The number of his cellar was 8, and he had cut out a large tin figure of 8, a foot long, and nailed it upon his door, for the benefit of some of his friends that were getting bad in their eyesight, and "couldn't read smo' print so low deawn as that.

Anne and Jane will long re-mem-her How, one morn-ing in No-vem-ber, As they both were home-ward stroll-ing, Round the Lon-don fog came roll-ing First, a yel-low dark-ness fall-ing, Then a noise of link-boys call-ing, Cab, and 'bus, and cart-wheels rum-bling, Hor-ses on the pave-ment stum-bling, Peo-ple, in the smoke and smo-ther, Run-ning up a-gainst each other, No one see-ing, much less know-ing, Whi-ther he or she was go-ing.