My grandfather was a publican--and a sinner, as you will see. His public-house was the Hole in the Wall, on the river's edge at Wapping; and his sins--all of them that I know of--are recorded in these pages. He was a widower of some small substance, and the Hole in the Wall was not the sum of his resources, for he owned a little wharf on the river Lea. I called him Grandfather Nat, not to distinguish him among a multitude of grandfathers--for indeed I never knew another of my own--but because of affectionate habit; a habit perhaps born of the fact that Nathaniel Kemp was also my father's name. My own is Stephen. To remember Grandfather Nat is to bethink me of pear-drops. It is possible that…
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