and maybe you won't pick up a trifle in such good company." It may
be added, that Mr. Croker was for many years one of the registrars of the
Royal Literary Fund. And now, in drawing this slight sketch of Mr.
Croker's life to a close, the writer hopes that it may not be an
uninteresting addition to the present volume.

T. F. D. C.

CHAPTER I.

KNIGHTSBRIDGE TO THE BELL AND HORNS, BROMPTON.

[Picture: Anyone] Obliged by circumstances to lead the life of a
pendulum, vibrating between a certain spot distant four miles from
London, and a certain spot just out of the smoke of the
metropolis,--going into town daily in the morning and returning in the
evening,--may be supposed, after the novelty has worn off, from the
different ways by which he can shape his course, to find little interest
in his monotonous movement. Indeed, I have heard many who live a short
distance from town complain of this swinging backwards and forwards, or,
rather, going forwards and backwards over the same ground every day, as
dull and wearisome; but I cannot sympathise with them. On the contrary,
I find that the more constantly any particular line of road is adhered
to, the more intimate an acquaintance with it is formed, and the more
interesting it becomes.

In some measure, this may be accounted for by studious habits; a
tolerable memory, apt to indulge in recollections of the past, and to
cherish rather than despise, when not impertinent, local gossip, which
re-peoples the district with its former inhabitants,--

"Sweet Memory! wafted by thy gentle gale
Oft up the tide of time I turn my sail,
To view the fairy haunts of long-lost hours
Blest with far greener shades--far fresher flowers."

"We have all by heart," observes the author of the _Curiosities of
Literature_, "the true and delightful reflection of Johnson on local
associations, where the scene we tread suggests to us the men or the
deeds which have left their celebrity to the spot. 'We are in the
presence of their fame, and feel its influence.'" How often have I
fancied, if the walls by which thousands now daily pass without a glance
of recognition or regard, if those walls could speak, and name some of
their former inmates, how great would be the regret of many at having
overlooked houses which they would perhaps have made a pilgrimage of
miles to behold, as associated with the memory of persons