ver, are playing
cross-corners. Every body and every thing is on the move. A
dwelling-house, like an umbrella, is only a thing used on an
emergency; and the inhabitants of Great Britain pass their lives amid
the smoke of steam-boats, or the din and thunder of the
Grand-Junction. From the highest to the lowest, from the peer to the
peasant, from the lord of the treasury to the Irish haymaker, it is
one universal "_chassee croissee_." Not only is this fashionable--for
we are told by the newspapers how the Queen walks daily with Prince
Albert on "the slopes"--but stranger still, locomotion is a law of the
land, and standing still is a statutable offence. The hackney
coachman, with wearied horses, blown and broken-winded, dares not
breathe his jaded beasts by a momentary pull-up, for the implacable
policeman has his eye upon him, and he must simulate a trot, though
his pace but resemble a stage procession, where the legs are lifted
without progressing, and some fifty Roman soldiers, in Wellington
boots, are seen vainly endeavouring to push forward. The
foot-passenger is no better off--tired perhaps with walking or
attracted by the fascinations of a print-shop, he stops for an
instant: alas, that luxury may cost him dear, and for the momentary
pleasure he may yet have to perform a quick step on the mill. "Move
on, sir. Keep moving, if you please," sayeth the gentleman in blue;
and there is something in his manner that won't be denied. It is
useless to explain that you have nowhere particular to go to, that you
are an idler and a lounger. The confession is a fatal one; and however
respectable your appearance, the idea of shoplifting is at once
associated with your pursuits. Into what inconsistencies do we fall
while multiplying our laws, for while we insist upon progression, we
announce a penalty for vagrancy. The first principle of the British
constitution, however, is "keep moving," and "I would recommend you to
go with the tide."

Thank heaven, I have reached to man's estate--although with a heavy
heart I acknowledge it is the only estate I have or ever shall attain
to; for if I were a child I don't think I should close my eyes at
night from the fear of one frightful and terrific image. As it is, I
am by no means over courageous, and it requires all the energy I can
summon to combat my terrors. You ask me, in all likelihood, what this
fearful thing can be? Is it the plague or the cholera? is it the dread
of poverty and t