which I
wished to go at this present juncture. I was afraid the people would
ask, Where are your Northern Ballads? Where are your alliterative
translations from Ab Gwilym--of which you were always talking, and with
which you promised to astonish the world? Now, in the event of such
interrogations, what could I answer? It is true I had compiled Newgate
Lives and Trials, and had written the life of Joseph Sell, but I was
afraid that the people of the old town would scarcely consider these as
equivalents for the Northern Ballads and the songs of Ab Gwilym. I would
go forth and wander in any direction but that of the old town.

But how one's sensibility on any particular point diminishes with time;
at present, I enter the old town perfectly indifferent as to what the
people may be thinking on the subject of the songs and ballads. With
respect to the people themselves, whether, like my sensibility, their
curiosity has altogether evaporated, or whether, which is at least
equally probable, they never entertained any, one thing is certain, that
never in a single instance have they troubled me with any remarks on the
subject of the songs and ballads.

As it was my intention to travel on foot, with a bundle and a stick, I
despatched my trunk containing some few clothes and books to the old
town. My preparations were soon made; in about three days I was in
readiness to start.

Before departing, however, I bethought me of my old friend the
apple-woman of London Bridge. Apprehensive that she might be labouring
under the difficulties of poverty, I sent her a piece of gold by the
hands of a young maiden in the house in which I lived. The latter
punctually executed her commission, but brought me back the piece of
gold. The old woman would not take it; she did not want it, she said.
"Tell the poor thin lad," she added, "to keep it for himself, he wants it
more than I."

Rather late one afternoon I departed from my lodging, with my stick in
one hand and a small bundle in the other, shaping my course to the
south-west: when I first arrived, somewhat more than a year before, I had
entered the city by the north-east. As I was not going home, I
determined to take my departure in the direction the very opposite to
home.

Just as I was about to cross the street called the Haymarket, at the
lower part, a cabriolet, drawn by a magnificent animal, came dashing
along at a furious rate; it stopped close by the curb-stone where I w