Here walks Sir Thomas More with his wife and daughters; here George Herbert muses “with a far look in his immortal eyes;” here come Donne and Isaac Walton to visit his mother, Magdalen Herbert. Swift strolls here, alone as he likes best; he has been looking at the hay-makers, just inshore above, in the hot summer day, and is about to bathe in the river—the “more than Oriental scrupulosity” of his bodily care contrasting so keenly with his fondness for moral filth. Here come his friend Atterbury, the learned theologian, from his great garden in Church Lane; and Dr. Arbuthnott, Queen Anne’s famous physician; and another noted doctor, Sir John Shadwell, father of the poet laureate. Locke leaves the summer-house in the Earl of Shaftesbury’s garden, just above where now is St. George’s Workhouse: he has just begun his great essay, while living here as tutor for the son. Pym, Charles’ enemy, who lives on the waterside, stops to look at learned Sir Joseph Banks, who, after a stormy voyage around the world with Captain Cook, now tranquilly sits fishing here; Samuel Johnson strides buoyantly by to his china-making or plods pensively back, downcast with his failure; Hans Sloane walks arm-in-arm with his friend Sir Isaac Newton, who has come out here from his house in Leicester Square; behind them saunter Addison and Dick Steele, and a more queerly-consorted couple, Benjamin Franklin and Thomas Carlyle. St. Evremonde goes with one strangely resembling him superficially—Leigh Hunt, who lived at the present No. 10, Upper Cheyne Row; and who, “with his delicate, worn, but keenly intellectual face, his large luminous eyes, his thick shock of wiry grey hair, and little cape of faded black silk over his shoulders, looks like an old French abbé.” Shelley is near them, having come a long way from his lodgings in Hans Place; where he has for a neighbour a certain Joseph Balsamo, calling himself the Count Cagliostro, living in Sloane Street. The Dandy D’Orsay cautiously threads his way, for he is in hiding from his creditors. Turner passes, gazing on his river; and Maclise, who lives here on the bank and dies here too, painting the Thames. Dante Gabriel Rossetti and his near neighbour George Eliot go by; and, last of all, Henry Kingsley with the boy Joe Burton, whom he loves, and whom we love, too. The puffing tug shrieks, and puts to flight these vagrant fancies of an American, sentimentalizing in Chelsea; and so ends his stroll, his returning footsteps echoing the words of Goethe, and reminding him that, after all, “You find in Rome only what you take there.” [Picture: Battersea bridge and Church from Turner’s house] THE END. INDEX. ABBEY, Westminster, 33, 152 “Absalom and Achitophel,” 50 Addison, Joseph, 23, 63, 65, 66, 80, 94, 122, 178 Albert Suspension Bridge, 131 “Alcyon,” 63 Alma, Battle of the, 73 Almshouses, Lady Dacre’s, 155 Anne, Queen, 105, 119, 177 Apsley House, 13 Aquatic Shores, 169