I went one morning in search of the Tower, and coming into the neighborhood of Eastcheap witnessed that peculiar scene which concerns fish. Fish dealers, or at least their hirelings, always look as though they had never known a bath and are covered with slime and scales, and here, they wore a peculiar kind of rubber hat on which tubs or pans of fish could be carried. The hats were quite flat and round and reminded me of a smashed “stovepipe” as the silk hat has been derisively called. The peasant habit of carrying bundles on the head was here demonstrated to be a common characteristic of London. On another morning I visited Pimlico and the neighborhood of Vincent Square. I was delighted with the jumble of life I found there, particularly in Strutton Ground and Churton Street. Horse Ferry Road touched me as a name and Lupus Street was strangely suggestive of a hospital, not a wolf. It was here that I encountered my first coster cart, drawn by the tiniest little donkey you ever saw, his ears standing up most nobly and his eyes suggesting the mellow philosophy of indifference. The load he hauled, spread out on a large table-like rack and arranged neatly in baskets, consisted of vegetables--potatoes, tomatoes, cabbage, lettuce and the like. A bawling merchant or peddler followed in the wake of the cart, calling out his wares. He was not arrayed in coster uniform, however, as it has been pictured in America. I was delighted to listen to the cockney accent in Strutton Ground where “’Ere you are, Lydy,” could be constantly heard, and “Foine potytoes these ’ere, Madam, hextra noice.” In Earl Street I found an old cab-yard, now turned into a garage, where the remnants of a church tower were visible, tucked away among the jumble of other things. I did my best to discover of what it had been a part. No one knew. The ex-cabman, now dolefully washing the wheels of an automobile, informed me that he had “only been workin’ ’ere a little wile,” and the foreman could not remember. But it suggested a very ancient English world--as early as the Normans. Just beyond this again I found the saddest little chapel--part of an abandoned machine-shop, with a small hand-bell over the door which was rung by means of a piece of common binding-twine! Who could possibly hear it, I reflected. Inside was a wee chapel, filled with benches constructed of store boxes and provided with an altar where some form of services was conducted. There was no one to guard the shabby belongings of the place and I sat down and meditated at length on the curiosity of the religious ideal.