There were, however, at the time our narrative commences, respectable visitors to the Court, and foremost among them for intimate acquaintance with the community was that valuable official the Relieving Officer. His approach was by some mysterious means instantaneously known, and produced wonderful effects; unruly sounds were hushed, quite a number of poor creatures were taken suddenly ill, and a most appalling condition of poverty was created. Strange however to say, his exit was marked by a revivifying influence,--low muttering occasionally burst into storms of abuse, but not until he had turned the corner; we may therefore suppose that he was in happy ignorance of the strong feeling which existed against him. The policeman on duty used to pause, as from professional instinct, when he passed each narrow entrance, and at night had been known suddenly to turn his bull's eye upon persons approaching or leaving the Court. Occasionally a visit was paid by that dreaded person, the Inspector: which event was always unexpected. Intelligent members of the force at a given moment took their position at either end, while the Inspector marched with several officers to a particular house, and then marched off with the somebody he wanted. Next morning a company of the inhabitants used to return the compliment, by going in a body to the Police Court, and for days after, the subject matter of conversation in the Court was, "How the 'spector got that ere hinformation what he received." The postman occasionally entered the place, and when he did so he grasped his letters firmly,--while in order to effect a proper delivery he deciphered strange hieroglyphics. Of course those true friends of the poor, the parish and dispensary doctors, were frequently to be seen in the place. They knew it well as a pestilent spot, and, while alleviating suffering, gave many certificates for the burial of the dead. As regards the living there was scanty record: the name of the place being rarely if ever written in the Vestry Register. A few out of the swarm of dirty, shoeless, tattered little heathen (heathen in the sense of being unbaptized and untaught in the Christian religion) were occasionally hunted for by their warm-hearted friend, the Ragged School teacher, who had entered their names in his class book. With two exceptions these were the only respectable visitors to Paradise Court; and the exceptions only came on Black-Monday morning. One was the stern broker-man, who represented the landlord of half the houses, and whose terrible utterance, "Pay the rent, or I will chuck your sticks into the Court," had a money-producing effect. The other Monday visitor was a lady of peculiar style, who entered the place from her suburban residence exactly at nine o'clock. Though shabby in dress, it was believed by her thirty-four miserable tenants that she was a real lady at home. She was fluent of speech, and gave many reasons why it would be wrong of her to let the rent run on.