I shakes my head and goes on towards the
bridge, gets at last into one o' the recesses,
and looks down at the running river, and the
barges, and wharves, and shipping, and great
piled-up warehouses, and, look where I would,
it seemed that there was plenty o' money every-
where, while I'd been up in the big city a whole
month, and hadn't done a stroke o' work yet.

"Never mind, my lad," I says; " you ain't
got the thin end o' the wedge in yet; but when
you do, you'll lay on at the thick end, I'll bet;"
and the thoughts of how I would lay on when
I did get a chance made me smile a bit, in spite
o' feeling so low; and I gets down outer the
seat, and then blest if there warn't another
policeman close by, and no doubt a watching me.
So off I goes as fast as I could.

"Don't do to be idle here, my lad," I says;
and I jogs along west again, wondering what I
could do for a rest till five, when I meant to be
up and off towards some o' the workshops. I
couldn't stand the workhouses, they put me too
much in mind o' seeing the tramps come into
our town down north, to get their ticket from
the policeman before they went up to the tramp
ward. You see, if I could ha' kep' on all night
I shouldn't ha' cared; but I should ha' been
good for nought nex' day, so I goes along thinking
about where I'd go.

First of all, I remembers them arches down
outer the Strand, and I turns down the lane,
and then stands stock still, for the wind came
sighing up off the river, and it seemed to me to
smell sweet and fresh, as if it had come from
far away, floating over the water from out o'
the pure country; and as I stood there it
seemed to bring with it sunny days, by my own
old river-side, with the clear water dimpling,
and sparkling, and dancing amongst the bending
grass and reeds, while the green banks were
shaded by the waving trees. There it all was —
clear water, sunny meadows, old wooden bridge,
red-brick tower church, boys fishing in the
clear water that came sweeping round the
little island — all bright, clear, and lovely, just
like a dream o' God's own beautiful country,
sent to cheer me— a poor, hard-up, working
man; and all through that light puff o' wind
from off the river.

Well, it was enough to make any man sigh
as he looked up at the bricks and mortar
closing him in everywhere, just as if he'd no
business up amongst 'em, and they wanted to
shoulder him off, because there warn't room for
him in the great city. Howsoever, I goes
down, footsore and done up, under the black-
looking arches, and then, giving a sorter
shudder, I goes slowly groping along till I
sees a light, and smells smoke, as if some one
had a fire there; and then I hears some one
a singing, and by the light o' the fire there was
one or two jiffing about in a sort o' wild Irish
dance; and that was quite enough. I makes
the best o' my way out, and finds a step where
I sits down and has a rest.

I'd been a-foot best part o' the day, and was
that tired that I began dozing off, when " tramp —
— tramp— tramp — tramp"— I hears the sound
of a step, and I knowed whose it was, so I got
up and moved off, and met another policeman,
as made me start by flashing his light in my
face. But he didn't say anything, only stopped
short, and I knew he was watching me till I
was outer sight.

"Under the green trees, my lad; they're
cold company, but the best you'll get to-night.
Under the green trees," I kep' on saying; and
I got on as fast as I could into Piccadilly, and
on and along till I was opposite the railings,
when I sat down on one o' the seats and
looked over the Park down into the hollow,
where all the lamps were twinkling and glowing
just like so many stars, while at the back,
above 'em like, was the great Parliament House
clock shining like a moon. Ah! tired as I was,
it was a pretty sight; and I could not help
thinking what a lot o' comfort and misery there
was always a-passing by them lamps o' a night.
Howsoever, I jumps up again, for, same as
before, there was another policeman a-coming,
and I shuffles along werry slowly till I turns
up Park-lane, and was soon under the railings.

Of course I didn't know the names of all
these places werry well then; but I've often
been to have a look at 'em since, and what I
thought then was terrible troubles, don't seem
anything werry serious now that times is
altered.

Policeman again before I'd got far up the
lane, and then a couple o' them poor shivering
gals; but they took no notice o' me, and at
last I looks this way, and that way, and listened,
and then I gives a bit o' a jump and was on top
o' the spikes in no time, and then let myself
gently down on the other side and stood upon
the grass.

"Ah!" I says, giving my arms a swing,
"one can breathe here." And then I goes
across the paths, and the road, and under and
over more railings and flower-beds, and then I
comes to a seat and was going to sit down, but
it was iron, and as cold as ice. So being a dry
night, I strikes right off towards the big trees
out Kensington way, to the right of the Serpentine.
I passes one or two chaps on the grass,
but I didn't seem to like the places they had
chosen, so I keeps on a bit further till I comes
to a big tree, where there was no grass growing
at the foot, while the great roots stood up
out o' the ground ever so high; and getting on
the side where the wind didn't blow, I creeps
close up to the trunk and makes myself as
comfortable as I could — and that warn't any too
comfortable, I can tell you.

First of all it didn't feel cold, for I'd been
walking, and I sat, looking about, in a sort o'
half curled-up way. It was a beautiful night,
and the stars looked brighter than ever, while
overhead the wind came whispering and sighing
through the branches o' the trees, murmuring
a tune that I'd often lain and listened to far
off in the bright country; for, I dare say,
London's a bright enough place to them with
plenty o' money, but for we poor people it's