‘Not by the sidewalk though. Look at your dress. I must get a hack for you.’

‘Yes, I suppose so,’ said I, ruefully eying my tatters, and then glancing in envy at the close-bodied coat and flat cap of my guide, which defied all tumblings and tearings.

‘There, now, sir,’ said the honest fellow, as he put me into the hack, and tucked in me and my rags, ‘when you get back to your own country, you can say you have witnessed the greatest of all England’s noble charities. Of course, you will make reasonable allowances for the unavoidable jam. Goodbye. Mind, Jehu’—addressing the driver on the box—‘this is a gentleman you carry. He is just from the Guildhall Charity, which accounts for his appearance. Go on now. London Tavern, Fleet Street, remember, is the place.’

‘Now, heaven in its kind mercy save me from the noble charities of London,’ sighed I, as that night I lay bruised and battered on my bed; ‘and heaven save me equally from the poor man’s pudding and the rich man’s crumbs.’