chapter 40.) The old pump has been replaced by a drinking-fountain.

_Toby Veck_ surely must have known that pump; for though there is no precise location given by Dickens in “The Chimes” for the church near to which Toby waited for jobs, there is an etching by Stanfield in the original edition of that book (page 88), which is unmistakably the counterfeit presentment of St. Dunstan’s Tower.

Continuing the route, we pass _Bouverie Street_ (Bradbury and Evans—now Bradbury, Agnew, and Co.—in this street were the publishers of several of the works of Dickens, “The Chimes” included) on the right, next arriving at _Whitefriars’ Street_ on the same side.

At the corner of the street, No. 67, is the public Office of “The Daily News.” This influential newspaper was started January 21, 1846, under the supervision of Charles Dickens, and in the earlier numbers of the journal were published instalments of his “Pictures from Italy.” Dickens shortly relinquished the editorship, being succeeded by his friends Jerrold and Forster. The fact is, Charles never greatly cared for the study of general or party politics; but he always identified himself with “the People—spelt with a large P, who are governed,” rather than “the people—spelt with a small p, who govern.”

A short distance down Whitefriars’ Street is a passage (left) from which, at a right angle riverwards, we may look into Hanging Sword Alley, where Mr. Jeremiah Cruncher, messenger at Tellson’s, had his two apartments. These “were very decently kept” by his wife, whose “flopping” proclivities gave so much umbrage to Jerry.

On the opposite side of Fleet Street—No. 146—just beyond, we turn (left) into _Wine Office Court_, and, on the right, we arrive at “Ye Olde Cheshire Cheese.” In “The Tale of Two Cities,” Book 2, chapter 4, we read that _Charles Darnay_, being acquitted of the charge of high treason, on his trial at the Old Bailey, was persuaded by the young lawyer, _Sydney Carton_, to dine in his company thereafter:—

“Drawing his arm through his own, he took him down Ludgate Hill to Fleet Street, and so up a covered way into a tavern.”

This, of course, was the tavern intended; it having been a noted resort with literary and legal men for more than a century past. Here Doctor Johnson and Oliver Goldsmith frequently dined together in days gone by, gravely discoursing over their punch afterwards; and, in more recent years, Thackeray, Dickens, Jerrold, Sala, and others have been reckoned among the customary guests of the establishment. Mr. George Augustus Sala, in a pleasant description of the place, writes as follows:—

“Let it be noted in candour that Law finds its way to the ‘Cheese’ as well as Literature; but the Law is, as a rule, of the non-combatant, and, consequently, harmless order. Literary men who have been called to the Bar, but do not practise; briefless young barristers, who do not object to mingling with newspaper men; with a sprinkling of retired solicitors (amazing dogs these for old port wine; the landlord has some of the same bin which served as Hippocrene to Judge Blackstone when he wrote his ‘Commentaries’)—these make up the legal element of the ‘Cheese.’”

The journey being resumed through Fleet Street, the visitor attains _Ludgate Circus_, from which _Farringdon Street_ leads northward on the left. A short detour along this thoroughfare, facing the handsome bridge of the Holborn Viaduct, will afford a sight of _Farringdon Market_ on the left side. Its position will recall the description given in “Barnaby Rudge,” in whose days it was known as Fleet Market,

“At that time a long irregular row of wooden sheds and penthouses occupying the centre of what is now called Farringdon Street. . . . It was indispensable to most public conveniences in those days that they should be public nuisances likewise, and Fleet Market maintained the principle to admiration.”

Here the rioters assembled—as narrated in the book before mentioned—and passed a merry night in the midst of congenial surroundings. Retracing our steps, we may note, on the east side of Farringdon Street, the site of the old Fleet Prison, on a part of which now stands the CONGREGATIONAL MEMORIAL HALL. The prison—fifty years since—stretched eastward in the rear as far as the present premises of Messrs. Cassell and Co., Belle Sauvage Yard. Its last remaining walls were removed in 1872, when the foundation-stone of the “Memorial Hall” aforesaid was laid. Here was imprisoned our amiable friend _Mr. Pickwick_, attended by his faithful Sam, until the time when the costs of Messrs. Dodson and Fogg in _re_ Bardell _versus_ Pickwick were by him fully paid and satisfied.

Proceeding up _Ludgate Hill_, we may soon note the Belle Sauvage Yard (turning by No. 68, on the left). The old inn, with its central metropolitan coach-yard, sixty years since occupied this site, where now the extensive printing and publishing offices of Cassell and Co. hold benignant sway. The place is referred to in an anecdote of _Sam Weller’s_ anent the preparation of his father’s marriage licence, as arranged at Doctors’ Commons, the place being evidently regarded by that respected coachman as his parochial headquarters in London—

“‘What is your name, sir?’ says the lawyer. ‘Tony Weller,’ says my father. ‘Parish?’ says the lawyer. ‘Belle Savage,’ says my father; for he stopped there when he drove up, and he know’d nothing about parishes, _he_ didn’t.”

The plan of the inn-yard is considerably changed from its olden style. In Mr. Weller’s time it comprised two courts, the outer one being approached from Ludgate Hill by the present entrance, and the Belle Sauvage Inn forming a second quadrangle, with an archway about half-way up from the main entrance. In this interior court was the coach-yard, surrounded by covered wooden galleries, in accordance with the fashion of the times.

Passing onwards on the same side, past _Old Bailey_, we arrive at the site of the London Coffee Tavern, No. 46 Ludgate Hill, now occupied by the corner shop of Messrs. Hope Brothers, the well-known outfitters. The old house was pulled down in 1872. Here _Mr. Arthur Clennam_ rested awhile on his arrival “from Marseilles by way of Dover, and by Dover coach, ‘the Blue-Eyed Maid,’” one dismal Sunday evening, as narrated in