whose foliage darkened the waters of the Thames, long ere the foot of
the adventurous Roman had touched the shores of Albion; or the Dane and
Saxon had established themselves within the strongholds of the British
isles. Who has not heard of this great old city, teeming with human
life, and filled with the extremes of wealth, poverty, righteousness and
iniquity? Who has not heard of its eminent statesmen and its
distinguished authors:--its time-honored institutions of religion,
literature and jurisprudence: its antiquated buildings, themselves
volumes of history written the eventful finger of time:--its massive
warehouses; and also its magnificent mansions, wherein peers and princes
banquet in luxury:--its club-houses; and its dens of pollution, amid
whose shadows the grim spectres of degraded humanity struggle out a
wretched existence. Into this great city--wonderful and complicated in
itself--the modern Babylon of the world,--gentle reader, now follow me
in imagination, and I will introduce you to the subject of the following
story.

It is the Saturday evening of a chilly night towards the end of
November, 1869, that season of the year in which the grey old buildings
of London assume a more sombre aspect than during the sunny days of
summer. The twilight had congealed into darkness after a somewhat foggy
day, and mantling its shadows around the homes of the destitute and
degraded, tinging the wretched inmates with melancholy, and even making
their lives more miserable and less tenacious to the world. The dark
streets have been lighted up. The great tide of human beings that have
during the day thronged the thoroughfares, has partially subsided; but
thousands of pedestrians are still bustling to and fro; while the din of
carriages are heard on every street. The provision shops are crowded
with noisy customers. The coffee-houses are steaming forth their
delicious viands, where throngs of both men and women are greedily