even Mrs. Peckover was arrayed in her mourning
robes--new, dark-glistening. During her absence Clem had kept guard
over Mrs. Gully, whom it was very difficult indeed to restrain from the
bottles and decanters; the elder lady coming to relieve, Clem could
rush away and don her own solemn garments. The undertaker with his men
arrived; the hearse and coaches drove up; the Close was in a state of
excitement. 'Now that's what I call a respectable turn-out!' was the
phrase passed from mouth to mouth in the crowd gathering near the door.
Children in great numbers had absented themselves from school for the
purpose of beholding this procession. 'I do like to see spirited 'orses
at a funeral!' remarked one of the mourners, who had squeezed his way
to the parlour window. 'It puts the finishin' touch, as you may say,
don't it?' When the coffin was borne forth, there was such a press in
the street that the men with difficulty reached the hearse. As the
female mourners stepped across the pavement with handkerchiefs held to
their mouths, a sigh of satisfaction was audible throughout the crowd;
the males were less sympathetically received, and some jocose comments
from a costermonger, whose business was temporarily interrupted,
excited indulgent smiles.

The procession moved slowly away, and the crowd, unwilling to disperse
immediately, looked about for some new source of entertainment. They
were fortunate, for at this moment came round the corner an individual
notorious throughout Clerkenwell as 'Mad Jack.' Mad he presumably
was--at all events, an idiot. A lanky, raw-boned, red-beaded man,
perhaps forty years old; not clad, but hung over with the filthiest
rags; hatless, shoeless. He supported himself by singing in the
streets, generally psalms, and with eccentric modulations of the voice
which always occasioned mirth in hearers. Sometimes he stood at a
corner and began the delivery of a passage of Scripture in French; how,
where, or when he could have acquired this knowledge was a mystery, and
Jack would throw no light on his own past. At present, having watched
the funeral coaches pass away, he lifted up his voice in a terrific
blare, singing, 'All ye works of the Lord, bless ye the Lord, praise
Him and magnify Him for ever.' Instantly he was assailed by the
juvenile portion of the throng, was pelted with anything that came to
hand, mocked mercilessly, buffeted from behind. For a while he
persisted in his psalmody, but at length, w