PURPOSING to spend an hour in the Sessions House at the Old Bailey, our adventurers started next morning betimes, and reaching their destination, took their seats in the gallery, for which accommodation they were charged one shilling each, which the Squire denominated an imposition, inquiring of his friend by what authority it was exacted, and to whose benefit applied, as from the frequent sittings of the Court, and general crouded state of the gallery, the perquisites must be considerable.

“Custom in every thing bears sovereign sway,” answered Dashall. “I know not whence this is derived, nor whose pockets are lined by the produce; but you will probably be surprised to learn, that a shilling admission is only demanded on common occasions, and that on trials of great public interest, from one to two guineas has been paid by every individual obtaining admission.”

The arrival of the Judges now terminated this colloquy. The Lord Mayor and several Aldermen were in waiting to receive them, and these sage expounders of the law were conducted to the Bench by the Sheriffs of London and Middlesex. The Chief Magistrate of the City uniformly and of right presiding at this Court, his Lordship took his seat on the same Bench with the Judges, and the usual forms having been gone through, the dispensation of justice commenced.

Several prisoners were tried and convicted of capital felony, during the short space of time that our associated observers remained in Court; but the cases of these wretched men, and the consciousness of their impending fate, seemed in no respect to operate upon their minds, as they left the bar apparently with perfect indifference.

An unfortunate man was next brought forward, and accused of having stolen from an auction room a couple of wine glasses. He was of respectable demeanor, and evidently had seen better days. When asked what he had to allege in his defence, the victim of misery preluding his story with a torrent of tears, told the following piteous tale of distress:

He had been in business, and sustained an unimpeachable integrity of character for many years. Independence seemed within his reach, when misfortune, equally unforeseen as inevitable, at all points assailed him! In the course of one disastrous year, death deprived him of his family, and adversity of his property. He had unsuccessfully speculated, and the insolvency of several who were considerably indebted to him, had completed his ruin! At the time he committed the act for which he stood convicted at that bar, he had not tasted food for three days, neither had he in the world a friend or relative to whom he could apply for relief. The Jury found him Guilty, but strongly recommended him to mercy. The Judge humanely observed, that the least possible punishment should be inflicted on the prisoner. He was then sentenced to a fine of one shilling, and to be discharged. A sum of money, the spontaneous bounty of the spectators, was immediately collected for him, while one of the Jury promised him employment, on his calling at his house on the following day. The gratitude of the poor man was inexpressible: the sudden transition from the abyss of despair to the zenith of hope, seemed to overwhelm his faculties. He ejaculated a blessing on his benefactors, and departed.

Dashall and his friend were much affected by this incident. Another, however, presently occurred, of a more lively description. In the course of the next trial, the counsellor, on cross-examining a witness, found occasion to address him with, “Well, my old buck, I suppose you are one of those people who do not often go to church?”—“Perhaps,” said the other, “if the truth were known, I am as often there as you are.” The promptness of the reply produced a laugh, in which the witness very cordially joined. “What makes you laugh?” said the lawyer. “Is not every body laughing?” replied the other. “True,” said the man of law; “but do you know what they are laughing at?”—“Why, I think in my heart,” rejoined the fellow, “that they take either me or you to be a fool, but I do not know which!”

The Judge at this repartee could not retain his gravity; a tumult of mirth pervaded the whole Court, and the discomfited counsellor adjusted his wig and sat down.

During the few minutes longer that our heroes remained, nothing of interest occurring, they withdrew; and passing down the Old Bailey to Ludgate Street, and from thence towards the Temple, they crossed Fleet Street, and taking the direction of Shire Lane, were induced, by way of investigating Real Life in its lowest classification, to enter one of those too frequent receptacles of vice denominated Coffee Shops.

This was a house of notorious irregularity, the occupant of which had more than once experienced the visitation of the law for his utter contempt of social order—and from the present appearance of his guests, it did not seem that legal interference had effected moral amendment.

As our two friends entered this Augean Stable, a whisper of surprise, mingled with dismay, went round the motley assemblage of female street-drabs, cracksmen,{1} and fogle-hunters; and a wary glance of suspicion darted from the group “many a time and oft” on the new-comers, who notwithstanding kept possession of their seats, and ordering without apparent notice of the party a cup of coffee, apprehension subsided into security, the re-assured inmates resumed their interrupted hilarity, and our adventurers were thus afforded the means of leisurable observation.

The Squire, who had not perused the annals of blackguardism, and consequently was not an adept in the knowledge of the slang or vulgar tongue, was under the frequent necessity of applying to his friend for explanation of the obscure phraseology of those ladies and gentlemen of the pad, which Dashall contrived to occasionally interpret without the assistance or notice of its multitudinous learned professors.

The desire of witnessing the exhibition of Real Life in its lowest state of human degradation, induced a prolongation of stay by our two associates. In the meanwhile, “the mirth and fun grew fast and furious,” exemplified by dance, song, and revelry, interspersed with practical jokes, recriminative abuse, and consequent pugilistic exercise, where science and strength alternately prevailed; and in deficiency of other missiles, poker, tongs, coffee-cups, saucers, and plates, were brought into active requisition.—The scene was a striking illustration of “Confusion worse confounded.” Luckily our two observers were in a situation without the reach of injury; they therefore “smiled at the tumult and enjoyed the storm.”

The landlord now interfered in defence of his fragile property. Preliminaries of peace were agreed on, through his high mediation, and finally ratified betwixt the contending parties, ending as they began, like many other conflicting powers, statu quo ante bellum!

“And now to serious business we'll advance, says one of the King's of Brentford.

“But first let's have a dance.”

The present party followed exactly Mr. Baye's proposition; the dance and the row over, they now proceeded to serious business.

Seated in various groups, each engaged itself in conversation, which, from its almost inaudible expression, was singularly contrasted with the recent tumultuous uproar.

The next box where sat our two friends, was occupied by cracksmen and fogle-hunters, one of whom, whose superior skill gave him an ascendancy over his associates, had delineated on the table the plan of certain premises, and having given in a very low tone of voice, a verbal illustration to his fellow-labourers, with what intention it is not difficult to conjecture, observed, “We may as well pad (walk) it, as Sir Oliver (the moon) is not out to night.”

The party to whom this remark was addressed, prepared to pad it accordingly,—when the desired egress was opposed by the entrance of three men, who unbuttoning their great coats, exhibited, each a hanger and brace of pistols, and took the whole community, male and female, into safe custody

This was a coup-de-main on the part of the captors, and sustained with the most perfect sang froid by the captured.

The officers next turned their attention to Dashall and Tallyho, who giving their cards, and candidly explaining the motives which led them into the temporary society of the prisoners, they were treated with becoming respect, the officers with their captives proceeding on their route to Bow Street, and our heros to the occurrence of future adventure.

Tallyho congratulated himself on his escape from expected mortification and inconvenience, but Dashall, whose more active and enterprizing mind was not to be checked by trifles, enjoyed the vague apprehensions of his friend, and by way of making amends for the penance they had inflicted on themselves in Shire Lane, agreed to dine and finish the evening at a Tavern in Covent Garden.

Thither, then, as they pursued their course, the Squire expressed his surprise that a final stop was not put to scenes such as they had just witnessed, and all such places of nefarious rendezvous, abolished by the vigilance of the police.

“On the contrary,” observed Dashall, “it is the interest of the police, not utterly to destroy these receptacles of vice. They are the toleration haunts of profligacy, where the officers of justice are generally assured of meeting the objects of their inquiry, and therefore, under proper restrictions, and an occasional clearance, the continuance of a minor evil is productive of public benefit, by arresting the progress of infamy, and preventing the extension of crime.”

Passing along the Strand, the humane feelings of the Squire were excited by apparently a mutilated veteran seaman, who in a piteous tone of voice, supplicated his charitable consideration. The applicant stated, that he had lost an arm and an eye, and was deprived the use of a leg, in the service of his country, without friend or home, and entirely destitute of the means of subsistence, that he had no other resource than that of a humble reliance on public benevolence. The Squire with his usual philanthropic promptitude drew out his purse, but his friend intercepted the boon, and inquired of the seaman under whom, in what ship, and in what action he had sustained his misfortunes. To these questions a satisfactory answer was given, and the claim of the man to compassion and relief was about to be admitted, when another inquiry occurred, “are you a pensioner?”

A pause ensued: in the interim the mendicant seeing a person approach, of whose recognition he was not at all ambitious, dropped in a moment his timber toe, unslung his arm, dashed a patch from his eye, and set off with the speed of a race-horse.

During the amazement of our two observers of Real Life, excited by this sudden and unexpected transformation, the officer, for such was the quondam acquaintance of the imposter, introduced himself to their notice. “Gentlemen,” said he, “you are not up to the tricks of London, that fellow on whom you were about to bestow your charity, and who has just now exhibited his agility, is one of the greatest imposters in London;—however, I shall not run him down at present.—I know his haunts, and reckon sure of my game in the evening.”

“I confess,” replied Dashall, “that in the present instance I have been egregiously deceived;—I certainly am not up to all the tricks of London, although neither a Johnny Raw nor a green-horn; and yet I would not wish to prove callous to the claim of distress, even if sometimes unguardedly bestowing the mite of benevolence on an undeserving object.”

“The Society for the Suppression of Mendicity in the Metropolis,” said the Officer, “think differently, they recommend that no relief should be given to street-beggars.”

“Then,” said Dashall, offended by the officer's interference,—“I envy them not the possession of their feelings,” and the two friends renewed their walk.

Proceeding, without further interruption, our pedestrians, were induced to intermingle with a crowd which had collected round a man who wore a most patriarchal redundancy of beard, and had been recognized by an acquaintance as a shoe-maker of the name of Cooke, a disciple of the American Prophet, John Decker.

Their high mightinesses the mobility were mischievously inclined, and would certainly have grossly insulted, if not injured the poor devotee, had not Dashall and his friend taken him under their protection.{1} He had been quietly making his way through Covent Garden Market, when the greetings and surprise of his friend at his strange transformation, attracted the curiosity of the multitude, and his unhesitating declaration, that he meant to accompany the great Prophet to Jerusalem, excited derision and indignation against the unfortunate enthusiast, when luckily our two heros interposed their good offices and conducted the proselyte in safety to the Shakespeare Tavern.

No remonstrances of Dashall were of any avail in inducing the pertinacious fanatic to forego his resolution of a pilgrimage to the Holy Land, and when the inquisitive numbers who still lingered in front of the tavern had dispersed, Cooke, with appropriate acknowledgment of the protection which had been afforded him, took his leave, after having unsuccessfully endeavoured to make converts of Dashall and the Squire to the tenets of Prophet Decker, or to prevail on them to accompany the sacred band in the projected expedition to Jerusalem.