up to prevent its tumbling into the street; and the very beams
erected against it were less wood than paste and paper, they had
been so continually posted and reposted. The forlorn dregs of old
posters so encumbered this wreck, that there was no hold for new
posters, and the stickers had abandoned the place in despair,
except one enterprising man who had hoisted the last masquerade to
a clear spot near the level of the stack of chimneys where it waved
and drooped like a shattered flag. Below the rusty cellar-grating,
crumpled remnants of old bills torn down, rotted away in wasting
heaps of fallen leaves. Here and there, some of the thick rind of
the house had peeled off in strips, and fluttered heavily down,
littering the street; but, still, below these rents and gashes,
layers of decomposing posters showed themselves, as if they were
interminable. I thought the building could never even be pulled
down, but in one adhesive heap of rottenness and poster. As to
getting in - I don't believe that if the Sleeping Beauty and her
Court had been so billed up, the young Prince could have done it.

Knowing all the posters that were yet legible, intimately, and
pondering on their ubiquitous nature, I was led into the
reflections with which I began this paper, by considering what an
awful thing it would be, ever to have wronged - say M. JULLIEN for
example - and to have his avenging name in characters of fire
incessantly before my eyes. Or to have injured MADAME TUSSAUD, and
undergo a similar retribution. Has any man a self-reproachful
thought associated with pills, or ointment? What an avenging
spirit to that man is PROFESSOR HOLLOWAY! Have I sinned in oil?
CABBURN pursues me. Have I a dark remembrance associated with any
gentlemanly garments, bespoke or ready made? MOSES and SON are on
my track. Did I ever aim a blow at a defenceless fellow-creature's