Hodgson's vote and influence were as decidedly
gained over to the Streatham interest by this
gift of Captain Streatham's sister as ever was
City of London longshore man "influenced"—
that is the legal word, I believe – by a couple
of crisp "I promise to pays" of ten pounds
each in value, to plump for the interests of
pure religion. And yet how would it be
possible to bring before a committee of the
House of Commons a bribe of this kind?
Would it be punishable under the new bribery
act?

It was all Tom Spavit's doing. The slips of
paper that I suspected to be cheques or
bank-notes were merely notes upon each woman whose
husband had more influence than most of his
fellows. Some of these slips reached me from a
pocket-book which Spavit left behind him by
mistake at a public-house, and which one of
the free and independent opened and examined.
The notes ran thus:

     Mrs. ROBINS.
     Husband great influence with High Churchmen.
     Three children.
     Baby (boy) now teething.
     Be very civil to her.

A second one ran thus:

     Miss HENLEY.
     Unmarried; Roman Catholic.
     Brothers, manufacturers; great influence with
        Irish.
     Can't be too civil.
     Praise her religion.

A third:

     Mrs. SMITH.
     Husband, retired shopkeeper.
     Influence all over the town.
     Son, grown up, in Australia.
     Talk about the colonies.
     Praise men who rise by their own exertions.

Tom Spavit had thus gained several points
in the game, and the captain's chance of being
returned to parliament was growing formidable.
I went home planning and plotting what I could
do to recover ground.

      CONVIVIAL THIEVERY.

IN one of the dirtiest of the many dirty
streets in a very well-known city in the
West of England, stands a public-house, long
known to the police as the resort, after "business"
hours, of the most desperate thieves
that infest the neighbourhood. It is one of
the worst of its kind, and is appropriately
called The Fleece. The street in which it stands
is as bad a back slum as any in Whitechapel
or St. Giles's, and is approached by a labyrinth
of narrow, ill-paved, ill-drained, and ill-lighted
lanes and alleys. My humour being to see life
in all its varieties, I made the acquaintance of a
police officer of many years' standing, and learnt
from him, for the first time, the existence of
The Fleece. I afterwards saw announced in the
window of that house of entertainment for man
and beast, that a Select Convivial was held
there every Monday and Saturday evening,
commencing at eight o'clock. The card in the
window stated, further, that "a professional
gentleman" (as I afterwards discovered, a
professional housebreaker) "presides at the
pianoforte."

At eight o'clock on a Monday evening, I set
out to attend this convivial assembly, in the
disguise of a sailor. After passing through a
number of dark and dirty streets, I came to
one somewhat broader than those I had
already traversed; and, shortly before nine,
turned into the street in which The Fleece is
situated. Dirty-looking people, many of them
Irish, were lounging at doors and windows,
and men and women, indiscriminately, were
indulging in short pipes. On both sides of the
road were exhibited signs, announcing that
"travellers " could be accommodated with
"lodgings" at twopence-halfpenny per night.
Here is a sample of these announcements,
and of the lodging-houses. A house containing,
as far as I could judge, eight rooms,
including those on the ground-floor, exhibited
a sign on which tramps and all others whom
it might concern were informed that it was
tenanted by John McGill, who described
himself as "licensed lodging-house keeper," and
was licensed for eighty persons. The
inscription on the signboard ran thus:

"John McGill, lisensed lodging-house keeper.
Lisensed too acomadate 80 persons. N.B.
Travellers acomadated with supereeour lodgings
at 2½d. a nite."

Bad spelling seemed to be the order of the
neighbourhood, for another sign bore the
inscription:

"Saml. Stivens do live heer,
Sweeps chimbly's cleen,
& nat too deer."

I became aware of my close vicinity to The
Fleece a minute or two before I got there,
warned by sounds from the room of a very
dingy house, a little beyond the residence of
Mr. Saml. Stivens, the windows of which were
open. In due course I beheld the representation
of a heap of wool in the shape of a pyramid
with the inscription underneath, "The Fleece."
No landlord's name adorns this sign. I must
not omit to mention that the street was
formerly one of the most aristocratic in the city.
In the front wall of one of the corner houses, an
inserted tablet bore the following antique inscription:
"This + is + ye + NEWE STREETE +."

On proceeding to the first floor of The Fleece,
where the Select Convivial is held, I was closely
scrutinised, and mentally criticised, by two
shabby genteel individuals stationed on the
stairs to notify the approach of an enemy. I
entered the room, sat down, and called for a
pint of beer. Gambling in various shapes and
forms was going on around; there were cards,
dice, dominoes, and one or two other "recreations"
I had not seen before. The players were
men and women of all ages, from seventeen to
seventy. A gipsy-looking fellow was shouting
The Bay of Biscay with all his might and main.