“There vos a ’ot pieman as vurked in the Strand, Singing hey, ho! ’ot pies, all ’ot! Vun night he was kickin’ his ’eels at his stand Ven who should come up but a lady all grand, Vith a dress all of satin, and rings on her ’and, And she asts for a pie Did this lady, oh my! Let us cry. Singing hey, ho! ’ot pies, all ’ot! “Now, our friend was genteel, as all piemen should be, Singing hey, ho! ’ot pies, all ’ot! And he sez to this lady, so grand for to see, ‘My pies, mum, are meant for sitch people as me, For poor cabbies and sitch; not for folks of degree,’ And she jest sez, ‘O fie! Hand me quickly a pie, Or I’ll cry.’ Singing hey, ho! ’ot pies, all ’ot!” I spare the reader the remaining six verses of this delectable song. The company joined in the chorus with the full force of their lungs, and so exhilarated the fat vocalist, that at the end of the second verse he pushed away his chair, and folding his arms on his breast, actually danced an accompaniment to the words, amid shrieks of laughter and wild stretching forward of necks at the farther end of the table to see him. Holdsworth’s companion laughed until he grew faint, and then, to recover his strength, drank brandy and water, and then laughed again. The song was encored, genuine vulgarity seldom failing to please; and then a brief breathing-space of silence falling, Holdsworth said to his companion: “Will you tell me how I am to get to Hanwitch from here?” “Certainly. All you’ve got to do is, step across to the ‘Canterbury Arms’--it’s five minutes’ walk from this house on the left--the coach starts for Canterbury at half-past seven in the morning, every day.” “Thank you,” said Holdsworth, who found it impossible, amid the renewed hubbub of conversation that had burst out, to ask some questions about Hanwitch, which might help him to understand the longing that possessed him to visit it. “You’re not going--the night’s very young, sir?” said the man, seeing Holdsworth rise. But Holdsworth merely wished him “Good night,” and slipped out of the room unnoticed by the company, who were at that moment busy in entreating the fat man to give them another song. The cool air and silence of the passage were a great relief after the heat and noise of the public room. It was now drawing near to eleven o’clock. Holdsworth went to the bar and asked for a candle, and was lighted to his bed-room by a chambermaid with ringlets and black eyes, who probably felt surprised that her charms attracted no notice whatever from the gentleman, who seemed to find pleasure in no other object than the carpet on which he trod.