enants, as I learned afterwards, opulent and
respectable. It was late in August; my friend's family were all at
Margate; and I found none to do the honours of the house but himself
and his eldest son, a young man of prepossessing appearance and
intelligent manners. On finding I was not disposed to go out the
following morning, he recommended me to the library and some
portfolios of choice engravings, and, promising to return early in the
afternoon, departed for his haunts of business in the city.

I found the library tolerably comprehensive for its size; and having
glanced along its ranges, I tumbled over Hogarth and Gillray on the
print-stands for some time. I settled upon my usual efficacious remedy
in desultory hours--old Burton's _Anatomie_, and dropped with it into
the window-seat. I have seldom found him to fail me on such
emergencies--his quaintness, his humour, the lavish prodigality of
learning and extraordinary thinking that loads his pages, never to me
lose their freshness. Yet on the present occasion I found them fix me
with more difficulty than I ever before, or I believe since,
experienced. My mind wandered constantly from the page back to home,
forward to Heidelberg, and, after a while, I laid down the volume to
gaze vacantly through the window. It overlooked the street. Yet here
the day was so piteously wet there was nothing to arrest my
half-drowsy eye or half-dreamy attention. No young ladies in the
opposite windows. They were all at Hastings or Brighton. No neat
serving-wenches chattering on the area steps--not even a barrel-organ
to blow out one's patience--no vagabond on stilts, with a pipe and
dancing-dogs--no Punch--no nothing!--Once, a ruffian with four
_babbies_, two in his arms and two more at his ankles, strolled down
the street, chanting--"In Jury is God known"--his hat off, and the
rain streaming down at his nose as from a gable-spout. But he, too,
vanished. Occasionally a dripping umbrella hurried past, showing
nothing but thin legs in tights and top-boots, or thick ones in
worsteds and pattens. At one o'clock the milkman passed along the
street silently, and with a soberer knock than usually announces the
presence of that functionary. I counted him at number 45, 46, 47,
48--number 49 was beyond the range of the window; but I believe I
accompanied him with my ear up to number 144--where the
multiplication-table ends. He was assisted in his vocation by his
wife, who attended him--very devot