before I should leave town.  Saturday morning came; I paid my lodging bill, and had three shillings and fourpence left; and out of this sum I was to get three dinners, as I was only served with breakfast and tea at my lodgings.  Nowhere in the British empire do the people witness as dark days as in London.  It was on Monday morning, in the fore part of October, as the clock on St. Martin’s Church was striking ten, that I left my lodgings, and turned into the Strand.  The street lamps were yet burning, and the shops were all lighted as if day had not made its appearance.  This great thoroughfare, as usual at this time of the day, was thronged with business men going their way, and women sauntering about for pleasure or for the want of something better to do.  I passed down the Strand to Charing Cross, and looked in vain to see the majestic statue of Nelson upon the top of the great shaft.  The clock on St. Martin’s Church struck eleven, but my sight could not penetrate through the dark veil that hung between its face and me.  In fact, day had been completely turned into night; and the brilliant lights from the shop windows almost persuaded me that another day had not appeared.  Turning, I retraced my steps, and was soon passing through the massive gates of Temple Bar, wending my way to the city, when a beggar boy at my heels accosted me for a half-penny to buy bread.  I had scarcely served the boy, when I observed near by, and standing close to a lamp post, a coloured man, and from his general appearance I was satisfied that he was an American.  He eyed me attentively as I passed him, and seemed anxious to speak.  When I had got some distance from him I looked back, and his eyes were still upon me.  No longer able to resist the temptation to speak with him, I returned, and commencing conversation with him, learned a little of his history, which was as follows.  He had, he said, escaped from slavery in Maryland, and reached New York; but not feeling himself secure there, he had, through the kindness of the captain of an English ship, made his way to Liverpool; and not being able to get employment there, he had come up to London.  Here he had met with no better success; and having been employed in the growing of tobacco, and being unaccustomed to any other work, he could not get to labour in England.  I told him he had better try to get to the West Indies; but he informed me that he had not a single penny, and that he had nothing to eat that day.  By this man’s story, I was moved to tears; and going to a neighbouring shop, I took from my purse my last shilling, changed it, and gave this poor brother fugitive one-half.  The poor man burst into tears as I placed the sixpence in his hand, and said—­“You are the first friend I have met in London.”  I bade him farewell, and left him with a feeling of regret that I could not place him beyond the reach of want.  I went on my way to the city, and while going through Cheapside, a streak of light appeared in the east