THE GUERNSEY LILY. 295 



pect until it becomes exquisitely beautiful, the 

 mind will revert to some of the abject poor of this 

 world, rich in faith, who were heirs, and are now 

 occupants, of the kingdom of heaven. Such a 

 ease is forcibly brought to my recollection at this 

 moment : and I will not withhold it. 



About four years and a half ago, I was invited 

 by a young friend of noble family to accompany 

 him into his favourite haunt — St. Giles's. The 

 transition was certainly calculated to strike any 

 mind with double effect ; for we left a splendid 

 mansion, in one of the great squares of the ex- 

 treme west, where all was princely within, and a 

 bright sunshine flashing as we passed into the 

 street from the gay equipages that rolled along, 

 and walked towards Bloomsbury beneath gather- 

 ing clouds, which, just as we approached the con- 

 fines of the Irish district, descended on us in a 

 drizzling rain, more uncomfortable than a smart 

 shower would have been. Those, and those 

 alone, who have trod the mazes of St. Giles's, 

 can conceive the effect produced on my feelings. 

 when I found myself within its narrow streets, 

 bordered with their dreary-looking tenements : 

 every fourth or fifth step bringing me on the verge 

 of an abrupt flight of almost perpendicular stairs, 

 terminating in a low-roofed cellar, the abode of as 

 many squalid outcasts as could congregate within 

 its walls ; while above, wretchedness,, vice, and 



