lating German works, and he had a fancy
that he would begin with Hegel; he was
prepared also to labour in original composition
as an English writer. That he can write
English well, our extracts from his
autobiographical sketch testify.

In the waiting-room at the Custom House
he was abashed by a party of neat gentlemen
and ladies. Their clothes were clean, he says,
and mine had not felt a brush since I got into
the railway train at Cologne. Their hair was
very short, wiry, and prim, while mine was
long and dishevelled. Their cravats were as
stiff as they were high, and I had the
assurance to wear my shirt-collar turned
down. There was something exceedingly
painful to me in the sneering curiosity with
which I was surveyed. I left the room.

I had scarcely gone out on the quay,
when a dirty man, with large whiskers, came
shuffling up, and addressed me in German.
He asked whether I had come with the boat
from Rotterdam? and on my saying, " No," he
wished to be informed what hotel I had fixed
upon. I knew of the touters for the low
inns, who lie in ambush about the London
wharfs to entice strangers, and particularly
foreigners, into their lairs. But what had I
to fear? I was no prey for thieves. My
falling in with a touter was somewhat
fortunate. A home was at once recommended
to me, of which my whiskered countryman,
with the dirty face, informed me he was the
proprietor. He called it " fatherland in the
midst of London."

After a short palaver, we agreed to his
proposal, that I should pay him for my board
and lodging at the rate of half-a-crown per
diem. This, he said, was the usual sum; but
I found afterwards that I paid a shilling
more than he was in the habit of receiving.
I was, however, well pleased with my bargain.
As for him, he seemed in such conceit
with his new customer, that he would not
leave me for a single moment alone, for fear I
should make my escape or lose my way.

I was very cold, and felt feverishly
impatient to change my dress, wash my face,
and brush my hair. I looked, consequently,
with great eagerness towards the " fatherland
in the heart of London." Besides I had not
yet breakfasted; and when Mr. Wernstuk
(such was the whiskered man's name)
proposed to go to a public-house on the
wharf, I readily accompanied him, and was
forthwith led into a large room, where an
enormous fire was drying the smock-frocks of
above a hundred coalheavers, draymen, and
porters, who sat on black benches, drinking
ale, and eating cheese. They all smoked clay
pipes, and seemed greatly to enjoy their bad
tobacco. My landlord dragged me to a table
at the further end of the room, where he
told me to sit down by the side of a pale
woman, whose dress and long braids, escaping
from under a skullcap embroidered with
beads, plainly bespoke her as one of my fair
countrywomen. While the landlord, who
appeared an habitué of the place, bustled off
to get some refreshment at the bar, I entered
into a conversation with the poor woman,
who seemed quite bewildered by the
surrounding uproar. She said she and her
husband had but that morning arrived from
Rotterdam, and that they had been at once
secured and carried off by Mr. Wernstuk.
The last-named person returning with a dish
of cold beef, and sundry pots and glasses,
put the beef before me, and bade me take
especial care of the blunt knife and iron fork
which he placed into my hands—for he had
become bail for them at the bar. While I
was engaged in conquering the toughness of
the meat, I understood that knives and forks
being continually stolen by the haunters of
this place, every guest was bound to go to
the bar and return those articles when done
with.

The noise and the smell of the room were
too powerful; and declaring my intention to
set out by myself on a voyage of discovery
for Mr. Wernstuk's hotel, I returned the
knife and fork to that gentleman, who
loudly predicted I was sure of falling into
the jaws of other sharks, and who seemed
half-agonised at the idea of a certain rival
house in Leman Street, which he told me
was worse than a murderer's den. But
neither his curses nor his prayers could
prevail with me. I merely stayed to inquire for
the situation and number of his house in
Wellclose Square, took my carpet-bag, and a
few moments afterwards I alighted at the
Fenchurch Street Station of the Blackwall
Railway.

The men whom I saw in Rosemary Lane, as
I passed through it on my way to Wellclose
Square, seemed to be almost all Jews, anxious
to sell me coats, or buy my carpet-bag; and the
women, many of whom peered out from little
windows that were almost on a level with
the pavement, were gross in their language,
and licentious in their manners. Some of
them were assembled in small knots in the
street, so that I found difficulty in passing
along. But soon I found an object of a more
formidable nature in my way in the shape of
a woman, whose size and evident strength of
limb, joined to a certain swaggering
deportment, bespoke her a heroine of rows.
This woman, who had watched my progress
up the street, separated from some of her
companions, and placed herself in my way.
There was something in her manner which
made me sure she would speak to me, and be
angry at any answer I might give; but, for
all that, I could not avoid her. I might have
crossed the road, but that would have
betrayed the fear which I confess I felt; and
I therefore walked boldly up to her, and in a
polite tone addressing her as "Madam,"
asked her for the direct way to Wellclose
Square.

My stratagem succeeded. The woman was