Nothing of that sort, however, occurred in my case, I am proud to say.
But finding myself in a helpless state, without anyone to be afraid
of, I had only two courses before me: either to go back to my former
landlady (who was almost too much of a Tartar, perhaps), or else to run
away from my rooms till Providence provided a new landlady.

Now, in this dilemma I met George Bowring, who saw my distress, and most
kindly pressed me to stay at his house till some female arose to manage
my affairs for me. This, of course, I declined to do, especially under
present circumstances; and, with mutual pity, we parted. But the very
next day he sought me out, in a quiet nook where a few good artists were
accustomed to meet and think; and there he told me that really now he
saw his way to cut short my troubles as well as his own, and to earn a
piece of enjoyment and profit for both of us. And I happen to remember
his very words.

"You are cramped in your hand, my dear fellow," said he (for in those
days youths did not call each other "old man"--with sad sense of their
own decrepitude). "Bob, you are losing your freedom of touch. You must
come out of these stony holes, and look at a rocky mountain."

My heart gave a jump at these words; and yet I had been too much laid
flat by facts--"sat upon," is the slang of these last twenty years, and
in the present dearth of invention must serve, no doubt, for another
twenty--I say that I had been used as a cushion by so many landladies
and maids-of-all-work (who take not an hour to find out where they need
do no work), that I could not fetch my breath to think of ever going up
a mountain.

"I will leave you to think of it, Bob," said George, putting his hat
on carefully; "I am bound for time, and you seem to be nervous. Consult
your pillow, my dear fellow; and peep into your old stocking: and see
whether you can afford it."

That last hit settled me. People said, in spite of all my generous
acts--and nobody knows, except myself, the frequency and the extent of
these--without understanding the merits of the case--perfect (or rather
imperfect) strangers said that I was stingy! To prove the contrary, I
resolved to launch into great expenditure, and to pay coach fare all the
way from London toward the nearest mountain.

Half the inhabitants now were rushing helter-skelter out of London, and
very often to seaside towns where the smell of fish destroyed them. And
those who could not get away w