ST. PAUL'S Churchyard, Ave-Maria Lane and Amen Corner were familiar names to the eye and mind in my boy-days; but I had no more notion of the features and character of the places than of the interior of a man-of-war, or of Robinson Crusoe's island. After reading numerous magazines, and taking in several of the sixpenny numbers published by Harrison, Cooke, Parsons, etc., and thereby ascertaining something about authors, artists, printers, and booksellers, I became curious and anxious to see such gifted personages, their homes, or haunts; and also where the manufacturers of literature resided, what were their peculiarities, and who and what sort of beings they were. I also coveted to see and read more books than I could afford to purchase. During the apprenticeship, I do not remember to have had an opportunity of satisfying this curiosity, except early in a morning, before shops were opened, or on Sundays, when they were all closed, and “The Row, ” with its appendages, as dull and silent as many village churchyards; but after being relieved from my apprentice-bondage, I found my way to the famed book-mart; traversed the narrow, dark street, miscalled Row; stopped to gaze at every shop window, and even stealthily looked in at every opened doorway, to see if a Harrison, a Cooke, a Hogg, or even one of their Grub-street workmen, or a rich author, could be descried.