T. F. D. C.
CHAPTER I.
knightsbridge to the bell and horns, brompton.
In some measure, this may be accounted for by studious habits; a tolerable memory, apt to indulge in recollections of the past, and to cherish rather than despise, when not impertinent, local gossip, which re-peoples the district with its former inhabitants,—
“Sweet Memory! wafted by thy gentle gale
Oft up the tide of time I turn my sail,
To view the fairy haunts of long-lost hours
Blest with far greener shades—far fresher flowers.”
“We have all by heart,” observes the author of the Curiosities of Literature, “the true and delightful reflection of Johnson on local associations, where the scene we tread suggests to us the men or the deeds which have left their celebrity to the spot. ‘We are in the presence of their fame, and feel its influence.’” How often have I fancied, if the walls by which thousands now daily pass without a glance of recognition or regard, if those walls could speak, and name some of their former inmates, how great would be the regret of many at having overlooked houses which they would perhaps have made a pilgrimage of miles to behold, as associated with the memory of persons whose names history, literature, or art has embalmed for posterity, or as the scene of circumstances treasured up in recollection!
If the feelings could be recalled, and faithfully recorded, which the dull brick walls that I cannot help regarding with interest must have witnessed, what a romantic chapter
in the history of the human mind would be preserved for study and reflection!—
“Ay, beautiful the dreaming brought
By valleys and green fields;
But deeper feeling, higher thought,
Is what the City yields.”