The Pickpocket--Strange Rencounter--Drag Him Along--A Great Service--Things of Importance--Philological Matters--Mother of Languages--Zhats! A few days after the occurrence of what is recorded in the last chapter, as I was wandering in the City, chance directed my footsteps to an alley leading from one narrow street to another in the neighbourhood of Cheapside.

Just before I reached the mouth of the alley, a man in a great coat, closely followed by another, passed it; and, at the moment in which they were passing, I observed the man behind snatch something from the pocket of the other; whereupon, darting into the street, I seized the hindermost man by the collar, crying at the same time to the other, "My good friend, this person has just picked your pocket." The individual whom I addressed, turning round with a start, glanced at me, and then at the person whom I held.

London is the place for strange rencounters.

It appeared to me that I recognised both individuals--the man whose pocket had been picked and the other; the latter now began to struggle violently; "I have picked no one's pocket," said he.

"Rascal," said the other, "you have got my pocket-book in your bosom." "No, I have not," said the other; and struggling more violently than before, the pocket-book dropped from his bosom upon the ground.
The other was now about to lay hands upon the fellow, who was still struggling.