On arriving at the Paddington terminus, an unlooked-for difficulty presented itself.  My costume attracted universal attention.  It was, in fact, outre even in comparison with the most outlandish; for every article had been carefully selected for its singularity.  My “caubeen” especially excited the risibility of the merry boys who thronged the streets.  I was soon followed by an uproarious crowd of most incorrigible young rascals, who made lunges at my unfortunate head-gear.  They peered at me round lamp-posts, and occasionally, “Teigue,” and “Phelim,” pronounced in a broad English accent, grated on my ear.  Although not indisposed to be merry, I grasped one of my tormentors and handed him over to a policeman.  The sentinel of city morals dismissed him with a harsh rebuke, and threatened to “haul up” whoever gave me further annoyance.  We were then near Oxford street.  I told him I wanted to go to Tottenham Court road; but after making several fruitless attempts to pronounce the name, his own fertile genius had to supply my deficiency.  He walked with me until the last unruly boy had disappeared, and then he sent me on my way rejoicing, after having spent some minutes in teaching me to articulate distinctly “Tottenham Court Road.”  It was already nightfall.  I felt as if all danger were passed.  I could not anticipate the check I was about to receive.

I knew a man named Parker, who resided in Museum Street.  I thought his house that to which I could easiest find access without exciting notice.  I made my way to it unobserved, rapped, and to my great relief the door was opened by the man himself.  He did not recognise me for some time, but as soon as he did, he fell into a paroxysm half hysterical, half frantic.  I had completed his ruin, he exclaimed, and his unhappy family would have to curse me as the cause of his destruction.  He was ready to sink on the floor in sheer terror, and with difficulty could he utter a request that I should instantly leave his house.  This was a command, however harsh and heartless, which I dared not resist, for I was forced to admit to myself that under his terrified exterior might lurk a sentiment baser than fear.

I left the place in utter dismay.  I could not venture into a house such as I had lodged in at Bristol, the night before, because my person was well known in London, and because those places are frequented by characters of all sorts.  I could not venture, in my then guise, to the house of my young friend to whom I had addressed the parcel, because my appearance there would inevitably attract the notice of the policeman.  I dare not, of course, venture to a respectable hotel.  Thus perplexed, I bethought of a woman with whom I used formerly to lodge, and I repaired to her rooms (she had herself become a lodger).  I met her on the stairs, where she nearly fainted.  She hurried me into the street, and there told me that a person who lived in the house was actually watching to betray