Their mingled sweets o'er the fragrant air,
Where orange-blossoms their bright buds lend
To weave a wreath for the blushing fair;
And I waft each shining tress aside
That shades the brow of the blooming bride.

II.

I love to roam at the sunset hour,

To breathe farewell to the parting day,
And kiss the dew from each star-lit flower,
That ever weeps as light fades away.
Oh! I woo them all with my softest sighs,
And gently whisper,-that Love never dies!

Enough! enough!" grumbled the East; "I cannot waste my time in such frivolities. Where is the fellow who brought us here?" "Ay!" said the North, "does he fancy we have nothing better to occupy us than attending his pleasure, dancing attendance?"

And thereat the watchers became mighty impatient. At length the North declared that he had business of great importance that night upon the coast.

"What fools we were to pledge ourselves! My engagements are imperative,-go I must !" roared he with vehemence.

"And I," added the East, with similar violence.

"I have made an appointment in Bond-street," muttered the West, mentioning the fashionable lounge of that period; "moreover, the Countess of B-- expects me at her party. I am irrevocably bound to the countess, and would not disappoint the sweet creature for worlds."

"I cannot remain alone in this gloomy place," sighed the South. "Listen!" said the North, puffing himself up to an unusual pomposity, even for him; "I have a plan to remedy the dilemma. I go,that is settled. You three can easily find an excuse for my absence."

"And mine," cried the East. three damp conversation."

"Two are very good company,—

"As I have nothing particular to communicate, I shall follow your example," said the West, looking significantly at the East.

"I was assured the puppy would oppose me," grunted the latter; "'tis his constant practice."

Thus affairs appeared in tolerable train for a repetition of the former bickering, when it was at last decided, but not without much turbulent and acrimonious feeling, that each should wait in turn, and give timely notice to the others of the truant's arrival; and with this understanding they separated, leaving one on guard. It is hardly necessary to state that the Devil never reappeared. He always leaves his votaries in the lurch; and on this occasion his boon companions at the Chapter gave him such good cheer, that he forgot the poor winds, who have ever since been alternately looking, but in vain, for his arrival. To their honour be it told, that they each and every one performed his promise of remaining for a stated period, neither excepting the boisterous North, the cutting East, the fashionable West, nor the gentle South. Their various watchings may be easily distinguished by their respective degrees of violence in the neighbourhood, and to this very hour is one of them to be heard either roaring, blowing, moaning, or sighing for their emancipation. And this accounts for the fact of their constant presence, and shows why "THE WIND BLOWS ROUND ST. PAUL'S."

The tradition inculcates a moral. Had the four Winds pursued the "path of duty," this trial had been spared them; but they listened to the tempter. Let all profit by their example: Men, as well as Winds, should "KEEP WITHIN COMPASS."

RATHER HARD TO TAKE.

AN artist-'tis not fair to tell his name;
But one whom Fortune, in her freakish tricks,
Saluted with less smiles than kicks,

More to the painter's honour, and her shame,-
Was one day deep engaged on his chef d'œuvre,
(A painting worthy of the Louvre,)

Dives and Lazarus the theme,—

The subject was his earliest boyish dream!
And, with an eye to colour, breadth, and tone,
He painted, skilfully as he was able,

The good things on the rich man's table,-
Wishing they were, no doubt, upon his own;
When suddenly his hostess-best of creatures!-
Made visible her features,

And to this world our artist did awaken :

"A gentleman," she said, “from the next street, Had sent a special message in a heat,

Wanting a likeness taken."

The artist, with a calmness oft the effect

Of tidings which we don't expect,

Wip'd all his brushes carefully and clean,

Button'd his coat-a coat which once had been,—

Put on his hat, and with uncommon stress

On the address,

The artist was perplex'd-the case was alter'd : Distrust, stirr'd up by doubt, his bosom warps; "God bless my soul!" he falter'd;

"But, surely, you can let me see the corpse? An artist but requires a hint:

There are the features-give the cheeks a tint

Paint in the eyes-and, though the task 's a hard 'un,
You'll find the thing, I'll swear,

As like as he can,-no, I beg your pardon,—
As like as he could stare!"

"Alas! alas!" the eldest sister sigh'd,

And then she sobb'd and cried,

So that 'twas long ere she again could speak,"We buried him last week!”

The painter heaved a groan: "But, surely, madam,
You have a likeness of the dear deceased;

Some youthful face, whose age might be increased?" “No, no,—we haven't, sir, no more than Adam; Not in the least!"

This was the strangest thing that e'er occurr'd ;-
"You'll pardon me," the baffled painter cried;
"But, really, I must say, upon my word,

You might have sent for me before he died."
And then he turn'd to the surviving tribe,-
"Can you describe

But a few items, features, shape, and hue?

I'll warrant, I'll still paint the likeness true!"

Why, yes, we could do that,” said one: "let's see ;

He had a rather longish nose, like me."

"No," said a second; there you're wrong,

His nose was not so very long."

"Well, well," pursued the first; "his eyes
Were rather smaller than the common size."
"How?" cried a third, "how ?-not at all;
Not small-not small!"

"Well, then, an oval face, extremely fine."
"Yes," said the eldest son,
66 like mine."

The painter gazed upon him in despair,—
The fellow's face was square!

"I have it," cried another, and arose ;

"But wait a moment, sir," and out she goes.

With curiosity the artist burn'd

"What was she gone for ?" but she soon return'd.

"I knew from what they said, to expect to gain

A likeness of grandpa was quite in vain ;

But, not upon that point to dwell,

I have got something here will do as well

As though alive he for his portrait sat!"
So, saying, with a curtsey low,

She from behind, with much parade and show,
Presented an old hat!

C. W.