“For the pure beggar,” continued the strange gentleman, “every kind of thief has the most profound contempt—even the sneaksman would consider himself mortally insulted if placed in the same rank with the “shallow cove,” that is to say, with the creatures that stand, half naked, begging in the streets. The bouncers, and pitchers, and flat-catchers are generally ranked as a kind of lower middle-class rogues—and certainly they are often equal, in ingenuity at least, to the buzzers.” Mr. Sandboys, who had been drinking in every word of the strange gentleman’s discourse with the greatest avidity, proceeded to thank him at its conclusion very warmly for his most interesting statement. “Well, I thowt,” he said, “‘twas nae guid that seame London; but odswinge if it doan’t bang t’ Auld Gentleman hissell, that it dui. Thee’st seed some feyne geames an’ wickednesses now in thy tyme, I suddent wonder.” “Why, yes,” replied his companion, “persons in our position have great opportunities truly. There are more ways of getting money in London than earning it, I can tell you, sir. Indeed, to say the truth, industry seems the very mode which succeeds the worst of all there.” “I thowt so!—I thowt so!” cried Cursty. “But still, things aren’t quite as bad as they used to be either. Why I remember the days when, regularly every Monday morning, there used to be a bullock hunt right through the principal streets of London got up by the prigs—and very profitable it was, too. You see, the pickpockets would stop the drovers on the road, as they were bringing their beasts up to Smithfield on the Sunday night—take one of the animals away from them by main force, put him into the first empty stable they could find, and the next morning set to and worry the poor brute till they drove him stark raving mad. Then out they used to turn him into the public thoroughfares—start him right away through London, and take advantage of the confusion and riot caused by his appearance in the crowded streets of the Metropolis, to knock the hats of all the gentlemen they met over their eyes, and ease them of their watches or purses.” “Well! well! well!” cried Mr. Sandboys, throwing up his hands in horror at the profundity of the wickedness; “Dustea hear, Aggy,” he continued, turning to his better half, “Dustea hear, weyfe! and we be gangin’ to the varra pleace. But tha wast sayin that t’ fwok beant white so bad now-a-days, sir.” “No! no! not quite,” observed Mr. Cursty’s companion, “but still bad enough, I can tell you. Now, I’ll just repeat to you a trick I saw played the other day upon a simple country gentleman like yourself.” “Varra guid! but they wunnet catch me, I can tell ’ee.”