werdict that the child had been strangled! The State street lawyer was
its father, I believe, tho' I can't say for certain, I had so many
partick'lar friends; for if I _ain't_ werry good-looking, I've got
winnin' ways. I came from a first-rate family, I did; my father was
hung for killing my mother--one of my brothers has also danced a horn
pipe in the air, and another is under sentence of death, off South,
for beating a woman's brains out with a fire shovel, and choking her
five children with a dishcloth. He's one of the true breed, he is. I
ain't no dishonor to my family, either; for besides that strangling
business, (mind, I didn't say _I_ did it!) I once pitched a drunken
sailor down stairs, which accidentally broke his neck, after I had
lightened his pockets of what small change he had about him.--To tell
the honest truth, I'm rather too ugly to make much money by doing
business myself; so I've gone into the business of picking up young,
good-looking gals, coaxing them off, and getting them into the houses
of my regular customers, who pay me well, at so much a head. My best
customer is the rich Mr. Tickels, who lives in South street; many's
the young gal I've carried to him, and many's the dollar I've earned
by it. Look here--do you see this five dollar gold piece? I earned it
this morning by coaxing a gal to go with me to Mr. Tickel's house; she
was a little beauty, I tell yer, and I'll bet she won't come out of
that house the same as she went in, no how. She was a fruit gal, but
she wasn't one of us; her name, I believe was Fanny--"

"Blood and battering-rams!"

This singular exclamation was made by the comical looking old man, who
had entered the "Pig Pen" unperceived, and had been seated in the corner
unnoticed by any of the company. He had arisen from his seat, and stood
in an attitude which betokened profound interest and great astonishment.
For a moment the whole gang, male and female, regarded him with surprise
and suspicion; then Jew Mike sprang forward, seized him by the throat,
shook him strongly, and in a rough, fierce voice, demanded:--

"Death and the devil, old scoundrel, how came you here? Who are
you?--are you a police spy--one of Marshal Threekey's gang? Speak,
d----n you, before I break every bone in your accursed old carcass!"

It was a singular contrast, between the great, powerful ruffian, and the
little old man--nevertheless, the latter indivi