for its work, and the "men able and willing" not be wanting, I beg to state that (being unable to aid the cause otherwise) I will gladly contribute in the way of money, as far as my abilities go, should any systematic plan be arranged.

C. D. LAMONT.

Greenock.

LONDON STREET CHARACTERS.

Mr. Dickens's graphic description of the Court of Chancery, in his new work, Bleak House, contains the following sketch:

"Standing on a seat at the side of the hall, ... is a little mad old woman in a squeezed bonnet, who is always in court ... expecting some incomprehensible judgment to be given in her favour. Some say she really is, or was, a party to a suit: but no one knows for certain, because no one cares. She carries some small litter in a reticule which she calls her documents: principally consisting of paper matches and dry lavender."

There is a diminutive creature, somewhat answering to this description, who limps on a stick and one leg that is shorter than the other, all the early morning in the still courts of the Temple; and seems to be waiting the result of some consultation, before she reappears, as is her wont, in Westminster Hall. Whether this person suggested the victim of Bleak House, is a question of no moment. The story commonly told of her is a very similar one, namely, that she was ruined and crazed, like Peter Peebles, by the slow torture of a law-suit. Is anything known of her real history?

What were the fortunes and fate of a poor female lunatic, who was called Rouge et noir, from her crape sables and painted cheeks; and who used to loiter every day about the Royal Exchange at four o'clock; and seemed to depend for subsistence upon the stray bounty of the "money-changers?" It was said that she had a brother who was hanged for forgery, and that this drove her mad.

About thirty years ago, there might be heard any morning in the smaller streets of "the city," a cry of "dolls' bedsteads," from a lean lame man on a crutch; who wore an apron, and carried miniature bedsteads for sale. Of this man it was generally reported, that he was implicated in the Cato Street conspiracy, and turned king's evidence.

Charles Lamb describes a character, whom it is also impossible to forget:

"A well-known figure, or part of the figure of a man, who used to guide his upper half over the pavements of London, wheeling along with most ingenious celerity upon a machine of wood.... He was of a robust make, with a florid sailor-like complexion, and his head was bare to the storm and sunshine.... The accident which brought him low, took place during the riots of 1780."

Is this all that is known of this half-giant?

When the old Houses of Parliament were standing, there used to be at one of the entrances a dwarf, long past middle age, who persisted in offering his services as a guide. His countenance was full of grave wisdom, quite Socratic in expression; but, I believe, he was an idiot. Does anything of interest attach to the remembrance of him?

And, lastly, not to "stretch the line out to the crack of doom," what became of Billy Waters? Do these street heroes die the death of common men—in bed, and with friends near them; or do they generally find their fate at last in the workhouse or the gaol; and get buried no one knows when, or by whom, or where?

I cannot agree with Mr. Dickens, that "no one knows for certain" about such persons, "because no one cares." Indeed, Mr. D.'s philosophy and practice are at variance in this matter. He makes his own sketch of "the little mad old woman," because he feels that it will interest. How much more would the original, could we get at it! But the truth is, these people are as mysterious as the fireman's dog. They "come like shadows, so depart:" leaving behind them on many minds ineffaceable impressions. Indeed, some of us could confess with shame, that the feathered cocked hat and fiddle of Billy Waters had survived the memory of a thousand things of real importance: which could hardly be, were there not some psychological force in these street characters—an inexplicable interest and attraction.

ALFRED GATTY.

Minor Notes.

Dean Swift on Herbert's Travels.

—In a copy, now in my library, of Herbert's Travels in Africa, Asia, &c., folio, 1634, there is a very characteristic note in the autograph of Dean Swift, to whom the book formerly belonged. Thinking that it may not be uninteresting to some of the readers of "N. & Q.," I send a copy of it:

"If this book were stript of its impertinence, conceitedness, and tedious digressions, it would be almost worth reading, and would then be two-thirds smaller than it is.

"1720. J. SWIFT."

"The author published a new edition in his older days, with many additions, upon the whole more insufferable than this. He lived several years after the Restoration, and some friends of mine knew him in Ireland. He seems to have been a coxcomb both ævi vitio et sui."

W. SNEYD.

Denton.

Joe Miller.

—The remains of this patriarch of puns and jokes, hitherto peaceably resting in the burial-ground in Portugal Street, will now be disturbed to make way for the new buildings of King's College Hospital. Surely "Old Joe" ought not to be carted away, and shot as rubbish. Some plain memorial of him might soon be raised, if an appeal were made to the public; and if every one whose conscience told him he had ever been indebted to Miller, would subscribe only a penny to the memorial fund, the requisite sum would soon be collected.

JAYDEE.

Hints to Book-buyers.

—Inquirers buy books on subjects which they have, at the time, no particular intention of closely investigating: when such intention afterwards arises, they begin to collect more extensively. But it often happens, I suspect, that it does not come into their heads to examine what they have already got, as to which their memory is not good, because their acquisitions were not made under any strong purpose of using them. The warning which suggests itself is as follows: Always remember to examine the old library as if it were that of a stranger, when you begin any new subject, and before you buy any new books.

Here is another warning, not wholly unconnected with the former: Never judge of a book, that is, of all which comes between the two boards, by the title-page, which may be only the first title-page, in spite of the lettering at the back. Persons who bind their books will not always be bound themselves, either by law of congruity or convenience. I once hunted shop and stall for a speech delivered in parliament a century ago, not knowing that I had long possessed it bound up at the end of a Latin summary of Leibnitzian philosophy. At the risk of posthumously revealing my real name, I will add that I wrote on the fly-leaf that I was not the blockhead who bound the book.

M.

Birmingham Antiquities.

—I wish to put on record in your journal a fact concerning the antiquities of Birmingham. There is a street in this borough, called Camden Street, which after crossing Worstone Lane, acquires the name of Lower Camden Street. On the right-hand side of Lower Camden Street (as you go from Camden Street), is some pasture ground, bounded on one