at them. Finally, the prizes, consisting of
three handsome medals, were distributed by Mr. H. Bedford, who stood on
a park seat and addressed a few genial words to each of the successful
candidates; then, with a cheer, and frequent wishes for a Merry
Christmas, the assembly resolved itself into its component parts.

I had taken my accustomed cold tub before coming out, yet each of these
fourteen devoted men appeared to me as a hero. They were not Herculean
individuals: several of them were mere youths. Some of the all-rounders
were grey-headed men, but there was about them all a freshness and
ruddiness which showed that their somewhat severe regimen agreed with
them. Fresh from such a Spartan exhibition, everything seemed very late
and Sybaritic in my domestic establishment, and I could not help
revolving in my mind the question, what would one of these hardy
all-the-year-rounders think of me if he knew I was ever guilty of such a
malpractice as breakfast in bed? It is a novel method; but there are
many worse ways of inaugurating the Great Holiday than by taking--what
it had been a novel sensation for me even to witness--a Christmas Dip in
the Serpentine.

CHAPTER XVII.

BOXING-DAY ON THE STREETS.

Boxing-day in the London streets, and especially a wet Boxing-day, can
scarcely fail to afford us some tableaux vivants illustrative of English
metropolitan life. In a metaphorical and technical sense, Boxing-day is
always more or less "wet"--generally more, and not less; but this year
the expression is used climatically, and in its first intention.
Christmas-eve of the year about which I write was bright and springlike;
Christmas-day dismal, dark, and un-Christmas-like; but Boxing-day that
year was essentially muggy, sloppy, drizzly, and nasty. A day to avoid
the London streets if you want to take a romantic Rosa-Matilda view of
London life; but the very day of all others, if you wish to see real
London as it is. Boxing-day will inevitably be "wetter" in every sense
than usual this year, internally and externally. So let us commence our
series of living pictures at ten o'clock in the morning. Suppose we
begin with something that shall bear reference to the past festival--the
eve and the day of the Great Birth, recollect. See, here is Grotto
Passage, Marylebone, and at its extremity Paradise Street--the names
sound promising, but alas for the reality! We are going to turn for a
moment into the Marylebone Police Co