The system that our forefathers adopted for encouraging communication and traffic was this: They put a toll on for their pavements, from the payment of which they exempted themselves, and took it from the strangers that came into the place. The only exceptions were when the inhabitants of the place travelled on Sundays. Toll collectors were then authorised to take toll from them, and also from those who hired vehicles in the place, the result being if you were an inhabitant of the place, and had the luck to keep your carriage or gig or wagon, or whatever it was, you might use the pavement as much as you pleased, and pay nothing. But if you were a poor person, or could only treat yourself occasionally with the luxury of a gig, or were obliged to hire a trap for business, yon were immediately taken toll of. The present Hospital or Infirmary was then a private dwelling-house. The Dispensary which existed then was a small house opposite the Old Burial Ground, the one now occupied by Mr. Payling, the dentist. After some years, it was removed from this place to what is now the Police Station in Newtown. Soon after this, the Earl Fitzwilliam purchased the present building and presented it to the City, a monument of his appreciation of the good that had been done in a small way by the existing buildings, and which, I think, in the present arrangements, fully carried out his Lordship’s benevolent wishes. There were two considerable features of Peterborough which have entirely disappeared. Where Queen Street and North Street now stand were two large breweries, known as Buckle’s Brewery and Squires’s Brewery. They were quite institutions of the place, and it always strikes me as a very strange thing that they should have entirely disappeared, as one of them would have been larger than all the breweries now in Peterborough. Buckles’ Brewery was certainly a very remarkable one, and carried on with great energy and spirit. There was one peculiarity they had—that some friends of the partners could assemble on Easter Monday and spend the afternoon in playing at marbles. I have spent pleasant afternoons there on Easter Mondays. There were two large tuns or barrels in which the beer was kept, one of which was called Mrs. Clarke, and the other the Duke of York, to perpetuate a scandal at the time when they were constructed. A very hospitable time always followed the game at marbles. Buckles’ Brewery was the cause of another peculiar circumstance. On one occasion there visited the town for the amusement of the people, a calculating boy. He went through, his entertainment with great success, and at last one of our worthy inhabitants got up and asked the question “How many gallons does Mr. Buckles’ great copper hold?” The boy said he could not tell. “No; I thought you could not,” was the reply. Our worthy citizen had forgotten to give the dimensions of the copper, and went away rejoicing over the fact that he had puzzled the calculating boy!