a pleasing view of Hampstead and Highgate. Indeed, there would then have been very few houses beyond them in that direction, Finsbury Fields occupying the entire space till they joined the manor of Canonbury. Ward, in the "London Spy," written within a century, speaks of them as a fashionable promenade for the gentry an hour before dinner, the dinner hour being not later than one o'clock. Think of the citizens of the present day promenading at noon, or dining at such an unheard-of hour!

The gardens behind Drapers' Hall still exist, and, the situation considered, are really extensive. When I saw them last summer they were in creditable order, while diversifying the lawns and well-grown trees were flowerbeds and fountains, the whole so cool and pleasant that no great exertion of fancy carried one back into the Tudor age, and gave the plantation quite a countrified air. The Company must exercise considerable self-denial to resist the temptation of covering their garden with bricks and mortar, especially as the governing officials no longer sojourn within the sound of Bow-bells.

Passing in from the street entrance, you find yourself in a paved quadrangle, shut in by red brick corridors, primlooking, but substantial; from which a long passage conducts you to the various offices, where, in general, a somewhat unbusiness-like repose is observable. During my visits, I never found more persons in attendance than one clerk and two messengers, all in undress, and seemingly much surprised at my arrival. I think I could have opened all the doors and penetrated right and left without detection. Twice, at least, when attending with my ground-rent, nobody could be found able to give me a receipt, though a clause in the lease makes personal attendance for that purpose indispensable. Once too, when change was required, I suppose they went to the Bank for the needful, since the delay was almost beyond my

patience. Possibly I never reached the hall sanctum, for through a long paved passage, opening into the office, I could distinguish some dozen doors, ending with a dead glass window, behind which his honour the director in waiting might have been installed, and was perhaps asleep. No doubt the place was sufficiently lively of a court-day, when the rich perfume of a coming banquet attracts all the old and middle-aged magnates of the Company.

On one of my visits I petitioned for permission to go over the building, which was very courteously granted. There are two halls, one for the monthly dinners, and the other also used for banqueting, but called the court-room. Both are lofty, well-lit apartments, fitted with well polished oak paneling, of a deep blackish-brown colour, from age. The ceilings are elegantly moulded, and the several chandeliers in each room, when lighted, must make them appear very cheerful. The walls are hung with wholelength portraits in oil. Two Lord Mayors, worthy drapers of the olden time, have honourable posts assigned to them among the crowned heads, and really look almost as royal in their chairs and robes. Henry VIII., fat and defiant, in costume à la Holbein, heads the potentates; then comes Mary Queen of Scots, a fine painting ascribed to Zucchero, and engraved by Bartolozzi. I did not find in it the surpassing beauty usually attributed to her, but her portraits differ so widely, that it is idle to expect certainty on the subject. The head coiffure of her supposed likenesses varies amazingly, owing, it is now concluded, to her wearing different coloured wigs. Her son, King James I., when only four years old, is the next portrait, and figures as a rather well-looking child, certainly without any earnest of the ungainliness attributed to him when a man; William III., a very commonplace affair; Georges I., II., III., IV., delineated in a manner not at all likely to raise

one's estimate of those monarchs-works of art so meagre, that it would not be extravagant to imagine they were executed by contract. Then, as a tribute to modern history, we have Wellington and Nelson; and, as a due expression of loyalty, an excellent bust of Queen Victoria.

Among the paintings, and infinitely superior to them all, there is a Holy Family, evidently the work of an Italian master, which Mr. Messenger assured me was highly valued by the Company, though he could not remember the artist's name.

The large hall will dine comfortably 160 guests, and, judging from the wide tables and the well-cushioned seats -particularly the president's-these drapers must have an extremely rational notion of creature comforts.

On the principal staircase there is an equestrian portrait of the Duke of Marlborough-when or by whom painted I could not learn, though the regimentals are so fiery red, the jack-boots so shiny, and the cocked hat so belaced, that it might have been exhibited at the Academy in 1857. "Where are the dinners cooked?" said I. "In our own kitchen: and we have our own wine-cellar," was the answer. "Might I see them?" "Yes." So down we went; and nothing at Drapers' Hall deserves more notice than the kitchen. Capacious, square, well lighted (smelling rather mouldy just then), and furnished with a grate so large that, when glowing with a due supply of Wallsend, it must look as terrible as Nebuchadnezzar's furnace. There are delicately smooth oven-plates for pastry, and hot-air cupboards for vegetables. The gourmand may well rejoice at the facilities it offers for the concoction of a princely meal. In order to prevent the guests tasting the dinners through their nostrils before it is served, the kitchen is separated from the rest of the buildings, and the dishes are carried up to the hall by a special stair, ending at an invisible door close adjoining.

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The cellar-and who can doubt the excellence of its contents-its bins of bees'-wing, amontillado, claret, champagne, with sly preserves of liqueurs and ample closets for alcohol in all its forms-brandy, hollands, cream of the valley-enough to make a wine-bibber sigh! They do not allow tasting here, as at the docks.

The Company is governed by four wardens and a committee-twenty-three in number. Their landed property is large, and the revenue must be considerable.

Here is a curious passage from Howell's letters, under date Sept. 30, 1629. The scene referred to took place in the old hall: :- "When I went to bind my brother Ned apprentice in Drapers' Hall, casting my eyes upon the chimney-piece of the great room, I spy'd a picture of an ancient gentleman, and underneath 'Thomas Howell.' I asked the clerk about him, and he told me that he had been a Spanish merchant in the time of Henry VIII., and coming home rich, and dying a bachelor, he gave that hall to the Company of Drapers, with other things, so that he is accounted one of the chief benefactors. I told the clerk that one of the sons of Thomas Howell came now thither to be bound; and he answered, that if he had been a right Howell, he may have, when he is free, £300 to help him to set up, and pay no interest for five years. It may be, hereafter, we will make use of this." Well, this stream of liberality has flowed down to us, without interruption, from the sixteenth century, and kind Thomas Howell still helps his deserving representatives by the hands of these worthy drapers.

How illustrious such great commercial associations become in the eyes of the philanthropist, when he finds in their yearly accounts so large a column for charitable contributions, and such a noble expenditure on objects of benevolence and usefulness! Their profits may be vast, but who can grudge them, when they are so well em

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ployed? The merchant princes of Venice, Genoa, and their high mightinesses of the old Dutch republic, were among the most munificent benefactors of mankind; and now that their glory has become a mere memory, an Englishman may reasonably boast that our City companies have exceeded them, equally in wealth and in charity.