orm
Sure never writhed beneath the dunghill's base!
Fifteen feet under ground! and all his store
Snug in beneath him. Such a heaven was his.
Now, honest Teddy, think of such a wretch,
And learn to shun his vices, one and all.
Though richer than a Jew, he was more poor
Than is the meanest beggar. At the cost
Of other men a glutton. At his own,
A starveling. A mere scrub. And such a coward,
A cozener and liar--but a coward,
And would have been a thief--But was a coward.

_Blackwood's Magazine._

* * * * *

THE SELECTOR; AND LITERARY NOTICES OF _NEW WORKS._

PARIS AND ITS HISTORICAL SCENES.

(_Library of Entertaining Knowledge, Part 18._)

We have little inclination to quote more than a few passages from the
General View of Paris in this Number; the topographical portion of
which, (as far as a four months residence there will serve our
judgment) is eminently characteristic.

_Ancient City._

The Archbishop of Narbonne, writing in the reign of Francis I., (about
1520,) calls Paris even then a world rather than a city[3]; yet at
that period its population was probably not much more than the fifth
part of what it now is; nor did the quantity of ground it covered bear
even the same proportion to the immense space over which it has now
extended. But in both convenience and elegance, Paris has made still
more extraordinary advances since the time of Francis than even in
population and extent. It was then, compared to what it now is, but a
gloomy and incommodious fortress, without even the security which
encompassing fortifications might be supposed to yield. Lighted only
by candles placed here and there by the inhabitants themselves in
their windows, it was so infested by thieves and assassins that hardly
any person ventured out after dark, and the approach of night was the
source of constant terror even to those who remained in their houses.
The streets thus imperfectly lighted, were worse paved; and most of
them were as dirty and narrow as those still to be seen in the more
ancient part of the city. The supply of water was so inadequate that
the severest miseries were sometimes suffered from the absolute want
of that necessary of life, and the greatest inconveniences at all
times from its scarcity. Finally, the public edifices were without
splendour, and even the best of the private houses unprovided with
many of what are now accounted the most indisp