But I could not find the street, go where I
would; so at last I went to No. 65 Cheapside, and introduced myself to
Mr. ------, whom I already knew by letter, and by a good many of his
poems, which he has sent me, and by two excellent watches, which I bought
of him. This establishment, though it has the ordinary front of dingy
brick, common to buildings in the city, looks like a time-long stand, the
old shop of a London tradesman, with a large figure of a watch over the
door, a great many watches (and yet no gorgeous show of them) in the
window, a low, dark front shop, and a little room behind, where there was
a chair or two. Mr. ------ is a small, slender young man, quite
un-English in aspect, with black, curly hair, a thin, dark, colorless
visage, very animated and of quick expression, with a nervous
temperament. . . . . He dismounted from a desk when my card was handed
to him, and turned to me with a vivid, glad look of recognition.
We talked, in the first place, about poetry and such matters, about
England and America, and the nature and depth of their mutual dislike,
and, of course, the slavery question came up, as it always does, in one
way or another. Anon, I produced my bank post-bill; and Mr. ------
kindly engaged to identify me at the bank, being ready to swear to me, he
said, on the strength of my resemblance to my engraved portrait. So we
set out for the Bank of England, and, arriving there, were directed to
the proper clerk, after much inquiry; but he told us that the bill was
not yet due, having been drawn at seven days, and having two still to
run,--which was the fact.
Pages:
306
307
308
309
310
311
312
313
314
315
316
317
318
319
320
321
322
323
324
325
326
327
328
329
330