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"When I behold, with deepe astonishment,

To famous Westminster how there resorte,

Living in brass or stoney monument,

The princes and the worthies of all sorte;

Doe not I see reformde nobilitie,

Without contempt, or pride, or ostentation,

And looke upon offenselesse majesty,

Naked of pomp or earthly domination?

And how a play-game of a painted stone

Contents the quiet now and silent sprites,

Whome all the world which late they stood upon

Could not content nor quench their appetites.

Life is a frost of cold felicitie,

And death the thaw of all our vanitie."

some days past the sun has not shown his face; clouds have obscured the sky, and the rain has fallen in torrents, which has contributed much to the general gloom. However. I have spent the time in as agreeable a manner as I well could. Yesterday I fulfilled an engagement to dine with a gentleman at the Whittington Club. One who is unacquainted with the club system as carried on in London can scarcely imagine the conveniences they present. Every member appears to be