138 A Journey to London in 1840. 



dine at the hour mentioned, having breakfasted perhaps as early 

 as eight o'clock before commencing business in the morning. 

 It is usual, I believe, in Manchester and some other towns to 

 suspend business and shut the warehouses for an hour daily, say 

 from one to two o'clock, during which the merchant dines. 

 This refreshment is occasionally with some and always with 

 others regarded as in the shape of lunch, and dinner takes place 

 on arrival at home after the business of the day is over. Our 

 dinner was plain but good; the price 2s 6d. What drink was 

 required, table beer excepted, could be got either in the room, or 

 in accordance with usual practice — in the Wellington at least — in 

 the bar, which is a large circular room, at the end of which was 

 the barmaid — in this instance a beautiful lady-like female, niece 

 of the landlord, and called Miss Grace. The party with whom 

 I was connected retired to the bar as being a little more interesting 

 than sitting in the gaunt, comfortless, large dining-room. We 

 had a .single tumbler each. 



I returned to my writing, and having finished my letter I 

 took it along with the portraits to Mr Adams, South Castle 

 Street, my brother's agent, in order to their being dispatched to 

 Jamaica. This business accomplished, I hastened to visit some 

 friends. Mr Moyes, partner of Mr Adams, the latter gentleman 

 being at Leamington, invited me to dine with him, which in^'ita- 

 tion I declined as I wished to devote my time to my personal 

 friends, besides I really had dined. I first went to the Mechanics' 

 Institution, Mount Street, to call for Mr Hodgson, formerly 

 lecturer on phrenology, Edinburgh, and now secretary to that 

 splendid institution with a salary of £400. His duties and 

 attendance at the seminary occupy thirteen hours per diem, no 

 easy task. I missed him, but on going to his lodgings I acci- 

 dently met him as he was leaving to -dine out, and he engaged me 

 to sup with him at nine. I next called on Dr John Sutherland, a 

 most promising young physician and a person of learning and 

 varied accomplishments. In addition to other advantages, he 

 had the privilege of having made what used to be called the 

 Grand Tour, and this he did wholly at the expense of his father, 

 who is a saddler in Edinburgh, but a superior man. Had the 

 father, worthy person, received a liberal education, he would have 

 risen to eminence in any walk of life he might have followed. 

 Dr Sutherland, like all my friends throughout my tour, received 



