ndows
of the Golden Cross on the Strand, in which Steerforth and little
Copperfield had that disastrous meeting which indirectly brought so much
sorrow to so many innocent men and women.

This was but the beginning of countless similar experiences, and the
beginning of a love for Landmarks of a more important but hardly of a
more delightful character. Hungerford Market and Hungerford Stairs, with
the blacking-warehouse abutting on the water when the tide was in, and
on the mud when the tide was out, still stood near Morley's in 1852; and
very close to them stood then, and still stands to-day, the old house in
Buckingham Street, Adelphi, where, with Mrs. Crupp, Trotwood Copperfield
found his lodgings when he began his new life with Spenlow and Jorkins.
These chambers, once the home of Clarkson Stanfield, and since of Mr.
William Black and of Dr. B. E. Martin, became, in later days, very
familiar to The Boy, and still are haunted by the great crowd of the
ghosts of the past. The Boy has seen there, within a few years, and with
his eyes wide open, the spirits of Traddles, of Micawber, of Steerforth,
of Mr. Dick, of Clara Peggotty and Daniel, of Uriah Heep--the last
slept one evening on the sofa pillows before the fire, you may
remember--and of Aunt Betsy herself. But in 1852 he could only look at
the outside of the house, and, now and then, when the door was open, get
a glimpse of the stairs down which some one fell and rolled, one
evening, when somebody else said it was Copperfield!

The Boy never walked along the streets of London by his father's side
during that memorable summer without meeting, in fancy, some friend of
David's, without passing some spot that David knew, and loved, or hated.
And he recognized St. Paul's Cathedral at the first glance, because it
had figured as an illustration on the cover of Peggotty's work-box!

Perhaps the event which gave him the greatest pleasure was a casual
meeting with little Miss Moucher in a green omnibus coming from the top
of Baker Street to Trafalgar Square. It could not possibly have been
anybody else. There were the same large head and face, the same short
arms. "Throat she had none; waist she had none; legs she had none, worth
mentioning." The Boy can still hear the pattering of the rain on the
rattly windows of that lumbering green omnibus; he can remember every
detail of the impressive drive; and Miss Moucher, and the fact of her
existence in the flesh, and there prese