pickpockets there, and we might be bullied, which is not
pleasant. Ah, here's the house we are looking for; it has done a good
trade this many a year, for is there not a cab-stand opposite, and cabby
knows the value of a cup of coffee on a cold winter's night. Never mind
the smell; as business is carried on uninterruptedly during the
twenty-four hours, and as the company belongs to that part of the
population not guilty of an inordinate attachment to soap and water, and
to whom cheap baths are a myth, it cannot be matter of surprise if there
be about the place "an ancient and fish-like smell." But here comes the
landlord. "Good morning, gents;" in an under voice, "you had better mind
your pocket; there are some strange characters here. A cup of coffee?
Yes, sir. Now then, sir, you had better wake up, it is time for you to
be off. You've had a good hour's sleep." "Why not let him sleep?"
"Why, you see, sir, such fellows would stay here all night and fill up
the house, and not spend a penny; and business is business." A curious
medley is here of sleepy, half-tipsy, sickly unfortunates. Yet even here
the line is drawn; the door opens, and we dimly discern a mass of rags;
so does our landlord, as he rushes to exclude the would-be customer.
"What, you are trying it on again, are you? you know you can't come here.
Why, you see, sir, if we let such fellows in, the place would swarm
with--," (the reader must supply the blank). But we take the hint, and
not unreluctantly depart.

The night public-house has, I confess,--and I am glad to do so,--lost
somewhat of its popularity in latter years. At one time it was common
everywhere; now it is in only a few streets that it exists and pollutes
the atmosphere. In the Strand, in the Haymarket, in Oxford-street,
night-houses were numerous; but the one to which I more immediately refer
was situated in the neighbourhood of Tottenham-court-road. Since then,
Mr Spurgeon has been preaching in that locality, but I dare say the
night-house exists nevertheless.

Let us suppose it is about two in the morning, and with the exception of
one or two amiable garotters, a few sleepy police, and some three or four
women, the regular population of the neighbourhood may be safely
considered to have been long in bed. The gas-lamps shine almost
exclusively on yourself. You look up at the windows and you see no
lights save where, perhaps, poverty may be stitching for bread, or where
Death ma