my name here thousands would recognise me,
and be able to tell who I am and what I have
done. Suppose this, I say, and then imagine my
reflections sometimes when I am walking home
to my eight-roomed cottage in Hoxton through
these magnificent squares and crescents tenanted
by these nameless persons, every one of them
sitting in an easy-chair drinking 'twenty port.

I don't say there is anything wrong about it;
but now and then it strikes me as being rather
odd and almost paradoxical. I have written the
poem of the day, or painted the picture of the
day, and here I am in my eight-roomed house
at Hoxton, while Brown, who is the Lord knows
who, and does the Lord knows what, resides in
that first-class family mansion in Tyburnia. Let
me write or paint for the next forty years as
fast as ever I can, and as well as ever I can,
and to the very best advantage, and I shall
never be able to get beyond Brown. A legion
of equally nameless Joneses and Robinsons will
still be several stories above me.

Understand me, I am not repining, I am not
discontented, I am very snug here m Hoxton.
I have plenty in my pantry, plenty in my coal-
cellar, a feather-bed such a feather-bed! it
was my grandmother's, and has been stuffed
with the feathers of many generations of fowls,
bred, reared, killed, and eaten in the family—
and I have a bin of " 'sixty" port, which is
cheering nevertheless. Moreover I have
tolerably good health. In fact, I have the capacity
for enjoyment, and the means of enjoyment,
and I do enjoy myself thoroughly. I am thankful
every day of my life for the many mercies
of Heaven, which I often think are far more
than I deserve, or have any right to expect.

Still those nobodies in the roomy and
desirable family mansions vex me. If they were
dukes, or lords, or bankers, or well-known
merchants, or well-known anybodies, I could
forgive them. I could look at their mansions and
say, " All right; you are quite entitled to this
sort of thing. You are eminent; you came over
with the Conqueror, or you lent government
money, or did something or other to gain
distinction. You may not have come by your
wealth honestly; but no matter, if you are
thieves you are distinguished thieves. You are
somebodies. I should as soon think of quarrelling
with you for having fine houses, as I should
with coal-heavers for wearing fantail hats. The
thing fits." But those thousands and thousands
of nobodies. Where do they come from?
Where do they belong to? Who were their
fathers and mothers, and what sort of houses
did they live in? Not in houses of this magnificent
sort; for such houses did not exist
in outlying quarters of the town a quarter of a
century ago. There was but one scanty
Belgravia then in London; now there are a crowded
half-dozen. When I am out of humour, and
happen to be wandering among the palaces of
Brown, Jones, and Robinson, I am apt to
say to myself, " What's the good of being able
to scale Parnassus, and mount to the topmost
steps of the Temple of Fame, if I am obliged
to hide my illustrious head in Hoxton?
Although the trumpet of fame is blowing a loud
fanfaronade for me all day long, I am not
equal to a mansion in Tyburnia. Yet there
are thousands for whom fame never blew a note,
who come into possession of grand houses, and
hold state in them as if by divine right."

One day lately, when I was in a very
bad humour, I was passing the palace of
Jones. There was a handsome carriage waiting
at the door, and presently Jones himself
came down the steps, assisted by a footman, and
entered it. Jones's hair was slightly grey, but
he had a plump, ruddy face, and looked like a
person who enjoyed himself. Seeing that Jones
was going out for his pleasure at three o'clock
in the afternoon, I thought it probable that he
had nothing else to do on the face of the earth
but enjoy himself. This man, thought I to
myself, is a sort of Fortunatus. Whenever he
puts his hand in his pocket he finds money there.
He is not obliged to make an effort to obtain it
He toils not, neither does he spin; yet he is
magnificent, and has all the pleasures of the
world at his command. Now, the aggravating
reflection about this is, that if Jones did toil
and spin, he wouldn't be half so well off as he
is. What encouragement is there for me to go
home—to Hoxton—and rack my brain, when
all my best efforts are not equal in substantial
result to Jones's doing nothing! I write a
tragedy, he has but to write a cheque. This
undistinguished Jones is my bloated aristocrat.
When I see him lolling in his carriage, chinking
the sovereigns in all his pockets, I feel
ready for the barricades. I mutter between
my teeth, " Down with the bloated Joneses!"

I ask, again, where do all these common people
get their money? How should it be such an
easy thing for them, and such a difficult thing
for me? How provokingly cool they are over
it! But if I, after a hard struggle, obtain
possession of a hundred pounds or so, I am as
nervous as possible until I get it safely into the
bank. And even then my mind is not at
rest. What if the bank should break! if
I had five thousand pounds instead of five
hundred to my account, I feel certain I
should never trouble myself about the stability
of the bank. This is what I envy—not wealth
itself, but its potentiality.

When I saw Jones in his carriage roll off from
his door, I went my way in a very ill humour.
I don't know that I wanted anything that day.
All was right at Hoxton; no duns nor disagreeables
of any kind. I had seen my name in the
papers; "rising young man, rapidly reaching
the top round of the ladder" (one paper said I
had reached it already); it was a very fine day;
I was in very good health; I had several loose
sovereigns in my pocket; and, for that day,
and several more if I chose, I had nothing
to do but enjoy myself. Still, I was hipped
and out of humour. When I had wandered
about for many hours among the gay scenes of
the West-end, seeking unalloyed pleasure and
finding it not, I turned in to a famous supper-