The important secret remained locked in my breast, but I resolved to be avenged. Infested by every description of vagabond and miscreant, it was, perhaps, a few degrees worse than the rookery near Saint Giles's and the desperate neighbourhood of Saffron Hill in our own time. He stood transfixed. The man, who was just able to move, pointed towards Giltspur-street. “Listen! There was a Meysey Hill in Paris, an American railway millionaire. At the same moment a martial flourish, proceeding from cow's horns, tin canisters filled with stones, bladders and cat-gut, with other sprightly, instruments, was struck up, and, enlivened by this harmonious accompaniment, the troop reached its destination in the best possible spirits for an encounter.
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