----I do walk

Methinks like Guide Vaux, with my dark lanthorn,

Stealing to set the town o ?re; i th country

I should be taken for William o the Wisp,

Or Robin Goodfellow.

FLETCHER.

I AM somewhat of an antiquity-hunter, and am fond of exploring London in quest of the relics of old times.

These are principally to be found in the depths of the city, swallowed up and almost lost in a wilderness of brick and mortar, but deriving poetical and romantic interest from the commonplace, prosaic world around them. I was struck with an instance of the kind in the course of a recent summer ramble into the city; for the city is only to be explored to advantage in summer-time, when free from the smoke and fog and rain and mud of winter. I had been buffeting for some time against the current of population setting through Fleet Street. The warm weather had unstrung my nerves and made me sensitive to every jar and jostle and discordant sound. The ?esh was weary, the spirit faint, and I was getting out of humor with the bustling busy throng through which I had to struggle, when in a ?t of desperation I tore my way through the crowd, plunged into a by-lane, and, after passing through several obscure nooks and angles, emerged into a quaint and quiet court with a grassplot in the centre overhung by elms, and kept perpetually fresh and green by a fountain with its sparkling jet of water. A student with book in hand was seated on a stone bench, partly reading, partly meditating on the movements of two or three trim nursery-maids with their infant charges.

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