drink, and seem to live without eating, so
far as I know. It's their opium at night they
likes, and you'll find half a dozen on 'em in one
bed at Yahee's a-smoking and sleeping away,
like so many dormice! No, sir, it wouldn't
be at all safe for you to venture up New-court
alone. It ain't the Chinamen, nor yet the
Lascars, nor yet the Bengalees as would hurt
you; but there is an uncommon rough crew of
English hangin' in and about there, and it would
be better for you to have a constable with you—
much better; and if you go to Leman-street
the inspector will put you in the way." This
was all the information I needed from the
policeman.

Lazarus has shambled out of sight during our
colloquy, and so, hastily following him down
Butcher-row, Whitechapel, and resisting the
fascinating blandishments of its butchers, who
press upon us "prime and nobby jintes for
tomorrer's dinner at nine-a-half, and no bone to
speak of," reach Leman-street and its police-
station in due course. A poster outside one of
the butchers' shops causes me annoyance and
regret, for it announces a forthcoming meeting at
which the difficulties besetting the trade are to
be discussed in solemn conclave at Butchers'
Hall, and inspires me with an abortive desire
to assist in the deliberations. To hear the
rinderpest spoken on by the astute professors
who have made money by it, and to
learn the causes assigned by salesmen for
the present price of meat, would be both
instructive and profitable; but, alas! some
parochial guardians, with whom I am at issue on
the propriety of stifling and otherwise maltreating
paupers, meet on the same evening, and for
their sake I give up the butchers with a sigh.
Pushing through the small crowd outside the
station, crossing a long flagged court, and
ascending a few steps to the right, we present our
credentials to the inspector on duty. A one
eyed gentleman is in the dock, and oscillates up
and down on the iron railing round it, like an
inane puppet whose wires are broken. He is
an Irishman, whose impulsive nature has led
him to savagely bite and scratch the landlord of
a public-house near, for having dared to
pronounce him drunk, and for refusing him a further
supply of stimulants. The landlord prefers the
charge, and shows a bleeding forefinger, from
which the nail has been torn. Irishman
protests that he is a poor workin' man, who
doesn't like to be insulted; tipsy friends of
Irishman noisily proffer themselves as witnesses
to his general virtue and the extreme meekness
of his disposition; and then retire, grumbling,
at "ten o'clock on Monday, before the
magistrate, will be the time for all that," being
the answer given them. Inspector, methodically
and with much neatness, enters name and
address of both biter and bitten, and a few other
details, in the charge-sheet, and the man is
removed. The landlord binds up his bleeding
hand, and the next business (a shrieking lady,
with dishevelled hair) is proceeded with.
Bluegate-fields is not in this police district, but the
inspector will send a constable with me to a
station which is only five minutes' walk from
the place I want. Arriving here, the wail
of a feeble fatuous old Booby, who has been in
improper company, and is now crying over the
loss of his purse, is the first thing I hear. "Yes,
sir; a bo'sun is right, sir; and I only left my
ship to-night. Seven pound thirteen and a
silver medal. O Lord! O Lord! Felt it in
my pocket five minutes before I left the house.
Has a constable gone? Deary, deary me!—
seven pound, too, and me only left my ship this
blessed night!"

This with a profusion of tears, and much
maudlin affection for the officers of the law. A
few minutes' delay, during which Booby is
gruffly and fruitlessly recommended to "give up
blathering, as that won't give him his money
back," and told what he ought to expect goin'
along with such cattle as that; then a slight
bustle at the door, and a hideous negress is
brought in. From the window of the inspector's
little room we look down upon the dock, see the
sergeant beyond, who, pen in hand, is entering
particulars in his charge-sheet, while the
ridiculous old prosecutor on the one hand, and the
vile and obscene bird of prey on the other, mouth
and gibber at each other, and bandy compliments
of fullest flavour. "One of the worst
characters about here; used to be always up
for robbing sailors and that, but has been much
better lately, and hasn't been here, oh not for
more than a month." The hideous creature of
whom this is said now adds her "blather" to
that of the old man, and her protestations
are the noisier of the two. Wonderful to
relate, these protestations are for once well
founded; for at a sign from the inspector,
the sergeant again cross-examines the fleeced
boatswain as to where he felt his purse last, and
the possibility of its being on his person still.
In the midst of solemnly incoherent asseverations
that the negress has it, the sergeant's hand
falls carelessly into the boatswain's outside coat
pocket, and lo! the missing purse is held up aloft
between the sergeant's forefinger and thumb.
Its contents are counted and found right, the
negress declaring vehemently against "the old
wretch," and, with a shrewd eye to future
difficulties, declaring, "It's always so with poor me;
people is always swearin' agin me, and accusin'
of me wrongfully." The old man looks more
foolish than ever, and the inspector and I start
on our mission, leaving the sergeant and
constables in the midst of warnings and admonitions.

The time spent at the two stations has not
been lost, for it is now only half-past ten, and
the opium revels are seldom at their height before
eleven. There is no limit to the variety of
nationalities patronising the wretched hovel we
are about to visit. From every quarter of the
globe, and more immediately from every district
in London, men come to old Yahee: the sole
bond between them being a love of opium
and a partiality for Yahee's brand. Sailors,
stewards, shopmen, mountebanks, beggars, outcasts