dead to all feeling, all modesty, and shame. It is a sad sight, though
few see the snake in the grass for the flowers; and of the gay ones there
none think they will ever become like the bloated, ragged women now
standing in their path and asking with the true professional whine for
alms. Some are borne away in broughams, some in cabs, but the most on
foot. Let us now look at the men. You cannot see a finer set anywhere.
Are not the flower of our youth and manhood there? Of course I refer
merely to their physical formation. Young fellows from the army and
navy, men from all our universities and inns of court, gents from the
city and the Stock Exchange, and respectable middle-aged country
gentlemen stopping in town a night, and just dropping in to see what is
going on. Before us there is enough material to found a mighty empire,
including even that pale melancholy little lordling dashing along in his
cab, who has already, boy as he is, a regiment; and all this multitude is
going headlong to the devil at express speed, in spite of the baptismal
vow and the ministrations of the church. But let us see what they are
about. Here a portion seeks supper at the neighbouring oyster-rooms, and
a rush is made at the waiters as they bring in oysters and pale ale, as
if the parties had been famishing all day. Then we knock at the door of
a place at one time much patronized by a certain marquis, and still
bearing his name; and we find some that we saw leaving the casino here
drinking; or we go into another, where the crowd is so dense we have
scarce room to stand, and find the same occupation vigorously carried on.
Of course at the places which do not have closed doors the bars are all
filled, and drinking seems the order of the night. In the mean while let
us march up Piccadilly. The small hours have now come, yet the place is
redolent with life. Young fellows are singing "We won't go home till
morning"--policemen are bidding the unfortunates that won't fee them move
on--hideous females are waiting to rob the drunkards they may meet in
their path--and men with hawk eyes and hungry aspect are hovering all
round like so many birds of prey; and boys--for they are everywhere, all
dirt and rags, yet happy in the richness of young life, for childhood,
even the most abandoned, can never be sad--dance round us, in the hope
that "your honour" will find a copper for "poor little Jack," singing to
us of that far-famed Ratcatcher's D