everything.  When I came to Temple Bar,
it took me half-an-hour to stare at it,
and I left it unfinished even then.  I had
read about heads being exposed on the top of
Temple Bar, and it seemed a wicked old
place, albeit a noble monument of architecture
and a paragon of utility.  When at
last I got away from it, behold, I came, the
next minute, on the figures at St. Dunstan's!
Who could see those obliging monsters strike
upon the bells and go?  Between the quarters
there was the toyshop to look at—still there,
at this present writing, in a new form—and
even when that enchanted spot was escaped
from, after an hour and more, then Saint
Paul's arose, and how was I to get beyond
its dome, or to take my eyes from its cross of
gold?  I found it a long journey to the
Giants, and a slow one.

I came into their presence at last, and
gazed up at them with dread and veneration.
They looked better tempered, and were altogether
more shiny-faced, than I had expected;
but they were very big, and, as I judged their
pedestals to be about forty feet high, I considered
that they would be very big indeed if
they were walking on the stone pavement.
I was in a state of mind as to these
and all such figures, which I suppose holds
equally with most children.  While I knew
them to be images made of something that
was not flesh and blood, I still invested them
with attributes of life—with consciousness of
my being there, for example, and the power of
keeping a sly eye upon me.  Being very tired
I got into the corner under Magog, to be out
of the way of his eye, and fell asleep.

When I started up after a long nap, I
thought the giants were roaring, but it was
only the City.  The place was just the
same as when I fell asleep: no beanstalk, no
fairy, no princess, no dragon, no opening in
life of any kind.  So, being hungry, I thought
I would buy something to eat, and bring it
in there and eat it, before going forth to seek
my fortune on the Whittington plan.

I was not ashamed of buying a penny
roll in a baker's shop, but I looked into a
number of cooks' shops before I could muster
courage to go into one.  At last, I saw a pile
of cooked sausages in a window with the
label, " Small Germans, A Penny."  Emboldened
by knowing what to ask for, I went in
and said, " If you please will you sell me a
small German? " which they did, and I took
it, wrapped in paper in my pocket, to Guildhall.

The giants were still lying by, in their sly
way, pretending to take no notice, so I sat
down in another corner, when what should I
see before me but a dog with his ears cocked.
He was a black dog, with a bit of white over
one eye, and bits of white and tan in his paws,
and he wanted to play—frisking about me,
rubbing his nose against me, dodging at me
sideways, shaking his head and pretending to
run away backwards, and making himself
good-naturedly ridiculous, as if he had
no consideration for himself, but wanted
to raise my spirits.  Now, when I saw
this dog I thought of Whittington, and
felt that things were coming right; I encouraged
him by saying " Hi, boy! "  " Poor
fellow! "  " Good dog! " and was satisfied
that he was to be my dog for ever afterwards,
and that he would help me to seek my
fortune.

Very much comforted by this (I had cried
a little at odd times ever since I was lost), I
took the small German out of my pocket, and
began my dinner by biting off a bit and
throwing it to the dog, who immediately
swallowed it with a one-sided jerk, like a pill.
While I took a bit myself, and he looked
me in the face for a second piece, I considered
by what name I should call him.  I
thought Merrychance would be an expressive
name, under the circumstances; and I was
elated, I recollect, by inventing such a good
one, when Merrychance began to growl at
me in a most ferocious manner.

I wondered he was not ashamed of himself,
but he didn't care for that; on the contrary
he growled a good deal more.  With his
mouth watering, and his eyes glistening, and
his nose in a very damp state, and his head
very much on one side, he sidled about on
the pavement in a threatening manner and
growled at me, until he suddenly made a snap
at the small German, tore it out of my hand,
and went off with it.  He never came back
to help me seek my fortune.  From that hour
to the present, when I am forty years of age,
I have never seen my faithful Merrychance
again.

I felt very lonely.  Not so much for the
loss of the small German though it was
delicious, (I knew nothing about highly-peppered
horse at that time) as on account
of Merrychance's disappointing me so cruelly;
for I had hoped he would do every friendly
thing but speak, and perhaps even come to
that.  I cried a little more, and began to wish
that the object of my affections had been lost
with me, for company's sake.  But, then I
remembered that she could not go into the
army as a drummer; and I dried my eyes and
ate my loaf.  Coming out, I met a milkwoman,
of whom I bought a pennyworth of milk;
quite set up again by my repast, I began to
roam about the City, and to seek my fortune
in the Whittington direction.

When I go into the City, now, it makes me
sorrowful to think that I am quite an artful
wretch.  Strolling about it as a lost child, I
thought of the British Merchant and the
Lord Mayor, and was full of reverence.
Strolling about it now, I laugh at the sacred
liveries of state, and get indignant with the
corporation as one of the strongest practical
jokes of the present day.  What did I know
then, about the multitude who are always
being disappointed in the City; who are
always expecting to meet a party there, and