a sort of coal-scuttle, manufactured after the fashion of ten or fifteen years ago.  The child had, no doubt, caught up this wonderful head-gear in the absence of her parent, and had gone forth in quest of adventure.  The officer reported that he had discovered her in the middle of the street, moving ponderingly along, without any regard to the horses and vehicles all about her.  When asked where she lived, she mentioned a street which only existed in her own imagination, and she knew only her Christian name.  When she was interrogated by the proper authorities, without the slightest apparent discomposure she replied in a steady voice, as she thought proper, to their questions.  The magistrate inadvertently repeated a question as to the number of her brothers and sisters, and the child snapped out, “I told ye wunst; can’t ye hear?” When asked if she would like anything, she gayly answered, “Candy, cake and candy.”  A messenger was sent out to procure these commodities, which she instantly seized on their arrival and began to devour.  She showed no signs of fear, until one of the officers untied the huge bonnet and took it off, when she tearfully insisted upon being put into it again.  I was greatly impressed by the ingenious efforts of the excellent men in the room to learn from the child where she lived, and who her parents were.  Dickens sat looking at the little figure with profound interest, and soon came forward and asked permission to speak with the child.  Of course his request was granted, and I don’t know when I have enjoyed a conversation more.  She made some very smart answers, which convulsed us all with laughter as we stood looking on; and the creator of “little Nell” and “Paul Dombey” gave her up in despair.  He was so much interested in the little vagrant, that he sent a messenger next morning to learn if the rightful owner of the bonnet had been found.  Report came back, on a duly printed form, setting forth that the anxious father and mother had applied for the child at three o’clock in the morning, and had borne her away in triumph to her home.

It was a warm summer afternoon towards the close of the day, when Dickens went with us to visit the London Post-Office.  He said:  “I know nothing which could give a stranger a better idea of the size of London than that great institution.  The hurry and rush of letters! men up to their chin in letters! nothing but letters everywhere! the air full of letters!—­suddenly the clock strikes; not a person is to be seen, nor a letter:  only one man with a lantern peering about and putting one drop-letter into a box.”  For two hours we went from room to room, with him as our guide, up stairs and down stairs, observing the myriad clerks at their various avocations, with letters for the North Pole, for the South Pole, for Egypt and Alaska, Darien and the next street.