little darling, his little Mentor, his willing,
patient Betsy-petsy, with other foolish and weak-
minded expressions of 'endearment. What
else could you expect of a red-nosed
warehouseman's clerk who fuddled himself nightly
at the " Admiral Benbow!" Profoundly
submissive to his wife in most instances, he had
frequently presumed, during Bessy's nonage,
to differ from Mrs. Simcox as to the amount
of whipping meted out to his youngest daughter
for childish delinquencies, and had once
even dared to interfere when his lady undertook
to inflict that punishment for a fault the
child had never committed, and to "stay
justice in its mid career." So in process of time
the alliance between the snubbed, neglected
little girl and her father became of so close a
nature as to be almost recognised and
permitted by the rest of the family. Bessy was
reckoned among the rest of the low company
with whom the degraded Simcox chose to
associate. She was allowed to pull off his muddy
boots, to prepare his dinner, to fill his pipe
and mix his grog when he muddled himself
at home; and to lead him home, shambling,
from the "Admiral Benbow," when he
performed that operation abroad. Notably of
late times she had been commissioned to fetch
her papa home from Ursine Lane on the
eventful quarter-day; and the meek, guiding
help of Bessy had often saved that infirm old
fellow from many a dark and dangerous pit-
fall. The child would wait patiently outside
the doors of public-houses while her father
boozed within: she would lead him away
gently but firmly from his riotous companions,
or, meeting them and taking them aside, would
plead passionately, tearfully, that they would
not make papa tipsy to-night. Some of the
disreputable personages with whom she was
brought into such strange contact were quite
subdued and abashed by her earnest, artless
looks and speech. Jack Flooks himself,
formerly of the Stock Exchange, now principally
of the bar of the "Bag o'Nails," the very worst,
most dissipated and most reckless of Simcox's
associates, forbore drinking with Bessy's
father for one whole week, and actually
returned, in a private and mysterious manner,
to Bessy two half-crowns he had borrowed of
him! So useful was this filial surveillance
found to be by the other branches of his family
that the quarter-day functions of our plain
little Bessy were gradually extended, and
became next of weekly and afterwards of diurnal
occurrence. It was good to see this girl
arrayed in the forlorn beaver bonnet and the
faded Paisley shawl, with her mild, beaming,
ordinary, little countenance, arrive at about a
quarter to eight, at the Thames Street corner
of Ursine Lane, and there wait patiently until
her father's official duties were over. She
became almost as well known in the neighbourhood
as St. Nicholas Beareroft, or as the
famous sanctified pump itself. The fellowship
porters from Sir John Pigg's wharf touched
their caps to her; the majestic beadle of St.
Nicholas (a cunning man, omnipotent over the
fire escape, king of the keys of the engine
house, and supposed to know where the fire-
plug was, much better than the turncock)
spoke her kindly; all the clerks in
Braddlescroggs's house knew her, nodded to her,
smiled at her, and privately expressed their
mutual opinions as to what a beast Braddlescroggs
was, not to ask that dear little girl in,
and let her rest herself, or sit by the fire in
winter. The pot-boy of the "Bear and Ragged
Staff," in his evening excursions with the
supper beer, grew quite enamoured (in his
silent, sheepish fashion) of this affectionate
daughter, and would, I dare say, had he
dared, have offered her refreshment from his
beer-can; nay, even the majestic wealthy Mr.
Drum, the wholesale grocer and provision
merchant, who stood all day with his hands
in his pockets, under his own gibbet-like crane,
a very Jack Ketch of West India produce, had
addressed cheering and benevolent words to
her from the depths of his double chin; had
conferred figs upon her; had pressed her to
enter his saccharine smelling warehouse, and
rest herself upon a barrel of prime navy mess
beef

When the Beast of Ursine Lane met Bessy
Simcox, he either scowled at her, or made
her sarcastic bows, and asked her at what
pot-house her father was about to get drunk
that night, and whether he had taught her to
drink gin, too? Sometimes he growled forth
his determination to have no "bits of girls"
hanging about his "place:" sometimes he
told her that she would not have to come
many times more, for that he was determined
on discharging that "drunken old dog," her
papa.

In the majority of instances, however, he
passed her without any other notice than
a scowl, and a savage rattle of the keys and
silver in his pockets. The little maiden trembled
fearfully when she saw him, and had
quiet fits of weeping (in which a corner of the
Paisley shawl was brought into frequent
requisition) over against the pump, when he
had spoken to her. There was a lad called
William Braddlescroggs, with blue eyes and
fair hair, who blushed very violently whenever
he saw Bessy, and had once been bold enough
to tell her that it was a fine evening. In this
flagrant crime he was then and there detected
by his father, who drove him back into the
warehouse.

"As this is quarter-day, my Bessy," was
the remark of John Simcox to his daughter,
one twenty-eighth of March, "as this is
quarter-day, I think, my child, that I will take
one glass of ale."

It was about half-past eight, I think, and
Bessy and her papa were traversing the
large thoroughfare known as the New Kent
Road. There is in that vicinity, as you are
aware, that stunning Champagne Ale House,
known as the "Leather Bottle." Into that
stunning ale-house did John Simcox enter,