ny was over, the procession had swept slowly by, the last
huzza had died away; and after staring a while upon Orator Hunt, who
had clambered up the iron palisade near Westminster Hall, to exhibit his
goodly person in his court attire, the serried crowds, hurrying from
the shower which then unseasonably descended, broke into large masses or
lengthening columns.

In that part of London which may be said to form a boundary between
its old and its new world, by which, on the one hand, you pass to
Westminster, or through that gorge of the Strand which leads along
endless rows of shops that have grown up on the sites of the
ancient halls of the Salisburys and the Exeters, the Buckinghams and
Southamptons; to the heart of the City built around the primeval palace
of the "Tower;" while, on the other hand, you pass into the new city of
aristocracy and letters, of art and fashion, embracing the whilom chase
of Marylebone, and the once sedge-grown waters of Pimlico,--by this
ignoble boundary (the crossing from the Opera House, at the bottom of
the Haymarket, to the commencement of Charing Cross) stood a person
whose discontented countenance was in singular contrast with the general
gayety and animation of the day. This person, O gentle reader, this
sour, querulous, discontented person, was a king, too, in his own walk!
None might dispute it. He feared no rebel; he was harassed by no reform;
he ruled without ministers. Tools he had; but when worn out, he replaced
them without a pension or a sigh. He lived by taxes, but they were
voluntary; and his Civil List was supplied without demand for the
redress of grievances. This person, nevertheless, not deposed, was
suspended from his empire for the day. He was pushed aside; he was
forgotten. He was not distinct from the crowd. Like Titus, he had lost
a day,--his vocation was gone. This person was the Sweeper of the
Crossing!

He was a character. He was young, in the fairest prime of youth; but it
was the face of an old man on young shoulders. His hair was long,
thin, and prematurely streaked with gray; his face was pale and deeply
furrowed; his eyes were hollow, and their stare gleamed, cold and
stolid, under his bent and shaggy brows. The figure was at once fragile
and ungainly, and the narrow shoulders curved in a perpetual stoop.
It was a person, once noticed, that you would easily remember, and
associate with some undefined, painful impression. The manner was
humble, but not meek;