uards and wastrels because I am fascinated; I tell exactly what I
see, and leave other people to make practical use of my words. During
the last three months I have been, as usual, hard hit. It seems as
though any creature that I am fond of must soon be lost to me, and the
pages of my journal are like rows of tombstones.

We were making a great noise in the bar one night, for a cornet and
fiddle were playing, and a few couples were moved by the music and the
beer to begin dancing. A good many women come in at one time or other,
and their shrill laughter forms the treble of our crashing chorus. One
tall, broad-shouldered dame, who boasts of having six sons serving in
the Guards, made a great commotion. Her weight is considerable. She had
been drinking for four hours, and, when she attempted to illustrate her
theory of the waltz, she sent drinkers and drink flying as though her
offspring's battalion had charged. She had disabled one sporting coster
who tried to guide her, and the landlord was preparing for practical
remonstrance, when she sailed down upon me, yawing all the way as though
she were running before a hard breeze. I prepared for the shock, but I
was not destined to receive it. A tiny little lad had just received some
beer in a bottle from the counter, and he was making for home, when the
tall woman plumped upon him. The bottle was broken, the beer ran among
the dirt and sawdust, and the little lad was almost smothered before the
landlord (who impolitely addressed the waltzer as a cow) had managed to
haul the ponderous woman to her feet. The boy was a good deal hurt
physically, but his mental distress at sight of the lost beer prevented
him from noticing his bruises. When he fully grasped the extent of the
calamity he actually became pale, and I do not think I ever saw such a
piteous little face in my life. I asked "How much was it, little 'un?"
His lips trembled, and he said, "I dunno. I put a-money down, and her
knows what to put in a-bottle. Father got to 'ave his beer, else he not
have good supper." I thought, "This youngster isn't ill-used, or he
wouldn't be anxious for his father to have a good supper." Then I
ordered a pint can of ale, and offered it to the youth. He hesitated,
and said, "It's dark. I slip on a stone, and then more beer gone," so I
took his hand, and marched off with the can, notwithstanding the fact
that my friend the cornet player struck up "See the conquering hero" in
a most humorous a