thin lips, with a look of great firmness and deter- mination. My father kept the doors of his premises closed on the dreaded day, the ioth of April, think- ing, if the infuriated Chartists got the upper hand, they might make barricades of our carriages across Portland Place. But his fears, like many others on that day, proved to be groundless. The two hundred thousand dwindled to twenty thousand ; the military were not called out, and the day passed quietly enough, and I neither heard of or saw any incident more serious than the chaff and ridicule of knots of people directed against the “specials" who patrolled the district, each one with a stout staff, and wearing a wristlet as distinctive badge.
I worked for many years at Leigh’s, on and off, sometimes in the day as well as at night, and sometimes before breakfast. There must have been some affinity between us, for we became firm and fast friends, and many were the acts of kindness Leigh showed towards me, which shall be mentioned presently. He was called “Dagger Leigh,” not for carrying concealed arms, but from the habit he had of making cynical remarks and sarcastic repartees. I have heard he could hold his own with Thackeray and Jerrold. He was a cousin of Charles Mathews, the inimitable comedian. No mean actor himself, I have often seen him give impersonations of Mazzini, the
