and her companion had entered, and looked at
the number on the door, distinctly visible by the
light of the gas-jet within.

''Number four," said Jim; " now for the name
of the square;" and he crossed the road, skirted
the railings of the enclosed patch of brown
ground and stunted shrubs, and took the opposite
side of the way. The night was clear and
bright, and the name of the square was distinctly
legible.

"Hollington-square," said Jim. " They
called Mrs. Bembridge's carriage. I have not
a bad head for names, but I'll get Teddy Smith
to write these down. And I can't stand it any
longer; I must do something. I'll try and get
Mr. Dallas to let me speak to him when he
comes from abroad, and then I'll tell him all
about it. I suppose," said Jim, very ruefully,
"if he thinks right to tell, they'll lag me; but it
can't be helped. Almost every one as I've
knowed gets lagged some time or other."

HAMPSTEAD HEATH.

"SIR," shouted the chairman of the meeting,
"we'll go the whole hog, bristles and all."
"Well, then," I answered, respectfully, " I
don't think you'll get the bristles;" and though
that's nearly eighteen years ago, they haven't
got 'em yet. It's quite a mistake to suppose
that we Hampstead people have thwarted Sir
Thomas Wilson for mere thwarting's sake, or
that we weren't ready at any time to let him
build on the Finchley-road estate, provided he'd
let the Heath alone. Why, what took place
at this very meeting, and before it, proves the
contrary? When I heard of its being called by
his agent, who hadn't been long amongst us
then, but who was beginning to be active, I
went round to a few of the leading people,
copyholders like myself, and put it to them
whether it wouldn't be fair and neighbourly to
let Sir Thomas build on the outlying land, if
he'd give us some sort of undertaking that he
wouldn't use this permission as the thin end of
the wedge against the Heath. Hampstead,
mind you, was very different then to what you
see it now, though it had begun to change from
the quiet little pocket-borough of a place it was
when I settled here five-and-forty years ago.
But, two or three families, the great bankers
and others, were still looked up to as its natural
heads, and when they agreed to a thing as
right, and for the public good, he'd have been
a bold man who said them nay. Well, we
settled that if Sir Thomas Wilson, or his agent
for him, would write a note to one of the
copyholders saying that his being allowed to build
on the Finchley-road estate was not to prejudice
their common-rights, or to be used against them
hereafter, they'd cordially agree to his letting
the land I've spoken of, and by that means to his
putting five thousand or ten thousands pounds a
year in his pocket. I went down to the meeting,
and found, as I expected, Mr. Agent in the
chair, and the room well-nigh filled with
tradespeople and others, who were perhaps not unwilling
to welcome a scheme for bringing fresh residents
and increasing the custom ot the place. At
the first opportunity I got up and said just what
I've told you, the meeting listening attentively,
and feeling it must be right if the gentry in the
big houses thought so. I wound up my little
speech by telling the agent that the copyholders
had no wish to run Sir Thomas into expense, and
that a mere assurance, in writing that he wouldn't
try to build on or let any portion of the Heath
itself would be quite sufficient. He then
interrupted me with that pretty little speech about
the whole hog, and I believe this to be the only
reason of the fine fields on the Finchley-road
having been kept open until now. We weren't
going to stand being ridden over roughshod
in that fashion, so we said to ourselves law's
law, agent or no agent, and we'll see if the will
of Sir Thomas's father won't stand good, and
help us in keeping our own. From that time
to this, every attempt, private or parliamentary,
to build has failed, for the simple reason that we,
the copyholders, have stood upon our rights. So
it's surely rather late in the day, now, to tell us
those rights don't exist!

"Yes, the public were in the habit of coming
up here, when I first knew the place, pretty
much as at present. They were quieter, I
think, and you certainly didn't see so many
boys and girls giving themselves the airs of
men and women as you do now. But on great
holidays— Good Fridays, Easter Mondays,
Shrove Tuesdays, and such-like—kiss in the
ring, foot-racing, and donkey-riding, always went
on. The Sundays were much quieter then, the
Castle, the Holly-Bush, and the Spaniards all
doing a snug dinner business with customers
who'd drive their wives up in their own traps
from the City, and a little clique of old bachelors
who dined there at the same house every Sunday
for years. But on week-days, and when
the holiday-makers were absent, I don't
suppose there was a quieter or more retired
spot than Hampstead in the three kingdoms.
Camden-town was the nearest point, London
way, and nothing but park, fields, and
country between. Unsafe to go there at night?
Very, for it was dark and lonely, and footpads
were so much about, that it was a common
thing for a man going up the hill alone to be
stopped, and it wasn't wise to try the journey
unarmed. The bankers and merchants, who
went into London for their business, mostly
travelled by the stage-coach; the fare to
the Bank was half-a-crown, and to Camden-
town eighteenpence, besides the coachman's
fee. But then, if a gentleman hereabouts sent
word that he'd got friends coming with him,
and that he'd want two or three places, the
coach would just drive round by his house
and call for him, or send a fly if it was more
than half a mile or so out of the way. For,
you see, everybody was known, and the gentlemen
living here all took a direct interest even
in the coachman and guard, some of them giving
as much as ten pounds as a present at Christmas-
time. The Hampstead shops were of that old-
fashioned sort which would look funny enough