When partially recovered, I found myself within a queer, dark-looking old court, in the neighborhood of Hertford street and Brick Lane. I was surrounded by a multitude of crazy, loitering, reeking houses, apparently the abodes of no living beings, save Jew clothesmen, oyster venders, pawnbrokers, and gin dealers. A squalid, miserable, broken-down dog-kennel it was too! Tattered children ran about, dabbling in the filthy gutters, indulging in the mockery of play. Rough looking men, wrapped in heavy pea-coats and coarse jackets, with red and bloated faces, lounged about the doors of the various dealers, and haggard, wretched-looking women might have been descried entering the dens of the pawnbrokers, in hopes to raise some pittance of money for the purchase of food or liquor, by pledging paltry articles of dress or furniture. I sat down on the pavement side and stared around me. The scene was altogether dissimilar to any thing I had been in the habit of witnessing, and it was an interesting though a painful novelty. Good God! the misery, and wretchedness, and grinding poverty, deadening to the heart, which exist in large cities, within ken of opulence, of luxury and of splendor! O! could the voice of these wretched throngs be heard, in its collected wailing, what a cry of despairful agony would go up to the throne of the Everlasting! Dead souls in living sepulchres, stalking their gloomy round of poverty, neglect and wo—uneducated, ungodly, famine-stricken—what hope is there for them in this world, and, word of horror, what in the next! As I sat in revery, some one tapped me on the shoulder. I looked up. A stout, heavily built man, with a pimpled and swollen face, attired in a rough drab over-coat, with leather gaiters and hob-nailed bootees, stood beside me. “Hollo, gen’l’mn Bill,” quoth this interesting parsonage. “Vy, vot brings you in these parts?” I knew the fellow at first glance, but, by Jupiter, I had never seen him before. “Well, old fellow,” said I, with a hilarity that disgusted me, although Heaven knows I couldn’t help it, “what news from your ken?” “I’tell thee vot,” said Gabriel Sooterkins, for the gentleman was familiarly known by that appellation, “a’ter this night, Billy, my bo, you had better change your tramp. The beaks ’ave nabbed Ikey about that ’ere job on Saffron Hill, and they say he’s peached upon it. Confound the trade, say I, if pals can’t be true to one another.” I recollected perfectly the matter he alluded to. It was a burglary committed upon an old miser, who had fixed his dwelling in that delicate abode, and I very well remembered, now that Mr. Gabriel Sooterkins mentioned it, that I had been the head and front of the offending, and that Ikey and himself were accomplices in the business. An exceedingly reputable exchange of persons I had made. “Well,” said I, “if it’s done it can’t be helped, you know, and I’m off this night,” although I had not the most remote idea of where I was going.