provides inflammable material for the fiery
eloquence of our favourite preachers. To look
upon one half of our respectable city—that
moiety which comes principally under the
observation of strangers—you would imagine
it, and rightly, to contain nothing but well-to-do
responsible inhabitants, who have each
their sitting in this or that select conventicle,
admission to which is commonly only to be
obtained by ticket, and where the doctrines
enunciated would suggest a somewhat snug
arrangement in futuro. The poor, the dirty,
the ill-lodged—all the miserable sinners, in
short—are kept in the other half of our
respectable city to themselves, and out of
sight. To cross from one to the other on the
Sabbath day, is to behold a very remarkable
social contrast. In the wicked half,
the low shops of the general dealers—so
low indeed that in some cases their whole
neighbourhood appears underground—drive
a roaring trade; in the other—the righteous
moiety in which I have the great privilege of
residing—the very blinds in the private
houses are drawn down.

On the second Saturday of my arrival with
my wife and family at these present lodgings,
my landlady, an elderly maiden lady of
extreme views, whose stern asceticism of
course precludes the suspicion of dram-
drinking, which certain features of her
personal appearance might suggest, requested
permission to say a few words to me before
the Sabbath should dawn, as any reference
to earthly matters on such a day must be put
out of the question.

"I beg your pardon, sir, but I do hope
that you will give directions to have your
nursery-blinds drawn down to-morrow. The
neighbours have complained to me of their
having been up, last Sunday."

"Of whose having been up," asked I, in
complete bewilderment.

"The blinds, sir," replied the lady, folding
her arms.

"Is it wrong, then, to let my children have
the light and air upon a Sunday, which they
get in the week-day, madam?"

"I know nothing about wrong, sir,"
remarked my ascetic friend, with a pious
shiver; "me and you are as different as light
and darkness, happily; but it's not the
custom in this city to have the blinds drawn
up on the Sabbath day, and it shall not be
done in my house, I assure you."

With my usual desire to conciliate, I
protested that, rather than hurt the religious
feelings of the neighbourhood, myself and
family were prepared to pass our Sundays in
the coal-cellar.

"By the bye," I added, by way of turning the
conversation out of its personal channel,"how
can I obtain my letters to-morrow morning,
Miss Macstarchskin?"

"To-morrow morning, sir, is the Sabbath."

I did not wish to enter into the lists of
argument with this female theologian, who,
in the matter of quotation, was I, knew, a text-
revolver of the most tremendous nature; so I
merely repeated my question.

"From ten till eleven, I believe," she said,
reservedly, "the General Post Office is open
for the delivery of letters upon the Sabbath,
to such as desec——"

"Thank you," said I, interrupting her,
"that will do, my good woman:" I did not
choose to tell her that the child, which we
had left behind us in the country, was so
unwell, that a bulletin was sent to us daily;
and if I had done so, it would probably not
have affected Miss Macstarchkin's views.

The aspect of the principal street in our
city, at ten o'clock upon a Sunday morning,
is that of a place which the plague has
recently depopulated, and where the houses
have gone into mourning for their late
inhabitants. The train itself has hurried
away, as if ashamed of an Erastian railway—
the only one which permits its wheels to
revolve on the Sabbath day——at earliest
dawn, by way of long, dark tunnels, bearing
all the wicked people that could be collected
into the unsanctified fields. The very statue
of the grim old Duke looks apologetic and
deprecatory, in consequence of being seen
mounted upon horseback in our city upon
such a day. The pavement has scarcely a
living creature upon its surface except the
cats, who are misled by the stillness to
imagine that it is quite early yet, and see no
reason for putting a stop to their flirtations.
But, inside the portico of the General Post
Office, there is at this time occurring a scene
which befits the pit-door of a minor theatre
upon a Saturday night; much more than a
public office upon a Sunday. The time (one
half hour) allowed for giving out letters is
so short, that even if the godless were so
few as our city delights to represent them,
they would scarcely be all served within it.
Moreover, although the righteous do not
come themselves for their letters, and plentifully
anathematise those who are bold enough
to do so, they send their servants upon that
errand in considerable numbers.

Opposite to those grated windows—to the
bars of which those who have obtained a
good position at first, hold on with a wise
tenacity—is an expectant crowd of enormous
size, and of all conditions. The stone staircase
in the rear is filled to such a height, that
upon the upper steps you can see nothing
but legs, which it is the peculiar custom of
the wrong half of our city to exhibit in a
primitive state.

In the outer hall, beyond, there is even a
still more numerous throng, who are only
prevented from pouring in and compressing
us within to a jelly, by the efforts of several
gigantic policemen, whose superior elevation
is occasioned by their being raised by the
unceasing pressure off their feet.

The heat, the smell, the crush is something
inconceivable. On the occasion to which I