rate, Jack did not show in very great force even
here, though the house was one to which he
much resorts, and where a good deal of money
is taken. There was British Jack, a little
maudlin and sleepy, lolling over his emptied
glass, as if he were trying to read his fortune at
the bottom; there was Loafing Jack of the
Stars and Stripes, rather an unpromising
customer, with his long nose, lank cheek, high
cheek-bones, and nothing soft about him but his
cabbage-leaf hat; there was Spanish Jack with
curls of black hair, rings in his ears, and a knife
not far from his hand, if you got into trouble
with him; there were Maltese Jack, and Jack of
Sweden, and Jack the Finn, looming through
the smoke of their pipes, and turning faces that
looked as if they were carved out of dark wood,
towards the young lady dancing the hornpipe,
who found the platform so exceedingly small
for it that I had a nervous expectation of seeing
her, in the backward steps, disappear through
the window. Still, if all hands had been got
together, they would not have more than half
filled the room. Observe, however, said Mr.
Licensed Victualler, the host, that it was Friday
night, and, besides, it was getting on for twelve,
and Jack had gone aboard. A sharp and watchful
man, Mr. Licensed Victualler the host, with
tight lips and a complete edition of Cocker's
arithmetic in each eye. Attended to his business
himself, he said. Always on the spot. When
he heard of talent, trusted nobody's account of
it, but went off by rail to see it. If true talent,
engaged it. Pounds a week for talent—four
pound—five pound. Banjo Bones was undoubted
talent. Hear this instrument that was going to
play—it was real talent! In truth it was very
good; a kind of piano-accordion, played by a
young girl of a delicate prettiness of face,
figure, and dress, that made the audience look
coarser. She sang to the instrument, too; first,
a song about village bells, and how they chimed;
then a song about how I went to sea; winding
up with an imitation of the bagpipes, which
Mercantile Jack seemed to understand much
the best. A good girl, said Mr. Licensed
Victualler. Kept herself select. Sat in Snug, not
listening to the blandishments of Mates. Lived
with mother. Father dead. Once, a merchant
well to do, but over speculated, himself. On
delicate inquiry as to salary paid for item of
talent under consideration, Mr. Victualler's
pounds dropped suddenly to shillings—still it was
a very comfortable thing for a young person like
that, you know; she only went on, six times a
night, and was only required to be there from
six at night to twelve. What was more
conclusive was, Mr. Victualler's assurance that he
"never allowed any language, and never
suffered any disturbance." Sharpeye confirmed
the statement, and the order that prevailed was
the best proof of it that could have been cited.
So, I came to the conclusion that Poor Mercantile
Jack might do (as I am afraid he does)
much worse than trust himself to Mr. Victualler,
and pass his evenings here.

But we had not yet looked, Mr. Superintendent
—said Trampfoot, receiving us in the
street again with military salute—for Dark Jack.
True, Trampfoot. Ring the wonderful stick, rub
the wonderful lantern, and cause the spirits of the
stick and lantern to convey us to the Darkies.

There was no disappointment in the matter of
Dark Jack; he was producible. The Genii set
us down in the little first-floor of a little public-
house, and there, in a stiflingly close atmosphere,
were Dark Jack and Dark Jack's Delight, his
white unlovely Nan, sitting against the wall all
round the room. More than that: Dark Jack's
Delight was the least unlovely Nan, both
morally and physically, that I saw that night.

As a fiddle and tambourine band were sitting
among the company, Quickear suggested why
not strike up? " Ah la'ads!" said a negro sitting
by the door, "gib the jebblem a darnse. Tak'
yah pardlers, jebblem, for 'um QUAD-rill.

This was the landlord, in a Greek cap, and a
dress half Greek and half English. As master
of the ceremonies, he called all the figures, and
occasionally addressed himself parenthetically—
after this manner. When he was very loud, I
use capitals.

"Now den! Hoy! ONE. Right and left. (Put
a steam on, gib 'um powder). LA-dies' chail.
BAL-loon say. Lemonade! Two. AD-warnse
and go back (gib 'ell a breakdown, shake it out
o' yerselbs, keep a movil). SWING-corners,
BAL-loon say, and Lemonade! (Hoy!) THREE. GENT
come for'ard with a lady and go back, hoppersite
come for'ard with a lady and go back, ALL four
come for'ard and do what yer can. (Aeiohoy!)
BAL-loon say, and leetle lemonade (Dat hairnigger
by um fireplace 'hind a' time, shake it out o'
yerselbs, gib 'ell a breakdown). Now den! Hoy!
FOUR! Lemonade. BAL-loon say, and swing.
FOUR ladies meets in 'um middle, FOUR gents
goes round 'um ladies, FOUR gents passes out
under 'um ladies' arms, SWING and Lemonade
till 'a moosic can't play no more! (Hoy, Hoy!)''

The male dancers were all blacks, and one
was an unusually powerful man of six feet three
or four. The sound of their flat feet on the
floor was as unlike the sound of white feet as
their faces were unlike white faces. They toed
and heeled, shuffled, double-shuffled, double-
double-shuffled, covered the buckle, and beat
the time out, rarely, dancing with a great
show of teeth, and with a childish, good-
humoured enjoyment that was very prepossessing.
They generally kept together, these poor
fellows, said Mr. Superintendent, because they
were at a disadvantage singly, and liable to
slights in the neighbouring streets. But, if I
were Light Jack, I should be very slow to interfere
oppressively with Dark Jack, for, whenever I
have had to do with him I have found him a
simple and a gentle fellow. Bearing this in mind I
asked his friendly permission to leave him
restoration of beer, in wishing him good night, and
thus it fell out that the last words I heard him
say as I blundered down the worn stairs, were,
"Jebblem's elth! Ladies drinks fust!"

The night was now well on into the morning,
but, for miles and hours we explored a strange