There stands in this thoroughfare an immense hall belonging to the Young Men's Christian Association. This building, which ought to be called Salvation Hall, is simply named Exeter Hall. It is in this place that, from the first to the thirty-first of May, the various angelical, evangelical, and archangelical societies, successively hold their annual conferences, called May Meetings. It is Salvation Fair. To Exeter Hall throng _la gent trotte-menu_ from all parts of the United Kingdom to do their souls' spring-cleaning. For a whole month, the air of the Strand is impregnated with an odour of sanctity ... of which it stands sadly in need, to speak the truth: it is a spectacle thoroughly English, to see on one side of a street--the north side of the Strand--edifying groups, unctuous specimens of the most austere virtue; on the other side, a few yards off, groups of unfortunate, shameless women, dirty, intoxicated, daring specimens of the lowest debauch: on the right, hymns; on the left, obscene songs: on the right, the Bible and the Gospel; on the left, beer, gin ... and the rest. In this pious society the note resembles the plumage. Look at the Puritan, trotting along the Strand, going religiously to the meeting of his sect. He walks with light, short, jaunty steps, his head a little on one side. He is dressed in black shiny raiment, and a wide-brimmed felt hat covers his head: it is the uniform of piety in England. He wears all the imaginable symbols of English goodness, including a brand-new piece of blue ribbon in his buttonhole; and he carries his indispensable umbrella in his hand. The umbrella is the _fidus Achates_ of every true-born Briton. You will never see one of them so lost to the sense of propriety as to carry a walking-stick to these meetings of male and female cherubim. Does he enter into conversation? he _trusts_ you are pretty well (pronounced _pooty well_). He will never push his presumption so far as to imagine that, in this world of trials and sufferings, you can be quite well. We must not expect too much; we must be content with the small mercies Providence sends. Does he give you an appointment for the morrow? "he _hopes_ to have the pleasure of seeing you, if the Lord will." If you are to meet together to pray, to dine, nay, were it only to take tea, the invitation invariably bears the proviso, D.V. This prudent and wise person enters and leaves the tabernacle of the West-end noiselessly. He would walk upon eggs without breaking them. He casts right and left little grimaces that are so many forced smiles; then takes his seat, and says a short prayer in his hands or in his hat. It is generally in their hats that the Englishmen of Low Church and dissenting sects address their prayers to Heaven.