dly up by the red glare, lolled and sprawled the motliest company of
tattered gutter-scum and ruffians, of both sexes, he had ever read or
dreamed of. There were huge stalwart men, brown with exposure,
long-haired, and clothed in fantastic rags; there were middle-sized
youths, of truculent countenance, and similarly clad; there were blind
mendicants, with patched or bandaged eyes; crippled ones, with wooden
legs and crutches; diseased ones, with running sores peeping from
ineffectual wrappings; there was a villain-looking pedlar with his pack;
a knife-grinder, a tinker, and a barber-surgeon, with the implements of
their trades; some of the females were hardly-grown girls, some were at
prime, some were old and wrinkled hags, and all were loud, brazen,
foul-mouthed; and all soiled and slatternly; there were three sore-faced
babies; there were a couple of starveling curs, with strings about their
necks, whose office was to lead the blind.

The night was come, the gang had just finished feasting, an orgy was
beginning; the can of liquor was passing from mouth to mouth. A general
cry broke forth--

"A song! a song from the Bat and Dick and Dot-and-go-One!"

One of the blind men got up, and made ready by casting aside the patches
that sheltered his excellent eyes, and the pathetic placard which recited
the cause of his calamity. Dot-and-go-One disencumbered himself of his
timber leg and took his place, upon sound and healthy limbs, beside his
fellow-rascal; then they roared out a rollicking ditty, and were
reinforced by the whole crew, at the end of each stanza, in a rousing
chorus. By the time the last stanza was reached, the half-drunken
enthusiasm had risen to such a pitch, that everybody joined in and sang
it clear through from the beginning, producing a volume of villainous
sound that made the rafters quake. These were the inspiring words:--

'Bien Darkman's then, Bouse Mort and Ken, The bien Coves bings awast, On
Chates to trine by Rome Coves dine For his long lib at last. Bing'd out
bien Morts and toure, and toure, Bing out of the Rome vile bine, And
toure the Cove that cloy'd your duds, Upon the Chates to trine.' (From
'The English Rogue.' London, 1665.)

Conversation followed; not in the thieves' dialect of the song, for that
was only used in talk when unfriendly ears might be listening. In the
course of it, it appeared that 'John Hobbs' was not altogether a new
recruit, but had trained in the gang at some f