when he beheld the Norman tower or abbey where his wooden hut once stood. I could not forbear sympathizing with a wretched-looking woman who was sitting listlessly on the curbstone, in one of these new streets; her little child was lying near her, amusing himself by groping in the kennel. Suddenly the child seemed pleased, and hell up something to attract its mother's attention. When she saw it, she called out to another woman near her, "I say, Sal, the young-un' has found an oyster shell, and he's as pleased as Punch;" then turning to the little thing, she said, "Make the most of it, my dearie-you'll never get another. There's to be no more oysterstalls now; they're a nuisance like the rest o' the poor old place, and the sooner we get out of it the better." So saying, she snatched up the child impatiently, and moved away as fast as her slip-shod feet would permit her. I followed her; she crossed Longacre, and turned into a court leading thence into one of the low streets adjoining Covent-garden Market. At the corner of the court, there is a ginshop, outside of which were congregated some of her acquaintances. One of them hailed her—“Hulloh! where ha' you bin ?" "Oh, I've jist -been a-looking at the old place." "Well, that aint the way to make you jolly, anyhow; you'd better come in here, and have half-a-quartern." "Yes, that's mighty fine talking. Where am I to get the money for half-aquartern now? Them cursed improve ments have done up my trade, let alone driving us all out of house an' home." 66 'Why don't you take and set up your stall right at the corner of the new street; it 'ud be an uncommon good place for trade. The old lot aint all gone over the herring pond." "Why, that's what I did the day afore yesterday, and up comes a pleesman, and says he, 'Move all this away; we can't allow no oysterstalls in this here street.' Then I spoke out a bit of my mind about the wickedness of the great folks, that won't let the poor bide quiet in their own places, but must come a poking about, and a improving, as they call it,

turning us out of our houses just to make fine new streets for them to live in. I wish they may be all burnt down, and the improvers in them, that I do." So saying, she flung herself away from the group, and disappeared down the court, and I turned away to moralize a little on the rights of minorities, and to follow out the meaning of Pope's couplet—

"All discord, harmony not understood-
All partial evil, universal good."

I have made it my business lately to inspect most of the districts which are inhabited by the lowest people in London, Pimlico, and the wretched places on both banks of the river, continuing as far as Westminster Bridge, St Giles, the vicinity of the Theatres, and the Clare Market, Field-lane, Saffron-hill, and the courts and alleys near Farringdon Market, with numerous minor regions of similar character scattered thickly over the whole city, until you reach the huge haunts of vice and poverty at its eastern extremities-Whitechapel, and Stepney, and Shoreditch. Every where among them, sights are beheld which make the benevolent heart bleed, and which should rouse the intellect to some sort of exertion for these hapless outcasts. What can be done for them? and then comes the question, "How are they reduced to this?"

Men with all manliness beaten out of them-lost in the depths of vilest sensuality—labouring only for the means of indulging in vice-cruel and cowardly to women-unconscious of a future, or a God. Women like to them, and unnatural in their conduct to their own children. Charles Lamb, in one of his beautiful essays, has described the sad education of the children of the poor, but he has described it artistically; he touches the heart of the reader-he moves him to tears, but he does not harrow up his soul, or sicken and disgust him by his picture of a child of poverty and vice. His account is " pitiful-is wondrous pitiful"-it is pathetic to the last degree; but if I could draw with his pen an exact representation of scenes of childish wretchedness that I have witnessed within these few weeks in London, the

picture would be revolting and frightful, and would "far o'er step" the limits of true Art, as, indeed, Nature very often does, when man has perverted her.

Alas! for the women from whose breast all motherliness has been seared by the hot iron of vice!-whose little ones cry to them for comfort, and are quieted with a blow!-who teach them to stretch their baby-hands to steal, and to steep their thin lips in intoxicating liquors! Who hire them out to imposters and thieves ere "the light of heaven," which lies about man "in his infancy," has "faded into the light of common day." Nay, who turn that very "light of common day" into the murky gloom of the infernal shades, and say to the young spirit, "this is thy home; here must thou dwell all the days of thy accursed life."

After all I have been saying about the vice and misery of the poor, it will perhaps enliven this long letter, if I try to give you some account of the pleasures of the poor. "What do I know about them?" you will ask. Just what any man may know about them, if he will set himself heartily to learn.

The other morning, finding that there was nothing to do in the way of business, I determined to roam about in a desultory manner all day, spying men and manners in the metropolis, or following out some particular subject of interest, if one chanced to take my fancy. I accordingly left my chambers early in the morning, i.e. before nine o'clock, in an admirable frame of mind. The gods, as you know, have not made me poetical, and yet old Withers' description of his mind, as taught by the "divine skill " of poesy, is not unlike the state of mine on that lovely morning in early Autumn. Even I, the dry, parchment-coloured law-student, felt gay and joyous, and—

"That from everything I saw,
I might some invention draw,
And raise pleasure to her height,
Through the meanest object's sights"

On turning out of the Temple I proceeded along the Strand, with the intention of inspecting the progress of

the poor old Westminster Bridge on its road to annihilation. I stopped at the turning which leads down to the Hungerford Pier, attracted by the various groups that were hurrying towards the river to embark on board the steam boats. There are many people who live a long time in London without knowing anything of the great traffic on the Thames. Their business does not lead them in that direction; and their notions of the river in the heart of London is derived from what they have seen of it below London Bridge, or above Battersea Bridge. Between these two points there is carried on all day during the summer a ceaseless busy traffic. Steam-boats go and come from one point to the other every five minutes in the day, and they stop at all convenient intermediate points, to take in or put out passengers. These boats are cheaper than omnibuses, and much quicker. Men who live at Vauxhall, Chelsea, Battersea, &c., and who are obliged to attend business in the city every day, tell me that they find the boats a great improvement on omnibuses in every respect, as a means of daily transit during the fine weather. Young C. told me the other day that he even prefers to pace briskly up and down the little deck of a Chelsea boat in a January frost, to being shut up with fourteen fellow-creatures in an omnibus, or to walking the whole way from Brompton to the Bank; and he declares that if all the world knew how pleasant the river was there would be no more omnibuses in the Strand. "De gustibus," and I am still contented to walk on the dry land in the way of business, and to take the river for my diversion and refreshment.

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After watching the people pouring down to the Pier a little while, it became clear to my mind that the greater part of them were not on business, but on pleasure bent." I recollected that it was Monday, the grand day for holidays among the London poor; and my interest in the passers by redoubled. At length there came up to the corner where I stood a man with a little girl. The man was worn and unhealthy in appearance, with that expression of thoughtful intelligence in his face

which is not uncommonly seen among sedentary artizans in great towns; he had a shambling gait and a stoop in the back, which should not belong to the age which I afterwards found was his. He carried a sickly-looking baby in his arms. The little girl beside him was about ten years old, delicately pretty, with a striking resemblance to her father in the expression of her face; but her's was lighted up with that bright look of anticipated pleasure which is only seen in childhood; and as she held his hand and jumped by his side, prattling in a sweet young voice, I quite forgot, while gazing on her, that she was too thin and pale for a child; and that the whole appearance of the little group was very poor, though quite clean and decent. When they had quite turned the corner, they stopped and looked back as if expect ing some one. "How long they are!" cried the little girl, "Perhaps we shall be too late for the boat." "No, no," replied the father. "There's no fear o' that. I dare say mother don't get along very well with little Jack; there's such lots of people in the street. Here, you take baby a bit and stand still, up by this door, while I go and look after mother and the boys." The child took the baby and remained, while the man turned back again into the Strand. I approached her as she was smiling and playing with the little thing. "Where are you going to-day? inquired I as gently as possible. She inspected me with the cautious scrutiny of a London child, when addressed by a stranger, and then said, "I am going to Gravesend, Sir." "Indeed! And do you often go to Gravesend," I asked. "Oh dear, no, Sir. I've never been before in my life; and mother's only been once. "And how is it you are going to-day?" Why, father's got a whole holiday today, because its his master's birthday; and all the men have ten shillings each to enjoy the day as they like; and father likes best to take us all down to Gravesend, and so we are going; only there's such lots o' people going down to the boat that I think it will be quite full when we get to it, if mother and father don't make haste." "Oh! don't be afraid of that," said I, "I'll go on

first and secure room for you all-I'm going to Gravesend too." "Are you, Sir? I'm so glad. It is so nice to be going out pleasuring. I never went out pleasuring; only once before, and then I had a donkey at Hampstead Heath. Do you know whether there are any donkeys at Gravesend, Sir ?" "Oh yes, a great many." "Here they come !"

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And I saw the father come back with a decent looking brighteyed woman and three boys of various ages; the biggest of the three carried a basket, and the woman carried a bundle. "Shall I tell father and mother that you are going to Gravesend too ?" 'Yes, if you please," said I; "and will you ask them if I may join your party ?" "That I will, Sir,' cried she, as if quite sure that any addition to the party must be an addition to the pleasure. Her father and mother looked at me in surprize, when they heard the child's request, and the mother said with a sad smile, " Why, Peggy child, the gentleman's only joking with you. He is waiting for his own friends, I dare say." "Indeed that is not the case," said I—“I am quite alone; and now I see your cheerful family-party, I think it is very dull to be quite alone in a trip to Gravesend. Will you allow me to talk to your children and to consider myself as one of your party during our voyage? The woman looked at her husband to see what he thought of my request; and he looked at me as if he could not understand what I meant by it. I stood his gaze firmly, and smiled at the up turned faces of the children. At length he said, with a laugh, "You are a gentleman, I can see, Sir; and I suppose you are what is called an eccentric gentleman, and like to do odd things. I'm sure if it will give you any pleasure to fancy you belong to a party o' poor folks like us, you're quite welcome to do so." "Thank you, my friend, you have guessed my character exactly. I think we had better make haste on to the boat now. I have some influence with the Company. I will just step on first, and a word from me will make the people let the party I belong to go and return for nothing." "I'm sure you're very good, Sir. We

shall indeed thank you for that." I ran on first, and used the never-failing influence in such cases; and when the party came up to the money taker's place, I put the proper number of tickets into the poor man's hand, saying that it was necessary for us to keep them, just as the other people did, or else we should be charged for our passage when we returned. I think he suspected my trick, for a slight colour came over his cheek, and his manner was more respectful than it had been at first. I regretted this. And now behold me, dear A., voyaging to Gravesend the companion en titre of a journeyman weaver and his family. Tom, Bill, Jack, and Peggy followed me about everywhere; and I explained to their wondering minds all I knew about steam-engines and boat-building-repeated the names of the different sorts of vessels, as we passed them; took out pencil and paper, and made sketches for them of such objects as they "wished to have a picture of." I feared, at first, to be a check upon the enjoyment of my new friends; but by the time we had reached Blackwall, the father had entered into a conversation with me, on the difference between the silk weaving in Lyons and Spitalfields; and shortly after the mother told me her anxieties about Peggy and the boys.

I have often heard you say that every sort of knowledge we can gain will be found useful at some time; and now, I found the benefit of going over old Le Clerc's factory at Lyons, and listening to his profound talk about his different metiers, every day during my stay there; for which talk's sake I frequently wished the good old manufacturer at the bottom of the Rhone; as, of course, at that time, "the blue rushing" of the river was dearer to me than all the fabriques in the city. Gladly now did I recall all that I had seen and heard seven years before; gladly did I promise to lend the diagrams and drawings of looms-the book of designs for patterns, which the old gentleman presented to me at parting. And in whose favour was I so generously inclined ? In favour of a hard-working, intelligent, poor man,

who was as eager to learn as if he had not toiled all his life for daily bread; and had often failed in securing it. "Chill penury" had not "repressed his noble rage,"

"Nor froze the genial current of the soul." This man, Jones, is no bad specimen of the honest hard working London mechanic; to whom the Mechanics' Institute and its library and readingroom are more attractive than the ginshop. I can assure you that his conversation upon most topics that we touched, including politics and the education of his children, was very interesting to me. He was well skilled in the art of expressing his thoughts; his thoughts were clear and to the purpose. I do not feel quite sure that his grammatical errors, and cockney pronunciation, did not add a sort of raciness to his language; just as you think the things said by your Highland cottagers would loose half their charm, if uttered in an Edinburgh attic. I could say much more of this man and his views of men and things, but you shall see him for yourself when you return to town, as I mean to keep up an acquaintance with him and his family. When Mrs Jones unfastened her basket of provisions, I asked to join their luncheon or early dinner, and ate heartily of bread and cheese, to the evident satisfaction of the family; although Mrs Jones did not refrain from making a few apologies for the poorness of their fare to a gentleman's taste, Jones himself behaved with admirable good breeding, treating me in all respects as a guest as long as I chose to consider myself one. Peggy and I became excellent friends, we looked at everything and everybody. There was much to say about Greenwich Hospital, and the Dreadnought, and a sailor's life, concerning which Tom and Bill were very curious. More people came on board the boat at Blackwall; and among them, Peggy spied a woman and a little girl "who kept a fruit stall in our lane." She wondered that "they were able to go to Gravesend pleasuring"-"they were so very poor." I observed that they looked indeed destitute of every mark

of that decency in poverty which pervaded my own party. The little girl saw Peggy and the two children interchange smiles at a distance. When the boat went on again, and we could make our way through the crowd, Peggy and I went to speak to Polly Bennett. "I did not expect to see you going out pleasuring," observed my little companion to her acquaintance. "I suppose your mother is not cross with you just now." Polly looked round fearfully lest "mother should hear" what was said, but mother was talking eagerly to two men whom she had just met. Then Polly looked at me suspiciously. "Oh! you need not mind speaking before this gentleman, he is very kind," said Peggy caressingly to the little girl; and then she made me stoop down that she might whisper into my ear. "Polly is a nice good little girl, mother says, Sir, but, do you know her mother beats her so dreadful!" "Poor little Polly," said I, taking her hand, “and so you are going to Gravesend for a day's pleasure. 'Oh, no, Sir," said my new acquaintance, "mother and I are going hopping." Peggy laughed at this; and Polly had to explain that she did not mean by hopping, jumping on one leg, but picking hops in a hop-garden. Now, as both Peggy and I wished to hear about this matter, we made Polly sit down with us on an empty bench near, while she told us what she remembered about "hopping" last year. She" and mother went down last year to pick hops in some large hop-gardens near Cobham-a great many people in London always go into the parts where hops grow to help the farmers to pick them. Sometimes they earn a good deal of money." She liked hopping very much-it was so nice to be out in the hop-garden all day; and have plenty of fresh air and blackberries. It was hard work though for her; for her mother was sure to beat

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her if she left the bin for anything all day long. Mother and she together could earn three shillings a day hopping." Peggy wanted to know how hops grow and what a hop garden is like, and Polly had scarcely finished telling her, when Mrs Bennett's sharp voice called out, "Polly! where are you, you young hussey?" And Polly was obliged to run away directly. When we reached Gravesend, I appointed the spot and the hour at which I would join my friend Jones and his family, that we might return to town together, and having slipped five shillings into little Peggy's hand, one for herself and one for each of her brothers to spend at Gravesend, I left them to enjoy themselves, believing that they had had enough of my presence for the morning.

If you wish to observe the London poor (I do not now speak of the poorest poor, i.e., the idle poor, but the decent hard-working poor) when they are amusing themselves, go to Gravesend on a fine autumn day. However, as this letter, like all earthly things, must come to an end, I think I cannot close it with anything better than a request that you will match my adventure with the Jones family by a graphic description of some romantic accident which has befallen yourself out yonder in "the land of mountain and flood." Tell me everything you see that is new to you, and all that you think about it. Follow my example and do not fear to "inflict all your tediousness” upon me even though you were as tedious as a king." Enjoy yourself as much as you please at my expense. I can, if you please, give you more letters, as long as this, filled with proofs that people may find novelty and matter for thought and even adventures in London during the dead season. Thanks for the grouse-they were excellent.-I am, dear A., yours truly,

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J. M. W.