me clew to the fate of Fanny Aubry,) thou
wilt have the kindness, gentle reader, to accompany us into one of the
squalid dens of that great sewer of vice and crime. But first we pause
to read and admire the sign which decorates the exterior of a "crib"
opposite Keith's Alley, and which, with a peculiarity of orthography
truly amusing, notifies you that it is a "_Vittlin Sollor._" (This sign
remains there to this day.) Passing on, we cannot fail to be impressed
with the "mixed" nature of the society of the place; colored ladies and
gentlemen (by far the most decent portion of the population) are every
where to be seen, thronging the side-walks, indulging in boisterous
laughter; loafers of every description are lounging about, whose
tattered garments indicate the languishing condition of their wardrobes;
great, ruffianly fellows stare at you with eyes expressive of the
villainy that prompts to robbery and murder;--miserable men, ghastly
women, and dirty children obstruct the pathway, and annoy you with their
oaths and ribald jests. Let us descend this steep flight of steps, and
enter this cellar. Be not too fastidious in regard to the odor of the
place, for _eau de cologne_ and otto of rose are not exactly the
commodities disposed of here, the place being devoted to the sale of
that beverage classically termed "rot-gut," and eatables which, unlike
wine, are by no means improved in flavor by age. There is the "bar," and
the red-nosed gentleman behind it seems to be one of its best patrons. A
wooden bench extends around the apartment, and upon it are seated about
twenty persons of both sexes. A brief sketch of a few of the "ladies" of
this goodly company may prove interesting, from the fact that the names
are real, and belong to prostitutes who even now inhabit the regions of
Ann street.

That handsome, finely-formed female, with dark eyes and hair in
ringlets, and who is also very neatly dressed, is "Kitty Cling-cling,"
who has been termed the "belle of Ann street." That lady in a red dress,
with hair uncommonly short, (she having only recently dispensed with a
wig,) is Joannah Westman, of Fleet street, and Liverpool Jane from the
same _respectable_ neighborhood. This renowned "Lady" of the town was
(and is) distinguished by a huge scar on her left cheek, which seems to
be the exact impression of a gin bottle, probably thrown in some brawl
in Liverpool, her native place. Then there is Lize Whittaker, from
Lowell, who "ties