CHAPTER XVI. IN WHICH MOULDY TALKS LEGALLY, AND EXPLAINS 66 Ir was all very well while the daylight lasted, and the comfortable inward sensation derived from a bellyful of pudding continued to make itself felt, (the almonds that I stole fetched twopence of the man in Coal Yard;) but when night set in, and I once more found myself lying in the dark van with nothing to do but to go to sleep, I began to feel most acutely the stings of conscience consequent on my evil behaviour through the day. "'Course it wasn't," chimed in Ripston, with equal earnestness. "Well, then," said I, "what was it?" "Well, I don't know 'zactly what it's called; all I knows about it is, that it ain't reg'ler outand-out thievin'." I shook my head doubtingly, and I suppose that Mouldy felt the movement. "Don't believe me; arks the law," he continued. "When did ever you hear of a case like yours bein' put in the newspapers ?" "That's how to look at it," pursued Ripston. "When did anybody ever hear of a cove bein' took afore the beaks at Bow Street for it? It's the beadle wot settles it. And wot's a beadle when the law looks at him? Why, he's frightened of a p'liceman hisself. 'Taint likely as the law would let a beadle settle thievin' cases-now, is it?" I was now a thief! There was no use in endeavouring to evade or mitigate the terrible truth -I was a thief! I had deliberately stolen a pint of almond nuts-stolen, run away with, sold them, and spent the money they fetched! Mouldy was 'pillow" on this occasion, and as a tribute, I suppose, to my skill, I was allowed to "pick my part;" so I lay with my head on Moul-wot he carries that cane for." dy's breast, whilst Ripston occupied his legs' end. "Then what's the beadle put there for ?" 66 But despite this great advantage, I couldn't sleep. All my pulses seemed to beat to the mental utterance of that dreadful word "thief!" Thief! thief! thief! thief! My heart, my temples, my hands and feet equally complained of it, and I could get no rest at all. "A thief!" I at last involuntarily whispered. was not. "Who's a thief?" he asked. The abruptness of the question startled me considerably, but I was too full of the woeful theme to be started away from it; indeed, in my bitter remorse I think that I felt rather glad than otherwise of an opportunity of accusing myself. "I'm a thief, Mouldy," I answered. "Well, who said that you warn't ?" replied Mouldy, snappishly. "But I am, Mouldy; I am." "'Course you are. No need to be so jolly proud on it, Smiffield. You are a thief, if it's worth while callin' such jobs as we seed you doin' to-day, thievin'; which I don't." "But I never was a thief before, Mouldy," I replied, earnestly. "I never was; and that's as true as I'm layin' here alive. It's that wot makes me so precious miserable." Gammon !" The word was uttered by Ripston, who, seemed, like Mouldy, was lying awake. it "It isn't gammon, Rip; it's quite true," I sorrowfully replied. "I wish it was gammon." "You're afraid to say 'Strike me dead if it is!" said Ripston. "I am not," I replied. And I said it. "'Course he can say it," observed Mouldy; "and so he can say 'Strike him dead if he is,' even now, if anybody asks him." "I should be afraid of bein' struck dead if I did, Mouldy," I replied. Why would you ?" "Because now I am a thief." "What for? Why, I've told you what for. To settle things-things wot ain't right, to come to the rights on it—and wot ain't thievin'. That's "Takin' what ain't yours is thievin'; at least that's what I've always heard say," I replied. "I knows all about that," replied Mouldy, raising his head on his hand, the more conveniently to discuss the interesting subject; "they do say so, but that's their iggerance; they never tried it, so they can't be 'spected to know any better. Look here, Smiffield, it lays this way-If a cove walked into one of them shops in Common Garden market, and helped hisself out of the till, and they caught him a-doin' of it, that 'ud be thievin'; if he dipped his hand into the pocket of any lady or gen❜lman wot come to buy flowers and that, and they caught him a-doin' of it, that 'ud be thievin'; and so the beak as you was took afore 'ud jolly soon give you to understand. But if a feller-a hard-up feller, don't yer know-as has been tryin' to pick up his 'a'pence in a honest sort of a manner, if he is found with a few apples or nuts as doesn't happen to belong to him, the salesman wot they do belong to gives him a clout or a kick, else he calls the beadle, and he lays into him with his cane, and then lets him go. Why, if the beadle was to take one of us afore the beak, he'd get pitched into for takin' up the beak's waluable time, and p'r'aps get the sack." Without doubt, Mouldy spoke as though he meant what he said; or if he did not, it was very kind of him to pretend so earnestly in order to make my mind easy. It was equally kind of Ripston for so heartily backing him; but, somehow, all that they said didn't lift the new and strange weight off my conscience. It may have padded it a bit, so that it sat easier; but lift it off it certainly did not. "Well, if takin' things-nuts and that-isn't stealin', what is it?" I asked of Mouldy. "Oh, all sorts o' things: prowlin', sneaking, makin'." "Pinchin' findin', gleanin', some coves calls it," put in Ripston; "but, Lor'! wot's the odds how yer call it ?" "'Spose now a p'liceman was asked," I urged, "what name would he give it ?" "Oh, ah! who'd think of arstin' such jolly liars as wot the perlice is ?" replied Ripston. "Fact is, Smiffield, you're funkin'; that's what you're a-doin' of," said Mouldy. "The 'greement was, that you wouldn't funk; and here you are, chockful of it." "Not exactly funkin'," I replied. "If it ain't thievin', it's all right. I thought that it was." "Bless you, when you gets as old as I am, you'll know better 'un to take fright at words,' said Mouldy. "Why, when I was a kid, and lived at home with my old 'oman, I've set and I've heerd the old man a-readin' the newspaper to her; and you wouldn't believe how jolly careful even such artful coves as lawyers are 'bliged to be about the names they give things. Unless a chap is bowl'd out in right down reg'ler priggin', they dursn't call him a thief. They comes it mild, and calls it ''bezelment,' or 'petty larsny.' Why, it's no wus than petty larsny if a cove nails a loaf off a baker's counter; and as for 'bezelment!-my eyes, Smiffield !—if you calls sneakin' a handful of nuts thievin', I suppose you'd call what the law calls 'bezelment, highway robbery! 'Sides, s'pose it was as bad as 'bezelment, what 'ud you get for it? Ripston 'bezeled a milk-can once, and on'y got fourteen days for it. Didn't you, Ripston ?" "Ripston don't want that chucked in his face," waspishly replied the person alluded to. "If we comes to rakin's up of private histories, p'r'aps I might know coves wot had got more 'un fourteen days, not to speak of private whippin's. Howsomever, I won't mention no names. If the cap fits the cove I means, he'd better hold his jaw; that's all I've got to say." Mouldy was evidently the "cove" hinted at, for he only further made some muttered remark about Ripston being a disagreeable beggar, and then, after a little commonplace conversation, (during which Mouldy and Ripston became reconciled,) my two partners dropped off to sleep. held a horse for a gentleman who went into an oyster-shop, and earned sixpence. Fourpence we had spent, and there was twopence left. Had the sixpence turned up early in the evening, we should all three have gone to the gaff in Shoreditch with it; but, as it was, we bought some bread and fried fish for supper, and saved twopence for some coffee in the morning. "What sort of morning is it?" asked Ripston of Mouldy, who was looking out. "A precious bad 'un," was the answer; "it's a-rainin' hard; I can see the drops bobbin' in the river." "What will we do now, then?" said I. "What d'yer mean?" replied Ripston. "We shall get wet through if we go out in the rain." แ "Did yer ever hear such a cove?" exclaimed Ripston, laughing. “Here, Mouldy, s'pose you goes on fust, and borrows a top coat or a silk umbrella for Smiffield! Why, yer jolly young fool, the rain will make your hair curl! Come on." And out we went, shivering over the wet pavement, and splashing in the mud. It wasn't a sharp rain that was falling, but a steady, close rain; and long before we got to the coffee stall, I could feel my shirt sticking to my shoulders, and my trousers to my knees. I hadn't forgotten what I had made up my mind to do last nightindeed it came into my head the moment I woke -and I had been trying to screw up my courage to tell 'em what I meant all the time we had been plodding through the rain; but how could I screw my courage up? Here I was-bitterly cold and hungry, wet through to the skin, and with nothing in the world to fall back on, if I fell out with Mouldy and Ripston! "Two pen'orth of stunnin' hot coffee-in three cups, Mister," said Mouldy to the stallkeeper. But, as on the preceding night, I had a bad time of it before I could get to sleep. The arguments used by my companions had failed to con- It was all over. Had it been any one else's vince me. Besides, the abrupt termination to our coffee, it might have put heart in me to have up discourse on the matter, and the nature of the and spoke my mind; but as it was Mouldy's cofremark that had induced it, was not lost on me. fee, it warmed me towards him as I drank it, and Private whipping and imprisonment for a fort- made me think that, after all, he wasn't a bad night was never visited on boys whose ways were sort of chap, and that it would be a shame to as simple as Mouldy and Ripston would make me turn round and snub him with his ways of living. believe theirs were. True, I didn't know any- If I didn't hold with the said ways, certainly I thing of the fine distinctions of the law, and it had no business to let him stand treat to me out was very probable that snatching a few nuts was of 'em. Besides, there didn't seem much danger not a felony. Anyhow, I was quite satisfied to of anything very wrong being done to-day; for admit the probability; but, come what might, I though it still wanted a quarter to six by the would never do anything of the kind again. market clock, there was plenty of bustle and runWhat I would do, I couldn't quite make up myning about, and before we had finished our coffee, mind. I must get my living somehow. I must Mouldy said— tell Mouldy and Ripston in the morning that I "Come, look alive, you two; we oughter do meant to be quite honest, to avoid all acts of that werry tidy this mornin'. Don't you know, Smifsort, and live by picking up jobs in Covent Gar-field, that them as don't mind doin' their own den market; and that if they didn't like to keep fetchin's and carryin's when it's dry, would rather my company, I couldn't help it. I got so well pay than do it when it rains ?" into my mind that this was what I would do, that presently I went off to sleep quite comfortable. And that, I am sorry to tell, is all the good that came of my penitent thoughts of that night. I woke in the morning chilly, and dirty-feeling, and wretched-much more miserable than on the morning before. My teeth chattered; my inside seemed all of a shiver; and I felt as though I would have given the jacket off my back for a drink of hot coffee. Mouldy had the price of it in his pocket. Just as we were about to turn out of the Strand the night before, Mouldy had And so we found. From six o'clock till tenit raining all the time-we were never once waiting for a job; and when the trade fell off, and we found time to talk together, it turned out that we had been doing splendidly. I had earned elevenpence; Ripston, one and three-halfpence; Mouldy, ninepence halfpenny. I felt a deal more proud of having earned more than Mouldy this morning, than I did yesterday, when he told me that I could crib things off a stall better than he could. Indeed it was so nice to hold that handful of coppers—all hard earned, at a penny and a halfpen ny a time-that in spite of being wringing wet to | observed from the beginning, "sometimes it ran the skin, and of having a nasty cut under my big as high as roast pork, and sometimes it was not a toe, through treading on a broken bottle, I should lump of bread from mornin' till night." Still, have been happier than ever before in my life if and as I before remarked, come Saturday, to reit had not been that those almonds haunted me so. view the luck of the week would be to find that I was all the happier, too, to find that, having there was scarcely a penny's difference between been able to earn enough for their wants, neither it and the week before-the same amount of Mouldy nor Ripston had taken so much as an roast pork or its equivalent, the same dearth of apple. I was half afraid it would have been bread, the same amount of cane at the hands of otherwise, and was glad to hear Mouldy say, when the market beadle, the same average of nights we had given him our earnings, (he was money- with and without straw in our van. holder always,)-"There, now, that's jest what I calls a werry respectable mornin's work." "Better than gettin' things wrong, and sellin' 'em; eh, Mouldy?" I took courage to remark. "Course it's better," he replied; "there's more on it." "I wish I was 'bliged to work, and not-not do t'other," I said. "Don't know about bein' 'bliged to do it," replied he; "it's werry well while it lasts, but the wust on it is, it don't last; and then, if you was tied to it, and couldn't turn your hand to nothink else, you'd find it rather a pinch at times. Take things as they comes; that's my motter." Ripston said it was his " motter too; and so we went to a soup-shop in Long Acre, and all made a very hearty dinner-and there then being enough in hand for supper, and sixpence over, Mouldy kindly proposed that that should be spent in buying me a pair of boots; and Ripston agreeing, in the course of the afternoon we took a stroll to Petticoat Lane, and for the sixpence bought a largish, but very decent pair of highlows.✔ CHAPTER XVII. WHICH TOUCHES ON SUNDRY OF MY ADVENTURES AS A MARKET PROWLER, AND LEADS UP TO A GIVE PROMISE OF GROWING WORSE. It was my original intention to have presented the reader with a day-by-day chronicle of my career as a market prowler; indeed, to this end I had covered at least fifty sides of writing-paper, and there they now lie on my table, cancelled, and doomed to be converted into pipe-lights, for which their crisp, smooth nature admirably adapts them. And I believe the reader will agree with me, when he is made acquainted with the reason, that these fifty pages are very properly abandoned. The fact is, each page, representing a day, is so much like another, that, except for trifling differences, there is no telling this from that, and, goodness knows, I have enough to tell without boring the reader by insipid repetitions. The days of my market prowling were curiously alike; at least, the weeks were. From Monday morning until Saturday we rose. in the morning by daybreak, made our way to Covent Garden, perambulated the self-same beats in search of the selfsame jobs, and carried the same sort of loads; or, trade being slack, we pilfered from the selfsame baskets, and carried the result of our depredations to the old rascal that lived in Coal Yard, Drury Lane, and afterwards dined according to the quality of our luck. As Mouldy had truly In a worldly sense, an experience of five months as the partner of Mouldy and Co. found me pretty much as when I started. As the reader will perhaps remember, my stock of wearing apparel at the last-mentioned time was not extensive; consisting, indeed, of one pair of trousers, one shirt, and a ragged old jacket. Now, I still had a shirt and trousers; and the jacket falling to pieces, its place was supplied by a coat-not much of a coat, although there was a great deal of it; but still, quite as good as the jacket. As at starting, I was shoeless, the sixpenny high-lows being worn off my feet, and the profits proving insufficient to warrant a renewal of such luxuries a circumstance highly significant, as showing how seldom we lighted on elevenpenny days. It was about the middle of May when I joined Mouldy and Ripston; and now, with the reader's permission, we will let those fifty pages I was speaking of lie undisturbed, and make a skip to October of the same year. Apart from business, little had happened to me worth recording. In the course of the five months I went seven or eight times to the "gaff" in Shoreditch, and enjoyed it very much. Once I was locked up all night at Bow Street station-house, on suspicion of having stolen a little dog. It was a little slatecoloured dog, with long hair hanging over its eyes. I never had a thought of stealing it. It followed me one Saturday from Covent Garden down to the arches, and rather than turn it away we gave it a lodging in our van that night and all the next day-which was Sunday, and always a pinching time with us and gave it some of our bread. The police found it in our van when they came round that Sunday night, and being informed who brought it there, hauled me off there and then, and no doubt I should have been sent to prison had not Ripston-between whom and myself there had sprung up the fastest friendship-bestirred himself in the matter; and, ascertaining to whom the dog belonged, went boldly to the house-a great house it was, in one of the west-end squares and gaining admittance by saying he had come concerning that little dog," told the lady all about it from first to last, which not only led to my honourable acquittal, but to my receiving a reward from the lady of five shillings. Two half-crowns! Throughout our whole partnership, never had we at one time possessed nearly as much money. It was decided that we should enjoy ourselves on it. We dined at the cookshop, having veal and bacon and green peas for dinner, and half a pint of beer each when we came out, which was rash, inasmuch as, not being used to it, it excited us to such a pitch of extravagant jollity, that nothing would suit but that we must take the roof of the twopenny omnibus to Shoreditch, Ripston and Mouldy smoking a three-halfpenny cigar each, and Mouldy being so ill that we were all turned out of the "gaff" before the piece was half over, and had to walk home, penniless, in the rain. One morning-this was about five weeks after I ran away from home-I met a man in the market who lived somewhere near Fryingpan Alley, and who knew my father. I had seen them together dozens of times. As soon as he saw me, he made a run at me, and it was only by dodging round a cabbage-waggon that I was able to avoid him. Knowing that my father sometimes worked in the market, I always kept a good look-out, assisted by my partners, who, from my description, were well aware of the sort of man my father was. On the morning following that on which I encountered the man, however, we all kept our eyes open sharper even than in ordinary, and, as it turned out, not unnecessarily. About seven o'clock, Mouldy, who though engaged on a job of summer cabbages, was vigilantly on the look-out for the enemy, suddenly uttered a warning whistle, and directed my attention towards two individuals coming from the fruit-market. In an instant I recognised them-the man who the day before had so nearly caught me, and my father. He was very white, as was invariably the case when he was in a great passion, and he carried under his arm an old donkey-whip, which, as he had no donkey of his own, I might fairly assume he had borrowed of a friend for the occasion. He was looking about him very eagerly, and it unfortunately happened that, owing to the manner of his approach, if I ran away, it would be right across the open vegetable-market, and he could not fail to see me. There seemed no escape for me; and as, hiding behind Ripston, I caught another glance at his pale face, my knees trembled and my lips tingled. "He'll have me, Rip; he's sure to ketch me. Oh, s'welp me, Rip! on'y look at him and that whip." Without replying, Ripston began to step back, giving me a dig with his elbow to do the same while I remained in his rear. In this manner we approached a great pile of empty gooseberrysieves; and getting to the back of the pile Ripston pulled away half a dozen, signed for me to squeeze myself into the hole thus made, and, when this was accomplished, he piled back the baskets a-top of me, and took his seat on the edge of a bottom one. And barely was my hiding completed when, as I lay crouched in my hole, I heard my father's voice "He won't run agin for one while if I do ketch him. Stay a minnit; let's ask this feller if he has seen him; he seems like one of his own kidney." So saying, he came straight up to Ripston, who was coolly scraping and munching a carrot. "I say, Jack," said my father, "d'ye happen to have seen a kid in a old corderoy jacket and trowsis lurkin' about the market this mornin ?kid about so high?" I To show how high, he placed his hand against the basket heap, within a foot of my face. could see plainly through the chinks. "6 Soft-face-lookin' kid; no cap; hair wants cuttin'," continued my father. "Wot's the name on him?" asked Ripston, curtly, getting on with his carrot. "Jim." "Well, I knows a Jim," replied Ripston, after a moment of apparent reflection; "he ain't altogether like the cove wot you're a-arstin arter, but he might have altered since you see him last. How long has he been missin,' mister ?" "Over a month," replied my father. "Then the Jim I'm a-speakin' on is werry likely to be the one. Coves do alter werry quick, don't yer know? The one as I mean is a short, thick-necked cove; spitted with small-pox; fightin' weight, 'bout nine stun four." "Get out! it's a boy I mean," replied my father, impatiently, though evidently completely taken in by Ripston's gravity; "quite a little feller." "How old ?" asked Ripston. ""Tween seven and eight," spoke my father's friend. "Tween seven and eight!" repeated Ripston, musingly, and scratching his ear with the remains of the carrot. "Sure his name was Jim ?" "Course I am. Jim Ballisat-that's wot his name is, cuss him!" replied my father. "Oh-h, Jim Ballisat!" replied Ripston, as though a sudden light had dawned on him. "Now I knows who yer means. Now I come to hear it agin, that's wot he said his name was. We calls him Rouser. That's where the mistake was, don't yer see, mister?" "Yes, yes; but where is he? Butcher him! I'd give a penny to have hold on him just now. You seem to know wot he's called and all about him. Where shall I find him?" "Lived up Cowcross way, didn't he?" "That's him. Where is he?" "Father a coster, or summat in that line?" "Lord's truth! yes. Well! where is he?" "Cruel cove, ain't he?-cove as very often larruped Jim with his waist-strap ?" "Oh! he said so, did he? D -n seize him! That's his gratitood, the young willin !” "Got a thunderin' old cat for a stepmother, as tells lies about him, and drinks like a fish, and who-Well, don't get in a pelt with me, Mister! I'm only tellin' you wot he told us." "Where is he ?" roared my father, shaking Ripston by the collar so vigorously, and so close to the baskets, that they were in momentary danger of being overturned. 'Now, out with it!" said my father. Well, if you must know, he's gone a ballastin"." "Where? When ?" asked my father. "I dunno where he's gone, and I don't care," Ripston surlily replied. "All I knows about it is this-Yesterday arternoon he meets a cove wot I knows, and the cove ses to him, 'What cheer, Rouser? What's a-takin' you over Wesmister Bridge? Ain't there nothin' doin' in the market? So ses Rouser, 'No more markets for me,' ses he; 'my old man is on my tracks, and I'm off.' 'Off where?' asks the cove. 'Well,' ses Rouser, 'I knows a bargeman as lives down Wan'sworth way, and I'm goin' with him a-ballast-gettin'.' There, now you knows as much about it as I knows." "The thunderin' willin !" ejaculated my father, who was completely imposed on by Ripston's statement. "Did he say when he was likely to be back again?" "Dunno no more perticklers," replied Ripston "but I shouldn't wonder if he never did come out work. Never a day passed but what one or back." "Why shouldn't you wonder?" "'Cos he was alwis talkin' about goin' to sea," replied Ripston; "and when he gets on the river, and sees the ships and that, he'll be off." "Oh! that's it, is it ?" remarked my father, with an air of great disappointment, at the same time tucking the donkey-whip under his arm. "Come on, Jack; it's no use of us huntin' any longer. Fact is, Jack, he took fright of seein' you yesterday." "Werry likely," replied Jack. "Come on. Let him go a-ballastin'. Let him go to blazes, beggar him ! What call have I got to go funkin' arter a butcherin' little whelp such as he is ?" And to my great delight, having said this, my father turned about and walked off with his friend, while the mendacious Ripston, tickled off his legs nearly by the force of the joke, helped me out of hiding. After that, during the remainder of the time that I haunted Covent Garden Market, I never once set eyes on my father or his friend. On the last Sunday in October, following the May when I met Mouldy and Ripston, I fell ill. Although I had kept about, and made no complaint, I had not been really well for several weeks; which, when I come to think on my way of living, seems not at all surprising. It happened that that summer was a particularly rainy one, and sometimes for several days together my clothes would be wet, or at least damp, and I had no opportunity to dry them, or even to take them off at night. Sore throat and pains between my shoulders were chief amongst my ailments. Once I suffered from toothache through a dreadful fortnight. It was horrible. I was obliged to soak my bread in water before I could eat it; and no matter how hard the times, I dare not avail myself of what may be called the natural advantages that belong to a young market prowler. When hard pressed by hunger, a raw turnip, or even a juicy cabbagestump, is not to be despised; but during that fortnight of torture, my throbbing mouth revolted against all such cold and stringy food, and there was nothing left but to bear with my misfortune until a lucky wind wafted us to the baker's or the pudding shop. I used to sit the whole night through rocking myself in a corner of the van, to the great annoyance of my partners, who, though, as will presently appear, not at all harsh towards folk plainly ill, could never be brought to understand that there was any necessity for making such a fuss about such a little thing as a tooth. At last an old man who played the fiddle about the streets, and who slept under the dark arches, mercifully extracted the tormentor by tying a bit of catgut round it, and giving it a haul. But what ailed me on the Sunday evening in question was neither sore throat, nor pains between the shoulders, nor toothache. The summer was fading, and, somehow or other, matters were growing less and less satisfactory at Covent Garden. I say "somehow or another;" but I knew the reason well enough. In ragamuffin slang, the market had grown too "hot" for us. I got to be known there we all got to be known there, and in a manner that was not at all to our advantage. Our luck seemed dead against us; we could neither get work, nor the worth of a penny with | other of us was made to feel the weight of the beadle's cane, or the cruel foot of some salesman. This latter punishment was not so bad when met with under the arcade, because the shopkeepers wore light boots, and sometimes mere slippers; but out in the open, where the waggons and carts were, and the owners of the goods with which they were laden wore boots of the toe-cap and clinker school, it was agonising. One time we had Mouldy down with a kick so bad, that he couldn't do more than just creep one leg before the other for three days. Everybody was set dead against us-shopkeepers, beadle, salesmen, every one. They didn't wait till they caught us doing something wrong; soon as ever they saw us, they were down on us with a kick or a cuff—until we were that savage and hungry, we were ready to risk almost anything. About this time Ripston found a way of getting into a cellar in which carrots were stored for the winter. This was indeed a stroke of good fortune-at least, so we thought at the time; but alas! in the course of a very few days we discovered that carrots, although of a very refreshing and relishing nature, are not the sort of things to subsist on entirely. I believe that that week's feeding on carrots had a great deal to do with my illness. I had been very dull all the afternoon, but that was not much to take notice of. The dark arches always are very dull on Sundays; for though you are very welcome to wander about in your rags, and grub for a living as best you can on weekdays, the police and the street-keepers in the | neighbourhood of the Adelphi don't permit anything of the sort on Sundays. "Get out;" "Move off, young gallows." It's all very well to give the order, but it isn't everybody that can move off" —that is, right off-for they don't live anywhere. They have only got lodgings, and when they go out in the morning, the door is shut against them till night. For this, and other reasons into which it is not worth while here to enter, the arches were never without plenty of company all day on Sunday. The company was not of a comfortable sort-or rather there were two sorts,-and unless you belonged to one or the other, you were, in a manner of speaking, as much alone as though you had all the arches to yourself. One of these comprised the miserable and moping ones, who came to the arches for no other purpose than to hide and wear the day out, and who lounged about by themselves, smoking the bits of cigars they had picked up in the morning, if they were men, while the females of the same tribe huddled together in twos and threes, and dozed or talked in whispers. The men and women of the other sort were livelier, certainly, but scarcely as pleasant, being blackguards and petty ruffians of the worst class, who swore, and gambled, and got sport out of ill-using the quiet and miserable ones. With this last-mentioned ruffianly set, I am happy to record that neither myself, nor Mouldy, nor Ripston ever had any dealings. On Sunday afternoons, if the weather was fine and the tide favourable, we three usually took a walk on the shore, (the policemen didn't interfere with us there,) and early in the evening we retired to our van, (it belonged to a greengrocer who lived in Bedfordbury, and the man who drove it gave us permission to sleep in |