and desolate. If
you pause on the landing, you may hear sounds of voices. The whole of
the occupants of these rooms are congregated at the bottom of the
building. You should not enter, for, at the sight of a stranger, they
would instantly reassume their several characters. If you look through a
chink in the partition, you will see an assemblage of men, women, and
children, in whose aspect and mien--if you can read the biography of a
human being by studying the lines on the countenance--you may read many
a tale and strange eventful history,--illustrating the adage that "truth
is stranger than fiction." If the hour be midnight, and the season
winter, the large hall will be lit up by a blazing fire. Around it are
grouped men and women of all ages. Some are dressed as sailors. In a
corner, some Malays are eating their mess alone. They pay their
threepence, and are not disturbed:--they are supposed, with truth, to be
unacquainted with the rules of English boxing, and to carry knives.
Their white dresses and turbans, their dark but bright and expressive
countenances, their jet-black hair, and strange language, give an air of
romance to the scene. There are widows with children, traveling tinkers,
and knife-grinders. All these are talking, laughing, shouting, singing,
and crying in discordant chorus. There is no lack of good cheer; and it
is but justice to add, that the less fortunate, providing they are "no
sneaks," are allowed a share. At the door, or busily employed among the
guests, is mine host, and his female companion:--"old cadgers" both, but
stalwart, and able to maintain the "respectability" of the house.

The visitor passes on, and turns down a lane. By day or night, it hath
an ancient and a fish-like smell. Apparently the dwellings are inhabited
by the very poor. In the day time there are no noises, except that of
women bawling to their children, who are sitting in the middle of the
causeway, making dikes of vegetable mud and soap-suds. There are no
sewers;--the commissioners have no power to make them,--and do not ask
for it. There is nothing outwardly to indicate that the inhabitants are
other than honest. If you open the doors, you may perceive that the
staircases are double and barricaded, that rooms communicate with each
other, and that, in the rear, there are facilities for hiding or escape.
If you stroll about this place at night, you may be surprised by the
sight of two policemen patrolling together. You wil