The String of Pearls (1850), p. 217

But he is dead—dead! that is a comfort. He is dead, and I must have another boy."
Bang! went Sweeney Todd's shop door. The beautiful moon climbed over the house-tops in old Fleet Street. The clock of St. Dunstan 's struck the hour of eleven. The streets began to be thin of pedestrians, and the din of carriages

TODD AND THE BEEFEATER HAVE SOME WORDS.{Figure}

had almost entirely ceased. London then, although it was so not long ago, persented a very different aspect at the hour of eleven to what it does now. The old hackney-coaches had not been ousted from the streets by the cabs and the omnibuses, and the bustle of the city was indeed but a faint echo then, of what it is now. Time changes all things.