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MANHOOD: ITS STRUGGLES, DUTIES, TRIALS,

RECREATIONS, AND RESPONSIBILITIES.

"In carrying out any work of improvement, or of reformation in your character, you must begin by acting in such a way as conscience tells you is right. You must not wait till you are completely in a proper frame of mind; and defer doing what a virtuous man would do till you have the dispositions and inclinations of a virtuous man. It is only by practising virtue that you can bring yourself to delight in virtue."

¡ONDON had always been in my youthful imaginings the place of all places in the world which I had a strong desire to see; and to feel that I was actually on my way there was almost more than I could believe. The journey in those days was a very different thing to what it is now, when a couple of hours by the rail puts you down within a stone's throw of London Bridge. The coaches, a continuous stream running to and from Dover to London, were well horsed, and a ride on one of them, as an outside passenger, was perhaps as pleasant a one as any to be found in all England.

I remember that it was a bright cloudless autumn day, "bathed in rich amber-glowing floods of light," with the foliage of orange, and brown and red, more beautiful than any painter, save Turner, who dared to be natural, could put on canvass, lest he should be scouted as extravagant and unnatural. The undulations of the country all through the journey made the views at every turn of the road new and interesting. The road from Canterbury to London

Journey to London.

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winds through an extremely beautiful variety of hill and dale, rosy orchards, golden cornfields and hop gardens ; and as I had never before been further on the London road than Boughton, my father's native village, it had the additional interest of being entirely new to me.

Chatham, Rochester, and Stroud were passed in succession; the former place, teeming with soldiers, made my young blood tingle as I thought fondly of what I might one day do in defence of my country. As we neared London my feeling of wondrous expectation scarcely allowed of my remaining in my seat. I was at the back of the coach, and ever and anon I rose from my seat to look ahead for the first glimpse of St. Paul's, or some visible indication of being in reality within reach of the great metropolis. No young Israelite, on his first pilgrimage to "the City of the Great King," felt more intensely anxious than I did to stand within the City of London and walk about its streets. All that I had ever read, and heard from others, came welling up from my full heart, and my excitement increased as Blackheath was crossed, and the great city lay spread out beneath us dimly in the distance.

At last we entered the streets, and London Bridge, which had been opened a few months before, was the first object of attraction. I had never at Canterbury seen any river wider than the Stour, on whose banks I had wandered many a time as a boy, and in whose limpid waters I had so often bathed and frolicked. The noble Thames was therefore to me a magnificent sight, and as the coach slowly made its way over the bridge, the shipping, with its tall masts, and the steamers, with their variegated and smoky funnels, all impressed me with the greatness and importance of the city I was just entering. I caught a glimpse of St. Paul's, with its golden cross glittering in the afternoon sun, and on the opposite side the Tower of London; a few minutes more brought me abreast of the monument.

The "Spread Eagle" in Gracechurch-street was then

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London Relatives.

the terminus of the Canterbury " Eagle" coaches, and as the coach slowly turned into the narrow gateway of the hotel, I saw my eldest brother looking out for me, and it was quite a relief to hear his well-known voice greeting me in the midst of the noise and bustle of that great thoroughfare.

My brother was an assistant in the establishment of a wholesale stationery and account-book business in Gracechurch-street, and boarded and lodged with an uncle in the neighbourhood, who had for many years been chief superintendent of the city police, but had recently retired from that very difficult and responsible office to a less arduous post connected with London Bridge, and the parish in which it stands.

I was to be the guest of my uncle, and I much enjoyed the few weeks spent with him. The house was situate in St. Benet's-place, rather a dingy-looking court, leading out of Gracechurch-street to nowhere. There were but few houses in the place, and I remember that a bookbinder lived immediately opposite my uncle's, and as the space between the two houses was rather narrow, we could look from my uncle's rooms almost into those of our opposite neighbours. The dull and monotonous prospect was often gladdened by the bright eyes, and happy smiling faces, of three daughters of the worthy bookbinder, who were seen occasionally at the windows.

My uncle was a remarkably tall and well-proportioned man, though he stooped a little from age, and long active service. He told me that, as superintendent of the police, he had for a great many years perambulated the City of London twice every day, and entered his name, and time of calling, at every police-station within the city boundaries. His duties, in his new position, required him to be out pretty nearly all the day on London Bridge, and about the Ward, to look after the police, and see that everybody connected with the bridge was at his duty. I was his constant companion in these rambles, and he used to point

Sir Chapman Marshall.

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out to me the pickpockets and thieves that infested that great thoroughfare. It used to amuse me to see the members of the swell-mob lift their hats as they passed my uncle in the streets, and to observe how these light-fingered gentry glided away out of his sight as he would sometimes shake his head at them.

I was very fond of my uncle, and he was exceedingly kind to me; he would have done almost anything to have dissuaded me from soldiering, but the desire for the army still burned steadily within me.

An old copy in manuscript of the "Rules and Regulations of the Bridge Ward," was suspended over the fireplace in the watch-house, and my uncle proposed that I should make a fair transcript of this document. He was so pleased with this specimen of my penmanship, that he submitted it to the Alderman of the Ward, Sir Chapman Marshall, as the work of his nephew. Sir Chapman made some kind inquiries about me, and gave my uncle a sovereign to reward the youth who could turn out such a piece of ornamental penmanship, and remarked that I was fit for something better than soldiering.

My visit to my uncle was unhappily interrupted by a misunderstanding between my brother and himself as to late hours at night. My uncle would insist upon every one being in by ten o'clock, and this early hour was not at all agreeable to my brother. Angry words ensued, and it ended in my brother leaving, and going to board and lodge with a friend, who kept an inn in Smithfield Market. My uncle was so hurt and annoyed at my brother leaving him, and spoke out so strongly against him, that the friends with whom he lived prevailed upon me to transfer my quarters to them, for the few weeks that intervened before leaving for the army.

It was with real regret that I left my uncle, whose genial society I very much delighted in; his narrations of London life, and what he had seen, and taken part in, quite charmed and captivated me.

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I heard, moreover, afterwards, from my aunt, that he was quite hurt at my yielding to the persuasions of my friends to go with my brother to Smithfield.

In my new quarters I found, however, that I had more freedom, and liberty of action, and my peregrinations extended to the different parts of London. All through the

day I had nothing to do but to walk about, as every one was too much engaged to give me their company; and this being the case, I visited the parks, the Bank, the Royal Exchange, the Tower, with all its wonders and strange legends, the docks, the principal churches, the bridges, the Thames-tunnel, the British Museum, the Horse Guards, Westminster Hall, and the Courts of Law, the Houses of Parliament, then very different structures to what they are now. The old Abbey, which I often visited, and re-visited, and was never weary of wandering about its sacred pavement, and reading the many inscriptions recorded there of men whose names had long been as familiar to me as "household words," and whose dust

lay mouldering beneath my feet. I never lost an opportunity, when going west, of looking in at the old Minster, and "Poets' Corner" had a charm for me beyond most places in London. But the place that most of all attracted me was St. Paul's, that king among the architectural structures of London. I have stood for the hour beneath its dome, looking up in dreamy wonderment at the dim and glorious summit, and then leisurely let the eye wander around at its growingly beautiful proportions. As a building, Westminster Abbey fell very short of my expectations, as I contrasted it with the Cathedral under whose shadow I had spent my early days; but St. Paul's more than realized all my most sanguine expectations. I used to walk around its exterior, and from different stand-points look up with silent admiration as I gazed at its magnificent dome, and golden cross, with the blue heavens as a back-ground. It is indeed a noble and enduring monument to the great architect who conceived its vast and

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