Still, I had read and
heard too much to be easily duped; and I kept myself not only out of
the power of my tempter, but out of the power of all that could injure
me, remaining simply a curious observer of what was placed before my
eyes. Good Mr. Hardinge's lessons were not wholly forgotten; I could
run away from him, much easier than from his precepts.
I shall never forget a visit I made to a house called the Black Horse,
in St. Catherine's Lane. This last was a narrow street that ran across
the site of the docks that now bear the same name; and it was the
resort of all the local infamy of Wapping. I say _local_ infamy;
for there were portions of the West End that were even worse than
anything which a mere port could produce. Commerce, that parent of so
much that is useful to man, has its dark side as everything else of
earth; and, among its other evils, it drags after it a long train of
low vice; but this train is neither so long nor so broad as that which
is chained to the chariot-wheels of the great. Appearances excepted,
and they are far less than might be expected, I think the West End
could beat Wapping out and out, in every essential vice; and, if
St. Giles be taken into the account, I know of no salvo in favour of
the land over the sea.
Our visit to the Black Horse was paid of a Sunday, that being the
leisure moment of all classes of labourers, and the day when, being
attired in their best, they fancied themselves best prepared to appear
in the world.
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