ply tired. In this case, your prior
promise to yourself will absolve you from the performance of the one in
question.

And now, my good friends, before we part, let me beg of you not to allow
yourselves to be diverted from the right path by a parcel of cant. You
will hear my system stigmatised as selfish; and I advise you, whenever you
have occasion to speak of it in general society, to call it so too. You
will thus obtain a character for generosity; a very desirable thing to
have, if you can get it cheap. Selfish, indeed! is not self the axis of
the earth out of which you were taken? The fact is, good people, that just
as notions the very opposite of truth have prevailed in matters of
science, so have they, likewise, in those of morals. A set of
impracticable doctrines, under the name of virtue, have been preached up
by your teachers; and it is only fortunate that they have been practised
by so few; those few having been, almost to a man, poisoned, strangled,
burnt, or worse treated, for their pains.

But here comes the police, to interfere, as usual, with the dissemination
of useful truths. Farewell, my good people; and whenever you are disposed
for additional instruction, I can only say that I shall be very happy to
afford it to you for a reasonable consideration.

* * * * *

A BOWER OF BLISS IN STANGATE.

Oh, fly to the Bower--fly with me.--OLD OR NEW SONG (_I forget which_).

If you take a walk over Waterloo-bridge, and, after going straight on for
some distance, turn to the right, you will find yourself in the New-Cut,
where you may purchase everything, from a secretaire-bookcase to a
saveloy, on the most moderate terms possible. The tradesmen of the New-Cut
are a peculiar class, and the butchers, in particular, seem to be brimming
over with the milk of human kindness, for every female customer is
addressed as "My love," while every male passer-by is saluted with the
friendly greeting of "Now, old chap, what can I do for you?" The
greengrocers in this "happy land" earnestly invite the ladies to "pull
away" at the mountains of cabbages which their sheds display, while little
boys on the pavement offer what they playfully designate "a plummy
ha'p'orth," of onions to the casual passenger.

At the end of the New-Cut stands the Marsh-gate, which, at night, is all
gas and ghastliness, dirt and dazzle, blackguardism and brilliancy. The
illumination of the adjacent gin-palace th