166 MEMOIR OF GEORGE WILSON. CHAP. IV. 



necessitated a daily walk from iny remote suburban quar- 

 ters, through the City, to Gower Street. But at that time the 

 vigorous and enthusiastic young chemist thought little of 

 a walk, through Mile End, Whitechapel, Cheapside, and Hoi- 

 born, with such a goal in view ; nor was it easy to wander, 

 where the road was straight and well defined. George, however, 

 was not more remarkable for his singular memory of every face 

 he ever saw, than for his utter want of what phrenologists call 

 locality. He would persist in taking short cuts on his way to and 

 from Gower Street, in spite of all warnings, and was picked up 

 after pursuing his devious track in far-away unexpected nooks, 

 such as only those who know the intricacies of old London's back 

 streets and lanes could conceive possible. Warned, however, 

 by such dear-bought experience, he resolved on contenting him- 

 self with the plain long road, steering his way by well-known 

 landmarks, which even his untopographical head could appre- 

 ciate. Guiding his way accordingly by such means, as he 

 explained to me afterwards, he wended his way eastward one 

 afternoon. St. Andrew's Holborn, Field Lane, St. Sepulchre's, and 

 the Blue Coat School were all safely passed ; the Post- Office and 

 St. Paul's were glanced at, in emerging from Newgate Street into 

 Cheapside ; and, pursuing his course steadily onward, the por- 

 tico of the Mansion House was next noted, as the mariner satisfac- 

 torily descries a guiding landmark or lighthouse so far all was 

 well. But coming soon after upon the portico of the East India 

 House, in Leadenhall Street, George pulls up in sore confusion : 

 ' Why,' said he to himself, ' where can I have been wandering 

 to ? I passed the Mansion House not long since, and here it is 

 again ! ' So to put matters straight he turned up Bishopsgate 

 Street, and started with renewed energy on a road which, if 

 pursued far enough, might have landed him in Edinburgh, but 

 could never have brought him to his desired haven. After 

 getting ever more and more perplexed, he had recourse at length 

 to that unfailing remedy for such a dilemma, a hackney cab, and 

 was comforting himself over a favourite passage in Foster's 

 essay on ' Decision of Character,' in which the author laments 

 the want of a parallel resource for the undecided man when, 

 feeling for his purse, he found he was moneyless ! The cab was 



