current as to render "shooting the bridge" by
small boats a hazardous feat of skill at all times
—a certain leap into destruction not
unfrequently. The following translated record of an
inquest upon one victim to the bad engineering
of our ancestors may deepen the reader's gratitude
to Rennie and Brunel.

The document is interesting in another way,
as showing the pitch of elaboration at which our
legal machinery had arrived in the reign of
Henry the Fourth. The narrative of the
circumstances hereunder detailed was held to be a piece
of evidence essential to a proof of age put
forward by Lord de Roos. The victim in question
stood in no nearer relation to that young nobleman
than godfather! It may be mentioned
that the Thomas Chaucer who acted as coroner
on the occasion was a son of the great poet.

"On Monday the first day of November in
the eighth year of the reign of King Henry,
after the Conquest the Fourth, Geoffrey Brook,
and Nicholas Wotton, Sheriffs of the City of
London, and Thomas Chaucer, Chief Butler and
Chief Coroner of our Lord the King in the
same City, were given to understand that one
Sir Thomas Kempston, Knight, lay dead in the
parish of All Saints, in the ward of Dowgate,
London—that is to say, upon the wharf called
Yerdeswharfe. And the same Sheriffs and
Coroner, proceeding to the place aforesaid, found
there the body of the aforesaid Thomas lying
dead, of other than a natural death, as they
were previously informed. Upon which view
the aforesaid Sheriffs and Coroner caused to
come before them twelve good and lawful men
of the aforesaid ward and the three other
nearest wards, according to the usage and
custom of the City aforesaid, that is to say, by
the oath, &c.

"And which Jurors say, that Thomas Kempston
there lying dead, on Sunday, the last day
of October, in the year abovesaid, at Powles
Wharff, in the Ward of Castle Baynard, did enter
into a certain boat there, with his servants, to be
rowed towards the Tower of London, under the
bridge of the City aforesaid. And at the time
when the same Thomas was so rowed in the
boat aforesaid with his servants, the current of
the stream set strongly against them—Wherefore
the attendants of the said boat, called botemen,
told the same Thomas that they dared not row or
steer the said boat under the aforesaid bridge,
for dread of the said current, and the buffeting
of the wind. And the same Thomas commanded
them to steer him under the bridge aforesaid, on
pain of losing their heads. And as the same
attendants rowed the said boat under the said
bridge—in spite of their teeth—it chanced that
the said boat lurched towards one of the piles of
the said bridge. And the said Thomas, thereby
perceiving that he was in peril, put out his
hand against the said pile—by means of which
movement of his hand it befell that the said
boat upset, and turned keel uppermost. And
so the said Thomas and his servants were there
submerged in the water—whereby the same
Thomas being there submerged took his death.
And the Jurors aforesaid further say that the
same Thomas occasioned and was the cause of his
aforesaid death."

          CROSS ROADS.

THEY grew together in the old grey hall
Whose antique turrets pierced a heaven of leaves,
They ran together at one father's call,
And raised one prayer on calm religious eves.

Beauty was theirs in common, such as earth
Can rarely reckon in her fading things;
A glory lit their tears, and in their mirth
There seemed the music of translucent springs.

But Time, that holds the helm of circumstance,
And shapes the silent courses of the heart,
Shut up the volume of their young romance,
And cast their lives and actions far apart.

One sought the gilded world, and there became
A being fit to startle and surprise,
Till men caught up the echo of her name,
And fell beneath the magic of her eyes.

For some had perished in her stern neglect,
Fell on the sword of their own hope and died,
While she in triumph scornfully erect
Swept o'er their ashes with the skirts of pride.

And so, pursuing on from year to year
The cultivation of a cruel skill,
She reigned the despot of her hollow sphere,
And conquered hearts to break them at her will.

But now the other with a happier choice
Dwelt 'mong the breezes of her native fields,
Laughed with the brooks, and saw the flowers rejoice,
Brimm'd with all blessings that the summer yields.

Like sleep or peace, in dark afflictions place
She smoothed the furrows on the front of care,
Filled with the glory of a soothing face
The howling dens and caverns of despair.

And pure as morn sent forth her fair white hand,
Bearing a blessing on from door to door,
Till like a new-born light across the land
Her heart's large love went brightening evermore!

And when again their diverse earthly ways
At last, through time and circumstance, were crost,
One looking backward saw sweet tranquil days,
And one, a feverish lifetime sadly lost.

AMERICAN "SENSATIONS."

DURING my visit to America I lived through
several "sensations." I arrived just as the
"Japanese" sensation was dying reluctantly and
sullenly out. I lived through "the Blondin"
and "the Prince of Wales" sensations, and the
"Wideawake sensation" was in full bloom
before I set my foot on the gangway of my
home-ward-bound steamer.

But the sensation that immediately preceded
my arrival in the new country was not "the
Japanese" but "the Heenan." Telegraph wires were
busy flashing across the continent, from the shores
of the Hudson to the banks of the Rio Grande,
exultations about the supposed victory of the
American champion. The army of the Israelites could
not have rolled and roared more hoarse triumph
when David smote the giant of Gath, than did the
people of New York at the news of this drawn
battle. Every face in Wall-street brightened as