Just above these, in a room, the windows of which were open, were a set of unfortunate creatures, who had, in happier days, named themselves the "Sons of Frolic;" these wretched persons were suffering under the dreadful effects of civil dissension, which always creeps in with domestic distress. That type of kings, the parish beadle, had been sent for by the overbearing landlord, to secure the most active of three of the members, who had just kicked the waiter down stairs for having brought them up a corked bottle of port wine. These distressed tradesmen, however, were so far imposed upon as to be induced to make up the affair by a present of three guineas to the waiter, and a pound to the beadle. Still, exclaimed we, accumulation upon accumulation. We found in all the dingy streets about those rural and unfrequented parts of London, Bedford, Russell, Red Lion, Bloomsbury, Tavistock, and Brunswick squares, the same congregation of carriages standing (and lights were on the tables in the eating-rooms of the houses) at different doors, which proved to us that the most respectable families, at this period of distress, are driven to club together to get food upon a principle of economy. This remote passage led us towards Islington. At a melancholy place, quite on the outskirts of the town, called White Conduit House, many thousands of our fellow-mourners were congregated in the open fields; night, too, was coming on, and the poor children were drinking milk just as it came from the cow, while their parents, equally wretched, but more experienced in sorrow, were swallowing the same succedaneum, made into a mixture called syllabub. At Sadler's Wells the grief was raving--we heard the lamentations at the distance of half a mile--crowds filled even the lobbies; and such is the pressure of national misfortune at the moment, that a corn-factor was obliged the night we were there to give fourteen shillings and sixpence, hackney-coach-hire, to get his poor shivering wife and daughters to their miserable cottage _ornée_, with a four-stall stable, conservatory, and coach-house in the Kent-road. We rested in our researches from that evening pretty well till Whitsuntide, and then, indeed, conviction took full possession of us. To us who remember Greenwich park in the year 1792, what a reverse!--then there were gaiety and sunshine, and fun and amusement. In the first place, Whit-Sunday this year was a wet Sunday,--a circumstance which, we are bold to say, never occurred before the late Mr. Pitt's accession to office, and very rarely even during his ruinous administration. The conduct of the "talents" in this particular cannot be cited, as only one Whitsuntide occurred during their splendid career. Our readers may conceive the gloom this oppressive mismanagement, and evident disregard for the comforts of the poor, threw over the quondam scene of gaiety; the people surely might have been allowed to meet, and weep in comfort in one of the Royal parks!