nobody knows. Southey says, "I began to study the map of London,
though dismayed at its prodigious extent. The river is no assistance
to a stranger in finding his way; there is no street along its banks,
and no eminence from whence you can look around and take your
bearings."

You may take these reflections as passing through my mind while we
were driving through street after street, and going round corner after
corner, towards the parsonage.

Surrey Chapel and parsonage were the church and residence of the
celebrated Kowland Hill. At present the incumbent is the Rev. Mr.
Sherman, well known to many of our American clergy by the kind
hospitalities and attentions with which he has enriched their stay in
London. The church maintains a medium rank between Congregationalism
and Episcopacy, retaining part of the ritual, but being independent in
its government. The kindness of Mr. Sherman had assembled here a very
agreeable company, among whom were Farquhar Tupper, the artist
Cruikshank, from whom I received a call the other morning, and Mr.
Pilatte, M. P. Cruikshank is an old man with gray hair and eyebrows,
strongly marked features, and keen eyes. He talked to me something
about the promotion of temperance by a series of literary sketches
illustrated by his pencil.

I sat by a lady who was well acquainted with Kingsley, the author of
Alton Locke, Hypatia, and other works, with whom I had some
conversation with regard to the influence of his writings.

She said that he had been instrumental in rescuing from infidelity
many young men whose minds had become unsettled; that he was a devoted