over the kingdom, and never was in prison
in my life before."

Mr. Bennett. "Well I should advise you to be careful; if I could
punish you, I would."

Isabella Watson. "The poor fellow has been with me hundreds of miles
as my companion, and he never got into a scrape before."

Mr. Bennett. "It is a case that puzzles me, but I must discharge the
prisoner."

The prisoner, who was chewing tobacco, then bowed his head, and walked
out of the office with Isabella, who exclaimed, "Never mind, my lad,
if we live a hundred years it will be in this manner."

Watson is about five feet seven inches in height, with rather an
intelligent countenance; and Chapman is not more than five feet high.
Her hair is light brown, and cut short, the same as a man's; and she
has the gait of a man, and looks like a costermonger.

We agree with this account in every thing except the height of the
individuals. The reporter, we think, is a little man, who always sees
inches through a magnifier. The man-woman is the height we have
stated, or rather less, and his wife is five feet two inches, instead
of five feet seven. It is curious but nevertheless a fact, that,
although this strange being had lodged for a number of years at the
house alluded to, it was never known it was a woman, though at the
same time it was never supposed that the creature was a man.]

This money-making man, it may be supposed, was a street singer; and
was reported to be a native of that country--the land of leeks and
cheese; that place where goats are said to abound--Wales.

The landlord opened the door, and gave orders for the card players to
cease; it was twelve o'clock. The gamblers were loth, but the master
was peremptory.

[Illustration]

CHAPTER XI.

THE LIFE OF LOW LIFE; OR THE GLORIOUS FINISH OF THE WEEK.

"Yes!" snivelled a street-preacher and psalm singer, who could
scarcely hold up his head for strong drink; "we are now entering upon
the Lord's day."

"Aye," observed a spouting vagabond, "it is so, old Mawworm, and you
had better go to bed. You know you have your part to perform
to-morrow."

"Yes!" he answered, adding a little snuff to his other stimulants, and
muttered something about "God willing."

And now it was that the roar of revelry began--noise, disorder, and
discord, all joined chorus. The players were let loose, and were
giving vent to their different feelings, as ill or bad luck had
attended them.

The lodgers were nearly al