 CHAPTER XIV Of all the persons who were in the gambling-house at the moment when the police, alarmed by the report of the pistol, broke in, Richard Markham was alone captured. The others, aware of the means of egress in emergencies of this kind, had rushed upstairs, entered upon the leads, and thus obtained admittance into the adjacent dwelling, from whose friendly doors they subsequently issued one by one, when all was once more quiet in the street. The police officer conducted Markham to the nearest station house. They entered a low, dark, gloomy apartment, which was divided into two parts by means of a thick wooden bar running across the room about two-and-a-half feet from the ground. There was a small dull fire in the grate, and an uncomfortable arm-chair near it was seated the inspector, a short, stout, red-faced, consequential-looking man with a pen stuck behind his left ear. A policeman in uniform was standing at a high desk, turning over the leaves of a large book, and another officer in plain clothes, and very plain and shabby they were, too, was lounging before the fire, switching the dust out of his trousers with a thin cane. "'Well, what now?' said the inspector, roughly, as Markham was conducted into the office and led behind the bar towards the fire. Me and Jones and Jenkins broke into number, in the quadrant, as we heard a pistol, or else we should have known ourselves better. For this young fellow is all we caught. Jones and Jenkins is staying in the house, along with a dead body of the man that killed his self." The inspector indulged in a good, long stare at Markham, and when his curiosity was completely gratified he said, "'Now, Crispe, we'll enter that charge, if you please.'" The policeman standing at the desk turned to the proper leaf in the large book before him, and then took down the deposition of the officer who had apprehended Markham. When this was done, the inspector proceeded in a very pompous and magisterial manner to question the prisoner. "'What is your name, young man?' "'Richard Markham.'" "'Oh, Richard Markham, put that down, Crispe. Where do you live?' "'At Markham Place, near Holloway.'" "'Put that down, Crispe. Now, do you want to let any of your friends know that you were in trouble?' "'First tell me of what I am accused, and why I am detained.'" "'You were accused of being in an unlawful house for an unlawful purpose, namely gambling, and a suicide has been committed there,' they say. "'You will be wanted before the coroner, as well as the magistrate.'" "'Can I be released until tomorrow by giving security for my appearance?' "'No, I can't part with you. It is said that it is suicide, and I believe it still might be murder. But you seem a respectable young gentleman, and so you shan't be locked up in a cell all night. You may sit here by the time, if you'll be quiet.'" "'I am at least obliged to you for this courtesy. But can you give me any idea of the extent of the penalty to which I am liable? I did not gamble myself. I am merely accompanied.' "'You needn't discriminate anybody, you know.'" "'Interrupted the inspector.' "'Then magistrate will find you a few pounds, and that will be all.'" "'Then I should prefer not to acquaint my friends with my position,' said Malcolm, since I can release myself from my present difficulty without their assistance.' Reassured by this conviction, though still strangely excited by the appalling scene which he had witnessed, Richard seated himself by the fire and soon fell into conversation with the policeman. These men could talk of nothing but themselves or their pursuits. They appeared to live in a world of policism. All their ideas were circumscribed to stationhouses, magistrates' offices, prisons, and criminal courts of justice. Their discourse was, moreover, garnished with the slang term of thieves. They could not utter a sentence without interpolating a swell mob phrase or a Newgate jest. They seemed to be so familiar with crime, though not criminal themselves, that they could not devote a moment to the contemplation of virtue. They only conversed about persons who were in trouble, but never condescended to lavish a thought to those who were out of it. "'Cranky Jam has done it round at last, hasn't he?' said Crisp. "'He has indeed,' replied the inspector. "'But what could he have done with all the swag?' "'Oh, he's fatted that safe enough,' observed the officer in plain clothes. "'My eye! What a slap-up lily Benjamin he had on when he was nabbed. Yes, and such a swell bandana-fogel and agropus. He hadn't any ready tin, though, for he wanted to peel and put the white poodle up the spout for a chopper max. And because you wouldn't let him, he'd doubled you out with a wallop in your dumpling depot, didn't he? Yes, but I'd bruised his canister for him, though. This'll be the third time he's been up before the beaks at the Old Bailey. Consequently, he's certain sure to be lagged. Ah, it must be a clever knob in the fur-trade, it'll get him off. "'Well, talking makes me thirsty,' said Crisp. "'I wish I'd summit to sluice me ivories with.' Markham entertained a faint idea that Mr. Crisp was a thirst. He accordingly offered to pay for anything which he and his brother policemen chose to drink. The officer in plain clothes was commissioned to procure some heavy wet, alias porter, and even the pompous and magisterial inspector condescended to take what he called a dram, but which in reality appeared to be something more than a pint. The harmony was disturbed by the entrance of a constable, dragging in a poor, ragged, half-starved and emaciated lad, without shoes or stockings. "'What's the charge?' demanded the inspector. "'A rogan of vagabond,' answered the constable. "'Oh, very well. Put that down, Crisp. How do you know?' "'Because he's wandering about and hasn't nowhere to go and no friends to refer to, and I saw him begging.' "'Very good. Put that down, Crisp. And I suppose he's without food and hungry.' "'I have not tasted food,' began the poor wretch, who stood shivering at the bar. "'Come, no lies,' ejaculated the inspector. "'No lies,' echoed the constable, giving the poor wretch a tremendous shake. "'Have you put it all down, Crisp?' "'Yes, sir.' "'Well, let him have a bit of bread and lock him up. He'll get three months of it on the stepper tomorrow.' The poor creature was supplied with a cubic inch of stale bread and then thrust into a filthy cell. "'What do you think that unfortunate creature will be done to?' inquired Markham. "'Three months on the stepper. The treadmill, to be sure.' "'But what for?' "'Why, for a rogan of vagabond.' "'A vagabond he may be,' said Markham, because he has no home to go to. But how do you know he is a rogue?' "'Why, he was found begging, wasn't he?' "'And does that make a man a rogue?' "'Certainly it do, in the eye of the law.' "'Ah, and that I can see without spectacles, too,' added Mr. Crisp, with a laugh.' Markham was reflecting profoundly upon the law's definitions of rogue and vagabond, when another constable entered, leading in an elderly man, belonging to the humbler class, but very cleanly in appearance. "'Well, what's the charge?' demanded the inspector. "'This fellow will come upon my beat with his apple-cart, and I can't keep him off, so I've sent his cart to the greenyard and brought him here.' "'Please, sir,' said the poor fellow, wiping away a tear from his eye. "'I endeavour to earn an honest living by selling a little fruit in the streets. I have a wife and seven children to support, and I only stayed out so long to-night because I had had a bad day of it. The money is so much wanted at home. It is indeed, sir. I do hope you'll let me go, sir. My poor wife will be ready to break her heart when she finds I don't come home, and my eldest boy always sits up for me. Poor little fellow, he will cry so if he doesn't kiss father before he goes to bed.' There was something profoundly touching in this poor man's manner and language, and Markham felt inclined to interfere in his behalf. He, however, remembered that he was only allowed to sit in that room by sufferance, and that he was at the mercy of the caprice of ignorant, tyrannical, and hard-hearted men. He accordingly held his tongue. "'Come, Chris, have you got that down?' said the inspector. "'Yes, sir. We'll let the man be locked up. The magistrate must decide in the morning.' And the poor fellow, in spite of his remonstrances, was removed to a cell. "'I could not exactly understand what this new prisoner has done,' said Markham.' "'Obstructed the way and created a nuisance,' replied the inspector pompously. "'But he is endeavouring to earn his bread honestly, I think, and the road is open to everyone.' "'Oh, no such thing! Those little carts frighten the horses in the great folk's carriages and can't be allowed. He must have a month of it. He's been warned several times and is incorrigible. I'll tell the magistrate so.' "'And what will become of his family?' "'Family. Why go to the work-house to be sure.'" Presently a third constable made his appearance, accompanied by a poor, miserable-looking woman and three small children, all wretchedly clad and care-worn. "'What's the charge now?' "'Charged from the workers. This ear-woman was admitted to the union with them three children, and because the master ordered her to be separated from her children, she kicked up Hell's delight, so the master turned them all out together, caught me up, and give them in charge.' "'Budder down, crisp!' "'Yes, and it is true, too,' sobbed the poor woman. "'I'm not ashamed to own that I love my children, and up to this blessed hour they have never been separated from me. It would break their poor little hearts to be torn away from me, that it would, God bless them. I love them all, poor, miserable as I am!' A flood of tears drowned the voice of this wretched mother. "'Inspector,' said Malcolm, touched to the quick by this affecting scene. "'You will allow me.'" "'Silence, young man. It's a charge from the workers, and the workers is paramount.' "'So it appears indeed,' cried Richard Bitterly.' "'Silence, I say. Don't interfere, there's a good lad. Crisp, have you got it all down?' "'Yes, sir.' "'Lock them up, then.' "'At least we shall be together,' exclaimed the poor, unfortunate mother, to whom the three little children clung with all the tenacity of sincere affection. An hour elapsed, when another policeman entered, bringing in a man dressed as an osla, and whose face was all covered with blood. "'Well, what now?' "'Fighting in the blue dragon, the landlord turned him out, and so I took him up.' "'Put that down, Crisp. What's your name, my fine fellow?' "'John Snuggles.' "'Put that down, Crisp. He's a nice bird, isn't he, Mr. Malcolm?' added the Inspector. "'Marcom,' ejaculated the new prisoner. "'Yes, that is my name,' said Richard. "'Do you know me?' "'Not that I am aware of, sir. Only the name reminded me that I have been this evening, in the company of a gentleman, as is in the service of a Mr. Malcolm. I left the servants' arms at twelve precisely, and walked straight down to this sea of vicinity. I ain't been more than half an hour coming, when I get into a row.' "'Well, well,' said Richard, somewhat impatiently, "'and what is the name of the person with whom you have passed the evening?' "'With several gentlemen, but the one I named was Whittingham.' "'Whittingham? He is my butler. Poor fellow, how anxious he will be about me.' "'He's too drunk to be anxious,' said Snuggles, dryly. "'I was the only one who's came away sober.' "'I'll tell you what he could do, if you like,' observed the Inspector, who now began to entertain an idea of Malcolm's standing in society by the mention of the word butler. There is no one here to make any charge against the fellow. The Constable will withdraw it, and he can take a note home for you.' "'A thousand thanks,' ejaculated Malcolm. "'But you intimated that he was tipsy.' "'He certainly is elevated,' answered Snuggles. "'Well, can you be at my house tomorrow morning by six or seven o'clock?' "'Of course I can, sir.' "'I need not write. You can say that you have seen me, and that I shall be home in the course of the day. Do not mention where I am. I will not have him coming here to seek me.' Malcolm slipped a half a sovereign into the hands of Snuggles, who took his departure with a faithful promise to execute the commission entrusted to him, and not a little pleased at having so pleasantly escaped a night in the station-house. It was now past one o'clock, and Malcolm, feeling rather drowsy, lay down to slumber for a few hours upon a bench, wrapped up in Mr. Crisp's police coat. End of Chapter 14 Chapter 15 of The Mysteries of London This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. The Mysteries of London by George W. M. Reynolds Chapter 15 The Police Office The morning was rainy, cold, and lowering. Malcolm awoke unrefreshed by his sleep, which had been haunted by the ghost of the young officer who had committed suicide at the hell. He shivered and felt nervous, as if under the impulse of some impending danger, whose nature he could not altogether define. By the good offices of Crisp, he obtained the means of washing himself, and arranging his toilette, previous to an appearance at the police-court, and the same intervention procured him a good breakfast. As he, however, could not eat a morsel, Mr. Crisp very kindly and considerably devoured it all for him. At about half-past nine o'clock, the various constables connected with the charges entered in a police sheet arrived at the station house for the purpose of conducting their prisoners to the police-court. All those persons who were charged with felony were handcuffed, but of this class the most-knowing contrived to bring their hands beneath their garments in some way or other, and thus conceal the symbol of ignonomy as they passed through the streets. Richard was astonished at the number of women who were charged with intoxication and disorderly conduct, and the shiverous admiration of the whole sex which he felt, and which is so natural to youth, was considerably diminished by the hardened appearance and revolting language of these females. Markham and the constable who had arrested him proceeded in a cab together to the police office in Marlborough Street. Upon reaching that establishment, the officer said, the magistrate will hear the drunk and assault charges first, so it may be an hour or more before your business will come on. I ought by right to lock you up, but if you like, we can stay together in the public house there, and one of my partners will let us know when the case is coming on. This arrangement was very acceptable to Richard, and to the nearest public house did he and the constable accordingly adjourn. For this handsome accommodation all that he had to pay was half a guinea to the officer, besides liquidating the score for as much liquor as the said officer and every one of his partners who happened to drop in could consume. For the present we must request the reader to accompany us to the interior of the police office. In a small, low, badly lighted room sat an elderly gentleman at a desk. This was the magistrate. Near him was the clerk, whom the worthy functionary consulted so often that it almost seemed as if this clerk was a peripatetic law-manual or textbook. In front of the desk were the bar and the dock, and the space between them and the door was filled with policemen and the friends of those who had got into trouble. The first charge was called. A man dressed in a garb of common labourer was accused of being drunk and incapable of taking care of himself. The magistrate put on the most awfully severe and frowning countenance, and said in a gruff tone, Well, my man, what do you say to this charge? Please, your worship," observed the prisoner, scratching his head, I'm out of work, and my wife has pawned all our little bits of things for food for the children, and yesterday morning I was forced to go out to look for work without any breakfast. There was but a little bread left, and that I would not touch for all the world. Well, your worship, I was fortunate enough to get the promise of some work for Monday, and meeting a friend, he asked me to have a glass. Now, beer upon an empty stomach, your worship. The magistrate, who had been reading a newspaper during this defence, now lifted up his head and exclaimed, Well, you don't deny the charge, you'll find five shillings, call the next case. But your worship, call the next case! The poor fellow was dragged away from the bay by two huge policemen, and an elegantly dressed person of about twenty-six years of age was introduced to the notice of the magistrate. What is your name? inquired the clerk. Name? Oh, John Jenkins, was the reply, delivered in a flippant and free and easy manner. The clerk and the magistrate whispered together. A constable then stood forward and stated the charge. The prisoner at the bar had turned out of a flashed haven in the hay market at one in the morning, and commenced crowing like a cock and ringing at front doorbells, and playing all imaginable kinds of antics. When the constable interfered the gentleman knocked him down, and had not another policeman come up to the spot at the moment, the said gentleman never would have been taken into custody. The magistrate cross-questioned the policeman, who gave evidence in this case, with great severity, and then, turning with a bland smile to the prisoner, who was surveying the clerk through his eyeglass in as independent manner as if he were lounging over the front of his box at the opera, the worthy functionary said in a tone of gentle entreaty. Now, really, we have reason to suspect that John Jenkins is not your name. In fact, my lord, we know you. Well, then, exclaimed the prisoner, turning his eyeglass from the clerk upon the magistrate, chalk me up as Lord Plymouth, since you were down upon me in this way. My lord, my lord! said the magistrate, with parental abannity of manner. These little freaks of yours are really not creditable upon my honour they are not. I sit here to administer justice to the rich as well as to the poor. Oh, you do, do you? cried the navelman. Now I tell you what it is. If you dare talk any of your nonsense about prisons and houses of correction to me, I'll not stand it. You know as well as I do that whenever a barrister is to be appointed magistrate, the home secretary sends for him and tells him to mind his peasing cues towards the aristocracy. So none of your nonsense, but be quick and let me off with the usual fine. My lord! ejaculated the magistrate, glancing with consternation from the prisoner to the clerk, and from the clerk to the prisoner. Did I not say that I sat here to administer equal justice to the rich and the poor? The fine for drunkenness is five shillings, my lord, and in that sum I find you. As for the assault upon the policeman, I give you leave to speak to him outside. The nobleman demanded change for a ten-pound note, and threw the five shillings in a contemptuous and insolent manner towards the clerk, who thanked his lordship as if he had just received a special favour. The assault was easily settled outside, and the nobleman drove away in an elegant cab, just as the wife of the poor labourer departed in tears from her husband's cell, for the purpose of pledging every remaining article of clothing that could possibly be dispensed with, to raise the five shillings wherewith to procure his liberation. Several other cases of intoxication, disorderly conduct, and obstruction of the police in the exercise of their duty, which last embraced the various trifles, as well as the most daring attempts at rescue, were then disposed of. In all instances the constables endeavoured to exaggerate the conduct of the accused, and never once attempted to palliate it, and as the magistrate seemed to place implicit confidence in every word the police uttered, although one or two cases of gross perjury were proved against them, convictions were much more frequent than acquittals. The cases of the poor, starving, emaciated beggar, the apple-cart man, and the affectionate mother, who had all three so powerfully excited Markham's attention at the station house, were called on one after another consecutively. Fortunately the inspector was not present at the time to use his influence against the two first, and the master of the workhouse did not appear to press the charge against the last. They were all three accordingly discharged, with a severe admonition, the first against begging and being houseless, the second against earning an honest livelihood by selling fruit in the streets, and the third against clamouring in a workhouse for the mere trifle of being separated from her children. As these three individuals emerged from the police office, they were accosted by Mr. Crisp, who informed them that they were wanted by a gentleman at a public house in the neighbourhood. The third did the trio of unfortunates, accompanied by the poor woman's children, proceed, and great was their surprise when Mr. Crisp officially introduced them into a private room which Markham had engaged. Richard, and the police officer in whose charge he remained, were there, and the moment the poor creatures were shown in, they were accosted by that young man whose ingenuous countenance inspired them with confidence and hope. My good friends, said he, I was in the station house last night when you arrived, and your sad tales touched me to the quick. Now, with regard to you, my poor lad, he continued, addressing himself to the rogue and vagabond, what prospect have you before you? In what way could a friend aid you? My brother, sir, is well off and would assist me, replied the poor creature. If I could but get to him, he lives in Edinburgh, and is well to do as a wheel-right. Here are two guineas for you, my friend, said Richard. They will take you home, and there may your reception be as favourable as you seem to think. There, I do not want you to thank me. Go, and commence your journey at once. The poor fellow pressed Markham's hand with the most enthusiastic gratitude, and took his departure with tears in his eyes and gladness in his heart. And now, my good man, said Richard, to the owner of the apple-cart, what do you propose to do? To speak the truth, sir, I don't know. The police seem determined that I shan't earn an honest livelihood, and as I am equally resolved not to see my children starved before me, I have nothing left to do but become a thief. I shan't be the first whom the police have driven to that last resource in this city. You speak bitterly, said Markham. Yes, because I tell the truth, sir. My cart is to be returned to me, but of what use is it, or the stock that is in it, since I don't dare go about to sell fruit? Could you not open a little shop? Ah, sir, that requires money. How much? A matter of four or five pounds, sir, replied the man, and where could a poor devil like me? I will give you five pounds for the purpose, interrupted Markham, and taking from his pocket-book a bank-note, he handed it to the poor man. We will not attempt to depict his gratitude. Words would completely fail to convey an idea of the exuberant joy which filled the heart of that good and affectionate father, who would rather have become a thief than seen his children starve. And now, my good woman, what can I do for you? said Markham, turning to the third object of his charity. How in the name of heaven came you reduced with three children to such a state of want and destitution? My husband, sir, is in prison, answered the poor creature, bursting into tears, while her children clung the more closely around her. In prison? And for what crime? Oh, crime, sir! It is only a crime in the eye of the law, but not in the eye of either man or heaven. My good woman, this is absurd! Is there any offence of which the law alone takes cognizance, and which is not reprehensible in the eye of God? On the contrary, sir, God has given us for our general use and benefit the very thing which the law has forbidden us to take. This is trifling, exclaimed Richard impatiently. Can you, whom I behold so affectionate to your children, be hardened and gild? Do not think so, sir. My husband was a hard-working man, never spent an hour at the public-house, never deprived his family of a farthing of his wages. He was a pattern to all married men, and his pride was to see his children well-dressed and happy. Alas, sir, we were too happy not to meet with some sad reverse. My husband, in an evil hour, went out shooting one afternoon, when there was a holiday at the factory where he worked, and he killed a hare upon a nobleman's ground near Richmond. He was taken up and tried for poaching, and was sentenced to a year's imprisonment with hard labour. This term expires in six weeks, but in the meantime—oh, God, what have we not suffered? Ah, forgive me, ejaculated Markham, deeply touched by this recital. I spoke harshly to you, because I did not remember that the law could be guilty of a deed of such inhuman atrocity. And yet I have heard of many, many cases ere now. Merciful heavens, is it possible that the law, which with the right hand protects the privileges of the aristocracy, can with the left plunge whole families into despair? Alas, it is too true, responded the poor woman, pointing towards her pale and shivering offspring. Well, cheer up, your husband will be restored to you in six weeks, said Markham. In the meantime, here is wherewith to provide for your family. Another five-pound note was taken from the pocket-book, and transferred to the hand of the poor but tender-hearted mother. The children clung to Richard's knees, and poured forth their gratitude in tears. Their parent loaded him with blessings, which came from the very bottom of her heart, and called him the saviour of herself and famished little ones. Never, until that day, had Richard so entirely appreciated at the luxury of possessing wealth. Scarcely was this last matter disposed of, when information arrived that Markham's case would be heard in about ten minutes. To the police court did he and the constable who had charge of him proceed accordingly, and in due time the young man found himself standing at the bar in the presence of a magistrate. The usual questions were put relative to name, age and residence, to all of which Richard answered in a candid and respectful manner. The constable then stated the nature of the charge, with which the reader is already acquainted. Evidence was also gone into to show that the officer, whose death had led to the eruption into the gambling-house on the part of the police, had died by his own hand, and not in consequence of any violence. This point was sufficiently proved by a medical man. Markham, in his defence, stated he had accompanied some friends, whose name he declined mentioning, to the gaming-house on the preceding evening, that he had not played himself, nor had he intended to play, and that he had been led into the establishment without previously being acquainted with the exact nature of the place he was about to visit. The magistrate remonstrated with him on the impropriety of being seen in such houses, and inflicted a fine of five pounds, which was of course immediately paid. As he was leaving the police-court, Markham was informed by a beadle, who accosted him, that his presence would be required at the gambling-house that same afternoon, at four o'clock, to give evidence at the coroner's inquest concerning the means by which the deceased officer came by his death. End of Chapter 15 Chapter 16 OF THE MISTERS OF LONDON The mistress of London by George W. M. Reynolds Chapter 16 THE BEGINNING OF MISFORTUNES At eight o'clock in the morning, after the scene at the hell, and while Richard was still in the custody of the police, Sir Rupert Harborough and the honourable Arthur Chichester were hastening in a handsome cabriolet, belonging to the former, to Markham Place. The conversation of these gentlemen during the drive will tend to throw some light on one or two preceding incidents that may have appeared a little mysterious to the reader. I wonder what became of him last night, said Chichester. Upon my honour at the moment I do not care, returned the baronet. Nor I, either. I was only intent upon getting off myself. He will not be pleased at our having left him in that unceremonious manner. Oh, trust me, any explanation will do. He is so exceedingly green. And so marvellously particular in his conduct, if it had not been for us, he would have remained quite a saint. I am not afraid, observed Chichester, of being able to manage him and turning him to immense advantage in our plans. But that vulgar beast Talbot will most certainly spoil all. Even the idea of the fellow's wealth and charities will not always induce Markham to put up with his vulgarities. Besides, the wretch has such excruable bad taste. Last evening, for instance, when I casually dropped a neat little lie about the soup at the King of Prussia's table, Talbot instantly paraded the Duke of Lambot's pea soup. Only fancy, a duke and pea soup united together. And then his dog's nose and sore feet and boiled tripe, said the baronet, after all the drilling we gave him in the first instance, when he stipulated upon associating with us in order to see how he worked the thing, he is still incorrigible. Then, when I think of all the money I have already laid out in buying the materials, in getting the proper paper, and in keeping him in feather all the time he was at work, my blood boils to see that he hangs like a millstone round our necks, and threatens by his vulgarity to spoil all. But what could we do? cried Chichester. You told me in the first instance to find an engraver on whom we could rely, and I was compelled to enlist the fellow Pocock in our cause. He was a very man, so far as knowledge went, having been employed all his life in working for bankers. But his atrocious vulgarity is his bane, and even his aristocratic name of Talbot, which I made him assume, does not help him to pass himself off as a gentleman. It was a pity he could not listen to reason and take the sum of ready money down which you offered him in the first instance. But no, he must needs cry thirds, and insist upon going about us to see fair play. And get his share, added the baronet. Yes. Even the very first night that he ever saw Markham, continued Chichester. His greediness would have induced him to risk the ruin of everything by winning a few paltry pounds of the young fellow at Diana's lodgings, but I damned soon stopped that. I didn't even want to take the twenty pounds yesterday, which Markham offered for the poor family concerning whom I invented so capitalist story. No, it is not a few pounds that will do us any good, or remunerate me for my large outlay, said the baronet. We want thousands, and this Markham is the very instrument we require. The first trial was made yesterday and succeeded admirably. The note has actually been changed to bankers. No one can expect a better test than that. Now, if this Talbot is to ruin us with Markham, the very person we want, the most excellent medium we could require, himself being above all suspicion and entertaining no suspicion. It would be enough to break one's heart, added Chichester. Besides, my creditors are so clamorous, settle with them I must, continued the baronet. And then Diana costs me a fortune. I must get rid of her without delay, for I expect that she is getting sentimental on this youth, and will not interest her in our affair for fear of letting him get into a scrape. Why, it is very certain, observed Chichester, that according to the admirable way in which we have arranged our plans, if an explosion took place, we could not possibly be implicated. However, we must make haste and work London, and then off to Paris. We might get rid of four or five thousand pounds worth amongst the money changers in a palais royal. Then off to Germany, in due rotation, Italy next, touch at Spain, and home to England. Upon my honour it is a noble scheme, a grand, a princely scheme, cried the baronet, elated with the idea. My God, if it were spoiled in its infancy by any fault of ours or our associates. And Talbot is such a drunken beast that we can scarcely rely upon him, said Chichester. He will one day commit himself, and ask too, the fellow does not know how to get tipsy like a gentleman. We will tell him the candid truth, and see what he says. Pursued the baronet. When he finds that we are determined not to tolerate him with us, and that we will quash the whole thing at once, if he insists upon remaining, he must yield. There was that young Walter Sidney, who seemed at first to have taken a fancy to Diana. I thought of making use of him, too, but he never called after that drunken display of Mr. Talbot's. He was evidently disgusted with him for his conduct, and with us for associating with him. Well, said Chichester, let us resolve, then, to have an explanation with Talbot, in the sense you have mentioned, and you must also speak seriously to Diana, and get her to make use of young Markham. And if she will not, added the baronet, I shall get rid of her without delay. What is the use of having an expensive mistress, unless you can use her either as a blind or a plant? The delectable conversation terminated here, because those who had carried it on were now arrived at their destination. The baronet's tiger knocked at the front door, and Mr. Whittingham speedily made his appearance. Is your master at home? demanded Chichester. No, sir. He has not domesticated himself in his own abode since he went out shortly after you yesterday, but a person of my acquaintance, a man of perfect credableness, has just come to ensure me that my young master will be here at gain in the currency of the day. Where did this person see your master? inquired Chichester, struck by the absence of Markham the entire night. His respondencies is evasive and dissatisfactory, said Whittingham. This is very remarkable, ejaculated Chichester. Then, after a pause, he added, but we will await Mr. Markham's return, and I will just see this man and interrogate him alone. Alone do you hear, Whittingham? I hear, sir, because my acoustic propensities is good. I will send this person to you into the library. Mr. Chichester alighted from the vehicle and hastened to the library, while the baronet repaired to the stables, to see that his horse, concerning which he was very particular, was properly cared for. Mr. Chichester walked up and down the library, reflecting on the probable causes of Richard's absence. At the moment he fancied that he might have fallen into the hands of the police, but then he thought that, had this been the case, Markham would have sent for himself or the baronet. He did not imagine that the noble nature of the young man, whom he was conducting headlong to his ruin, would scorn to take any steps calculated to compromise his friends. The door of the library opened, and a man entered. What? John? ejaculated Mr. Chichester, turning very pale and manifesting much confusion. Mr. Winchester cried snobbles, for it was he. Hush, my good fellow, don't say a word, said Chichester, recovering his presence of mind. I am really glad to see you. I have often thought of you since that unpleasant affair. I hope it put you to no inconvenience. At all events I will make matters all right now. Better late than never, said snoggles. Well, and you must promise me faithfully not to mention this affair to anyone, and I will always stand your friend. And remember, my name is Chichester now, not Winchester. Pray do not forget that. No, no, I am fly enough, I am down to trap, replied snoggles, with a lear of insolent familiarity. Here is a twenty-pound note that will cover all your losses, and recompense you into the bargain. That'll do. It would be better that you should not say that you ever knew me before. Just as you like. I prefer that course, but now to another point. Where did you see Mr. Richard Markham? At the station house in... Street. The station house? And for what? Ah, there you beat me. I can't say. All that I know is that he gave me half a sovereign to come and tell his old butler this morning that he should be home in the course of the day. And that is all you know. Everything. Now, can I rely upon you in respect to keeping the other matter secret? demanded Chichester. I have already told you so, answered snoggles. And you need not tell old Whittingham that his master is at the station house. Snoggles withdrew, and Mr. Chichester was immediately afterwards joined by the baronet. Markham is at the station house in... Street. The deuce he is and for what? I cannot learn. Do you not think it is odd that he did not send for either of us? Yes. We will return to town this moment, said the baronet, and send someone unknown to him to hear the case at the police office. We shall then learn whether anything concerning the note transpires and what to say to him when we see him. Yes, there is not a moment to lose, returned Chichester. The cabriolet was brought round to the door again in a few minutes, during which interval Chichester assured Whittingham that he had learned nothing concerning his master, and that he and the baronet were only returning to town for the purpose of looking after him. As soon as the vehicle was out of sight, Mr. Whittingham returned in a disconsolate manner to his pantry, where Mr. Snuggles was occupied with a cold pasty and a jug of good old ale. Well, I've learnt something today, I have," observed Snuggles, who could not keep a secret for the life of him. What's that? demanded Whittingham. Why, that Winchester is Chichester and Chichester is Winchester. They are two irrelevant cities, observed the butler, and not by no manner of means identical. The cities is different, but the men is the same, said Snuggles. I can't apprehend your meaning. Well, I will speak plain. Did you hear me tell Suggit the story about my old master last night at the Servant's Arms? No, I was engaged in a colloquial discourse at the time. Then I will tell you the adventure over again, and Mr. Snuggles related the incident accordingly. Mr. Whittingham was quite astounded, and he delivered himself of many impressive observations upon the affair, but which we shall not be cruel enough to inflict upon our readers. It was about half past twelve o'clock when Richard returned home. His countenance was pale and anxious, and he vainly endeavoured to smile as he encountered his faithful old dependent. Ah! Master Richard, I was sadly afraid that you had fallen into some trepidation. A very unpleasant adventure, Whittingham, which I will relate to you another time, kept me away from home. I was with Sir Rupert Harborough and Mr. Chichester. Mr. Chichester ate no good, sir, interrupted the butler emphatically. What do you mean, Whittingham? I mean exactly what I say, Master Richard, and nothing more nor less. Both the Baronet and Mr. Chichester have been here this morning. Then, with a considerable amount of circumlocution and elaborate comment, the butler related the conduct of Chichester towards snoggles, and their accidental meeting that morning. This is very extraordinary, said Richard, musing. I can't say I ever regularly admired this Mr. Chichester, observed Whittingham. He seems too dashing, too out and out, and too circumventing in his discourse to be anything exceeding and excessive good. Now, I like the Baronet much better. He isn't so familiar in his manners. Whenever he speaks to me, he says, Mr. Whittingham, but Mr. Chichester calls me plain and Whittingham. As for that vulgar fellow Talbot, who was called here once or twice, he slaps me on the shoulder and balls out, Well, Whittingham, my tulip, how are you? Now, you know, Master Richard, it's not conformance to perceived notions to call a butler a tulip. I have been deceived in my acquaintances. No doubt I have been deceived, said Richard, musing audibly, and pacing the library with agitated steps. There is something suspicious in the connection of that man Talbot, however rich he may be, with so elegant a gentleman as the Baronet. Then this conduct of Chichester towards his servant. They're taking me to a common gambling-house. They're deserting me in the hour of need. Yes, I have been deceived. And then Diana. I ought never more to see her. Her influence, her fascination are too dangerous. A gambling-house, ejaculated Whittingham, whose ears caught fragments of these reflections. My old friend, said Richard, turning suddenly towards the butler. I am afraid I have been enticed, invagled into society which is not creditable to me or my position. I will repair my fault. Mr. Monroe, my guardian, advised me some weeks ago to indulge in a tour upon the continent. I will avail myself of this permission. At four o'clock I have an appointment, a pressing appointment to keep in town. By seven at latest I shall return. Have a post-chase at the door, and all things in readiness. We will proceed to Dover to-night. You alone shall accompany me. Let's do it, sir. Let's do it, exclaimed the faithful, dependent. It will separate you from them flash-fellows which lead young men into scrapes, and from them vulgar persons which call butlers tulips. Whittingham retired to make the preparations for the contemplated journey, and Richard seated himself at the table to write a couple of letters. The first was to Mrs. Arlington, and ran thus. Circumstances of a very peculiar nature, and which I cannot at present explain to you, compel me to quit London thus abruptly. I hope you will not imagine that I leave your agreeable society without many regrets. We shall probably meet again when I may perhaps confide to you the motives of this sudden departure, and you will then understand that I could not have remained in London another minute with safety to myself. I scarcely know what I write. I am so agitated and uneasy. Pray excuse this scrawl. Richard Markham. The second letter was to Mr. Monroe, and was couched in the following terms. You may be surprised, my dear sir, to find I am immediately about to avail myself of your kind recommendation and permission to visit the continent. I conceive it to be my duty, in consequence of rumours or reports which may shortly reach your ears concerning me, to inform you that I have only this moment awoke to the fearful perils of the career in which I have for some weeks passed been blindly hurrying along till at length yesterday, but I dare not write any more. I am penitent, deeply penitent. Let this statement induce you to defend and protect my reputation. Ever your sincerely obliged are Markham. Having hastily folded, addressed, and sealed these letters, Markham hurried up to his bedroom to select certain articles of clothing and other necessaries which he should require upon his journey. He was interrupted in the middle of this occupation by the entrance of Whittingham, who came to announce that two persons of somewhat strange and suspicious appearance desired an immediate interview with him. Scarcely was this message delivered when the two men who had followed Whittingham upstairs walked very unceremoniously into the bedroom. This is Richard Markham, suppose, said one, advancing towards the young man. Yes, my name is Markham, but what means this insolent and unpardonable intrusion? Intrusion indeed, repeated the foremost of the ill-looking strangers. However, not to keep you waiting, my young friend, I must inform you that me and this man here are officers, and we've warranted to take you. A warrant, ejaculated both Richard and Whittingham at the same moment. Come, come now, I dare say you haven't been without your misgivings since yesterday, but if young gentlemen will play such pranks, why they must expect some time or other to be wanted, that's all. But what have I done? demanded Richard. There must be some mistake. I cannot be the person whom you require. Did you not call it a certain bankers in the city yesterday? demanded the officer. Certainly, I had some money to receive which Mr. Monroe, my guardian, had paid into their hands for my use. And you changed a five hundred pound note, the clock did it for your accommodation. I do not deny it, I required change, but how is all this connected with your visit? That five hundred pound note was a forgery. Forgery? Impossible! cried Richard. A forgery, said Whittingham. This is really impudence of two consummating a nature. Come, there's no mistake, and all this gammon won't do. Me and my partner came in a hackney-coach which stands at the corner of the lane, so if you're ready, we'll be off to Bow Street at once. I am prepared to accompany you, said Richard, because I am well aware that I shall not be detained many minutes at the magistrate's office. That's no business of mine, returned the principal officer. Then, addressing his companion, he said, Gem, you'll stay here and take a survey of the premises, while I get off with the prisoner. You can follow as soon as you've satisfied yourself whether there's any evidence upon the premises. It was with great difficulty that Richard overruled the desire of Whittingham to accompany him, but at length the faithful old man was induced to comprehend the necessity of staying behind, as an officer was about to exercise a strict search throughout the house, and Markham did not choose to leave his property to the mercy of a stranger. This point, having been settled, Richard took his departure with the officer in whose custody he found himself. They entered the hackney-coach, which was waiting at a little distance, and immediately proceeded by the shortest cuts towards the chief office in Bow Street. Upon their arrival at that ominous establishment Richard's pocket-book and purse were taken away from him, and he himself was thrust into a cell until the charge at that moment before the magistrate was disposed of. Here must we leave him for the present, as during the night which followed his arrest scenes of a terrible nature passed elsewhere. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org. However filthy, unhealthy, and repulsive the entire neighborhood of West Street, Smithfield, Field Lane, and Saffron Hill may appear at the present day it was far worse some years ago. There were then but few cesspools, and scarcely any of those which did exist possessed any drains. The knackers yards of Cow Cross and the establishments in Castle Street where horse's flesh is boiled down to supply for the dogs and cats of the metropolis, send forth now, as they did, a fetid and sickening odor which could not possibly be borne by a delicate stomach. At the windows of those establishments the bones of the animals are hung to bleach and offend the eye as much as the horrible stench of the flesh acts repugnantly to the nerves. Upwards of 60 horses a day are frequently slaughtered in each yard, and many of them are in the last stage of disease when sent to their long home. Should there not be a rapid demand for the meat on the part of the itinerant purveyors of that article for canon and feline favorites, it speedily becomes putrid and a smell which would alone appear sufficient to create a pestilence pervades the neighborhood. As if nothing should be wanting to render that district as filthy and unhealthy as possible, water is scarce. There is in this absence of a plentiful supply of that wholesome article an actual apology for dirt. Some of the houses have small backyards in which the inhabitants keep pigs. A short time ago an infant belonging to a poor widow who occupied a back room on the ground floor of one of these hovels died and was laid upon the sacking of the bed while the mother went out to make arrangements for its internment. During her absence a pig entered the room from the yard and feasted upon the dead child's face. In that densely populated neighborhood that we are describing hundreds of families each live and sleep in one room, when a member of one of these families happens to die the corpses kept in the closed room where the rest still continue to live and sleep. Poverty frequently compels the unhappy relatives to keep the body for days, eye, and weeks. Rapid decomposition takes place, animal life generates quickly, and in four and twenty hours myriads of loathsome animal culli are seen crawling about. The very undertakers men fall sick at these disgusting, these revolting spectacles. The wealthy classes of society are far too ready to reproach the miserable poor for things which are really misfortunes and not faults. The habit of whole families sleeping together in one room destroys all sense of shame in the daughters, and what guardian then remains for their virtue. But alas, a horrible and odious crime often results from that poverty which thus huddles brothers and sisters, aunts and nephews all together in one narrow room, the crime of incest. When a disease, such as the smallpox or scarletina, breaks out in one of those crowded houses and in a densely populated neighborhood, the consequences are frightful. The mortality is as rapid as that which follows the footsteps of the plague. These are the fearful mysteries of that hideous district which exists in the very heart of this great metropolis. From St. John Street to Saffron Hill, from West Street to Clerkenwell Green is a maze of narrow lanes choked up with dirt, pastiferous with nauseous odors, and swarming with a population that is born, lives, and dies amidst squalor, pinnury, wretchedness, and crime. Leading out of Holburn, between Filt Lane and Eli Place is Upper Union Court, a narrow lane forming a thoroughfare for only foot passengers. The houses in this court are dingy and gloomy, the sunbeams never linger long there, and should an Italian boy pass through the place, he does not stop to waste his music upon the inhabitants. The dwellings are chiefly let out in lodgings, and through the open windows upon the ground floor may occasionally be seen, the half-starved families of mechanics crowding round the scantily supplied table. A few of the lower casements are filled with children's book, pictures of actors and highwaymen glaringly colored and lucifer matches, twine, sweet stuff, cotton, etc. At one door there stands an oyster stall. When the commestible itself is in season, over another hangs a small board with a mangle painted upon it. Most of the windows on the ground floors announce rooms to let, or lodgings for single men, and perhaps notice may be seen better written than the rest, that artificial flower makers are required at that address. It was about nine o'clock in the evening when two little children, a boy of seven and a girl of five, walked slowly up this court, hand in hand, and crying bitterly. They were both clothed in rags, and had neither shoes nor stockings upon their feet. Every now and then they stopped, and the boy turned towards his little sister, and endeavored to console her with kind words and kisses. Don't cry so, dear, he said. I'll tell mother that it was all my fault that we couldn't bring home any more money, and so she'll beat me worst. Don't cry, there's a good girl. Pray, don't. And the poor little fellow endeavored to calm his own grief in order to appease the fears of his sister. Those children had now reached the door of the house in which their mother occupied an attic, but they paused upon the step, eventing immortal repugnance to proceed any farther. At length the little boy contrived by promises and caresses to hush the violence of his sister's grief, and they entered the house, the door of which stood open for the accommodation of the lodgers. Hand in hand these poor children ascended the dark and steep staircase. The boy whispered consolation in the girl's ears. At length they reached the door of the attic, and there they stood for a few moments. Now, fanny, dear, don't cry, there's a good girl. Pray, don't now, and I'll buy you some nice pears tomorrow with the first half penny I get, even if I shouldn't get another, and if mother beats me till I'm dead when we come home. The boy kissed his sister once more, and then opened the attic door. A man in a shabby black coat, and with an immense profusion of hair about his hangdog countenance, was sitting on one side of a good fire, smoking a pipe. A then emaciated but vixenish-looking woman was arranging some food upon the table for supper. The entire furniture of the room consisted of that table, three broken chairs, and a filthy mattress in one corner. As soon as the boy opened the door, he seemed for a moment quite surprised to behold that man at the fireside. Then, in another instant, he clapped his little hands joyously together and exclaimed, Oh, how glad I am. Here's father, come home again. Father's come home again, echoed the girl, and the two children rushed up to their parent, with the most pure, the most unfamed delight. Curse your stupidity, you fools, cried the man, brutally repulsing his children. You've nearly broke my pipe. The boy fell back, abashed, and dismayed. The little girl burst into tears. Come, none of this humbug, resume the man. Let's know what luck you've had today, since your mother says that she's been obliged to send you out on the trap, since I've been laid up for this last six months in the jug. Yes, and speak out pretty plain, too, Master Harry, said the mother in a shrill, menacing tone, and none of your excuses, or you'll know what you have got to expect. Please, mother, said the boy, slowly taking some half-pence from his pocket. Poor little Fanny got all this. I was so cold and hungry I couldn't ask a soul, so if it ain't enough, mother, you must beat me, and not poor little Fanny. As the boy uttered these words in a tremulous tone, and with tears trickling down his face, he got before his sister in order to shield her, as it were from his mother's wrath. Give it here, you fool, cried the woman, darting forward, and seizing hold of the boy's hand, containing the half-pence. Then, having hastily glanced over the amount, she exclaimed, You vile young dog, I'll teach you to come home here. With your excuses, I'll cut your liver out of you. I will. How much, as he brought, demanded the man. How much! Why, not more than enough to pay for the beer, answered the woman indignantly. Eight pence, half-pending, and that's every farthing. But won't I take it out in his hide? That's all. The woman caught hold of the boy, and dealt him a tremendous blow upon the back, with her thin, bony fist. He fell upon his knees and begged for mercy. His unnatural parent levelled a volley of abuse at him, mingled with oaths and filthy expressions, and then beat him, dashed him upon the floor, kicked him, all but stamped upon his poor body as he arrived at her feet. His screams were appalling. Then came the turn of the girl. The difference in the years of the children did not cause any with regard to their chastisement. But while the unnatural mother dealt her heavy blows upon the head, neck, breast, and back of the poor little creature, the boy clasped his hands together, exclaiming, O mother, it was all my fault. Pray don't beat little Fanny. Pray don't. Then, forgetting his own pain, he threw himself before his sister to protect her, a noble act of self-devotion in so young a boy, and for which he only received additional punishment. At length, the mother sat down, exhausted, and the poor lad drew his little sister into a corner and endeavored to soothe her. The husband, at that vile woman, had remained unmoved in his seat, quietly smoking his pipe while this horrible scene took place, and if he did not actually enjoy it, he was very far from disapproving of it. There, said the woman, gasping for breath, that'll teach them to mind how they came home another time, with less than 18 pence in their pockets. One would actually think that it was the people's fault and not the children's, but it ain't, for people grows more charitable every day, the more humbug, the more charity. Right enough there, grout the man, a regular knowing beggar, can make his five bob a day. He can walk through a matter of sixty streets, and in each street he can get a penny. He sure of that. Well, there's his five bob. To be sure, cried the woman, and therefore such nice-looking little children as Arne, couldn't help getting 18 pence if they was to try, the lazy vagabonds. What would have become of me, all the time that you was in the jug this last bout, if they hadn't have worked better than they do now, as it is everything's up the spout, all made away with? Well, will devilish soon have them all down again, interrupted the man? Dick will be here presently, and he and I shall soon settle some job or another, but hadn't you better give them kids of their supper, and make them leave us snivelin' afore Dick comes? So I will, Bill answered the woman, and throwing the children each a piece of bread, she added, in a cross-tone, and now tumble into bed, and make haste about it, and if you don't hold that blubbering row, I'll take the poker to you this time. The little boy gave the larger piece of bread to his sister, and having divested her of her rags, he made her as comfortable as he could on the filthy mattress, covering her over, not only with her clothes, but also with his own. He kissed her affectionately, but without making any noise with his lips, for fear that that should irritate his mother, and then lay down beside her. Clasped in each other's arms, those two children of poverty, the victims of horrible and daily cruelties, repulsed by a father whose neck they had alonged to encircle with their little arms, and whose hand they had vainly sought to cover with kisses, trembling even at the looks of a mother whom they loved, in spite of all her harshness towards them, and from whose lips one word, one single word of kindness, would have gladdened their poor hearts under such circumstances, we say, did these persecuted but affectionate infants, still smarting with the pain of cruel blows, and with tears upon their cheeks, thus did they sink into slumber in each other's arms. Merciful God, it makes the blood boil to think that this is no overdrawn picture, that there is no exaggeration in these details, but that there really exist monsters in human form, wearing often to the female shape, who make the infancy and early youth of their offspring one continued hell, one perpetual scene of blows, curses, and cruelties. Oh, for how many of our fellow creatures have we to blush? How many demons are there who have assumed our mortal appearance, who dwell amongst us, and who set us examples the most hideous, the most appalling? As soon as the children were in bed, the woman went out and returned in a few minutes with two pots of strong beer purchased with the alms that day bestowed by the charitable upon her suffering offspring. She and her husband then partook of some cold meat of which there was a plentiful provision enough to have allowed the boy and girl each a good slice of bread, and the bread which this man and this woman ate was new and good, but the morsels thrown to the children were stale and moldy. "'I tell you what,' said the woman, whispering in a mysterious tone to her husband, I have thought of an excellent plan to make fanning useful.' "'Well, Polly, and what's that?' demanded the man. Why,' resumed his wife, her countenance, wearing an expression of demonic cruelty and cunning. "'I have been thinking that Harry will soon be of use to you in your line. You'll be so handy to shut through a window or to sneak down area and hide himself all day in a cellar to open the door at night, or a thousand things.' "'In course, he will,' said Bill, with an approving nod. "'Well, but then there's fanning. What good can she do for us for years and years to come? She won't beg. I know she won't. It's all that boy's lies when he says she does. He is very fond of her and only tells us that to screen her. Now, I have a very great mind to do some of. That will make her beg, I, and be glad to beg, and beg, too, in spite of herself.' "'What the hell do you mean?' "'Why, doing that to her, which will put her entirely at our mercy, and at the same time render her an object of such interest that the people must give her money. I'd wager that with my plan she'd get her five bob a day, and what a blessing that would be.' "'But how?' said Bill impatiently. "'And then,' continued the woman, without heeding this question, she wouldn't want Henry with her, and you might begin to make him useful somehow or another. All we should have to do would be to take Fanny every day to some good thoroughfare, put her down there of a morning, and go and fetch her again at night, and I'll warrant she'll keep us in beer, I, and in brandy, too.' "'What the devil are you driving at?' demanded the man. "'Can't you guess?' "'No, blow me if I can.' "'Do you fancy the scheme?' "'Am I a fool? Why, of course I do, but how the deuce is all this to be done. You never could learn Fanny to be so fly as that.' "'I don't want to learn her anything at all. What I propose is to force it on her.' "'And how is that?' asked the man. "'By putting her eyes out,' returned the woman. Her husband was a robber, yes, and a murderer, but he started when this proposal met his ear. "'There's nothing like a blind child to excite compassion,' added the woman coolly. "'I know it for a fact,' she continued after a pause, seeing that her husband did not answer her. "'There's old cake-bits who got all her money by traveling about the country with two blind girls, and she made him blind herself, too. She's often told me how she did it, and that has put the idea into my head. "'And how did she do it?' asked the man, lighting his pipe, but not glancing towards his wife, for although her words had made a deep impression upon him, he was yet struggling with the remnant of a parental feeling which remained in his heart in spite of himself. She covered the eyes over with cockled shells, the eyelids recollect being wide open, and in each shell there was a large black beetle. A bandage, tight tight round the head, kept the shells in their place, and the shells kept the eyelids open. In a few days the eyes got quite blind, and the pupils had a dull white appearance. "'And you're serious, are you?' demanded the man. "'Quite,' returned the woman, boldly, "'why not?' "'Why not, indeed?' echoed Bill, who approved of the horrible scheme, but shuddered at the cruelty of it, villain as he was. "'Ah, why not?' pursued the female. "'One must make one's children useful, somehow or another. "'So, if you don't mind, I'll send Harry out alone tomorrow morning, and keep Fanny at home. The moment the boys out of the way, I'll try my hand at Kate Betts' plan.' The conversation was interrupted by a low knock at the attic door. End of Chapter 17. Exclaimed Bill. "'Ah, there's I, it's Dick Flairer.' "'Well, Bill, boldly, well, fellow, here you are at last,' cried the newcomer. "'I suppose you know that I should have come here this evening. "'If you hadn't sent me that message tough a day by the young area sneak.' "'A thief who sneaks down areas to see what he can steal in kitchens.' "'What got his discharge out of the coal-barf jug?' "'Prison.' "'I should have come all the same. "'I remembered very well that you were sentenced to six months on it, "'when I'd calculated days and weeks right enough.' "'Sit down, Dick, and blow a cloud. What news since I've seen you last?' "'None. You know that cranky Jem is nabbed? "'E and the resurrection man did a panty, burglary, together somewhere up so away. "'They got off safe with a swag, and the resurrection man went on to the mint.' "'Jem took to the old hours in chic lane.' "'West Street, Smithfield, and let me in for my regulars,' gave him a share. "'But after a week or ten days, the resurrection man nosed, "'informed upon him, and will turn King's evidence and fall to beaks. "'So Jem was handed over to the dubsmen.' "'Turned key. "'And this time you'll get lagged for life.' "'And course he will. He has been twice to the floating academy.' "'The hulks. There ain't no chance this time.' "'But as for business,' said Dick Flairer, after a pause, "'during which he lighted his pipe and paid his respects to the beer, "'my gropus is as empty as a Paris's bag the day after sessions. "'I have but one bob left in my clay, and that we'll spend in brandy presently. "'My molly's hands is regular itching for a job. "'Summer must be done, and soon too,' returned Bill Balter. "'By the by, suppose we tried at Cribb, "'which we meant to crack four years or so ago, "'when you got nabbed the very next morning "'for faking a Bloudon's flag from her nutty arm, "'stealing a lady's reticule from her pretty arm.' "'What, you mean Markham's up between Kentish Town and Lower Olloway?' "'Said Dick.' "'The same. Don't you recollect.' "'We settled it all a worry night, "'as we threw that young fella down a trap in Chick Lane. "'But by gold, Dick, what a juicy amount of it with you?' "'Dick Flairer had turned deadly pale at the mention of this circumstance. "'His knees shook, and he cast an uneasy and rapid glance around him.' "'Calm, Dick. Don't be a fool,' said the woman. "'You don't think there is any ghosts here, do you?' "'Ghosts,' he exclaimed with a convulsive start. "'Then, after a moment's silence, "'during which his two companions surveyed him with curiosity and fear, "'he added in a low and subdued tone, "'Bill, you know there wasn't a man in all the neighborhood "'bolder than me up to the time when you got in trouble. "'You know that I didn't care for ghosts or churchards "'or dark rooms or anything of that kind. "'Now, it's quite altered. "'If ever a man sees spirit of a person, "'that man was me about two months ago.' "'What a devil does this mean?' cried Bolter, "'looking uneasily about him in his turn.' "'Two months ago,' continued Dick Flairer, "'I was up acne-way, expecting to do a little business "'with Tom the Cracksman, the burglar, which didn't come off. "'For Tom had been at the booze in Kent, "'public house, all the night before, "'and had blowed his end up in a lark "'with some Davies dust, gunpowder. "'Well, I was coming home again, "'inferno-ly sulky at the affairs breaking down, "'when just as I got the Cambridge Heathgate, "'I hear the gulloping of horses. "'I looked round, naturally enough, "'but who should I see upon a lovely chestnut mare?' "'Who?' said Bill anxiously. "'The spirit of that wary same young fellow, "'as you and I threw down a trap "'at the old-ass in Chick Lane four years and some months ago.' "'Might not have been a mistake, Dick,' demanded Bill. "'Of course it was,' exclaimed the woman. "'No, it wasn't,' said Dick very seriously. "'I never tell a lie to a pal.' "'A companion.' "'Bill, and you know that well enough. "'I see that young man as plain as I can now see you, Bill, "'as plain as I see you, Polly Balder. "'I thought I should have dropped. "'I fell right against a post in the footpath, "'but I took another good long look. "'There he was, the same face, the same hair, "'the same dress, everything the same. "'I couldn't be mistaken. I'd swear to it.' "'And would you tell his story to the parish prig?' "'Chaplin, so be as you was going to tuck up fair, "'the gallows, tomorrow morning,' demanded Bill. "'I would, by God!' cried Dick solemnly, "'striking his hand upon the table at the same time. "'There was a long pause, even the woman "'who was perhaps more hardened in vice "'and more inaccessible to anything in the shape of sentiment "'than her male companions seemed impressed "'by the positive manner in which the man told his story.' "'Well, come, this won't do,' ejaculated Dick "'after the lapse of some minutes. "'Ghost or no ghost, we can't afford to be honest. "'No, we must be up to summit,' returned Bill. "'If we went and offered ourselves to the parish prig, "'he wouldn't take us as his clerk and sextant. "'So if he won't give us a lift, ooh, the devil will. "'But about at Markham's place.' "'The old fella died a few months ago, I heard,' said Dick. "'The oldest son ran away, and that brought about the father's death. "'As for the young one, he was grabbed his art anew "'for smashing queer screens,' passing Ford's notes. "'The devil he was? "'Well, there ain't no good to be done in that quarter then. "'Don't know any other speculation.' "'Tom, the cracksman of me, was going to do a panning "'and a neat little crib up by Clapton. "'That time when he blowed his an nearly off, "'larkin' with his bend-culls, friends. "'I don't see why it shouldn't be done now.' "'Tom told me about it. "'A young swell, fond of horses and dogs, "'lives exceeding quiet. "'Never know, company scarcely, but plenty a tin.' "'Servants,' said Bill interrogatively. "'One man, an old groom and two women, three in all,' replied Dick. "'That'll do,' observed the woman approvingly. "'Must we speak to the cracksman first?' "'Demanded Bill.' "'Yeah, fair play's a jewel. "'I don't believe the resurrection man would ever "'have chirped, informed, if he had been treated properly. "'But if this thing is to be done, "'let it be done tomorrow night. "'Now, let us go to the boozing, "'Ken, and speak to the cracksman.' "'I'm your man,' said Bill, and the two thieves left the room together.' At the top of Union Court is Bleeding Heart Yard, leading to Kirby Street, at right angles to which is a narrow alley, terminating on Great Safran Hill. This was the road the burglars took. It was now eleven o'clock, and a thick fog, so dense that it seemed as if it could be cut with a knife, prevailed. The men kept close together, for they could not see a yard before them. Here and there, lights glimmered in the miserable casements, and the fog, thus faintly illuminated at intervals, appeared of a dingy copper colour. The burglars proceeded along Safran Hill. The streets were nearly empty, but now and then the pale, squalid, and nameless forms of vice were heard at the doorways of a few houses, endeavouring to lure the passers-by into their noisome abodes. A great portion of the unwholesome life of that district had sought relief from the pangs of misery and the remorse of crime in sleep. Alas, the slumbers of the poor and of the guilty are haunted by the lean, lank, and gaunt visages of penury, and all the fearful escort of turpitude. Through the broken shutters of several windows came the sounds of horrible revelry, ribbled and revolting, and from others issued cries, shrieks, oaths, and the sound of heavy blows, a sad evidence of the brutality of drunken quarrels. Numerous Irish families are crowded together in the small back rooms of the houses on Safran Hill, and the husbands and fathers gorge themselves at the expense of broken-hearted wives and famishing children with the horrible compound of spirit and vitriol, sold at the low gin shops in the neighbourhood, and the screams of the unfortunate boys who writhe beneath the lash of their furious employers on their return, some after an unsuccessful day with their organs, monkeys, white mice, or chalk images, mingle with the other appalling or disgusting sounds which make nights in that district truly hideous. Even at the late hour at which the two burglars were wending their way over Safran Hill, boys of ages ranging from seven to fifteen were lurking in the cords and alleys, watching for any decently-dressed persons who might happen to pass that way. Those boys had for the most part been seduced from the control of their parents by the receivers of stolen goods in field lane, or else they had been sent into the streets to thieve by those vile parents themselves. Thus, as the hulks, the convict ships, the penny potentiaries, and the gallows relieve society of one generation of villains, another is springing up to occupy the vacancy, and this will always be the case so long as laws tend only to punish and aim not to reform. Dick Flairer and Bill Balter proceeded, without exchanging many words together, through the dense fog until they reached a low public house, which they entered. Nothing could be more filthy nor revolting than the interior of this boozing ken. Sweeps, costamungers, Jews, Irish bricklayers, and women of the town were crowding around the bar, drinking various malt and spiritual liquors fearfully adulterated. The beer, having been originally deluged with water to increase the quantity, had been strengthened by drugs of most deleterious qualities, such as tobacco juice and cocculus indicus. The former is a poison as subtle as that of a viper. The latter is a berry of such venomous properties that if thrown into a pond, it will speedily send the fish up to the surface to gasp and die. The gin was mixed with vitriol, as hinted above, and the whisky, called Paddy's Eye Water, was spirits of turpentine. The pots and glasses in which the various beverages were served up were all stood upon double trays, with a cavity between, and numerous holes in the upper surface. The overflowings and drainings were thus caught and saved, and the landlord dispensed the precious compound which bore the name of all sorts, at a hipony a glass. The two burglars nodded familiarly to the landlord and his wife as they passed the bar and entered a little low, smoky room, denominated the parlor. A tremendous fire burnt in the grate, at which a short, thin, dark man with a most forbidding countenance was sitting agreeably occupied in toasting the sausage. The right hand of this man had lost the two middle fingers, the stumps of which were still covered with plaster as if the injury had been recent. He was dressed in a complete suit of corduroy. The sleeves of his jacket, the lower part of his waist cut, and the front of his trousers were covered with grease. On the table near him stood a huge piece of bread and a pot of beer. This individual was Tom the Cracksman, the most adroit and noted burglar in the Metropolis. He kept a complete list of all the gentleman's houses in the environments of London, with the number of servants and male inhabitants at each. He never attempted any dwelling within a circuit of three miles of the General Post Office. His avocation was invariably exercised in the suburbs of London, where the interference of the police was less probable. At the moment when we introduced him to our readers, he was somewhat down on his luck, as he himself expressed it. The accident which had happened to his hand, through playing with gunpowder, having completely disabled him for the preceding two months, and the landlord of the boozing-ken, having made it an invariable rule never to give credit. Thus, though the Cracksman had spent hundreds of pounds in that house, he could not obtain so much as a glass of all sorts without the money. The Cracksman was alone in the parlour when Dick Flareau and Bill Balter entered. Having toasted his sausage, the renowned burglar placed it upon tin bread and began eating his supper by means of a formidable clasp-knife, without deigning to cast a glance around. At length Bill Balter burst out into a loud laugh and exclaimed, Why, Tom, you're getting proud all of a sudden. You won't speak to your friends. Hello, Bill, is that you? Ejaculated the burglar. When did I turn you out, a jug? This morning at twelve. We've never a-brown in my pocket. Luckily, the old woman had turned the children to some use during the time I was at the stepper, or else I don't know what would have become of us. Enarm us completely stitched up as a man could be if he's just come out of work us, said Tom. I just now spent my last tanner, six months, for this ear grub, and it's a damned odd thing for a man like me to be brought down to kag-mag. Bad meat, he added, glancing solely at the sausage which he was eating half raw. We all cease ups and dines, observed Dick Flairer. My opinion is that we are too free when we have to blunt, and it's them as is too close when we haven't it. Returned the cracksman bitterly. There's a land over this crib. I don't give a gentleman like me tick, not for unblessed farting. The things can't go on, so I'm bloated if I won't do a crack that should be worthwhile. Then I'll open a can in opposition to this. You'll see whether I'd refuse a pale tick in the hour I need. Well, you don't suppose that we are here just to amuse ourselves? Said Dick. We come to see you. Is there anything to be done? Demanded the cracksman. First answer me this. Cried Dick. Is that crib an upper clapton being cracked yet? What? Where there's a young swell? I don't know nothing more about it than what you told me, interrupted Dick. Me and you was to have done it, and then you went a-larking with the Davies' dust. I know the crib you mean. Said the cracksman hastily. That job is yet to be done. Are you the chaps to have an end in it? That's the very business that we have come for. Answered Bill. Well. Resumed the cracksman. It seems we are all stumped up and can't hold out no longer. We won't put this thing off. It should be done tomorrow night. Eleven's the hour. I will go dulston way. You two can arrange about the roads you'll take. So long as you don't go together. And we'll all three meet at the gate of Ben Price's field at eleven o'clock. So far so good. Said Dick Flairer. I've got a darky, dark lantern. But we want the kyphers. Implements used by burglars and tools. Earn a sec. Added Bill. We must get all these things of Moses' art to fence. Receiver of stolen goods. And give him a share of the swag. Exclaimed the cracksman. Don't bother yourselves about that. I'll make it all right. Well now that's settled. Said Dick. I've got a bob in my pocket, and we'll never rinse at a bingo. The burglar went out to the bar and returned with some brandy, which he and his companions drank pure. Oh, cranky gems in quad. Observed the cracksman after reports. Yeah, end of resurrection, man, too. But he has chirped, and we'll be let out after sessions. You have eroded this freak over in the borough, I suppose. Said the cracksman. No, I haven't. Answered Bill. What was it? Ah, a capital joke. The story's rather long, but it will bear telling. There's a young fellow at a name of Sam Chisney, and his father died about two years ago, leaving £2,000 in the funds. The widow was to enjoy the interest during her life, and then it was to come principle and interest, both to Sam. Well, the old woman gets in the debt and is arrested. She goes over to the bench, takes the rules, and has a nice lodging on the ground floor of Belvedere Place. The young fellow wants his money very bad, and doesn't seem at all disposed to wait for the old lady's death, particular as she might live another 10 years. Well, he comes across the resurrection man and tells him just how he's situated. The resurrection man thinks over the matter, and being a bit of a scholar understands the business. All three goes and consults a lawyer named Mac Chisel, who lives up in the new road, somewhere near the servant's arms there. I know that crib well, observed Bill. Ah, it's a very tidy and respectable one. So Mac Chisel and Sam Chisney and the resurrection man lay their heads together and settle the whole business. The young chap then goes over to the old woman and tells her what is to be done. She consents and all's right. Well, that very day the old lady is taken so bad, so very bad, she thinks she's gonna die. She won't have no doctor, but she sings for a nurse as she knows, an old creature upwards of 70 and nearly in her doubtage. Then Sam comes and he's so sure to see his poor dear mother so ill, and she begins to talk very pious and to bless him and tell him as she feels that she can't live for 20 hours. Sam cries dreadfully and swears he won't leave his poor dear mother. No, not for all the world. He sits up with her all night and is so exceeding kind and he goes out and gets a bottle of medicine, which are all worth nothing but gin and peppermint. The old nurse is quite pleased to think that the old woman has got such an attentive son and he sends out to get a little rum and the old nurse goes to bed blind drunk. But the devil was all out for, demanded Dick. You'll see in a moment. Resume the cracks. Next night at about 10 o'clock the young fellow says to the nurse, Nurse, my poor dear mother is wasted away. She can't last out the night, but I do feel so miserable. And I fancy a drop in her rum that they sell it a particular public close up by Westminster Bridge. Well, well dear, says the nurse, I'll go and get a bottle there for I feel that we should both want someone to cheer us through this blessed night. So the old nurse totals off to get a rum at the place Sam told her. He had sent her away to a good long distance on purpose. The moment she was gone, Mrs. Chisney gets up and dresses herself as quick as she can and is already just as a acne coach drives up to the door. Sam runs down, always as right as the male. There was a resurrection man in the coach with the dead body of an old woman that had only been buried the day before and that he had had up again during the night. So Sam and the resurrection man, they gets to stiffen upstairs and Mrs. Chisney, she jumps into the coach and drives away to a comfortable lodging which Matt Chisel had got for her up in Somerstown. Now I begin to twig, explained Dick Flair. Presently the old nurse comes back and Sam meets him on the stairs, whimpering as hard as he could and says, Oh nurse, your poor dear Mrs. is gone, your poor dear Mrs. is gone. So she was, no mistake about that. Well, the nurse begins to cry. But Sam gets her upstairs and plies her so heartily with the rum that she got blind drunk once more without ever thinking of laying the body out so she didn't find out it was quite cold. Next day she washed it and laid it out properly. And as she was nearly blind, she didn't notice that the features wasn't altogether the same. The body too was remarkable, freshened and so everything went on as well as could be wished. Sam then stepped over to the marshal of the bench and give him notice of his mother's death and as she had died in the rules, they must be an inquest. So a jury of prisoners was called and the old nurse was examined and she said, oh exceeding attentive the young man had been and all that. And then Sam himself was called. Of course, he told a good tale and then the coroner says, Well, gentlemen, I suppose you like to look at the body. So over they all goes to Belvedere Place and the foreman of the jury just pokes his nose in at the door of the room where the corpse was lying and no one else even went more than half up the staircase. After this, the jury is quite satisfied and return of verdicts of died from natural causes accelerated by confinement in the rules of the king's bench prison. And in this, as they were prisoners themselves, they added some very severe remarks upon the deceased's unfeeling and remorseless creditors. Then comes the funeral, which was very respectable and Sam Chisney was chief mourner and he cried a good deal. All the people who saw it said they never saw a young man so dreadful cut up. In this way, they killed the old woman, the son proved her death, got the money and sold it out every farting, and he and his mother is keeping a public ass together somewhere up Spittlefield's way. The resurrection man and man chisel each got a hundred foot air share in the business and the feeling passed off as comfortable as possible. Well, I'm plowed if that isn't the best luck I've ever owed, ejaculated Dick, when the cruxman had bought his tale to an end. So it is, added Bill. The parlor of the boozing ken now receives some additional guests, all belonging to the profession of rogary, though not all following precisely the same line. Thus there were cracksman, magsman, swell mobites, area sneaks, public patterners, swell mobites who affect to be dissenting ministers and breach in the open air in order to collect crowds upon whose pockets their confederates work. Buzzgloaks, common thieves, dummy hunters, thieves who steal pocket anchor chiefs, comter prigs, swell mobites who steal from the comters in shops while their confederates make some trifling purchase. These thieves often contrive to empty the till, smashers, persons who pass false money, flimsy kitties, persons who pass forged banknotes at races and fairs, masers, common cheats, coiners, begging letter, impostors, etc., etc. The orgies of that motley crew soon became uproarious and revolting. Those who had money lavished it with the most reckless profusion, and those who had none were far from being in want of liquor. The cracksman was evidently a great man amongst this horrible fraternity. Histories and songs invariably commanded attention. It is not our purpose to detain the reader much longer in the parlour of the boozing-ken. We have doubtless narrated enough in this and the preceding chapter to give him a faint idea of some of the horrors of London. We cannot, however, allow the morning scene to pass unnoticed. End of Chapter 18, Recording by Dave Wills Chapter 19 of The Mysteries of London This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. The Mysteries of London by George Reynolds Chapter 19 Morning The orgy lasted throughout the night in the boozing-ken. There were plenty of kind guests who, being flush of money, treated those that had none, and thus Tom the Cracksman, Dick Flairer, and Bill Balter were enabled to indulge to their heart's content in the adulterated liquors sold at the establishment. The cold raw November morning was ushered in with a fine, misling rain. The gas lights were extinguished in the parlour, and the dawn of day fell upon countenances, inflamed with debauchery, and rendered hideous by dirt and dark bristling beards. That was a busy hour for the landlord and landlady of the boozing-ken. The neighbours who used the house came in, one after another, male and female, to take their morning. This signified their first dram. Then was it that the all sorts was in great demand. Old clothesmen, sweeps, dustmen, knackers, crimps, and women of the town crowded round the bar in bibing the strange but potent compound. Even young boys and girls of tender age seemed, as a matter of course, to require the morning stimulant, ere they commenced the avocations or business of the day. Madded hair, blear eyes, grimy faces, pesteriferous breaths and hollow cheeks, combined with rags and tatters were the characteristics of the wretches that thronged about the bar of that lowest of low drinking dens. Nothing is more revolting to the eye than the unwashed aspect of dissipation by the dingy light of the early dawn. The women had evidently jumped from their beds and huddled on their miserable attire without the slightest regard to decency, in order to lose no time in obtaining their morning dram. The men appeared as if they had slept in their clothes all night, and the pieces of straw in the coarse-madded hair of many of them, plainly denoted of what materials their beds were made. They all entered shivering, cold, depressed, and sullen. The dram instantly produced an extraordinary change in each. Artificial gaiety, a gaiety which developed itself in ribbed jokes, profane oaths, and obscene talk, was diffused around. Those who could afford it indulged in a second and a third glass, and some tossed for pots of beer. The men lighted their pipes, and the place was impregnated with the narcotic fumes of the strongest and worst tobacco, that bastard opium of the poor. Presently the policeman upon that beat lounged in, and was complimented by the landlady with a glass of her best cordial gin. He seemed well acquainted with many of the individuals there, and laughed heartily at the jokes uttered in his presence. When he was gone the inmates of the boozing-ken all declared with one accord that he was the most nibblic, gentlemanly, agreeable, blue-bottle in the entire force. In the parlor there were several men occupied in warming beer, toasting herrings, and frying sausages. The tables were smeared over with a rag as black as a hat, by a dirty, slipshod drab of a girl, and with the same cloth she dusted the frame of wire work, which protected the dingy face of the huge Dutch clock. Totally regardless of her presence, the men continued their obscene and filthy discourse, and she proceeded with her work as coolly as if nothing offensive met her ears. There are, thank God, thousands of British women who constitute the glory of their sex, chaste, virtuous, delicate-minded, and pure in thought and action, beings who are but one removed from angels now, but who will be angels hereafter when they succeed to their inheritance of immortality. It must be to such as these that the eyes of the poet are turned when he eulogizes in glowing and impassioned language the entire sex comprehended under the bewitching name of woman. For, oh, how would his mind be shocked were he to wander for a few hours, amidst those haunts of vice and sinks of depravity which we have just described. His spirit, towering on eagle wing up into the sunny skies of Posey, would flutter back again to the earth at the aspect of those foul and loathsome wretches who in the female shape are found in the dwelling places of poverty and crime. But to continue. Bill Bolter took leave of his companions at about eight o'clock in the morning, after a night of boisterous revelry, and rapidly retraced his steps homewards. Field Lane was now swarming with life. The miserable little shops were all open, and their proprietors were busy in displaying their commodities to the best advantage. Here, juicies were occupied in suspending innumerable silk cankerchiefs to wires and poles over their doors. There, the translators of old shoes were employed in spreading their stock upon the shelves that filled the place where the windows ought to have been. In one or two low dark shops, women were engaged in arranging herrings, stockfish, and dried haddocks. In another, coals, vegetables, and oysters were exposed for sale, and not a few were hung with old clothes as good as new. To this, we may add, that in the center of the great metropolis of the mightiest empire in the world, in a city possessing a police which annually costs the nation thousands of pounds, and in a country whose laws are vaunted as being adapted to reach and baffle all degrees of crime, numbers of receivers of stolen goods were boldly, safely, and tranquilly exposing for sale. The articles which their agents had picked up during the preceding night. There was, however, nothing in the aspect of field lane at all new to the eyes of Bill Balter. Indeed, he merely went down that juice-bizarre in his way homewards because he was anxious to purchase certain luxuries in the shape of red herrings for his breakfast. He, having borrowed a trifle of a friend at the boozing-ken to supply his immediate necessities, when he arrived at his lodgings in Lower Union Court, he was assailed with a storm of reproaches, menaces, and curses on the part of his wife for having stayed all night at the boozing-ken. At first, that cruel and remorseless man trembled, actually turned pale and trembled in the presence of the varago who thus attacked him. But at length his passion was aroused by her taunts and threats, and after bandying some horrible abuse and foul epithets with the inferior woman, he was provoked to blows. With one stroke of his enormous fist, he felled her to the ground, and then brutally kicked her as she lay almost senseless at his feet. He then coolly sat down by the fire to cook his own breakfast, without paying the least attention to the two poor children who were crying bitterly in that corner of the room where they had slept. In a few minutes the woman rose painfully from the floor. Her features were distorted, and her lips were livid with rage. She dared not, however, attempt to irritate her furious husband any farther. Still, her passion required a vent. She looked round and seemed to reflect for a moment. Then, in the next instant, all her concentrated rage burst upon the heads of her unhappy offspring. With a horrible curse at their squalling, the woman leapt, like a tiger-cat, upon the poor little boy and girl. Harry, as usual, covered his sister with his own thin and emaciated form as well as he could, and a torrent of blows rained down upon his naked flesh. The punishment which that maddened wretch thus inflicted upon him was horrible in the extreme. A thousand times before that day had Polly Bolter treated her children with demoniac cruelty, and her husband had not attempted to interfere. On the present occasion, however, he took it into his head to meddle in the matter, for the simple reason that, having quarreled with his wife, he hated her at the moment, and greedily availed himself of any opportunity to thwart or oppose her. Starting from his chair, he exclaimed, Come now! I say, leave those children alone. They haven't done nothing to you. You mind your own business, returned the woman, desisting for an instant from her attack upon the boy, and casting a look of mingled defiance and contempt at her husband. The woman's countenance, naturally ugly and revolting, was now absolutely frightful. I say, leave them children alone, cried Bill. If you touch them again, I'll drop down on you. Oh, you coward to hit a woman! I wish I was a man. I'd pay you off for this, and if I was, you wouldn't dare strike me. Mind what you say, Paul. I'm in no humor to be teased this morning. Keep your mollies, hands, off the kids, or I'm blessed if I don't do for you. Coward! This is the way I dare you. And she dealt a tremendous blow upon her boy's shoulder. The poor lad screamed piteously. The hand of his mother had fallen with the weight of a sledgehammer upon his naked flesh. But that ferocious blow was echoed by another at scarcely a moment's interval. The latter was dealt by the fist of Bill Balter, and fell upon the back part of the ruthless mother's head with stunning force. The woman fell forward and struck her face violently against the corner of the deal table. Her left eye came in contact with the angle of the board, and was literally crushed in its socket. An awful retribution upon her, who only a few hours before was planning how to plunge her innocent and helpless daughter into the eternal night of blindness. She fell upon the floor and a low moan escaped her lips. She endeavored to carry her right hand to her now sightless eye, but her strength failed her, and her arm fell lifeless by her side. She was dying. The man was now alarmed and hastened to raise her up. The children were struck dumb with unknown fears, and clasped each other in their little arms. The woman recovered sufficient consciousness during the two or three seconds, which preceded the exhalation of her last breath, to glance with her remaining eye up into her husband's face. She could not, however, utter an articulate sound, not even another moan. But no pen could depict, and no words describe, the deadly, the malignant, the fiendish hatred which animated her countenance, as she thus met her husband's gaze. The tigress, enveloped in the folds of the boa constrictor, never darted such a glance of impotent but profound and concentrated rage upon the serpent that held it powerless in its fatal clasp. She expired with her features still distorted by that horrible expression of vindictive spite. A few moments elapsed before the man was aware that his wife was dead, that he had murdered her. He supported her mechanically, as it were, for he was dismayed and appalled by the savage aspect which her countenance had assumed. That countenance which was rendered the more hideous by the bleeding eyeball crushed in its socket. At length he perceived that she was no more, and with a terrible oath he let her head drop upon the floor. For a minute he stood and contemplated the corpse. A whirlwind was in his brain. The voices of his children aroused him from his reverie. Father, what's the matter with Mother? asked the boy in a timid and subdued tone. Mother's hurt herself, said Fanny. Poor Mother. Look at Mother's eye, Father, added the boy. Do look at it. I'm sure something dreadful is the matter. Damn nation! ejaculated the murderer, and after another minute's hesitation he hurried to the door. Oh, Father, Father, don't leave us. Don't go away from us! cried the little boy, bursting into an agony of tears. Pray, don't go away, Father. I think Mother's dead! added he, with a glance of horror and apprehension towards the corpse. So don't leave us, Father, and I and Fanny will go out and beg and do anything you like. Only, pray, don't leave us. Don't, don't leave us. With profound anguish in his heart, the little fellow clung to his father's knees and preferred his prayer in a manner the most ingenuous, the most touching. The man paused as if he knew not what to do. His hesitation lasted but a moment. Disengaging himself from the arms of his child, he said in as kind a tone as he could assume, and that tone was kinder than any he had ever used before. Don't be foolish, boy. I shall be back directly. I'm only going to fetch a doctor. I shan't be a minute. Oh, pray, don't be long, Father! returned the boy, clasping his little hands imploringly together. In another moment the two children were alone with the corpse of their mother. While the murderer was rapidly descending the stairs to escape from the contemplation of that scene of horror.