and the seductiveness of a desert island; but I could not help thinking that a pleasant neighbour or two would have materially improved the solitary condition. To be sure, there were the cannibals; but they could hardly be said, in the strict sense of the word, to be animated by a neighbourly feeling. If Alexander Selkirk could have heard his sound of the "church-going bell," for which his ear thirsted, he would still have wanted a neighbour on the next rock, or the valley ten miles off, to call for on his way, and to return home with. But after all, their situation was only just as neighbourless as mine. True, this little suburban district is not a desert island; on the contrary, there is scarcely an acre of ground within a mile of my fireside, that is not thickly planted with brick and mortar, and houses come up faster than small salad; there is scarcely an edifice among the congregated specimens of eligible mansions and commodious residences that is not tenanted; and not a few of the vast number can boast of more than one set of inmates. But it is true, nevertheless, that I haven't a neighbour.

There are seasons, says Wordsworth, when the heart luxuriates with indifferent things, "wasting its kindliness on stocks and stones." I have often wasted mine on the statue of the Duke of York on Carlton-terrace, and now watch the progress of the new column in Trafalgar-square with proportionate interest. Nelson will certainly prove a most desirable neighbour.

I have remarked that we are surrounded with houses, and that every one is tenanted-this is scarcely saying enough. A friend of mine (alas! he is no neighbour), whose family increases rapidly, is said to have such a "house full of children," that he cannot shut the streetdoor for them if he did, they would be oozing out at the key-hole; and legs and arms, in inevitable submission to the law of physics, would be insinuating themselves out of the window, or escaping as by a safety-valve through the chimney. This appears to be equally the case with numerous residents in my vicinity. Lodger upon lodger, visiter upon visiter, each staying a twelvemonth, fill most of the buildings even to an overflow; but in all this multitude, is there no neighbour for me,

not one.

The people next door are a charming family. They have resided there fifteen years, while my term of tenancy has been seventeen; but to speak of them as my neighbours, would be like speaking of the elasticity of cast-iron, or the saccharine attraction of a cranberry-tart. The family over the way, the Higgses (we know the name to be Higgs by the brass-plate on the door)-well, they have lived almost opposite to us upwards of twelve years; and yet to expect a call from any one of the two dozen in family-to expect a "good morning," or any slight sign of neighbourly recognition-why, it would be as startling as the knock of a penny-postman at the door of Robinson Crusoe's cave.

The French have many generous and brilliant qualities; but I believe the chief reason why I am so partial to them is not that they have sent us Rachel-but that they are always called "our lively neighbours."

Let it not be rashly imagined that I am utterly deserted and desolate. We have relations innumerable; some of them yet living can prove

June.-VOL. LXII. NO. CCXLVI.

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that they were in the Ark, and they have gone on increasing and multiplying ever since. But relations in Yorkshire, the Isle of France, Australia, Upper Canada, and New Zealand, are not exactly neighbours. As for the friends that we have the happiness to possess, they are like the tricks of conjurors, "too tedious to mention." We have them, as the hungry gentleman wanted to have the sandwiches at an evening party," in swarms." But then, is it not as clear as a ballroom two minutes after supper is announced, that the best of friends are any thing but neighbours, especially when they reside within a convenient distance !

We have numerous visitations from afar. If I happened to have a cousin in Kentucky, I'd bet the speculating reader a copy of the New Monthly, that he (the Kentuckian) would be smoking me out of house and home within a twelvemonth. Every man or boy, every maid, wife, or widow, connected with us by the remotest and most imaginary degree of consanguinity, can find the way in turn to our gate, and knows experimentally the precise degree of vigour which the bell-pull exacts to insure a prompt attendance upon the summons. They know whether our knocker's note is C in base, or C in treble. We have plenty of other people's neighbours; throughout the year we may rejoice, at intervals, in the flattering inquiries and voluntary domiciliations of friends and kindred from a distance the neighbours probably of my own antipodes. But this occurs to everybody in turn. It is regulated by the principle on which every Londoner's country visiters clamber up St. Paul's, and thread the mazes of the Tower, while the Londoner himself does not. I have neither scaled the Monument, nor dived into the Tunnel; never in my life, because I could perform the feat every day of my existence; and what I principally know concerning them is derived from the voluminous communications of statistical guests from distant countries or foreign lands.

They can give you the exact measurement of the architectural or antiquarian wonder; the width, the height, the proportion of the parts, in feet and inches; and add besides the date of the year when it was all done; all which told, without the abatement of a single figure of the account, they leave you to enjoy your headache, and travel back to the country, sensible perhaps of your hospitality, but shocked at your disgraceful want of ordinary information.

Ah! how vast is the difference between all such guests, and the social conveniences alluded to before-the neighbours! Relations are well enough, so long as they are not poor ones; and friends are of inestimable value, except perhaps when you want them to be of use to you; but if they are beyond immediate reach, it is too plain that they are not neighbours, and one good thing is not always a substitute for another. As an epic poem would prove but of slight utility in the place of a haunch of venison, so the exalted and exquisite sentiment of friendship is, in practical operation, but an ill-substitute for the hourlywanted accommodation of a neighbourly feeling.

What adds most acutely to the poignant sense which I entertain of this social grievance, my want of neighbours, is, that the people all round about appear to be such peculiarly nice people. The charming family opposite, and that next door, are but specimens of the general

superiority. On our terrace there are almost twenty houses, and in the row over the way there are twenty five, and I don't think there is an exceptionable person amongst all the inhabitants, from the Bradleys to the Watkinsons. They seem to be the steadiest of husbands, the kindest of fathers, the fondest of grandpapas, the best of wives, mothers, sisters, or maiden aunts in the world; but they are such horribly bad neighbours. I do not mean of course that they are caught peeping over the blinds into one's bedroom, before one has quite time to get out of it in the morning; or that they flock to the windows whenever a longer and louder knock than usual is administered at our door by some more finished practitioner; they all seem perfectly indifferent whether, when the butcher comes, the servant takes in lamb or mutton; they hardly appear to know people's turbots from their brills; they never seem to count how many letters the postman brings daily, nor observe what visiters we have, nor notice at what late hours they may happen to go away; and I verily believe that if our ale-brewer were to send us an eighteen-gallon cask every week, the circumstance would fail to attract the smallest attention in this unobservant vicinity. A German friend sallied forth the first thing after breakfast the other morning, with a huge mustache and a long pipe in his mouth; and the maid-servant who was sweeping the steps of No. 16, never rested her chin upon the longbroom-handle for a single instant, nor even turned her head to stare at the phenomenon.

When I say, therefore, that they are bad neighbours, I mean that they are not neighbours at all. I only wish they would busy themselves about our affairs. Every thing that could be done to entrap them into slight intimacies, or neighbourly interchanges of nods, has been tried long ago, until effort and hope are exhausted. There are the three ladylike Miss Moores, next door but one; I would give anything to break through their reserve. I know they like a rubber on a winter eveningthe youngest is past forty-but one might as well attempt to coax them into Crockford's as to draw them into a little neighbourly party with whist in our corner. To each other they are all smiles and sunshine, but they are icicles as neighbours. Overtaking them in a lane close by, the other evening, I purposely trod on the tail of their favourite spaniel, to give myself an opportunity, by a thousand apologies for my carelessness, of making their acquaintance; but they only bowed graciously, called " Pet! Pet!" observed that the little thing was always in the way, and made room for me to pass. I could not have remarked that it was a fine night, but I thought it would rain before morning, if my life had depended on it!

There's that fine good-humoured fellow at No. 6 over the way, with his twinkling eyes and rosy complexion; he's at home every evening, but how can I get him out? I wish he would trouble his head with what doesn't concern him. He sings capitally, and has been singing for years, as we have often heard when passing under the window; and of all things we want him to take a second in "Drink to me only," but I might as reasonably hope to get Lablache by the button. As his name resembles my own (so the old-fashioned brass plate shows-the only medium through which the mere names of our neighbours can be known to us) two or three misdirected letters, intended for me, have

fallen into his hands; he sends them over with much promptitude and great politeness, yet it is as difficult to get a "fine day!" out of him, when we meet, as it is out of November itself.

It is really comical to see how we miscellaneous residents hereabout meet each other on one of our favourite little promenades of an evening; on the stony and not very spacious bank of a respectable pond, which has recently, thanks to its loyal and patriotic proprietor, been put in handsome order, and designated Lake Albert. Here we all parade up and down, first on this side of a row of trees and then on that; the place" or the "terrace" on which we live being, at this time, more than half emptied of its tenants; and yet amidst all the promenaders so assembled, there is not one single neighbourly soul that speaks to another. None of them let their left hands know what their right hands are doing. No. 2 does not so much as bow to No. 3; No. 4 seems utterly unconscious that No. 5 lives next door to him.

We are not birds of passage, observe, in our district; there are but few examples of tenants coming for a season and starting off again ; on the contrary, most of us have been fixtures for the last twenty years, so that, meeting each other continually for half a life-time, our faces are all as familiar as our manners are reserved. We could all swear to each other's buttons and bonnet-ribbons; yet we walk and make no sign. Hundreds of times have I patted the heads of little masters, or touched with surpassing delicacy the chins of little maidens, in the hope of thawing their parents, and establishing, if not a neighbourly intercourse, yet an interchange of courtesies. All in vain. I have sometimes, by way of breaking the ice, meditated pushing one of the little boys into the pond,-not far, but just so that I might instantly pull him out again,-for the sake of seeing whether the deliverer of their darling would be recognised as a near neighbour. But curiosity never carried me so far, because I felt certain of the result. As a total stranger I should be overwhelmed with acknowledgments, and then become a total stranger again. The answer to inquiries next morning would be," Compliments,-much obliged,-going on very well, many thanks" but no hint of any latent consciousness that the face of their darling's preserver was one which they had ever seen before, or were likely to meet again.

"Had I met it," says the Sentimentalist on his Journey, speaking of the head of the monk, "had I met it on the plains of Hindustan I had worshipped it." If one of my neighbours were to meet me there, we should not even nod to one another. I cannot say with Orlando, “I desire that we may be better strangers," for that we cannot be.

At the play the other night a family on our terrace came into the same box and shared the same seat with me. I raised it for them on their entrance, and picked up their playbill; other civilities passed: but throughout the long evening my companions betrayed neither by look nor by word, a knowledge of the fact that we had all come from, and were all returning to, the same spot, and that ever since Midsummer, 1824, we had rarely been a stone's throw apart!

The scene which I most enjoy on the stage occurs in operas and melodramas, where troops of peasants come crowding on, the men in short red waistcoats and blue smalls, the women in abridged petticoats of

every colour, all bustling together and shaking hands, or pairing off, arm in arm; with a Farmer Friendly joining them from his cottage, saying "Come neighbours, neighbours!" receiving a welcome everywhere, and speaking to every creature, great or little, in the village. Those are exhibitions of genuine nature. They teach us to feel the full force of every neighbourly sentiment. They paint a true picture of what exists everywhere, except in my parish. I never witness that portion of the play without wishing that I had yielded, in early life, to intense passion for the stage. I think I could have played one of those Farmer Friendlys to the life,-they are all so natural.

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As we have frequent visiters in friends and family connexions, so even when quite alone we are not absolutely without resources. should be sorry to be thought wholly dependent for the means of passing an agreeable evening on unknown and indeed non-existent neighbours. My wife and I have, to be sure, outgrown both cribbage and picquet; but we contrive to relish our whist pretty well by means of two open dummies. Still we are apt to feel, after an hour or two, rather provoked at the impossibility of ensnaring a pair of partners, out of all the elderlies that are playing rubbers round about. The evening passes off very delightfully; but then utter solitude is always the sweeter for having somebody by, to whom we may say "How delightful it is!"

We have once or twice meditated the expedient of making the children sit up late; inuring them to it from the cradle, so that they may do it without winking-it would be injurious to them no doubt, but it would be much more lively. Sometimes we vary the order of amusement by singing trios as duets, or arranging solos for two voices; for I don't dislike music so much when I take part in it-it is only listening that I object to. Occasionally too we act little domestic dramas; getting up, that is to say, just a slight friendly quarrel-a mere bickering in an affectionate way-to help the hours along; and now and then we have another variation of proceedings, by agreeing to fancy ourselves as slight acquaintances only, each regarding the other as merely a friendly visiter, preserving therefore the most respectful and attentive demeanour, drawing out our tastes and sentiments, our predilections and dislikings by degrees, and playing off all the little prettinesses of speech and manner that would be properly called forth by a charming neighbour, paying the first visit and reluctant to depart. We find this semiserious farce, sustained as it is by the most innocent flirtation, by way of by-play, to answer its purpose very well. So gravely is it carried on, that I sometimes end by offering to see my wife home to the next terrace. I only wish a neighbour or two would drop in to witness the performance.

A neighbour or two! Absurd! In my paradise, as in Adam's, there are none. I have relatives, friends-acquaintances-brother-electors and fellow-parishioners-but I have no neighbours.