As I make my compliments to Milord, a movement of the crowd denotes something of interest. We advance, followed always by the faithful John. I see a sight which recalls the innocent games of my country. Two cocks combatted with indomitable fury. Their eyes sparkled like ardent coals. They leaped by force of wings and tore themselves with beak and claw. It was a spectacle to make fear, a strife to death! At length one fell. The other, victor but bleeding, mounted on the corpse and chaunted his hymn of triumph. My eyes wet themselves with tears.
"Wagram, Marengo, Austerlitz," said, with brusquerie, a soldier who observed my emotion.
"'Waterloo,' I proudly answered.
"'Blucher, Sir Lowe,' rejoined he, with dignity.
"I bite my lips."
Adieu, thou dreary Piles!
Every one admits that Westminster Bridge is tumbling to pieces, and yet, strange to say, the evil report of the structure is scarcely to be credited, for there is the weakest possible foundation to go upon.