may have in your pockets; for you must know
your Prussian, or Bavarian, or Badenish money
could not buy you a penny roll in a shop."
Some of the guests broke out in exclamations
of surprise, and hastened to the table. Mr.
Speellman produced a large leather bag full
of English money, and did, what he called, " a
little business," with every one. The man in
the Calpac and the wearer of the Flushing coat,
alone, had no money to change. The money-
changer was just about to go, when he saw the
latter, who looked at him with a grave face.

"Ah, Braun! " said he, " I have not yet
found anything for you. Bad time for farriers
now. Winter—no horses in town.—Schmidt,
I say, what are you doing here ? Why are
you not at your work in Whitechapel?"

"Because some one has knocked a nail
into my cask, and I've run that nail into
my foot."

"Some one has knocked a nail into your
cask! " said I. " What do you mean?"

"Why," said he, turning to me, while the
money-changer left the room, " I am a
carpenter by trade; but finding no work, I
engaged myself with a fellow in Whitechapel to
"cure " skins. I have done it now a fortnight,
but some one who wished for my place
disabled me by knocking a nail into my cask."

I could not make out his meaning.

"I had to get up at three in the morning,"
he explained; "I undressed and then went
into a cask with hare-skins, which I had to
stamp upon all day long. If I continued that
work till seven or eight in the evening, I
could earn about a shilling a day; just
enough to keep me alive."

"And were you tricked out of so miserable
an employment?"

"Certainly. There are dozens who wait
for one of the workmen to fall ill; and, if they
have to wait long, they make him fall ill by
secretly disabling him. Every one has his
place so long as he can keep it. They are all
Germans who work there, and many of them
are clever in their trades; but they cannot
find other employment."

This afforded me food for reflection. What
a market is London to bring one's labour to!

A sudden stillness in the room interrupted
the train of my thoughts. I looked up and
found that almost all the guests were gone to
see something of the town. Mrs. Wernstuk
sat on a wooden chair close to me, and
coughed violently. " That is a bad cough,
which you have," said I; " have you long
suffered from it? " " No; not very long,"
said the poor woman; " it has come on
gradually, and is very bad just now. I had
the typhus fever in spring; it was my first
illness, and it was dreadful. I was out of
my mind, Lord knows how long, and when
my senses came back, I could not walk from
sheer weakness. The doctor sent me to
Gravesend, where I remained three weeks.
I wish I could go there again. I was very
happy at Gravesend." " Are you less happy
here? " said I. " I am very miserable. You
see the house is dirty. I cannot clean it.
The scrubbing and washing it is my death.
I find difficulty in mounting the stairs. I
have always a mind to lie down and sleep.
My husband abuses me; he says it is my
laziness. But it is the disease; I feel it.
Here," she pressed her hand on her breast,
"is a spot which burns like fire. It makes me
cough."

I knew the poor woman spoke the truth,
and that death was at her heart. She sat
there for a long time, coughing, and telling
me of her father's farm between Düren and
Stolberg; of the rich green meadows and the
wild forests; of the Corpus Christi
processions, when she and her maiden-friends
crowned the rustic altar with flowers; and of
the merry Kirmesses on the Rhine, where
she had danced. She said she had been
so fond of dancing, and that she had often
danced all through the short, starry summer
nights, and walked home after sunrise, when
the dew was on the deep grass, and the birds
were in the air.

But I had to attend to my own affairs. I
had no friends in England. There was one
man, however, to whom a mutual friend had
consigned my fate and fortunes. He was at
Brighton. To Brighton I consequently
resolved to go, after I had first informed him of
my arrival in London. I called for writing
materials, indited a letter, and hastened
to bed, before the wilder part of the inmates
of the house returned from their experiment
on London life. The bedroom to which I was
shown, though at the top of the house, was
wet and cold as a cellar. The plaster of the
unpapered walls was, in many places, broken;
and the floor looked as if it had but just been
washed. Fancying this to be the case, I was
angry at this unseasonable attempt at cleanliness;
but, when I awoke next morning, I
found that this was the usual condition of
the floor. It was always wet. The beds in
the room were arranged ship-fashion—one
standing upon the other; so that the room,
which was very small, might be made to
contain three persons, or, if necessity required
it, six.

I chose the topmost bed, for I thought there
I was safest if the " fittings " should break;
and I kept my clothes on, for I found on
examination, that the straw over which the
sheets lay, and the sheets themselves, and
the blankets, were very damp. I thought my
bed would give me rheumatism, and with
this thought I fell asleep. When I awoke
in the morning I was chilled and sick. I
found that I had shared the room with an
Italian Swiss, who was about to go to Buenos
Ayres.

Descending to the common room, I found
all busy at breakfast. A Dutchman, with
the complexion of a bad tallow candle, ti*eated
the company to potted salmon, schiedam,
strong cigars, and other delicacies. The