The Works of George W. M. Reynolds — page 137: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

1200. REYNOLDS’ WORKS defined only by a couple of rows of squalid-looking habita- tions, could be denominated a street at all, — stood a public- house bearing the sign of the Billy Goat, the same where Ralph Farefield, nineteen years back, had been wont to meet Chiffin the Cannibal and his desperate associates. This public-house was altogether of a character such as might be expected in such a region. It was, in fact, a boozing-ken of the lowest description, where the liquor was as poisonous as the morals of the company that frequented it. It was kept by an old couple called Patch, the landlord’s Christian name being Solomon, although it was not clear that he be- longed to the Jewish race. ‘These people had thriven and even grown rich in that place, not altogether by the sale of adulterated liquors, but by acting as recipients for the stolen goods brought thither by some of their principal cus- tomers. They likewise lent money at usurious interest; and, indeed, it was proverbial that there was scarcely any means Sp Solomon Patch would hesitate to adopt in order to increase his gains. We are now about to introduce our readers into the tap-room of the Billy Goat on the evening of that same Sunday on which Lord Saxondale pursued his inquiries in the neighbourhood of Evergreen Villa, as described in the last chapter. It was about ten o’clock, the shutters were closed, a couple of candles stood upon the table in the tap- room, and the flame of their unsnuffed wicks seemed to burn dimly, like marsh-lights in a mist, through the haze of tobacco-smoke that filled the place. Seven or eight men were seated around the table, with long pipes in their mouths, and with pewter-pots or glasses in front of them. ‘Three or four women were likewise present, and though the company was not very large, yet the noise they made was very great. They seemed all talking at once, some relating anecdotes, others disputing upon mooted points, and others indulging in boisterous shouts of laughter. The characters of all were written upon their countenances. If any one of this motley eroup had been placed in the dock of the Old Bailey, charged with an offence, no evidence as to respectability of character —even though al] the bankers of Lombard Street could, for supposition’s sake, be brought forward to give such testimony — would have outweighed with the jury the still more positive evidence of the individual’s sinister looks. GOmMmicdooks