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seemed reversed; the ships in the Tagus sank to the bottom, and their ponderous anchors rose to the surface; volcanic fire burst forth from the water, and water from dry ground; the air, no longer tic, seemed to become a stupendous solid; swaying to and fro, and irresistibly battering down the fabrics of ages; hollow rumblings and moanings as from the very centre of the world, gave warning of deafening explosions, which soon followed, and seemed to shake the very stars out of the sky. All this time, the powerful features of the Senor kept working, in frightful imitation of the convulsion he was describ ing, and the effect was horrible! I saw P. quiver like an aspen-there seemed no such thing as terra firma. Our chairs rocked under us; the floor tossed and heaved; the candles wavered, the windows clattered, and the teaspoons rang again, as our tumblers vibrated in our hands.

Senor Mendez at length concluded his narrative, and shortly took leave; I staid but a few minutes after him, just to make a remark on the appalling character of the story, and then departed myself,-little thinking, that any part of the late description was to be so speedily realized by my own experience!

The hour being late, and the servants in bed, P. himself accompanied me to the door. I ought to remark here that the day had been uncommonly serene, not a breath stirring, as was noticed on the morning of the great catastrophe at Lisbon; however, P. had barely closed the door, when a sudden and violent motion of the earth threw me from the step on which I was standing, to the middle of the pavement; I had got partly up when a second shock, as smart as the first, threw me again on the ground. With some difficulty I recovered my legs a second time, the earth in the mean time heaving about under me like the deck of a ship at sea. The street lamps, too, seemed violently agitated, and the houses nodded over me as if they would fall every instant. I attempted to run, but it was impossible-I could barely keep on my feet. At one step I was dashed forcibly against the wall; at the next I was thrown into the road; as the motion became more violent I clung to a lamp-post, but it swayed with me like a rush. A great mist came suddenly on, but I could perceive people hurrying about, all staggering like drunken men; some of them addressing me, but so confusedly as to be quite unintelligible; one-a lady-passed close to me in evident alarm: seizing her hand, I besought her to fly with me from the falling houses, into the open fields; what answer she made I know not, for at that instant, a fresh shock threw me on my face with such violence as to render me quite insensible. Providentially, in this state I attracted the notice of some of the night police, who humanely deposited me, for safety, in St. Anne's watch-house, till the following morning; when being sufficiently recovered to give a collected account of that eventful evening, the ingenious Mr. W., of the Morning Herald, was so much interested by my narrative that he kindly did me the favour of drawing it up for publication in the following form.

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Police Intelligence.-Bow Street.

"This morning a stout country gentleman, in a new suit of mud, evidently town made, was charged with having walked Waverly overnight till he got his Kennelworth in a gutter in Mary-le-bone. The Jack-o'-lanthorn who picked him up could make nothing out of him, but that he was some sort of a Quaker, and declared that the whole country was in a shocking state. He acknowledged having taken rather too much Lisbon; but according to Mr. Daly, he sniffed of whiskey as strong as natur.' The defendant attempted with a sotto voce (anglice, a tipsy voice), to make some excuse, but was stopped and fined in the usual sum, by Sir Richard. He found his way out of the office, muttering that he thought it very hard to have to pay five hogs for being only as drunk as one."

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The hundred clerks that live along the street,
Bondsmen to mercantile and city schemers,
With squashing, sloshing, and galloshing feet,
Go paddling, paddling, through the wet, like steamers,
Each hurrying to earn the daily stipend-

Umbrellas pass of

every

shade of green,

And now and then a crimson one is seen,
Like an Umbrella ripen'd.

Over the way a waggon

Stands with six smoking horses, shrinking, blinking,
While in the George and Dragon

The man is keeping himself dry-and drinking!
The Butcher's boy skulks underneath his tray,

Hats shine-shoes don't-and down droop collars, And one blue Parasol cries all the way

To school, in company with four small scholars!

Unhappy is the man to-day who rides,
Making his journey sloppier, not shorter ;
Aye, there they go, a dozen of outsides,
Performing on "a Stage with real water!"
A dripping Pauper crawls along the way,
The only real willing out-of-doorer,

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And says, or seems to say,

Well, I am poor enough—but here's a pourer 1”

The scene in water colours thus I paint,
Is your own Festival, you Sloppy Saint!
Mother of all the Family of Rainers!
Saint of the Soakers!

Making all people croakers,

Like frogs in swampy marshes, and complainers!
And why you mizzle forty days together,
Giving the earth your water-soup to sup,

I marvel-Why such wet, mysterious weather?
I wish you'd clear it up!

Why cast such cruel dampers

On pretty Pic Nics, and against all wishes
Set the cold ducks a-swimming in the hampers,
And volunteer, unask'd, to wash the dishes?
Why drive the Nymphs from the selected spot,
To cling like lady-birds around a tree-
Why spoil a Gipsy party at their tea,
By throwing your cold water upon hot?

Cannot a rural maiden, or a man,

Seek Hornsey-Wood by invitation, sipping

Their green with Pan,

But souse you come, and show their Pan all dripping!

Why upon snow-white table-cloths and sheets,

That do not wait, or want a second washing,

Come squashing?

Why task yourself to lay the dust in streets,

As if there were no Water-Cart contractors, rov0 No pot-boys spilling beer, no shop-boys ruddy 22 Spooning out puddles muddy,

Milkmaids, and other slopping benefactors! T

A Queen you are, raining in your own right,
Yet oh! how little flatter'd by report!

Even by those that seek the Court,
Pelted with every term of spleen and spite.
Folks rail and swear at you in every place;
They say you are a creature of no bowel;
They say you're always washing Nature's face,"
And that you then supply her,
With nothing drier,

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Than some old wringing cloud by way of towel!
The whole town wants you duck'd, just as you duck it,
They wish you on your own mud porridge supper'd,
They hope that you may kick your own big bucket,
Or in your water-butt go souse! heels up'ard!
They are, in short, so weary of your drizzle,'
They'd spill the water in your veins to stop it-
Be warn'd! You are too partial to a mizzle-

1

Pray drop it!

!erenisigmoo Dne

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"IT NEVER RAINS BUT IT POURS."

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