d and fifty years ago, 'great is thy power; how
energetically the possession of thee speaks in favour of man's
character!'

'Only half-a-crown for this Bible?' said I, putting down the money, 'it
is worth three'; and bowing to the man of the noble features, I departed
with my purchase.

'Queer customer,' said the prim-looking man, as I was about to close the
door--'don't like him.'

'Why, as to that, I scarcely know what to say,' said he of the
countenance of a lion.

CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

THE PICKPOCKET--STRANGE RENCOUNTER--DRAG HIM ALONG--A GREAT
SERVICE--THINGS OF IMPORTANCE--PHILOLOGICAL MATTERS--A MOTHER OF
LANGUAGES

A few days after the occurrence of what is recorded in the last chapter,
as I was wandering in the City, chance directed my footsteps to an alley
leading from one narrow street to another in the neighbourhood of
Cheapside. Just before I reached the mouth of the alley, a man in a
greatcoat, closely followed by another, passed it; and, at the moment in
which they were passing, I observed the man behind snatch something from
the pocket of the other; whereupon, darting into the street, I seized the
hindermost man by the collar, crying at the same time to the other, 'My
good friend, this person has just picked your pocket.'

The individual whom I addressed, turning round with a start, glanced at
me, and then at the person whom I held. London is the place for strange
encounters. It appeared to me that I recognised both individuals--the
man whose pocket had been picked and the other; the latter now began to
struggle violently; 'I have picked no one's pocket,' said he. 'Rascal,'
said the other, 'you have got my pocket-book in your bosom.' 'No, I have
not,' said the other; and, struggling more violently than before, the
pocket-book dropped from his bosom upon the ground.

The other was now about to lay hands upon the fellow, who was still
struggling. 'You had better take up your book,' said I; 'I can hold
him.' He followed my advice; and, taking up his pocket-book, surveyed my
prisoner with a ferocious look, occasionally glaring at me. Yes, I had
seen him before--it was the stranger whom I had observed on London
Bridge, by the stall of the old apple-woman, with the cap and cloak; but,
instead of these, he now wore a hat and greatcoat. 'Well,' said I, at
last, 'what am I to do with this gentleman of ours?' nodding to the
prisoner, who had now left off struggling. 'Shall I let him go?'