mestic occasionally entered, and made their
exit. A lodger or so came home, and busied themselves in getting their
refreshments. Two or three females dropped in from the women's
kitchen, just by the way of having a little gossip; and, as is usual
with the angelic part of the creation, scandal was the topic; how that
such a one had been "carrying on," as they phrased it, all the week,
getting drunk every day, and that they had never paid the landlord;
and how that Mr. So-and-so was grumbling, as well he might; and how
that Tom What-d'ye-call-him was going to be parted from Bet
What's-her-name; "and, to tell the truth, no one pitied her; she came
home _mortal_ (insensibly intoxicated) twice or thrice a day, and what
man _could_ stand that? He had all but murdered her, the other night,
but it was to no purpose; for she had taken every rag he had, even the
very shirt off his back, and put them up the spout (the pawn-shop)
this very morning. But as for Tom himself, he was as sober and as
decent a man as ever entered a house, rarely ever seen the worse for
drink above twice or thrice a week," &c., &c. With such lady-like
discourse as this, then, did those patterns of excelling nature while
away the time, not forgetting too, every now and then, to strengthen
their language with a few powerful asseverations.

From this interesting group, we turned to observe a few individuals
staggering in, when a tall countryman, with his hat slouched over his
ears, and one of those velvet shooting-jackets, which we have before
noticed, and which indeed is the flash coat of low life, following
close after, caught our attention. The sleeves of his jerkin were slit
here and there, and the white shirt (the only one we had seen that
night) protruding through the rents, gave it a good deal of the
appearance of the slashed doublet of former days. As he advanced into
the room, we soon recognised an old acquaintance in Harry ----, of
----, in Yorkshire.

This man who now stood before us, is one of the many instances, that
are to be met with in those dens, of the strange vicissitudes of life.
His youth was reared in one of the first boarding schools in
Yorkshire, and, for many years, he was well known at Doncaster market
as a gentleman farmer; nor is it a great while ago, since this very
man might be seen dashing along those streets in his one-horse chaise.
But, alas! what is he now? A crawler from door to door with matches,
or, when he can raise suf