There is no place more delightful than a great capital if you are comfortably settled in it, have arranged the methodical disposal of your time, and know how to take business and pleasure in due proportions. But a flying visit to a great capital in an unsettled, unsatisfactory way; at an inn--an inn in the City too--with a great, worrying load of business on your mind, of which you are to hear no more for three days, and an aching, jealous, miserable sorrow at the heart such as I had, leaving you no labor to pursue and no pleasure that you have the heart to share in,-- oh, a great capital then is indeed forlorn, wearisome, and oppressive! It is the Castle of Indolence, not as Thomson built it, but as Beckford drew in his Hall of Eblis,--a wandering up and down, to and fro; a great, awful space, with your hand pressed to your heart; and--oh for a rush on some half-tamed horse through the measureless green wastes of Australia! That is the place for a man who has no home in the Babel, and whose hand is ever pressing to his heart, with its dull, burning pain. Mr. Squills decoyed me the second evening into one of the small theatres; and very heartily did Mr. Squills enjoy all he saw and all he heard. And while, with a convulsive effort of the jaws, I was trying to laugh too, suddenly in one of the actors, who was performing the worshipful part of a parish beadle, I recognized a face that I had seen before. Five minutes afterwards I had disappeared from the side of Squills, and was amidst that strange world,--Behind The Scenes. My beadle was much too busy and important to allow me a good opportunity to accost him till the piece was over. I then seized hold of him as he was amicably sharing a pot of porter with a gentleman in black shorts and a laced waistcoat, who was to play the part of a broken-hearted father in the Domestic Draina in Three Acts that would conclude the amusements of the evening. "Excuse me," said I, apologetically; "but as the Swan pertinently observes, 'Should auld acquaintance be forgot?'" "The Swan, sir!" cried the beadle, aghast,--"the Swan never demeaned himself by such d--d broad Scotch as that!" "The Tweed has its swans as well as the Avon, Mr. Peacock." "St--st--hush--hush- h--u--sh!" whispered the beadle in great alarm, and eying me, with savage observation, under his corked eyebrows. Then, taking me by the arm, he jerked me away. When he had got as far as the narrow limits of that little stage would allow, Mr. Peacock said,-- "Sir, you have the advantage of me; I don't remember you. Ah! you need not look--by gad, sir, I am not to be bullied--it was all fair play. If you will play with gentlemen, sir, you must run the consequences." I hastened to appease the worthy man.