society; the screw steamers, whose long low
black hulks and flaunting ensigns at the main,
tell them to be Government vessels from
Woolwich Dockyard, fresh from the study of
steam, and the ironing and mangling of their
boilers and machinery, and which glide
sinuously and quietly (though with a vicious
twist) through the maze of vessels; and, for all
their smooth ebony sides, could show some
sharp and ugly teeth, and scream and bellow
as other vixens do upon emergency. Vixenish
names have they, too, these little war-steamers.
"Scourges," or "Spitefuls," or " Spitfires," or
"Retaliations." They forage cunningly all
over the world, poking their sharp noses into
out-of-the-way ports and harbours—bringing
home African kings with more epaulette
than broadcloth—taking out useful presents
to uncivilised nations: such as baby-jumpers,
Revalenta Arabica, and ministers plenipotentiary
—landing lieutenant-governors on
unin-habited islands, and consuls-general at tiger-
frequented jungles—and, ever and anon, kicking
up a terrible dust on some imperfectly known
coast, with a king and people seldom heard
of, and to avenge some inexplicable national
wrongs: all of which invariably end, though,
by a list of killed and wounded (mostly ou the
unknown side), and a declaration of prize
money by some patriotic navy agent in a
street out of the Strand, by which is adjudi-
cated to "flag" two or three hundred pounds,
or a trifle of that sort, and to "thirteenth
class" something like one and tenpence half-
penny. I would rather be "flag."

Also, in fine weather and in summer, besides
shoals of pleasure boats on this same water,
you see the Gravesend steamers, rather
uncomfortably crowded, on their way to "Town-
pier, Terrace, or Rosherville" (pronounced
Roserville). Popular melodies float gently
through the summer air, and on your quay at
Dumbledowndeary you have, in addition to the
opportunity for improvement in the Euterpean
art, the gratification of being exempted from
the periodical visits of the trombone player
on board; from whom few men can withhold
half-pence, or, withholding, can bear the glance
of deadly meaning that, during the remainder
of the voyage, darts from his (slightly bleary)
eye. Finally, the great river Yacht Clubs,
the clubs that have Commodores, and costly
cups and purses of sovereigns for prizes, do
not disdain Dumbledowndeary as a stalling
place, nor, returning thither when the battle
lias been lost and won, do they refuse to
refresh themselves at the "Lee Scupper,"
which is the yachting house. Mighty dinners
are cooked here; great toasts are given and
responded to; fierce arguments take place as
to whether the Grampus ran foul of the Solan,
or the Seagull can go closer into the wind's
eye than the Waterduck  guns are
discharged, shouts rend the air, and many men
and many boys, the crews of many yachts, are
wheeled, towards midnight, down the common
hard on barrows to where their boats await
them. Then the rejoicings terminate. The
yacht owners—from formidable-looking
mariners in alarming pea-coats, and glazed
hats: with eye-glasses, telescopes, and a
slight perfume: full of brave words of belaying
and heaving to: smoking short pipes to a
maritime degree of blackness—subside into
quiet, clean-shaven stockbrokers, or merchants,
as the case may be, go back to town by train,
and leave their crews, once more, to scrape
their masts and carrots, and leave
Dumbledowndeary to solitude and bricks. And as yet,
I have unwarrantably neglected Bricks, by
the bye!

I don't mean the bricks in the brickfield,
exactly—long avenues of tubes of greyish clay,
called "clamps," with heaps of straw between;
heaps of broken bricks spoiled in the making
or the baking; smoking kilns, with glowing
masses of burning cinders and "breeze"
within, whose caloric is gradually doing the
bricks to a turn, giving them, though, ere
they attain the orthodox hue of dull red or
yellow suitable to a well-done brick fit to be
cemented, a thousand rainbow hues of crimson,
and chrome, and purple; the mighty brick-stacks
thatched in like wheat or hay, and
awaiting purchase or removal. I don't mean
the bricks which the toiling workmen are
moulding in iron cubes; the rude masses of
clay and sand which the children are kneading
into useful dirt pies, ready for the finishing
touch of the brick-maker; the women, wheeling
barrows of earth and ashes; the burners,
stackers, or carters. The bricks I mean,
and to which I would desire to call your
attention have, though contiguous to the
brickfield, and owing their very existence to
its beneficent soil, no connection with it now.
For with the aid of mortar, "compo," and
cement, lath and plaster, carpenter and joiner's
work, rule, bevel, and square, they have
become Houses. Scarcely have you escaped
from the old fashioned little village with its
lean-to roofs, its thatch and lead-paned case-
ments, ere a little Babylon of bricks stares
you in the face. Streets, terraces, rows,
gardens (brick ones), crescents, lodges, villas,
squares, groves, cottages, all in brick. The
Royal Family of this island, the victories won
under the meteor flag of Britain have given
their names, or have stood sponsors, willingly,
to these little red and yellow strangers.
Miniature conservatories, lilliputian bow-
windows, infinitesimal area railings, microscopic
street doors with knockers to match,
baby-house bells, dwarf-house garden entrances, are
in abundance. All is very complete though
very small. There is an unexceptional
foot-pavement, gas-lamps of exquisite symmetry,
corner-posts rigidly spiked à la Burton
Crescent. I have no doubt that the view of
the river and surrounding country is beautiful
from all the front and back windows; that
water is plentifully laid on; that the fire-
places and kitchen fixtures possess all the
latest improvements that this little paradise