lled into London by coach, and was robbed on
Hounslow Heath before he had seen more than the light of London in the
sky. No one nowadays is in danger of being driven mad by the mere
spectacle of London opening out before him, yet this was the fate of a
West Country traveller who saw London for the first time from a coach
early in the nineteenth century. Cyrus Redding tells the story in his
entertaining "Fifty Years' Recollections." All went well as far as
Brentford. Seeing the lamps of that outlying village, the countryman
imagined that he was at his journey's end, but as mile after mile of
illumination went on, he asked, in alarm, "Are we not yet in London, and
so many miles of lamps?" At last, at Hyde Park Corner, he was told that
this was London; but still on went the lamps, on and on the streets, until
the poor stranger subsided into a coma of astonishment. When at last they
entered Lad Lane, the great Cheapside coaching centre, a travelling
companion bade the West Countryman remain in the coffee-room while he made
inquiries. On returning, he found no trace of him, nor heard any more of
him for six weeks. He then learned that he was in custody at Sherborne, in
Dorsetshire, as a lunatic. He was taken home, and after a brief return of
his reason he died. He was able to explain that he had become more and
more bewildered by the lights and by the never-ending streets, from which
he thought he should never be able to escape. Somehow, he walked blindly
westward, and at last emerged into the country, only to lose his memory
and his wits.

Things are different to-day, and yet many people from the remoter parts of
England are bewildered, distressed, and crazed by a visit to London. One
meets them drifting wearily and anxiously toward King's Cross or St.
Pancras at the end of their stay. They will be happy again when they see
the utensils glitter on their old kitchen wall; when they have peeped into
their best room and found the shade of stuffed squirrels resting
undisturbed on the family Bible; and when the steam rises above their big
blue teacups more proudly than ever the dome of St. Paul's soars above
this howling Babylon, then they will acquiesce in all that is said in
praise of the Abbey, the Bank of England, and Madam Tussaud's.

THE UNDER WORLD

As for the people of Dickens and the people he knew so well, they were
mostly of the lower middle classes, though he himself had, by the time his
career was well def