What were the fortunes and fate of a poor female lunatic, who was called _Rouge et noir_, from her crape sables and painted cheeks; and who used to loiter every day about the Royal Exchange at four o'clock; and seemed to depend for subsistence upon the stray bounty of the "money-changers?" It was said that she had a brother who was hanged for forgery, and that this drove her mad. About thirty years ago, there might be heard any morning in the smaller streets of "the city," a cry of "dolls' bedsteads," from a lean lame man on a crutch; who wore an apron, and carried miniature bedsteads for sale. Of this man it was generally reported, that he was implicated in the Cato Street conspiracy, and turned king's evidence. Charles Lamb describes a character, whom it is also impossible to forget: "A well-known figure, or part of the figure of a man, who used to guide his upper half over the pavements of London, wheeling along with most ingenious celerity upon a machine of wood.... He was of a robust make, with a florid sailor-like complexion, and his head was bare to the storm and sunshine.... The accident which brought him low, took place during the riots of 1780." Is this all that is known of this half-giant? When the old Houses of Parliament were standing, there used to be at one of the entrances a dwarf, long past middle age, who persisted in offering his services as a guide. His countenance was full of grave wisdom, quite Socratic in expression; but, I believe, he was an idiot. Does anything of interest attach to the remembrance of him? And, lastly, not to "stretch the line out to the crack of doom," what became of Billy Waters? Do these street heroes die the death of common men--in bed, and with friends near them; or do they generally find their fate at last in the workhouse or the gaol; and get buried no one knows when, or by whom, or where? I cannot agree with Mr. Dickens, that "no one knows for certain" about such persons, "_because_ no one cares." Indeed, Mr. D.'s philosophy and practice are at variance in this matter. He makes his own sketch of "the little mad old woman," because he feels that it will interest. How much more would the original, could we get at it! But the truth is, these people are as mysterious as the fireman's dog. They "come like shadows, so depart:" leaving behind them on many minds ineffaceable impressions. Indeed, some of us could confess with shame, that the feathered cocked hat and fiddle of Billy Waters had survived the memory of a thousand things of real importance: which could hardly be, were there not some psychological force in these street characters--an inexplicable interest and attraction. ALFRED GATTY. Minor Notes.