feel the pleasurable anticipations of a party of pleasure for the lower
middle class. From the lower end of Goswell Street--where Mr. Pickwick's
lodgings must have been, for, in the upper part, there are no houses
opposite for Mrs. Raddle to call at--it must have been a long drive for
the party. I assume they must have made for Kentish Town, and toiled up
Haverstock Hill at a walk, for the coach was heavily laden enough.
Pleasant Hampstead! One is always glad to find Boz associating his
humour with places that we are deeply interested in. The Hampstead of
this hour, though changed enough, may remind us very fairly of Boz's
time. It has still the attractions of the old-fashioned, red-brick
houses, and terraces, the mixture of green, and the charming, even
seductive, heath. "The Spaniards" at Hampstead--Boz calls it "_The_
Spaniard"--is scarcely altered from the day of the Bardell visit, and is
as picturesque as ever with its Tea Gardens and Bowers. I never pass it
without seeming to see Jackson's hackney-coach waiting and the Sheriff's
man at the gate taking his drink. The other Inn, also bound up with
memories of Boz, "Jack Straw's Castle," also stands, but one reads with
alarm on this day of grace (June 12th, 1898):--

There are few Londoners who will not grieve to hear that the
well-known inn on the Spaniards Road, "Jack Straw's Castle," famous as
the rendezvous of authors, artists, statesmen, and many a celebrity of
old days, is going the way of other ancient buildings. The low rooms
and quaint interior of the hostel are now being entirely transformed
and modernised. The only concession made to the prejudices of the old
frequenters of the inn is that the outer face is to be preserved
intact. To the passer by, no great change will perhaps be apparent;
but within, the charm of the place will have vanished entirely. A
spacious saloon bar flooded with glaring light, with modern furniture
and appliances, is to take the place of the old rooms, coffee-room,
billiard-room, and bar. In fact, it is to become a modern hotel. The
change is quite enough to make the shade of Dickens arise. As John
Forster has told us, the great novelist loved this old chop-house,
and, after a ramble on the Heath, often adjourned here for a good,
wholesome dinner.

CHAPTER VIII. MARY HOGARTH

This young girl--to whom a touching interest attached from her being so
prematurel