never a wealthy
man, and was always publishing little pamphlets, which, whatever the fame
they brought him, certainly yielded little cash. He had seen a good deal
of life, or what a Cockney takes to be such, and when he was buried in
Kensal Green, the attendance at the funeral showed how large was the
circle of his friends and admirers. To the last he was proud of his
whiskers.

Another friend of mine buried in the same place was Dr. Charles Mackay,
the original editor of _The Illustrated London News_, and who differed so
much with the proprietor, Mr. Ingram, M.P., on the character of the late
French Emperor, for whom Dr. Mackay had a profound contempt, that he had
to resign, and commenced _The London Review_, which did not last long.
At one time his songs, "There's a good time coming, boys," and "Cheer
boys, cheer," were played on every barrel-organ, and were to be heard in
every street. Another of the workers on _The Illustrated News_ was John
Timbs, the unwearying publisher of popular books of anecdotes, by which,
I fear, he did not make much money, as he had to end his days in the
Charter House. His department was to look after the engravings, a duty
which compelled him to sit up all night on Thursdays. Before he had
joined Mr. Ingram's staff, he had edited a small periodical called _The
Mirror_, devoted to useful and amusing literature. I fancy his happiest
hours were passed chatting with the literary men who were always hovering
round the office of the paper--like Mr. Micawber, in the hope of
something turning up. You could not be long there without seeing Mark
Lemon--a mountain of a man connected with _Punch_, who could act Falstaff
without stuffing--who was Mr. Ingram's private secretary. A wonderful
contrast to Mark Lemon was Douglas Jerrold, a little grey-haired,
keen-eyed man, who seemed to me to walk the streets hurriedly, as if he
expected a bailiff to touch him on the back. Later, I knew his son, Mr.
Blanchard Jerrold, very well, and always found him a very courteous and
pleasant gentleman. With Hain Friswell, with the ever-sparkling,
black-eyed George Augustus Sala, with that life-long agitator Jesse Jacob
Holyoake, for whom I had a warm esteem, I was also on very friendly
terms. Once, and once only, I had an interview with Mr. Charles
Bradlaugh who, when he recognised me as "Christopher Crayon" of _The
Christian World_, gave me a hearty shake of the hands. Had he lived, I
believe he would ha