You express a wish to know how I am situated in this great metropolis. Thus it is then. I have taken up my residence in a two-pair of stairs back-room, in a Lodging-house, situate No. -, in Surrey-street, Strand, kept by Mrs. Amelia Sociable, a widowed lady, of whom more anon. The prospect of the adjacent hills is delightful, and the silvery Thames runs under my window, which overlooks the craft-y concerns of Simon Shortsack, an extensive dealer in black diamonds, whom you must remember to have met, when last in town, at the Brilliants; a spruce, little, dapper gentleman, with a great penchant for pugilism, the patron of Tom Crib and the Nonpareil Randal, who often takes the chair at Tom Belcher's for a

milling dinner, or presides over the choice spirits at the Coal-Hole-But hold-enough of Simon Shortsack (who, from being so near me, I could not pass by without notice): and now to put you in full possession of all the miseries, mortifications, and varieties attendant upon a residence in a London lodging-house.

Imagine a fine

Imprimis-There is the jolie dame of the establishment, no mean attraction, Tim, I assure you. formed, blooming, black-eyed, raven-locked, plump-andpleasant-faced female, of about thirty-five, with an arch inquisitive character of countenance, encircled by the crinkum crankums of widowhood, like a beauty of the court of Charles the Second, ruffed, ruffled, and laced by the florid pencil of Vandyke; and then when she speaks, or laughs, she displays such a box of ivory, pearly white and regular, guarded by a pair of vermillion-coloured lips, formed like Cupid's bows, which appear to expand and contract from the most bewitching dimples, placed in the centre of soft round cheeks, delicately heightened by the mildest blush of healthful nature; young, gay, and thoughtless, with spirits buoyant as the summer breeze, and a heart free from the corroding touch of care. It was not long before I had successfully obtained the good opinion of my hostess, whose departed lord had, I found, been consigned to his resting-place above three months, time enough of all conscience for a young wife to have worn the sable habiliments of woe for an old fellow of

eighty-five. If I am upon good terms with the mistress, the interchange of certain little amorous glances with the rosy-cheeked goddess of the kitchen, when she brings in my breakfast, or sets my tea or coffee equipage, has convinced me that I have made some progress in that quarter, if not in the way of affectionate attachment, at least in that species of harmless coquetry (purely platonic), in which two pair of giddy eyes and thoughtless hearts are very apt to indulge, from a reciprocity of natural feeling. All this you will guess contributes essentially to my comforts as far as regards attention. But here, alas! Tim, my miseries begin. I seldom retire to rest before two, and have scarce closed my eyes, and dropt into a refreshing, balmy sleep, when I am roused by the lightermen and coal-heavers on Simon Shortsack's wharf, who work according to the tides, and make more noise than work in floating the craft, filling sacks, and loading waggons. In the morning, early, succeeds the shrill, plaintive note of the poor sweep, piercing through every key-hole and cranny, startling humanity with his piteous howl. Then follows the ringing of bells; often the lazy servant's warning to rise-of "Milk, my pretty maids, below." And now begins the bustle of the morn within doors:-Kitty Fry industriously running up and down from the cellar to the attic, raking and lighting of fires, in a thick pair of clog-shoes, and Mrs. Sociable exercising her throat by calling Kitty, from the kitchenstairs; then, too, the wary dun, with a cautious, single,