We came to a dead halt in Arlington-street, which, as it was the quietest
spot in the neighbourhood, we deemed a fitting place for the arrangement
of our forces. Dartmore, Staunton, (a tall, thin, well formed, silly
youth,) and myself, marched first, and the remaining three followed. We
gave each other the most judicious admonitions as to propriety of
conduct, and then, with a shout that alarmed the whole street, we renewed
our way. We passed on safely enough till we got to Charing-Cross, having
only been thrice upbraided by the watchmen, and once threatened by two
carmen of prodigious size, to whose wives or sweethearts we had, to our
infinite peril, made some gentle overtures. When, however, we had just
passed the Opera Colonnade, we were accosted by a bevy of buxom Cyprians,
as merry and as drunk as ourselves. We halted for a few minutes in the
midst of the kennel, to confabulate with our new friends, and a very
amicable and intellectual conversation ensued. Dartmore was an adept in
the art of slang, and he found himself fairly matched, by more than one
of the fair and gentle creatures by whom we were surrounded. Just,
however, as we were all in high glee, Staunton made a trifling discovery,
which turned the merriment of the whole scene into strife, war, and
confusion. A bouncing lass, whose hands were as ready as her charms, had
quietly helped herself to a watch which Staunton wore, a la mode, in his
waistcoat pocket. Drunken as the youth was at that time, and dull as he
was at all others, he was not without the instinctive penetration with
which all human bipeds watch over their individual goods and chattels. He
sprung aside from the endearments of the syren, grasped her arm, and in a
voice of querulous indignation, accused her of the theft.

"Then rose the cry of women--shrill
As shriek of gosshawk on the hill."