dames who revelled in its halls; the crowned and anointed kings who, monarch or captive, trod its lofty chambers; the gleaming warriors who paced its embattled courts; the gracious queen who caused its walls to echo the sounds of joy; the subtle heads which plodded beneath its gloomy shades; the unhappy exiles who found a refuge within its dim recesses; or* the lame, the sick, the impotent, who in the midst of suffering blessed the home that sheltered them, the hands that ministered to their woes. No. The majestic walls of the Savoy are in the dust, and not merely all trace, but all idea of its radiant gardens and sunny bowers, its sparkling fountains and verdant lawns, is lost even to the imagination in the matter-of-fact, business-like demeanour of the myriads of plodders who are ever traversing the dusty and bustling environs of Waterloo-bridge. In our closets we may perchance compel the unromantic realities of the present to yield beneath the brilliant imaginations of the past; but on the spot itself it is impossible. Who can stand in Wellington street, on the verge of Waterloo-bridge, and fancy it a princely mansion from the lofty battlements of which a royal banner is flying, while numerous retainers keep watch below? Probably the sounds of harp and song may be heard as lofty nobles and courtly dames are seen to tread the verdant alleys and flower-bestrewn paths which lead to the bright and glancing river, where a costly barge (from which the sounds proceed) is waiting * It was at length converted into an hospital. its distinguished freight. Ever and anon are these seen gliding along in the sunbeams, or resting at the avenue leading to one or other of the noble mansions with which the bright strand is sprinkled. Of these, perhaps, the most gorgeous is Yorkplace, while farthest in the distance rise the fortified walls of the old palace of Westminster, inferior only to those of the ancient abbey, which are seen to rise, dimmed, yet distinct, in the soft but glowing haze cast around by the setting sun. And that building seen on the opposite side of the river? Strangely situated it seems, and in a swamp, and with none of the felicity of aspect appertaining to its loftier neighbour, the Savoy. Yet its lofty tower, its embattled gateway, seem to infer some important destination. And such it had. The unassuming and unattractively placed edifice has outlived its more aspiring neighbours; and while the stately palace of the Savoy is extinct, and the slight remains of Westminster are desecrated, the time-honoured walls of Lambeth yet shelter the head of learning and dignify the location in which they were reared. Eastward of our position the city looks dim and crowded; but, with the exception of the sprinkled mansions to which we have alluded, there is little to break the natural characteristics of the scene between Temple-bar and the West Minster. The hermitage and hospital on the site of Northumberland House harmonise well with the scene; the little cluster of cottages at Charing has a rural aspect; and that beautiful and touching memento of unfailing love and undiminished affection—that tribute to all that was good and excellent in woman-the Cross, which, formed of the purest and, as yet, unsoiled white marble, raised its emblem of faith and hope, gleaming like silver in the brilliant sky-that -would that we had it still! Somewhat nearer, the May-pole stands out in gay relief from the woods which envelop the hills northward, where yet the timid fawn could shelter, and the fearful hare forget its watch; where yet perchance the fairies held their revels when the moon shone bright; where they filled to the brim the fairy-cups" and pledged each other in dew; where they played at "hide and seek" in the harebells, ran races in the branches of the trees, and nestled on the leaves, on which they glittered like diamonds; where they launched their tiny barks on the sparkling rivulets, breathing ere morning's dawn on the flowers to awaken them, tinting the gossamer's web with silver, and scattering pearls over the drops of dew. Closer around, among meadows and pastures, are all sounds and emblems of rural life; which as yet. are but agreeably varied, not ruthlessly annihilated, by the encroachments of population and the increase of trade. Truly this is a difficult picture to realise on Waterloo-bridge, yet is it nevertheless a tolerably correct one of this portion of our metropolis at the time of "The Field of the Cloth of Gold.” 252 CHAPTER XVI. THE NEEDLE. "A grave Reformer of old Rents decay'd.”—J. Taylor. "His garment With thornes together pind and patched was.” FAERIE QUEEne. Hodge. "Tush, tush, her neele, her neele, her neele, man; tys neither flesh nor fish, A lytle thing with an hole in the ende, as bright as any syller, Small, long, sharp at the point, and straight as any piller." Diccon. "I know not what it is thou menest, thou bringst me more in doubt." Hodge. “Knowest not what Tom tailor's man sits broching thro' a clout ? A neele, a neele, a neele, my gammer's neele is gone. It is said in the old chronicles that previous to the arrival of Anne of Bohemia, Queen of Richard the Second, the English ladies fastened their robes with skewers; but as it is known that pins were in use among the early British, since in the barrows that have been opened numbers of "neat and efficient" ivory pins were found to have been used in arrang ing the grave-clothes, it is probable that this remark is unfounded. The pins of a later date than the above were made of boxwood, bone, ivory, and some few of silver. They were larger than those of the present day, which seem to have been unknown in England till about the middle of the fifteenth century. In 1543, however, the manufacture of brass pins had become sufficiently important to claim the attention of the legislature, an Act having been passed that year by which it was enacted, "That no person shall put to sale any pins, but only such as shall be double headed and have the head soldered fast to the shank, the pins well smoothed, and the shank well sharpened." Gloucestershire is noted for the number of its pin manufactories. They were first introduced in that county, in 1626, by John Tilsby; and it is said that at this time they employ 1,500 hands, and send up to the metropolis upwards of £20,000 of pins annually. Our motto says, however, that his garment "With thornes together pind and patched was ;" and a French writer says, that before the invention of steel needles people were obliged to make use of thorns, fish bones, &c., but that since "l'établissement des sociétés, ce petit outil est devenu d'un usage indispensable dans une infinité d'arts et d'occasions He proceeds: "De toutes les manières d'attacher l'un à l'autre deux corps flexibles, celle qui se pratique avec l'aiguille est une des plus universelle |