I've got a chance for Rottenborough;
    And if I win—my sun's not set—
I'll aim at public life—go thorough—
    Who knows?—I may be Premier yet.

And if I be—a spirit nudges
    Close at my elbow—won't I make
Bishops, ambassadors, and judges,
    For Glory's or for Mischief's sake?
If not, what matters?   Brookes's, Boodle's,
    Or other stupid clubs of mine,
Will yield the scorner his old corner,
    His dinner, and his pint of wine.

WALKS AND TALKS WITH THE
PEOPLE.

NO. II. THE SLOP TAILOR.

ABOUT two years and a half ago, on a breezy
morning in June, I indulged in a long day's
walk for health and pleasure; on the once great
northern road from London. I plodded cheerfully
along through the green lanes of Hertfordshire
towards the city of St. Albans, and remembered,
as I went, that this comparatively lonely and
deserted highway was, in the days before
Stephenson, the busiest and most crowded in
England; the one on which the greatest number
of his Majesty's mail coaches, with their four
spanking steeds, their red-coated, and often red-
nosed coachmen and guards, and their small
complement of passengers outside and inside, the
outside the jolliest, bowled pleasantly along at
the rate of ten or twelve miles an hour, and
when the passengers thought, if they thought
upon the subject at all, that this was the
perfection of travelling, and that the wit and
ingenuity of man could devise nothing better,
swifter, and more commodious. Turning this
matter in my mind, and almost regretting that
the mathematical discomfort, and dangerous
speed of the railway, had driven off all the old
stage coaches, and ruined most, if not all, the
cozy old inns and hostelries of the way side, I
heard the steps of a pedestrian behind me. I
slackened my pace and allowed him to overtake
me, that I might ascertain whether he were
companionable or churlish, whether he were
gentle or simple, a sturdy beggar, or a pathetic
tramp who meditated an appeal to my pocket.
He was a man of about five-and-thirty; looked
sickly and sallow, and half starved; and was
respectably dressed like a working man,
wore thick-soled shoes, and carried a stout
stick in his hand, and a small bundle on his
back. I saw at a glance that he was not a
loiterer, or one bound on a short errand, but
that his walk was to be a long one. Judging
from something slouching and awkward in his
gait, as well as from his small hands, his
somewhat effeminate appearance, and his air of
thoughtful melancholy, I made up my mind
that he must be either a shoemaker or a tailor.
Somehow or other, the members of these two
useful handicrafts have always a serious and
meditative look. Their occupation gives them
no food for the mind; and they think over their
work, or think that they are thinking, which
comes to about the same thing with the great
majority of people. I was not deceived in this
man's occupation, for he turned out to be a slop
tailor; and a person of considerable determination
and independence of character. After the
usual interchange of words—they need not be
called ideas—about the weather, the state of the
road, and the aspect of the country through
which we were passing, I learned by degrees,
as we trudged along together, the story of his
life and sorrows, his trials and privations, and
his hopes of a better future.

His elder brother, a wild, restless, and enterprising
youth, had gone to sea twenty-five years
previously, and had unexpectedly prospered in
America. After many ups and downs, and trials
of various modes of life, he found himself in
possession of a good farm in Wisconsin, and
had sent to England, and lodged in a bank at
Liverpool, a sum sufficient to pay his younger
brother's expenses and those of his wife and
three children, from London to the Far West;
including an extra ten-pound note for
unforeseen contingencies.

"You may guess," said my companion, whom
I shall take the liberty in these pages of calling
Mr. Crump, " how glad I was to receive such
glorious news, and to have such a splendid
offer, and the ready money into the bargain. I
could only touch the odd ten pounds of the
money, which I did two days ago. I have
given, seven pounds to ' the old woman` to pay
off a few small debts, take leave of her friends
and relations, and come down with the
children, third-class, to Liverpool, in a fortnight,
when the ship sails in which our passage is
taken; and have kept three pounds tor myself.
I shall walk to Liverpool, rain or shine; unless
I fall ill by the road, when I shall have to be sent
on by rail. This, however, I don't expect, as I
am not weakly by nature; and the fresh air
and the sight and smell of the fields will do me
good. I have sat cross-legged on a bench for
so many years, making slop trousers and vests,
for Aaron and Co., that I want to take the cramp
out of my bones, and to feel that I am a man,
and not a sewing machine. I have worked
and toiled for more than twenty years, and for
twelve hours a day, in close rooms, and stinking
alleys, more than half-starved, all the time;
and I feel that this kindness of my brother has
snatched me out of the very jaws of despair
and death, and enabled me for the first time in
my life to feel that I am of as much account
in the world as a sparrow on the tiles, or the
cat that tries to gobble it up."

"Are you able, do you think, not being
accustomed to walking, to walk all the way to
Liverpool in a fortnight, without being foot
sore?"

"I am foot sore already. Better be foot
sore than heart sore. I did fifteen miles
yesterday, my first day on the road, I shall do
twenty or twenty-four to-day, and as many
tomorrow, if all goes well."

"Twenty miles a day are fair enough walking