Then in town let me live, and in town let me die For I own I can't relish the country, not I. If I must have a villa in summer to dwell, Oh give me the sweet shady side of Pall Mall.

If the parks be "the lungs of London" we wonder what Greenwich Fair is--a periodical breaking out, we suppose--a sort of spring rash.

I was born in Middlesex, England, which is really London.

I think . . . that it is the best club in London.

This is a London particular . . . A fog, miss.

Is it a very wicked place?" I asked, more for the sake of saying something than for information.

"You may get cheated, robbed, and murdered in London. But there are plenty of people anywhere, who'll do that for you."

"If there is bad blood between you and them," said I, to soften it off a little.

"O! I don't know about bad blood," returned Mr. Wemmick; "there's not much bad blood about. They'll do it, if there's anything to be got by it."

"That makes it worse."

"You think so?" returned Mr. Wemmick. "Much about the same, I should say.