36 BRAMBLES AND BAY LEAVES. 



"will not do, let the consequence be what it may, provided there is no 

 unmistakeable criminality; and then you learn what an honest nature 

 lurks beneath that Puck's grinning countenance, resting on its own 

 self- trust, and to be neither bought nor sold. 



With what pleasure did we prepare our little sailing-boats, and our 

 pack-thread fishing-tackle, dreaming all the while of Robinson Crusoe 

 and the desolate island, and entertaining, much to our parents' sorrow, 

 serious thoughts of " going to sea " — a threat that every boy indulges 

 in when he has read that most seductive of books, and gained sufficient 

 knowledge of navigation to send his sailing-boat safely across a river. 

 There was one out-door sport of ours for which we can never forgive 

 ourself — it was so thoroughly mischievous — and that was, throwing a 

 bench-ball at the church clock, a feat which we then considered as 

 of the first order, so much strength of arm and skill in aiming- did it 

 require. Whenever we now make a sojourn to our native suburban 

 district of Stepney (it was a green village with meadows and windmills 

 when we were young), we look up sorrowfully at the clock of the old 

 church, and regret that we could ever have committed such a sacrilege 

 as to join in a party to pelt it. 



But the crowning joys of all were "buttercupping" and "black- 

 berrying." As soon as the spring warmth brought forth the golden 

 dandelions, and gave a new greenness to the grass in Stepney church- 

 yard, away we went, inspired by the sunshine and rich greenness 

 everywhere, in parties of six or eight, to gather buttercups and daisies 

 in Bow-common fields. Alas ! that spot is now a busy town, covered 

 v.ith houses, factories, and railway stations. It was then divided by 

 hedgerov/s and gravel paths, and stile after stile led the way from 

 " Cut- throat-Lane " to " Old Ford " and " Twigg Folly." There we 

 rolled and gambolled in the meadows, and sometimes lay on our 

 backs and shaded our eyes with our hands while we watched the lark 

 in his ascending flight far into the blue, and almost melted into the 

 embracing spring air under the influence of his joyous carol. There 

 our arms were filled with the long stems of the buttercups ; or we sat 

 on the grass eating " cock-sorrel " to satiety, and got home at dusk so 

 tired with happiness tha:t sleep was a real relief. Orchard-robbing we 

 never indulged in but once, for the good reason that ^' our village " 

 had few orchards. We remember old " Captain King," as he was 

 called, who kept a house and garden at the corner of " Ben Jonson's 

 Fields." He was a retired sea captain, and spent his whole lime in the 



