which controversy is always an obstinate one; and at last, reflecting that the money which we should kick down at the Derby would go a great way towards replacing these things, if it did not actually cover the expense, we decided not to go.

6

The instant we had come to the determination we assumed a calm resignation, which was almost supernatural, when the sacrifice which we had made is considered. This lasted until the evening before the day, and then our first discomforts began. We gradually became restless and uneasy, feeling as satisfied as a person who, upon principle alone, has given up attending a pleasant evening party, to go to bed early,' and consequently lies awake until four in the morning, picturing to himself all the time what is going on at the reunion in question, and listening to chimerical cornets-a-piston playing imaginary quadrilles, until every article on his wash-hand-stand appears having a dance to itself in derision.

ears.

We went to the theatre to help out the evening; and when it was over, not feeling tired, we entered one of the night-taverns to supper. It was Evans', and the room was crowded with sporting men,-the two names Coldrenick' and 'Attila' perpetually ringing in our This reminded us too keenly of our position, so we rushed away to the Cyder Cellars: here the same subject formed the only topic of conversation. It was the same at the Albion and the Coal-Hole,-for in our nervous irritability we took supper at all,-we do not think we ever bolted so many poached eggs in our life; and finally when we dropped into the Wrekin, where the usual talk is unmixedly theatrical, we found the same two names still echoing in every corner of the room. We now gave up all ideas of distraction, and went moodily home to bed.

We are not an early riser; but on the Wednesday morning a villanous clock that hangs in our room, whose alarum has obstinately refused to ring for many months, went off by itself at five in the morning, and roused us from a troubled slumber. In our anger we seized a boot that was within reach, and with a good aim entirely stopped its proceedings-it will never ring more. Going to sleep again was out of the question. The morning was most lovely, and the bustle all over the house, even at that early hour, proved that the happy men who were going to Epsom had already commenced their preparations. Anon came an unwonted clatter of vehicles in the thoroughfare below; every instant a fresh pair of legs bounded up alternate stairs; and once in every ten minutes a knock was given at our door by one or the other of the floors, to borrow a corkscrew, a clothes brush, a wickercovered tumbler, a pepper-castor, or something of the kind. These annoyances were brought to a climax at seven o'clock by the intrusion of a wretched boy, who insisted upon leaving a raised paté, which, he said, we had ordered and paid for the day before, at some pie-builders in the Strand. We sent a boot-jack after him down stairs in extreme wrath; forgetting at the moment that our own name being by no means exclusive or uncommon, there was a man on the ground-floor who revelled in the same felicitous cognomination.

That universal eccaleobion, the sun, had been hatching the countless events of the day into action for some hours-in plain terms, it was about ten o'clock when we finished breakfast. By that time our neighbours had all departed, and a sense of overwhelming wretchedness stole over us. Robinson Crusoe on his uninhabited island, and the an

cient mariner who shot the albatross in his lonely boat,-Jacques Balmat, when he got to the top of Mont Blanc,-and Sinbad the Sailor, when he got to the bottom of the Diamond Valley,-Mr. Green, the aeronaut, up in a balloon at an altitude of twelve thousand feet, and Mr. Deane, the diver, amidst the sea-bound relics of the Royal George, Elizabeth Woodcock, when she was frozen in the snow,→ the only Sunday occupant of a Bow-Street cell, having failed to obtain bail,-a Gresham lecturer-the last man of the season,-may all have their peculiar ideas of solitude, but they were cheerful to our own loneliness. We were the left-behind of a pilgrim caravan,-the locomotive oasis of a vast desert!

After walking up and down our room for about half an hour, in the manner of a caged panther at the Surrey Zoological Gardens during the fireworks from St. Angelo, we determined to sally forth into the streets; and, mechanically following the sun, we bent our steps towards the West. Several carriages on their way to Epsom passed us; we imagined their inmates looked upon us with pitying eyes, and perceived that we were completely within the rules of our own ill-temper. We felt almost ashamed of being seen, and we sought the retirement of by-courts and back thoroughfares.

At the Regent Circus all was life and gaiety. The thoroughfare was literally blocked up with carriages about to start, on nearly all of which we recognized an acquaintance, who bawled out in a satirical and insulting manner, I suppose we shall see you on the Downs.' One even pushed his cruelty so far as to inform us that we should find lobster-salad after the race at their drag on the hill. They went off, and others arrived: we scarcely thought there were so many vehicles and horses in London as, until half-past twelve, collected between the County Fire-Office and Carlton Chambers. At length the very last turn-out rolled away down Regent-Street: it seemed to be the tie that bound us to the world. The last links were broken,' and when we had followed it with our eyes until it diminished in the distance, and turned round the corner of Pall Mall, we could have cried for very despondency.

The Quadrant was deserted as we strolled up it.. Here and there two or three persons in thick boots, and badly-cut strapless trousers, carrying dropsical umbrellas, were staring in at the shops: but these, and others of the same uninteresting class, constituted the sole occupants of the colonnade. We turned sulkily into one of the billiardrooms for distraction. There was no clicking of balls as we ascended the stairs; the public salle was unoccupied, the marker amusing himself, as markers always do, with countless endeavours to perpetrate impossible cannons. Our apparition did not interfere with his pastime. It was evident that he thought nothing of a man who could coolly walk into a billiard-room at the same instant that the horses were exercising in the Warren, that we could be nobody worth caring for, or we should not be in London. He regarded us for a minute with a glance of mingled contempt and unconcern; then whistled part of Del con te' out of tune, made a red hazard, drank some beer from a pewter-pot, that stood on the mantelpiece, and continued his sport.

The trottoir of Regent-Street was equally lonely. It presented nothing but a line of unrelieved hot pavement, which blinded you to look at: over which, at certain intervals, a few individuals of that class of the animal kingdom known and spoken of as 'gents.' were endeavour

ing to strut their little hour in the absence of the usual dashing flaneurs, like the German company attempting Norma upon the same stage and with the same scenery and appointment that had whilom been graced by Adelaide Kemble, and her vocal contemporaries.

We had heard a great deal about Catlin's American Indians,the Mandans, Ojibbeways, Stumickosuchs, and other euphonical tribes, and we determined upon paying them a visit at the Egyptian Hall, to carry on time. But the same unpleasantly pursued us, the exhibition had closed the day before, and there was nothing to be seen but a diagram of the Missouri Leviathan, and a notice that the room was to be let. As we turned away in sorrow, a Kew-Bridge omnibus passed. Lucky idea! we had a pretty cousin at a young ladies' establishment at Turnham-Green, and we would pay her a visit. C'est si gentille -d'avoir une belle cousine,' as Paul de Kock says: and, besides, perhaps we might see some of the other girls-who could tell? We hailed the omnibus, and, after waiting at the White Horse Cellar until we had inspected all the perambulating manufactures there offered for sale, we proceeded on our journey, and were finally put down at the seminary.

After knocking twice at the door, hearing a bell ring inside, and seeing divers heads en papilottes bob up over the front blinds, and then bob down again with most extraordinary celerity, we were allowed to enter, and were shown into a room that was the perfect picture of a schoolparlour. There was a cabinet-piano (not for the pupils,) and a pair of globes; some chalk copies of French heads; a vase of dead flowers, in greenish water, on the table; and some worsted ones in a paper basket on the cheffonier, planted in a bung wrapped round with frizzled green paper; straw spill-cases on the mantel-piece, and pasteboard card-racks at the sides, adorned with little square views of gentlemen's seats cut out of the last year's pocket-books, and stuck on with gum. These things, together with a small table, on which were displayed a stuffed bird, two blown-glass ships, a guitar pin-cushion, and a penwiper made of little round bits of coloured cloth, with a transfer cardcase, completed the garniture of the room,-not to omit two grapejars, painted green, and covered with birds cut from chintz bed furniture. The mistress chanced to be engaged for a few minutes,— schoolmistresses always are when you call. During which time we inspected the curiosities of the room; listened to the jingling of the practising piano through the wall, pitied the teacher, and then began to think what a god-send Bristol-board, perforated cards, and coloured floss-silk must have been to young ladies' establishments, until the mistress herself entered. Accumulation of despair! we were informed that, pursuant to agreement, some friends had called for our cousin that very morning about ten o'clock, to take her to Epsom! We made a most ungainly congé to the lady, and, quitting the house, savagely stopped an omnibus on the high-road, and, violently forcing our way into the interior, travelled back to London. We then wandered-we cannot tell how, to Hungerford Market; and, having looked at all the shrimps and periwinkles until we knew them by heart, we inspected the preparations for the foot-bridge, and then made a fourpenny tour to Vauxhall in the Lightning' steamboat, returning in the 'Thunder,' by way of variety.

·

We scarcely know in what manner the rest of the day passed: but evening at length arrived, and we sauntered over to Kennington turn

pike, to see the race-goers return. After waiting there an hour, a carriage-full of friends drew up close to where we were standing, its progress being interrupted by the ticket nuisance at the gate. There was a vacant seat in the rumble, and, upon the invitation of the owner we took possession of it, heartily glad to have some one to speak to. The party had all been winners, and were returning home, in high spirits, to a capital supper, at which they were good enough to request our company. But we steadfastly refused, and got down at Waterloo Bridge, feeling no inclination to join a party where all the conversation would necessarily turn upon an event which we knew nothing about. A comfortable repast in our own chambers did not put us in better humour, and we retired to bed at an early hour, after the dullest day we ever remember to have spent; inwardly resolving we would never again miss seeing the Derby run, if we were even compelled by circumstances to travel thither on the top of a ginger-beer cart.

THE BOOT.

Ar the base of the long and beautiful line of chalk hills which run from Dover to Folkstone, and thence towards Lyminge, not far removed from that dull and quiet sea-bathing place, Sandgate, lies the village of Cheriton. There are several roads and byeways to this rural spot; but the one which we shall now describe is that which conducts us from Folkstone to 'The Boot!' The road from Folkstone to Sandgate is interesting to the geologist, the lover of nature, and the admirer of sea-views and of hilly scenery. The old church of Folkstone rises on the rocks as a fine and glorious signal to the homeward-bound mariner. On the right, at a distance of about two miles, lie the splendid chain of hills we have already mentioned. There is the Sugar-loaf Hill, so symmetrical and pretty, with the sheep-walks, and the sheep too, by hundreds, feeding on its short grass. There is the Castle Hill, behind which Cæsar once had a magnificent and commanding camp, and about which hill it is said, by the lovers of old tales and legends, that the castle which once stood upon its summit was removed, stone by stone, by a fairy band, to its present site, in tranquil and monotonous Sandgate. Then there is the Cherry-orchard, situate in a hollow between two fine, bold, perpendicular hills, with its gushing stream at the foot of the mountain, and its cottage, where the traveller or the wanderer may obtain frugal refreshment and temporary repose, There are also the little woods and copses, where nutting and blackberrying amuse even more than the youthful population, and where, it is said, you may meet the Old Gentleman himself, on a certain day in October,' on which said day he is always to be found 'nutting. Then there is the pretty hamlet of Foord, whose chalybeate spring deserves notice, and whose sylvan and rustic scenery and popu lation merit the attention of the sojourner or traveller in these interesting parts. Foord has no church, no lawyer, no doctor; but it has flowers, springs, streams, lanes, hills, shades, and a notable Red Cow,' whose milk, however, is Ash's Entire,' in the shape of good beer and excellent ale.

But we must leave all these to our right, and pursue the straight Macadamized high road from Folkstone to Sandgate; and an admirable road it is. The mighty sea, with its innumerable vessels ever and anon to be seen on the left; whilst to the right highsoaring hills bound the horizon. At about the distance of a mile from Folkstone the descent to Sandgate commences, and both sea and hills are lost for a short time between the high and grassy banks. On arriving half way down the hill, the scenery again opens; the fine bay, which extends from Dungeness to Folkstone, now presents itself to the view; and there lies, sleeping in the valley, the Castle of Sandgate, and its few surrounding houses. But at this moment a small country-road presents itself to the right, and a finger-post indicates that it conducts the gypsies, the higglers, the strollers, the tramps, and all