am admonished-admire "these unassuming commonplaces," and haunt them so frequently as I do; nor

"Take pleasure in their meanest object's sight,"

as Poet Withers did: for, nathless, I do make myself chargeable thereby with that rank offence which cannot look for "benefit of clergy Cockneyism!-Well, I will hope to live long enough to see the day when a bill shall pass through both Houses to enable "the undertakers" (they have begun the work) to remove all that is rurally beautiful in the neighbourhood of London so much farther off, that it may be fit to be visited, without impeachment of the visiter. Hampstead, if "lifted " as our Northern friends were wont to "lift" the cattle of their Southern border-neighbours, would make a pretty parcel of addition to Arthur's Seat; and as there are no Scotch cockneys, would not be Cockney ground, as it is now. Richmond in Surrey, if " translated," might be patched upon Richmond in Yorkshire, and thus be rendered visitable by tourists, and no shame to them. Essex might be given, fogs und frogs included, to the Dutch, who would jump at it, having lost so much. dry territory lately, and welcome "the damp stranger." Kent may stand as it is, for the sole sake of Greenwich Hospital-not but it would be a generous gift to the French, who, as we used to take their new ships, ought now to take our old sailors, on the reciprocity system.

But, however, to pursue our theme and our journey. Having rested, or rather lounged, for a full hour, up we started, and off we went again. The Common was soon left behind: "the world was all before us, where to choose:" we pitched upon a neighbouring village, Tooting, and, as the wags say, "pitched into it," for, in a few moments, Upper Tooting was under us, and Lower Tooting kept at a respectful distance, as if it feared the worst that might befall. But as we did not wish to spread alarm before us, we struck off to the left, aside as it were, into Devonshire Road, not very inviting to look-at at its entrance, but when we had go into it, and detoured again to the right, we found ourselves in a very pleasant, winding, Naysmith sort of lane, hight Dragmoor Lane, hedged and studded with trees, with a poorlooking but picturesque cottage on the left side thereof, and a little farther down, on the right, a smart, fantastic cottage, newly built in imitation of the old style-and a very comfortable, uncomfortabe, lonely, out-of-the-way house it was, the lord of which ilk had need be a sturdy fellow, and when he claps his well-aired night-cap on, looks, I should hope, before he puts out the light and gets into bed, to see that his pistols are primed and loaded, and "his powder dry." We found ourselves, in no long time, stumbling over Streatham Common, the wartiest ground we ever walked upon-a wild green spot, unhandsomely disfigured with some hundreds of mole-hills-a sort of pustular eruption of the "earth earthy." A noble line of fine old trees on the right, and Mrs. Thrale's (Johnson's Mrs. Thrale's) residence and park on the left, made the wild spot cultivated and classic ground. Johnson, perhaps, had rolled his Leviathan bulk over the very hills at which I stumbled, Bozzy picking his way behind him, carefullysurly Sam growling at him all the while to "Come on, Sir, and not make mountains of mole-hills!"-and then stumbling over one of them himself, and pitching his hat and wig and walking-stick some distance

in advance of the rest of his personnel, Bozzy perhaps ran up to raise him up, when the disdainful Doctor drove him back with a 66 No, Sir! The man who in walking along the devious paths in the various fields of life, if he is not humble enough to look to his own feet and see where he treads, if he falters and falls, should not allow another man's pride to stoop so low as to lift him up. Sir, as I have made my own bed in my own way, let me lie on it till I choose to rise in my own manner. As I greatly fell without assistance, let me greatly rise without your interference. The man who--But ring the bell, Sir, and a truce to your reflections, Sir, for we have been keeping the dinner waiting with these frivolous disputations. Ring the bell, Sir!"-which the obedient Bozzy did, no doubt, only too proud to do it. And when they were seated at the dinner-table, and the first fierce severity of the fine old bear's hunger was partially appeased, if he confessed his failing and his falling to the company, Bozzy interposed a "Yes, Sir, but you fell with dignity, and rose greater by that fall:" at which fulsomeness the old Doctor would growl an angry "Bah!" like a bear with a vexation, and indignantly send his plate up for a fourth helping to the mutton. I saw and heard it all, and felt that I was treading classic ground while threading my way between the mole-hills upon Streatham Common.

On we went, however; and in a little while we were on Tooting Common-wild, but a pleasant wildness. Patrick Naysmith had been over these spots, for I traced him. Here we got again among furze, wild flowers, wild birds, tame ducks, weedy ponds, tinted with mineral water (?), straggling children, dreamy-eyed donkeys, and haymakers, winding in and out among the bushes, as they returned to the fields, to sweat and labour in the sun, and send the fragrance of the new-mown hay streaming towards the town. It would have been a perfect rural scene if the workhouse on the right had not spoiled all; and yet there was some comfort still in looking at that last refuge for the destitute. It did not seem as yet a gaol. The light and the air of heaven could visit its open windows and shine and breathe into them; and the poor could yet look out of them upon the green common, and the blue hills in the distance, and hear the skylark warbling to the silent noon. Here, as the weather was really insulting hot," we sat ourselves down under shadow of some friendly furze-friendly as long as you do not interfere with itand got into a tête-à-tête with a donkey who was "dining out" there. The ass has a sorry reputation for intellectuality, yet we could not help noticing that at the dinner-table his few faculties were all on the alert, like an alderman's, and that he twinkled his ears and whisked his tail with a liveliness such as he never exhibits when employed in the graver business of life-perhaps from some mistaken notions of dignity, or of the necessity of looking serious when you are not so. Having cooled ourselves by these contemplations, and having shown that we were not particular what sort of company we got into, so long as it was agreeable, we rose refreshed, and on we went over the little there was left of Tooting Common, and were soon in Streatham Lane-a pleasant, rural lane enough-and winding it up, we found ourselves at Tooting. Here, having surveyed the place, and seen all that was curious, we made our head-quarters at the King's Head Inn, and ordering a mutton-chop, lettuce, and ale, settled down in the good large parlour of that oldfashioned house of entertainment. I could not help imagining, as I Oct.-VOL. LI. NO. CCII.

entered the old room, that "the Doctor" had been before me there, in some of his tergiversations while resident with Mrs. Thrale, and that these poor walls had often resounded his loud, unpacifiable "bow-wow." The poor place was immediately tabooed and made sacred by imagination. The great Doctor was not "above" these humble places, and has said a word or two in their praise, but I forget what, and where to find it. Then why should I be "above" them? I am not. I love these old inns, and their old parlours with low ceilings, heavy cross-beamed, old oak chairs, hard-bottomed, oaken pannels, fantastic-fashioned chimney-glasses, oval mirrors, the owl in a glass-case over the fire-place, the round tables, and flapped tables, the two or three bad paintings, and the numerous bad engravings," published, as the Act directs, 30 June, 1786, by ROBERT SAYER, Map, Chart, and Print Seller, No. 53, Fleet Street."-If the Act directs the publication of such execrably bad pewter-plate engravings, more shame to the Act for such an uncalled-for act -that is all I say. And yet the subjects of the engravings in review are pathetic enough, however humorously handled. "Jemmy" as he is called the "Jamie " of that most exquisite of all "auld ballats "—" Auld Robin Gray "-is seen in one taking his farewell of poor Jenny, a fashionable young lady of eighty years since, sashed, feathered, standing somehow in high-heeled shoes, her gown-tail bundled up behind-looking much more like “ Poll of Plymouth ” than a" braw Scotch lassie." Jemmy," too, is not to be sneezed at as unfashionable. He is a smart sea-faring fellow enough-in striped trowsers, and striped waistcoat to match, smart round jacket, round hat, shoes, and buckles as big as his shoes, a stick tucked under his arm in sailor's fashion-not a walking-stick, but a stick to be carried jemmily under the arm, in Portsmouth fashion. While he is taking his affecting farewell-(I presume it to have been so from Jenny's white handkerchief being applied to her left eye, and that only)-a shipmate is seen, in the background, hauling the ship's boat to the shore, might and main his stick is thrust under his arm all the while he cannot part with it sea-water enough to keep the boat afloat is flowing behind him, but he "heeds not what the landsmen say:" he is no tailor," but a sailor: so he "Hauls away, yo-ho, boys!" and though he should be properly up to his middle in the sea, the artist has taken care of him, and you see every bit of his shoes dry on the top of a wave.

:

This pathetic piece is the right-hand supporter of the owl in the glasscase. On the left "Jemmy's Return " is almost as "seriously inclined," as Othello says, on the part of the artist. Mrs. " Auld Robin Gray" is seen drowned, I should almost say, in sorrow at the door of the cottage of her "gude man," situated by the sea-side, with the sea in the offing running so high, that if it did do as it could do, it would drown poor disconsolate Jemmy, Mrs. Gray, auld Robin, cottage, cat at the cottagedoor, and all; but it forbears, very much to its credit. There are a few misprints in the verses quoted underneath, which show a not-unbecoming ignorance of "the Scottish Doric:" such as bath for baith—wrath for wraith-fair for sair; but it would be hypercriticism to dwell upon them. Four sporting prints-all over horse and dog-and "one other," in which two young ladies are taking Love (a decent lad enough, in a sort of short, smart bedgown) in at the window, while the old lady their mother is fast asleep in her easy chair-(if she can be easy in a chair

which is so much out of the perspective)-and "the companion print," in which the old lady is roused, and driving Love away, vi et armis, with a birch-broom-these adorn the other spare walls of the parlour, and make them entertaining. These things do not abate my love for an old road-side inn-" not a jot !"—they add to it. I might have been better accommodated perhaps at the Athenæum Club House; but here I am all alone-which is a luxury sometimes: there, there is that eternal Member always present, with that untiring, tiring member of his own Athenæum, his tongue, perpetually bore, bore, bore-ing me with some "fire-new scheme," perhaps, for deflagrating the poor, dear, dead, departed coal-heavers of both shores of the Thames into coal-gas! I have thought of that myself, so that he is not original. These men, in their time, swallow so much coal-dust, that it does seem a pity that it should be altogether lost, as it is when it is buried with them. Here I miss hearing for the hundredth time that other scientific proposition of his-as ticket-porters are, all their lives long, such" entire butt" tossersoff of beer, that it is possible to get back from them a pure "extract of malt!" Schemes feasible enough, but is it not carrying science a little too far, when it seeks to resolve the elements of society into their constituent principles? I think it is; and therefore am I happier here than in Mr. Professor's company. I might be better entertained perhaps at the United Service Club; but then there's that never-absenton-no-account old Major Fullpay of the Fencibles, who has so little consideration for the Halfpays-a large portion of the family of military and naval Men-and none at all for the Quarterpays-a larger. And then I have heard that story of his about the Duke of York, and what his Royal Highness said when he critically reviewed his corps at Chatham Lines, and what the Major said to his Royal Highness, being "an answer to the same," that I could tell it the Major, word for word, for he never varies-I will say that for him. And then there are those "Lines" by the Major, written upon that proud occasion, which I call "His Chatham Lines "—at which he laughs-not at the "Lines," but at the joke; and I laugh—not at the Major, but at the "Lines." I know them now by heart, and could prompt the author, if need were. Therefore am I better pleased with the King's Head than the Major's. The socialities of these Clubs are delightful, doubtless. It is not unpleasant, that I am aware of, to dine socially, at four different tables, with Captain Alexander in one corner, Baron Skimmilk, of the German Legion, in another, Captain Moggeridge in a third-(that is, if the wind is favourable to his whiskers, for, if it is not, and it blows them, carefully combed one way, the other way, the Captain returns home, and does not venture out again till the wind has turned)-it is pleasant to dine there, and be, the while, snugly ensconced in a fourth corner. It is not unpleasant-indeed, it is agreeable-to "exchange the news of the day" by exchanging the newspapers-the Times' for the 'Chronicle-with the Baron, and taking the 'Globe' after Captain Alexander has done with it-(not that Captain Alexander who conquered this world, and cried because he had got nothing more to dono, quite a different sort of man)-give the Sun' up to him in return. But yet I like the one solitary paper of an inn better-no waiter bespeaking it having it quietly and comfortably all to myself, to read it, or spell it, or go to sleep over it and the debates in the Imperial Par

liament, just as they dispose one, or one feels disposed. I have my prejudices and preferences, and cannot help entertaining them.

After dinner sit awhile," adviseth the sensible old proverb: we did so, and found ourselves none the worse for following its advice: some people do, for they get drowsy in their chair-a bad sign, and "drop off to sleep," as they express it, and sometimes never wake again—a worse sign than the other of the perniciousness of this after-dinner, full-blooded slumbering. Children are all the more sprightly for their meals, and ten minutes after dinner will turn the house out of windows, if you will allow them or commission them to do so. Full-grown children, if good boys and girls, should be just as much alive, and full of their fun, after their dinners; but the worst of these spoiled children is that they eat more than they want-fill their eyes instead of their stomachs-regulate their appetites by the pound avoirdupoise, and are not content and satisfied till the scale goes down thumping on the counter with rather too honest a lumping weight and measure. And thus they grow plethoric and stupid, and lie senseless and inactive in their styes, though they are not so rated in the parish-books. We-being moderately given-felt no drowsiness: even three-fourths of a quart of honest good ale did not set our head humming like a top asleep quite the contrary: we were all alive and leaping-our few faculties, at least, were—and so we superadded to the "After dinner sit awhile an invention of our own"After dinner scribble awhile"-by way of dessert, which made our sitting still and quiet not unpleasant. That done, and having looked over what we had written, and dotted the egotistic vowel (which letter is that?) where we had missed so doing in "the enthusiasm of the moment," and having given a dash to a double tt, and stuck in a comma here and there, to measure the sense, and mark the construction, and not confound and confuse both, we rolled up our work as neatly as a sempstress-put it by-rang the bell-brought in the maid, who brought in the bill, gave it a first, second, and third reading, passed it without a dissentient voice, and then counting the House out, adjourned. The King's Head" seemed perfectly satisfied, and, we thought, smiled on us as we took our leave; and so he ought, for we had shown our attachment to the Constitution and our loyalty at one and the same time.

Off we went again, at a brisk pace, not caring for the heat-not caring, indeed, for anything. Not far from our inn, a pleasant-looking lane opened its mouth and asked us to walk in. It was a lane which some proud persons would avoid as much as they would "plague, pestilence, and famine:" more humble men would modestly walk up it, and see no harm in it-nothing which could disgrace them in being scen to visit there. It is time that I mentioned its expressive name: did plain John Bunyan christen it, or what man with a like homely mind? It is, then, called-(for I see you are curious to know its name) -Obligation Lane!-why so named, and with what unrevealed signification, I know not. It was a pleasant place, and so I was not curious to know more. On the left was a little cottage, new, but built in bad imitation of an old cottage; but its situation was delightful, and made amends for its improper pretensions to be what it was not. It faced the glowing West, and looked up a small green field, and through trees, and over meadows, and over Wandsworth, and over the Thames,