Club. Take him all in all he may be supposed to have spawned forth of its ownself from overgrown London. In fact, there was something seemingly in the shrewd gaze of this hunchback, that almost invariably, after placing a penny in his small shrivelled hand, I would stand for a moment to gaze on him, and more than once I caught his quick twinkling eyes fixed on me as I momentarily viewed his movements, on observing which, he would turn and hastily resume his occupation and with a smile of cunning gather in the pence from the pedestrians.

It was a beautiful morning in June, after a fine shower, that I set out from my lodgings in Piccadilly for the purpose of meeting a gentleman on business in Fleet Street, near Temple Bar, and no omnibus passing, I turned down Haymarket to the Strand and while crossing from the Opera House, and near the Equestrian Statue of King Charles, I suddenly again met with the hunchback, but being in haste passed him without noticing his hand held out for the customary penny; on gaining the side walk I turned my head and saw his small sharp gray eyes seemingly fixed on me while resting on his old broom, and without heeding the many who were passing his crossing. On second thought I returned to make my small offering, but not having a penny, I silently placed in his hand a shilling, and proceeded on my way, when opposite Northumberland House curiosity caused me once more to turn my head toward the hunchback, and to my surprise, at that distance, saw him still standing gazing down the Strand as if pondering on my movements. An omnibus now passing down, I stepped in, thinking no more of the hunchback and next morning left London in a steamer for Antwerp-(Belgium).

Some few days after my return to London from the Continent, I visited Drury Lane Theatre to see a favourite tragedy written by my esteemed friend, John Howard Payne, Esq., and while gazing into the pit, between the acts, who should I see perched upon a side seat, but the hunchback of Charing Cross, dressed in fashionable yet dandy style, hat of the latest fashion, placed or cocked on the side of his head to look consequential, blue frock and pants, white rest and gloves, a gold watch guard, and a fashionable small dandy cane, with which he would occasionally strike his well-polished boots, and in fact appeared quite at home, gazing up at the boxes &c.-At the closing of the fourth act, so much was my curiosity excited to know how he could afford to pay five shillings to see a play and dress in such a fashionable style, that I descended to the pit and taking an opportunity when unobserved touched him on the shoulder; he started, looked fiercely round and demanded the cause of so much familiarity with a stranger, but before I could reply or apologize, a smile appeared on his before angry visage as if he recognised me; he did so, and offered his hand in token of

friendship: I stated to him, having seen him from the boxes and as a stranger in London from America, I was in some doubt at first if he could possibly be the same person who I had so often seen at Charing Cross, and how was it possible he could afford to attend Drury Lane theatre and appear so fashionably dressed. "Ah!" he replied, smiling, "I see, I see, you are a stranger in London; yes, I knew it some weeks ago, for I have not forgotten the shilling," he whispered, at the same time giving me a slight touch with his neat dandy cane, and then observed, "you must have moved to the West End, not meeting with you at our crossings for some weeks past, or, since the shilling changed masters so handsomely at 'old Charing,'" giving me a wink and glancing his quick eye toward the dress circle, at the same time playfully striking his boots with his cane. I informed him I had been absent on the Continent. "Ah!" said he, "been among the monsieurs, I suppose; by the way, do you care about seeing the farce?" "No," I replied. "Nor do I," said the hunchback smiling, "for I see a dozen in the street every day, and here too," glancing at the boxes, "but I love to see deep tragedy, or sometimes a good comedy, when the characters are well cast, therefore if you have no particular engagement, and will meet me at the entrance of the corridor of the pit at the close of the tragedy, I will explain to you as a stranger in London, how I can afford to come to old Drury Lane Theatre, and will show you, if no objection, a little Life in London; but you Americans," continued he, "I am told, are somewhat of an inquisitive kind of people, and sometimes are up to a thing or two," again touching me with his cane and smiling, “but”— here the prompter's bell stopped all conversation and the curtain rising, I was about leaving for the boxes when he whispered, "fear not, and be punctual."

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Such was my great anxiety to see the result of this night's adventure, that before the drop curtain had touched the stage at the close of the play, I was at the pit door and found the shrewd hunchback waiting for me, who, taking familiarly my arm, soon passed through the great throng in the lobbies to the street, but with much fatigue, for the diminutive little personage caused him to drag rather heavily through the crowd as he held with a death grasp on my arm, but on gaining the street, his agility surprised me, and seemed as if walking on air, so elastic and easy were his movements. We proceeded up Drury Lane as far as Parker's Lane, and turning down about a square, came to a spacious court lighted by one solitary lamp at the entrance; passing down the court, the hunchback, at the basement door of an extensive old building, gave a peculiar long shrill whistle: soon a female voice demanded, who summoned for an entrance. "Charles of Charing Cross," replied the hunchback, and immediately the immense oak door opened and a woman of middle age bade us welcome, and led the way to a

large room used for a kitchen to the establishment; from this room a well-lighted corridor branched to the right from which was heard distant voices, at times, of laughter and singing. "Well, good dame," asked the hunchback, "have all the club arrived; the Regent, Marlborough, Oxford, our treasurer?" "All here," answered the woman, “but Gloucester, who is not well to night.” "This gentleman, good dame," said the hunchback, "is a stranger in London, from the other world, called America, thousands of miles over sea, and will sup with the club, and I wish you to have all as it should be, and soon, for the night is passing away." "From the other world," asked the woman, gazing on me with some amazement, "and so much like us?" 'No, dame, from the new world, called America, which once on a time was owned by us, but as we did not use them as well as they wished, like true men, why you must know they just turned on our red-coats, and soon made mince-meat of them, that's all."

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The hunchback now rose, and we passed through the corridor and were admitted into an illuminated spacious apartment, in which were some twenty well-dressed young men seated at small tables around the room, and amusing themselves in playing cards, dominos, draughts, &c., while in the centre of the room, stood arranged a long table handsomely set out for a banquet; as we entered, all rose and came forward to welcome their President, the hunchback, who introduced me in a most formal manner to the Sweep Club of Charing Cross. The door now opening, a servant in livery entered, attended by a boy, both having large trays of viands which were soon arranged in fine order on the table. Wine, brandy, ale, cigars, &c., were arranged on side tables and served as wanted, by the attendants. The hunchback presided, and during the feast, songs were sung and toasts given with much hilarity, until a late hour, when the President rose and gave a toast, "The King and Queen of America." I explained. "Never mind," said the hunchback, "all the same an hundred years hence," when a general laugh followed at his expense, and after that excellent song, "The Old English Gentleman,' in which a fine chorus joined, the Sweep Club adjourned, after I had, by request, given a sweeping sentiment for the occasion. The hunchback now gave good-night to all, and taking my arm, turned into an opposite well-lighted passage, and ascending a broad stairway, came to the street door, which with a private key he opened and we found ourselves in a court opening into Great Queen Street, from thence crossing Drury Lane, we proceeded to St. Martin's Lane, towards the Church, and when opposite the National Gallery, Trafalgar Square, I thanked him for his hospitality, and bade him good-night.

While on our return, the hunchback informed me it was his intention, very soon, of giving up his present occupation and

opening an establishment near Covent Garden Market: that the Sweep Club had, at that time, a large Clothing Shop near London Bridge, a hat shop in Fleet Street, and an extensive eating establishment near the King's Bench Prison, besides some loose change in the saving's bank. You will now, my American friend, be no longer surprised at my being able to pay five shillings to see a favourite play at Drury Lane theatre: and the shilling at Charing Cross I think we shall ever both remember for years to come, for that, you will never again be taxed at any of our crossings from Oxford Street to Temple Bar."

To see the sweeps at the crossings in London by day, they would not easily be recognised as the same persons, who, at times, repair to the theatres and other public places of amusement about London at night, fashionably dressed and aping gentility with all the impudence imaginable; smoking their cigar and drinking their sack from the "Falstaff" unique pewter pots, as carelessly and as leisurely as any dandy at the Club-houses in St. James.

It is a most remarkable coincidence that Bulwer in his late work, "Lucretia," when describing the "Hunchback of Charing Cross," (one of his characters,) has used nearly word for word with the description here given, although this was noted a year since for publication; showing that two persons thousands of miles apart may write on the same subject, the same day, having the same ideas, and not be free from the charge of plagiarism.

CHAPTER LI.

London; Steamers for the Continent; Their Fares; Bosworth Field; Luxurious Living in England; The Tea-Table; Silver Plate; Household Regularity and Comfort Predominant; English Servants at Home and in America; Portrait of the English Lady; Affability, or, Hints to Ladies in General; English and American Society; Extravagance in Dress; Dandyism; Remarks, &c.

GOVERNMENT mail steamers sail three times a week from London to the Continent; these vessels are built in a most substantial manner for sea service, as much so as those that cross the Atlantic, and their accommodations the same in every particular, and their commanders equally polite and attentive. The steam packets sail at 12 o'clock precisely, from off the Tower stairs, near the Custom House. The fare from London to Rotterdam, 17. 10s.; to Antwerp, 17. 10s.; to Boulogne, or Calais, 17.; to Havre, 17. 10s.; to Brighton and Dieppe, 12s.; meals extra, with usually a small fee to the attentive stewards. The tourist, if taking an excursion to the Rhine, can book at London to any place on the Rhine, via Rotterdam, Ostend, or Antwerp, at 69 Lombard Street, or 37 Regent Circus, Piccadilly, London, which saves much trouble on the jaunt, not only in making change, but in moving luggage.

Should the tourist while in London, have a desire to roam a few hours over the celebrated Field of Bosworth, he has only to step into the cars at the Liverpool Station, book for Rugby, distance 80 miles, fare ten shillings, there book for Leicester by the midland county train, distance 20 miles, fare two shillings. A coach will run to Bosworth Field in two hours, distance 12 miles from ancient Leicester, giving four hours' time on the field, and be back to London at tea. A more pleasant jaunt for a day, cannot be named round the metropolis, and the expense trifling, compared with the pleasure of drinking water from Richard the Third's well, and seeing his stone coffin at the old Abbey in Leicester.

The luxurious and extravagant style of living in England is only among the nobility and gentry; other classes live well, some luxu