Carvers' Company, the successor of his father.
The transition from him to myself was so
easy as to be hardly felt. When I threw
aside my yellow breeches, and came out of
the "Blue Coat School," with some knowledge
of Greek, and very small skill in penmanship,
I was at once transplanted to a stool at my
father's desk; which stood railed off, in a
corner of the great hall, under the stained-
glass window. The master and twelve senior
liverymen, who formed what is called the
Court of Assistants, saw me there when they
met together; and one patted me on the
head, and prophesied great things of me,
while I sat, very red in the face, wondering
who had been talking to him about me.
Another, who had himself worn the girdle
and blue-petticoats, some half a century
previously, examined my classical knowledge;
and, muling himself somewhat at fault,
remarked that he was not fresh from school,
like me. At length, my father and I attended
their meetings alternately; and, as he became
old and infirm, the duties devolved entirely
upon me. When he died, therefore, there was
no change. The twelve liverymen held up
twelve of their four-and-twenty hands, and my
election was recorded on the minutes.

Carvers' Hall was a place not very easy to
find out, for any but the warder and twelve
liverymen: but, as few people else ever had
occasion to find it out, that was not of much
consequence. The portion of the city in
which it stood had escaped the Fire of
London, which took a turn at a short distance,
owing, perhaps, to a change in the wind, and
left the Hall and some adjacent courts
untouched. In order to arrive there, it was
necessary, first, to pass through a narrow
passage running up from Thames Street;
then, along a paved yard, by the railing of a
church; and, lastly, down an impassable court,
at the bottom of which stood the antique
gateway of Carvers' Hall. Over the doorway
was a curious carving of the Resurrection,
in oak, which must have cost some ancient
member of the Worshipful Guild considerable
time and trouble. There were represented
graves opening, and bald-headed old men
forcing up the lids of their family-vaults—
some looking happy, and some with their
features distorted by despair. Out of others,
whole families, mother, father, and several
children, had just issued, and were standing
hand-in-hand. Some, again, were struggling,
half-buried in the ground; while others,
already extricated, were assisting their kinsmen
in their efforts to disinter themselves.
The scene was made a section, in order to
give the spectator a view of an immense host
of cherubim above, sitting upon a massy pile
of cloud; through—which the middle point
of the picture—the summoning angel was
throwing himself down, with a trumpet in
his hand; which, according to the relative
scale of the work, must have been several
leagues, at least, in length. Having passed
under this gateway, you entered a small
square yard, paved with black and white
stones, placed diamond-wise; and facing you
was the Hall itself, up three stone steps, and
with a wooden portico.

This solitary building, silent and retired,
though in the heart of a crowded city, has
been my home for nearly sixty years. I have
become assimilated to the place by long usage.
I am myself silent, retired, and tenacious of
old habits; though I do not think this is my
natural disposition. But why do I talk of
natural disposition? Are we not all moulded
and made what we are by time and outward
influences? However, when I was at school
I was a cheerful boy, though, the monastic
life of Christ's Hospital is not calculated to
improve the spirits. It was only on entering
my father's office that I began to be subdued
to the formal being which I have since
become. The portraits of my predecessors hang
in the Hall; they are exactly alike, both in
features and in dress, except that the first two
wore hair-powder. It was my father's pride
that he clung to the style of dress which was
prevalent when he was a young man, which
he considered to be, in every way, superior to
all modem inventions. I was only released
from the absurd dress of the blue coat boy
to be put into garments equally provocative
of remarks from impertinent boys. The
family costume is, imprimis, a pair of knee-
breeches with buckles; then a blue coat with
metal buttons; and a large white cravat,
spread out over the whole chest, and
ornamented in the middle with a cornelian brooch.
The same brooch appears in every one of the
portraits. I have worn this dress all my life,
with the exception of a short period, when I
changed it to return to it shortly again.

If happiness consists in having many friends,
I ought to have been a happy man. Old
carvers, neighbours, pensioners of the
Company, every one down to the house-keeper,
and Tom Lawton, my only clerk, spoke kindly
of me. Theirs was no lip service. I knew
they liked me in their hearts. The world, too,
had gone smoothly with me. I knew nothing
of the struggles for bread, the hardships and
wrongs which other men endure. They
appeared to me even fabulous when I read
them. The means of getting my living were
put into my hands. The Company seemed
almost grateful to my father for bringing me
up to the office. My income was two hundred
pounds per annum, as well as the house
to live in, and coals and candles, which was
more than I needed for my support, though I
always found means of disposing of the
surplus, and never saved anything. I was
not, however, a happy man. I had always
the feeling of a spirit subdued to a life to
which it was not suited; I do not say
that in another sphere I should have led a
boisterous life. My mind was, perhaps, more
prone to reflection than to action, although I
felt that if I had been more in the world, if