he opposite direction,
upward. But the topmost layers, though inferior to the best, by no means
presented the distorted look of the furnace-bricks. The furnace-bricks
were haggard, with the immediate blistering of the fire--the midmost
ones were ruddy with a genial and tempered glow--the summit ones were
pale with the languor of too exclusive an exemption from the burden of
the blaze.

These kilns were a sort of temporary temples constructed in the yard,
each brick being set against its neighbor almost with the care taken by
the mason. But as soon as the fire was extinguished, down came the kiln
in a tumbled ruin, carted off to London, once more to be set up in
ambitious edifices, to a true brickyard philosopher, little less
transient than the kilns.

Sometimes, lading out his dough, Israel could not but bethink him of
what seemed enigmatic in his fate. He whom love of country made a hater
of her foes--the foreigners among whom he now was thrown--he who, as
soldier and sailor, had joined to kill, burn and destroy both them and
theirs--here he was at last, serving that very people as a slave, better
succeeding in making their bricks than firing their ships. To think that
he should be thus helping, with all his strength, to extend the walls of
the Thebes of the oppressor, made him half mad. Poor Israel!
well-named--bondsman in the English Egypt. But he drowned the thought by
still more recklessly spattering with his ladle: "What signifies who we
be, or where we are, or what we do?" Slap-dash! "Kings as clowns are
codgers--who ain't a nobody?" Splash! "All is vanity and clay."

CHAPTER XXV.

IN THE CITY OF DIS.

At the end of his brickmaking, our adventurer found himself with a
tolerable suit of clothes--somewhat darned--on his back, several
blood-blisters in his palms, and some verdigris coppers in his pocket.
Forthwith, to seek his fortune, he proceeded on foot to the capital,
entering, like the king, from Windsor, from the Surrey side.

It was late on a Monday morning, in November--a Blue Monday--a Fifth of
November--Guy Fawkes' Day!--very blue, foggy, doleful and gunpowdery,
indeed, as shortly will be seen, that Israel found himself wedged in
among the greatest everyday crowd which grimy London presents to the
curious stranger: that hereditary crowd--gulf-stream of humanity--which,
for continuous centuries, has never ceased pouring, like an endless
shoal of herring, over London Bridge.

At the period h