Widely disjoined, where clustering roofs arose,
The cry of shrill mendicity was up,
And at each window of our vehicle,
Hand, hat, and basket thrust, and the wild eye
Of clamorous children, eager for a coin,
Assailed our every pause. At first, the pang
Of pity moved us, and we vainly wished
For wealth to fill each meagre hand with gold;
But oft besought, suspicion steeled the heart,
And'neath the guise of poverty, we deemed
Vice, or deception lurked. So on we passed,
Save when an alms some white-haired form implored,
Bowed down with age, or some pale, pining babe,
Froze into silence by its misery,
Clung to the sickly mother. On we passed,
In homely diligence, like cumbrous house,
Tri-partite and well peopled, its lean steeds.
Rope-harnessed and grotesque, while the full moon
Silvered our weary caravan, that wrought
Unresting, night and day, until the towers
Of fair St. Denis, where the garnered dust
Of many a race of Gallic monarchs sleeps,
Gleamed through the misty morning, and we gained
The gates of Paris.
Thursday, Nov. 13, 1840.
Thankful were we to find, om the shores of France, and within the gates of Calais, stable footing, and by
