and several railway bridges; has a tile-kiln in
its centre; and is distinguishable throughout by
dirt, dinginess, and obvious desolation. Vegetation
has long since died throughout its whole length
under the united influence of ash-dust, brick
and tile burning, and the oleaginous vapour
from more than one slaughter-house, and their
contiguous manure depositories. The only lively
things in it are a rope-yard, and an ink manufactory.
Near its upper end is the famed " Belle-isle" —
beautiful island — suggestive to a London
ear of dust-heaps and dustmen; upon its
south-western edge stands Jack's Castle:
a substantial modern erection, of thoroughly
respectable appearance.

As we have rattled up the lane in the rear of
the red cart with its helplessly jolted burden,
we have come upon another cart ot the same
colour, to the tail-board of which is tied a
melancholy piece of horse-flesh, still alive,
and with a jaunty skittishness in its motions,
as if, in the unaccustomed freedom from collar,
harness, and other similar restraints, it had
forgotten all its past ills, and had some wild notion
of being out " for a lark." And yet, he is going to Jack's
too. We all pass together under a railway arch,
and are upon the edge of Jack's demesne;
made up of the horse-yard, a public-house, and
the castle aforesaid.

If a momentary palpitation be awakened in
our bosom by the thought of the reception we
are likely to meet from Jack the horse-killer
in our intended investigation of his premises,
it is soon allayed by the bearing of Jack
himself. A hale elderly man, tall and stout,
with an open countenance and a clear eye,
received our request for information, with the
frank reply, " Go down the yard."

The yard-gate has nothing to defend it but a
simple latch, and we walk in. On the left hand,
as we enter, we almost stumble upon the
disjecta membra of the dead, in the shape of
a heap of horses' feet, cut off at the first
joint, and piled up a yard and a half high
in the corner. On the right hand, and
stretching away under a shed at the end of the
yard, are some eighteen or twenty live horses,
tethered by ropes to staples in the wall. They
have a few wisps of hay scattered at their feet,
and although all in a more or less sorry condition,
exhibit something of the jaunty spirit which
was evident in the unharnessed hack we
overtook on the road.

The stone-paved yard is cleanly swept and
washed, and we sniff no unpleasant odours in
the air. To be sure there are small clouds of
flies here and there hovering over the dead
feet and the live horses, but even they are not so
numerous as one might expect. We tap at the
open door of a small house at the end of the
yard, and are speedily joined by a small dapper
man in a wide-awake: Mr. Frankman, who, in an
off-hand, ready way, offers at once to conduct us
over the premises. He talks as he proceeds:

"Them horses, now, are waiting their turn.
Some of 'em will be for to-morrow morning,
according to number of dead ones brought in.
We slaughter about twenty a day, from one
hundred and twenty to one hundred and thirty
a week. We must have some live stock to make up
with. Them feet, you see, are only waiting to be
taken away. We sell them as they are; they take
the shoes off, and make glue and buttons of the
rest. This is the slaughter-house."

We stand before an open folding-door on the
left hand of the yard, leading into a large
substantial barn-like building. We enter with
our guide. At a rough guess it is about twenty
feet broad by forty feet deep, and is paved with
broad flags sloping from the side to the centre,
so as to form a gutter throughout two-thirds of
its length, and in the middle of which is a square
iron grating. On either hand, lie the carcases
and bones of horses in different stages of
slaughterdom. Two lie untouched as they fell:
a third is skinned, has had its legs taken out at
the socket, and is in course of being stripped
of its flesh. Spread out towards the upper end
on the right, is collected the flesh of a horse,
ready for boiling.

"And a fine animal he was, with more than
two hundred-weight of meat on his bones."

Some few ragged bundles of cooked meat hang
on hooks against the wall. This on the right
hand. On the left, the most conspicuous object
is the red skeleton of a horse, without the head
and legs. The head lies close by. Stripped by a
skilful hand of every particle of flesh, it offers
its ghastly outline to the sight, awaiting the
bone-boiler. In the corner, packed into neat
square bundles, and looking something like the
wet knapsacks of Prussian soldiers, are the
separate skins of horses. These also are sold.
All this is much less revolting to the eye than
in print. The sloping  nature of the pavement
readily conducts offence to the grating,
through which it passes, and is saved for
manure and other purposes. There is evidently
plenty of water, and no lack in the use of it.
The place is excessively clean. In the centre
of the shed at the upper end stands a square
brick furnace, and on either hand a large
iron boiler with the lid raised. Both are dry
and clean, and Mr. Frankman points out, with
a dry chuckle and evident pride, a large iron
syphon through which the vapour from the
boilers is conducted into the furnace and there
consumed.

The entrance of Jack at this moment gives us an
opportunity of testing his opinion of our French
friends' late experiments in hippogastronomy.
He chuckles audibly over the notion of
making horseflesh the ordinary food of any
living creatures but dogs and cats: at the same
time delivers a decided opinion in preference of
a meal off a good sound horse, any day, to one
of any of the diseased cows of which he often
sees a number in the adjoining cattle market.
A short visit, at the suggestion and under the
conduct of our dapper guide, to the " guv'nor's"
own stables, shows us a different quality of
horseflesh. Seven sleek well-groomed horses,
of unexceptionable proportions, each in his clean,
wholesome stall, give us a good notion of the