 Chapter 7 of THE MISTERIES OF LONDON THE MISTERIES OF LONDON by George W. M. Reynolds Volume 1. Chapter 7. THE BUDWAR It was the morning after the events related in the last chapter. The scene changes to a beautiful little villa in the environs of Upper Clapton. This charming retreat, which consisted of a main building, two stories high, and wings, each containing only one apartment, was constructed of yellow bricks that had retained their primitive colour, the dwelling being too far from the metropolis to be affected by its smoky exhalations. The villa stood in the midst of a small garden, beautifully laid out in the French style of Louis XV, and around it, interrupted only by the avenue leading to the front door of the dwelling, was a grove of evergreens. This grove formed a complete circle and bounded the garden, and the entire enclosure was protected by a regular paling, painted white. This miniature domain, consisting of about four acres, was one of the most beautiful spots in the neighbourhood of London, and behind it, far as the eye could reach, stretched the green fields, smiling and cultivated like those of Tuscany. In front of the villa was a small grass plot, in the centre of which was a basin of clear and polluted water, upon whose surface floated two noble swans and other aquatic birds of a curious species. Every now and then the silence of the morning was broken by the bay of several sporting dogs, which occupied, in the rear of the building, kennels more cleanly and more carefully attended upon than the dwellings of many millions of Christians. And yet the owner of that villa wanted not charity, witnessed the poor women and two children who have just emerged from the servants' offices laden with cold provisions and with a well-filled bundle of other necessaries. At the door of a stable, a groom was seen dismounting from the back of a thoroughbred chestnut mare, which had just returned from an airing, and upon which he cast glances of mingled pride and affection. The windows of the villa were embellished with flowers in pots and vases of curious workmanship, and outside the casements of the chambers upon the first floor were suspended cages containing beautiful singing birds. To the interior of one of those rooms must we direct the attention of the reader. It was an elegant boudoir, and yet it could scarcely justify the name, for by a boudoir we understand something completely feminine, whereas this contained articles of male and female use and attire strangely co-mingled, pale male together. Upon the toilet-table were all the implements necessary for the decoration and embellishment of female beauty, and carelessly thrown over a chair were a coat, waistcoat, and trousers. A diminutive pair of patterned leather Wellington boots kept company with delicate Morocco shoes to which sandals were fixed. A huge press, half open, disclosed an array of beautiful dresses, silk, satin, and precious stuffs of all kinds, and on a row of pegs were hung a scarlet hunting coat, a shooting jacket, a jockey cap, and other articles of attire connected with field sports and masculine recreations. Parasols, foils, single-sticks, dandy canes, and hunting-whips were huddled together in one corner of that bureau. And yet all the confusion of these various and discrepant objects was so regular in appearance, if the phrase can be understood, that it seemed as if some cunning hand had purposely arranged them all so as to strike the eye in a manner calculated to encourage the impression that this elegant boudoir was inhabited by a man of strange feminine tastes, or a woman of extraordinary masculine ones. There was no pompous nor gorgeous display of wealth in this boudoir. Its interior, like that of the whole villa throughout, denoted competence and ease, elegance and taste, but no useless luxury, nor profuse expenditure. The window of the boudoir was half open. A bowl of crystal water, containing gold and silver fish, stood upon a table in the recess of the casement. The chirrup of the birds echoed through the room, which was perfumed with the odor of sweet flowers. By the wall facing the window stood a French bed, on the head and foot of which fell pink satin curtains, flowing from a gilt-headed arrow fixed near the ceiling. It was now nine o'clock, and the sun shared a flood of golden light through the half-open casement upon that couch which was so voluptuous and so downy. A female of great beauty, and apparently about five and twenty years of age, was reading in that bed. Her head reposed upon her hand, and her elbow upon the pillow, and that hand was buried in a mass of luxuriant light chestnut hair, which flowed down upon her back, her shoulders, and her bosom, but not so as altogether to conceal the polished ivory whiteness of the plump, fair flesh. The admirable slope of the shoulders, the swan-like neck, and the exquisite symmetry of the bust, were described even amidst those masses of luxuriant and shining hair. A high and ample forehead, hazel eyes, nose perfectly straight, small but pouting lips, brilliant teeth, and a well-rounded chin, were additional charms to augment the attractions of that delightful picture. The whole scene was one of soft voluptuousness. The birds, the flowers, the vars of golden silver fish, the tasteful arrangements of the boudoir, the French bed, and the beautiful creature who reclined in that couch, her head supported upon the well-turned and polished arm, the dazzling whiteness of which no envious sleeve concealed. From time to time the eyes of that sweet creature were raised from the book and thrown around the room in a manner that denoted, if not mental anxiety, at least a state of mind not completely at ease. Now and then, too, a cloud passed over that brow which seemed the very throne of innocence and candour, and a sigh agitated the breast which the sunbeams covered as if it were with kisses. Presently the door was opened softly, and an elderly female, well but simply dressed, and of placid and reserved aspect, entered the room. Mr. Stevens is below, said the servant. I told him you had not risen yet, and he says he will await your convenience. I know not how it is, exclaimed the lady impatiently, but I never felt less disposed for the visit of him whom I regard as my benefactor. Ah, Louisa! she added, a cloud overspreading her entire countenance. I feel as if one of those dreadful attacks of despondency, one of those fearful fits of alarm and foreboding, of pre-sentiment of evil were coming on, and— Pray calm yourself, interrupted the servant, speaking in a kind and imploring tone. Remember that the very walls have ears, that a word spoken in too higher tone may betray your secret, and heaven alone knows what would be the result of such an appalling discovery. Yes, it is that horrible mystery, ejaculated the lady, which fills me with the most acute apprehensions, compelled to sustain a constant cheat, to feel that I am a living, a breathing, a moving falsehood, a walking lie, forced to crush all the natural amenities, I, and even the amiable weaknesses of my sex, governed by an imperious necessity against which it is now impossible to rebel. How can I do otherwise than experience moments of unutterable anguish? You must still have patience, patience for only a few months, three short months, and the result of all the suspense, the end of all this anxiety, will be no doubt as advantageous, as immensely important and beneficial as we are led to believe. True, we are bound to believe a man who seems so serious in all his actions with regard to me, said the lady, after a short pause, during which she seemed to be wrapped up in a deep reverie. But why does he keep me in the dark with regard to the true nature of that grand result? Why does he not trust me, who have placed such unbounded, such implicit confidence in him? He is afraid, lest an unguarded moment on your part should betray what he assures us to be of the most vital, the last importance, answered the domestic, in a kindly remonstrative tone. And really, my dearest girl, she added affectionately, pardon me for calling you so. Ah, Louisa, you are my dearest friend, said the lady energetically. You, and you alone have supported my courage during the four-and-a-half years that this horrible deceit has already lasted your kindness. I have only done my duty, and acted as my heart dictated, mildly replied the female dependent. But as I was observing, you were so very imprudent as it is, and can you expect that Mr. Stevens will reveal to you the minute details of a scheme which imprudent, hastily exclaimed the lady. How am I imprudent? Do I not follow all his directions, all your advice? Have I not even learned to talk to the very groom in his own language about the horses and the dogs? And do I not scamper across the country, upon my chestnut mare, with him following upon the bay-horse at my heels, as if we were both mad? And then you say that I am imprudent, when I have done all I can to sustain the character which I have assumed. And, with the exception of these rides, how seldom do I go abroad? Half a dozen names include all my acquaintances, and no one—no one ever comes here. This is indeed a hermit's dwelling. How can you say that I am imprudent? Without going out of this very room, began Louisa, with a smile, I could— Ah, the eternal remonstrances against these habilments of my sex, exclaimed the lady, drawing back the satin curtain at the head of the bed, with her snow-white arm, and glancing towards the bureau which contained the female dresses. Ever those remonstrances! Alas! I should die! I could not support this appalling deceit, were I not to gratify my woman's feelings from time to time. Do you think that I can altogether rebel against nature, and not experience the effects? And, in occasionally soothing my mind with the occupation's natural to my sex, have I ever been imprudent? When I have dressed my hair as it should ever be dressed, when I have put on one of those silk or muslin robes merely to see myself reflected in my mirror. And, oh, what a pardonable vanity under such circumstances! Have I ever been imprudent enough to set foot outside this retreat, this boudoir, to which you alone are ever admitted? Do I ever dress with the blinds of the windows raised? No. I have done all that human being can do to support my spirits during the sad trial, and sustain the character I have assumed. But, if it be desired that I should altogether forget my sex, and cling to the garb of a man, if I may never, not even for an hour in the evening, follow my fantasy, and relieve my mind by resuming the garb which is natural to me, within these four walls, unseen by a soul, save you. Yes, yes, you shall have your way, interrupted Louisa soothingly. But Mr. Stevens awaits. Will you not rise and see him? It is my duty, said the lady, resignedly. He has surrounded me with every comfort and every luxury which appetite can desire or money procure, and, however he may ultimately benefit by this proceeding, in the meantime my gratitude is due to him. The delicacy of his conduct towards you equals his liberality, observed Louisa pointedly. Yes, notwithstanding the peculiarity of our relative position, not a word, not a look disrespectful towards me from the first moment of our acquaintance. He faithfully adheres to his portion of the contract, and I will as religiously observe mine. You speak wisely and consistently, said Louisa, and the result of your honourable conduct towards Mr. Stevens will no doubt be a recompense which will establish your fortunes for life. That hope sustains me. Oh, how happy, thrice happy shall I be, when, the period of my emancipation being arrived, I may escape to some distant part of my own country, or to some foreign climb, resume the garb belonging to my sex, and live in a way consistent with nature, and suitable to my taste. It is in anticipation of those golden moments that I from time to time retire into the impenetrable mystery of this boudoir, and dress myself in the garb which I love, and which is my own. And when that Elysian age shall come, oh, how shall I divert to my mind, with a retrospection upon these long, weary weeks and months, during which I have been compelled to study habits opposed to my taste and feeling, to affect a love of horses and dogs, that a manly predilection may avert attention from a feminine countenance, and to measure each word that falls from my lips, to study each attitude which my form assumes, and to relinquish pursuits and occupations which my mind adores. The lady threw herself back upon her pillow, and gave way to a delicious reverie. Louisa did not attempt to disturb her for some minutes. At length she murmured something about, keeping Mr. Stephen's waiting rather longer than usual. And her mistress, acting by a sudden impulse, rose from her couch. Then followed the mysterious toilet. Stays curiously contrived, gave to that exquisitely modelled form, as much as possible, the appearance of the figure of a man. The swell of the bosom, slightly compressed, was rendered scarcely apparent by padding skillfully placed, so as to fill up and flatten the undulating bust. The position of the waist was lowered, and all this was affected without causing the subject of so strange a transformation, any pain or uneasiness. The semi-military blue frock coat, buttons up to the throat, completed the disguise. And as this species of garment is invariably somewhat prominent about the chest, the very fashion of its make materially aided and effectual concealment, by averting surprise of the gentle protuberance of the breast in the present instance. Louisa arranged the luxuriant and flowing hair with particular attention, bestowing as much as possible a masculine appearance upon that which would have been a covering worthy of a queen. The toilet being thus completed, this strange being to whom we have introduced our readers, descended to a parlor on the ground floor. When Louisa left the boudoir, she carefully locked the door and consigned the key to her pocket. End of Chapter 7. Chapter 8 of The Mysteries of London. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. The Mysteries of London, by George W. M. Reynolds. Chapter 8. The Conversation. The parlor, which that lovely and mysterious creature, who now seemed a youth of about twenty, entered upon the ground floor, was furnished with taste and elegance. Everything was light, airy, and graceful. The windows were crowded with flowers that imparted a delicious perfume to the atmosphere, and afforded a picture upon which the eye rested with pleasure. A recess was fitted up with book-shelves, which were supplied with the productions of the best poets and novelists of England and France. Around the walls were suspended several paintings, chiefly consisting of sporting subjects. Over the mantle, however, were two miniatures, executed in watercolours, in the first style of the art, and representing the one, a lovely youth of sixteen, the other a beautiful girl of twenty. And never was resemblance more striking. The same soft and intelligent hazel eyes, the same light hair, luxurious and silky and shining, the same straight nose, the same vermilion lips, and well-turned chin. At a glance it was easy to perceive that they were brother and sister, and as the countenance of the former was remarkably feminine and delicate, the likeness between them was the more striking. Beneath the miniature of the brother, in small guilt letters upon the enameled frame, was the word Walter. Under the portrait of the sister was the name Eliza. Attired as she now was, the mysterious being whom we have introduced to our readers perfectly resembled the portrait of Walter. Attired as she ought to have been, consistently with her sex, she would have been the living original of the portrait of Eliza. Upon a sofa in the parlour, some of the leading features of which we have just described, a man dressed with great neatness, but no ostentatious display, was lounging. He was, in reality, not more than three or four and thirty years of age, although a seriousness of countenance, either admirably studied, or else occasioned by habits of business and mental combination, made him appear ten years older. He was handsome, well-formed, and excessively courteous and fascinating in his manners. But, when he was alone, or not engaged in conversation, he seemed plunged in deep thought, as if his brain were working upon numerous plans and schemes of mighty and vital import. The moment the heroine of the bootwire entered the parlour, Mr. Stevens, for he was the individual whom we have just described, rose and accosted her in a manner expressive of kindness, respect, and patronage. My dear Walter, he exclaimed, it is really an age since I have seen you, six weeks have elapsed, and I have not been near you, but you received my letter, stating that I was compelled to proceed to Paris upon most particular business? Yes, my dear sir, answered the lady, or in order that some name may in future characterise her we will call her Walter, or Mr. Walter Sydney, for that was indeed the appellation by which she was known. Yes, my dear sir, I received your letter, and the handsome presence and remittances accompanying it. For each and all I return you my sincere thanks. But really, with regard to money, you were far too lavish towards me. Remember that I scarcely have any opportunity of being extravagant, added Walter, with a smile. For I scarcely ever stir abroad, save to take my daily rides, and you know that I never receive company, that my acquaintances are limited—so limited. I know, my dear Walter, that you follow my advice as closely as can be expected, said Mr. Stevens. Three short months more, and my object will be achieved. We shall then be, both of us, above the reach of fortunes, caprices, and vicissitudes. Oh, how glorious! How grand will be this achievement! How well worth all the sacrifices that I have required you to make! Ah, my dear sir! observed Walter, somewhat reproachfully. You must remember that you are now talking enigmas to me, that I am at present only a blind instrument in your hands, a mere machine, an automaton. Do not press me upon this head, Walter," interrupted Mr. Stevens hastily. You must not, as yet, be led to comprehend the magnitude of my views. You must have patience. Surely I have given you ample proofs of my good feeling and my honourable views towards yourself. Only conceive what would be your present position without me—not a relation, not a friend in the wide world to aid or protect you. I do not say this to vaunt my own conduct. I am merely advancing arguments to prove how confident I am in the success of my plans, and how sincere I am in my friendship towards you. For remember, Walter, I always forget your sex. I only look upon you as a mere boy, a nephew, or a son whom I love. Such is my feeling. I am more than a friend. For, I repeat, I feel a paternal attachment towards you. And I entertain feelings of deep, yes, of the deepest gratitude towards you, said Walter. But the motive of my constant intercession to be admitted more into your confidence is to be convinced, by my own knowledge, that my present conduct tends to facilitate no dishonest, no dangerous views. Oh! you will pardon me when I say this, for there are times when I am afraid of the most horrible alarms, when fears of an indescribable nature haunt me for hours together, and when I seem to be walking blindfold upon the brink of an abyss. Walter, I am surprised that you should thus give way to suspicion's most insurious to my honour, said Mr. Stevens, whose countenance remained perfectly collected and unchanged. For the hundredth time do I assure you that you have nothing to fear. Then wherefore this disguise? Why this constant cheat relative to my sex? Why this permanent deception? demanded Walter, in an impassioned tone. Cannot the most rigorous honesty be connected with the most profound prudence, the most delicate caution, said Mr. Stevens, adopting an attitude and manner of persuasion. Do not judge of motives by their mere superficial aspect, strange devices, but not the less honourable for being singular are frequently required in the world to defeat designs of infamy and baseness. Pardon my scepticism, said Walter, apparently convinced by this reasoning. I was wrong, very wrong to suspect you. I will not again urge my anxiety to penetrate your secrets. I feel persuaded that you conceal the means by which our mutual prosperity is to be affected simply for my own good. Now, you speak rationally, my dear, my faithful and confiding Walter, exclaimed Mr. Stevens. It was just in this vein that I was anxious to find you, for I have an important communication to make this morning. Speak! I am ready to follow your instructions or advice. I must inform you, Walter, that in order effectually to work out my plans, in order that there should not exist the slightest chance of failure, a third person is required. It will be necessary that he should be conversant with our secret, he must know all, and, of course, he must be taken care of hereafter. To be brief, I have already fallen in with the very individual who will suit me, and I have acquainted him with the entire matter. You will not object to receive him occasionally as a guest? My dear sir, how can I object? Is not this your house, and am not I in your hands? You know that you can command me in all respects. I thought that you would meet my views with this readiness and goodwill, said Mr. Stevens. To tell you the real truth, then, I have taken the liberty of inviting him to dine with us here this day. Today? Yes. Are you annoyed? Oh, not at all. Only the preparations. Do not alarm yourself. While you were occupied with your toilet, I gave the necessary instructions to the cook. The old woman is almost blind and deaf. Still she knows full well how to serve up a tempting repast. And as I am believed by your three servants to be your guardian, my interference in this respect will not have appeared strange. How could they think otherwise? ejaculated Walter. Did not you provide those dependents who surround me? Do they not look upon you as their master, as well as myself? Are they not aware that the villa is your own property? And have they not been led to believe, with the exception of Louisa, who alone of the three knows the secret, that the state of my health compelled you to place me here for the benefit of a purer heir than that which your residence in the city affords? Well, since my arrangements meet with your satisfaction, said Mr. Stevens, smiling, I am satisfied. But I should tell you that I invited my friend Hither not only to dine, but also to pass the day that we might have an opportunity of conversing together at our leisure. Indeed, added Mr. Stevens, looking at his watch, I expect him here every moment, scarcely were the words uttered, when a loud knock at the front door echoed through the house. In a few minutes Louisa appeared and introduced Mr. Montague. End of Chapter 8 George Montague was a tall, good-looking young man, of about three or four and twenty. His hair and eyes were black, his complexion rather dark, and his features perfectly regular. His manners were certainly polished and agreeable. But there was nevertheless a something reserved and mysterious about him, and anxiety to avert the conversation away from any topic connected with himself, a studied desire to flatter and gain the good opinions of those about him, by means of compliments at times servile, and an occasional betrayal of a belief in a code of morals not altogether consistent with the well-being of society, which constituted features in his character by no means calculated to render him a favourite with all classes of persons. He was, however, well informed upon most topics, ambitious of creating a sensation in the world, no matter by what means, resolute in his pursuit after wealth, and careless whether the paths leading to the objects which he sought were tortuous or straightforward. He was addicted to pleasure, but never permitted it to interfere with his business or my his schemes. Love with him was merely the blandishment of beauty, and friendship was simply that bond which connected him with those individuals who were necessary to him. He was utterly and completely selfish, but he was somehow or another possessed of sufficient tact to conceal most of his faults, of the existence of which he was well aware. The consequence was that he was usually welcomed as an agreeable companion, some even went so far as to assert that he was a devilish good fellow, and all admitted that he was a thorough man of the world. He must have commenced his initiation early, thus to have acquired such a character, ere he had completed his four-and-twentieth year. London abounds with such precocious specimens of thorough heartlessness and worldly mindedness. The universities and great public schools let loose upon society every half year a cloud of young men who think only how soon they can spend their own property in order to prey upon that of others. These are your young men about town. As they grow older, they become men upon the town. In their former capacity they graduate in all the degrees of vice, dissipation, extravagance, and debauchery, and in the latter they become the tutors of the novices who are entering in their turn upon the road to ruin. The transition from the young man about town to the man upon the town is as natural as that of a chrysalis to a butterfly. These men upon the town constitute as pestilential a section of male society, as the women of the town do, of the female portion of the community. They are alike the reptiles produced by the great moral dung-heap. We cannot, however, exactly class Mr George Montague with the man upon the town in the true meaning of the phrase, inasmuch as he devoted his attention to commercial speculations of all kinds and under all shapes, and his sphere was chiefly the city, whereas men upon the town seldom entertain an idea huff so vulgar as mercantile pursuits, and never visit the domains of the Lord Mayor, save when they want to get a bill discounted, or to obtain cash for a check of too large an amount to be entrusted to any of their high-born and aristocratic companions. Mr George Montague was, therefore, one of that multitudinous class called city-men, who possess no regular offices, but have their letters addressed to the auction-mart or garrowways, and who make their appointments at such places as the front of the bank, the custom-house wharf, and under the clock at the docks. City-men are very extraordinary characters. They all know a certain speculation that would make a sure fortune if one had but the capital to work on. They never fail to observe, while making this assertion, that they could apply to a friend if they chose, but that they do not choose to lay themselves under the obligation, and they invariably affirm that nothing is more easy than to make a fortune in the city, although the greater portion of them remain without that happy consummation until the day of their deaths. Now and then, however, one of these city-men does succeed in making a hit by some means or other, and then his old friends, the very men who are constantly enunciating the opinion relative to the faculty with which fortunes are obtained in the city, look knowing, wink at each other, and declare that it never could have been done unless he had somebody with plenty of money to back him. Now, Mr. Montague was one of those who adopted a better system of logic than the vulgar reasoning. He knew there was but little merit in producing bread from flour, for instance, but he perceived that there was immense credit due to those who could produce their bread without any flour at all. Upon this principle he acted, and his plan was not unattended with success. He scorned the idea that money was necessary to beget money. He began his city-career, as he sometimes observed, without a farthing, and he was seldom without gold in his pocket. No one knew where he lived. He was sometimes seen getting into a hackney omnibus at the flower-pot, a camberwell one at the cross-keys, or running furiously after a hammersmith one along Cheapside. But, as these directions were very opposite, it was difficult to deduce from them any idea of his domiciliary whereabouts. He was young to be a city-man. The class does not often include members under thirty, but, of course, there are exceptions to all rules, and Mr. George Montague was one. He was, then, a city-man, but if the reader be anxious to know what sort of business he transacted to obtain his living, whether he dabbled in the funds, sold wines upon commission, affected loans and discounts, speculated in shares, got up joint-stock companies, shipped goods to the colonies, purchased land in Australia at eighteen pence an acre, and sold it again at one and nine, conducted compromises for insolvent tradesmen, made out the accounts of bankrupts, arbitrated between partners who disagreed, or bought in things in a friendly way at public sales. Whether he followed any of these pursuits or meddled a little with them all, we can no more satisfy our readers than if we attempted the biography of the man in the moon. All we can say is that he was invariably in the city from eleven till four, that he usually had an excellent thing in hand just at that moment, and, in a word, that he belonged to the class-denominated city-man. We have taken some pains to describe this gentleman for reasons which will appear hereafter. Having duly been introduced to Walter Sydney by Mr. Stevens, and after a few observations of a general nature, Mr. Montague glided almost imperceptibly into topics upon which he conversed with ease and fluency. Presently a pause ensued, and Mr. Stevens inquired, if there was anything new in the city. Nothing particular, answered Montague. I have not, of course, been in town this morning, but I was not away until late last night. I had a splendid thing in hand which I succeeded in bringing to a favourable termination. By the by there was a rumour on change yesterday afternoon, just before the close, that Alderman Dumkins is all wrong. "'Indeed,' said Stevens, I thought he was wealthy. Oh, no! I knew the contrary eighteen months ago. It appears he has been starting a joint stock company to work the Ur-Kalat tin mines in Cornwall. And I suppose the mines do not really exist?' "'Oh, yes they do, upon his maps. However, he has been exhibiting certain specimens of tin, which he has passed off as Ur-Kalat produce, and it is now pretty generally known that the article was supplied to him by a house in Aldgate. Then he will be compelled to resign his gown?' Not he. On the contrary, he stands next in rotation for the honours of the civic chair, and he intends to go boldly forward as if nothing had happened. You must remember that the older men of the city of London have degenerated considerably in respectability during late years, and that none of the really influential and wealthy men in the city will have anything to do with the corporation affairs. You'll not see any great banker nor merchant wearing the Oldermanic gown. The only Alderman who really possessed what may be called a large fortune, and whose pecuniary opposition was above all doubt, resigned his gown the other day in disgust at the treatment which he received from his brother authorities, in consequence of his connection with the weekly courier, the only newspaper that boldly, fearlessly, and effectively advocates the people's cause. And Dumpkin will not resign, you think? Oh, decidedly not. But for my part, added Montague, I feel convinced that the sooner some change is made in the city administration, the better. Only conceive the immense sums which the corporation receives from various sources and the uses to which they are applied. Look at the beastly guzzling at Guildhall, while there are in the very heart of the city orgy and stables of filth, crime and debauchery to be cleansed, witness Petticoat Lane, Smithfield. A species of groan or stifled exclamation of horror issued from the lips of Walter, as Montague uttered these words. Her countenance grew deadly pale, and her entire frame appeared to rise under a most painful reminiscence or emotion. Compose yourself, compose yourself, said Stevens hastily. Shall I ring for a glass of water, or wine, or anything? No, it is past, interrupted Walter Sydney. But I never think of that horrible, that of pawling adventure, without feeling my blood curdle in my veins, the mere mention of the word Smithfield. Could I have been indiscreet enough to give utterance to anything calculated to annoy? said Montague, who was surprised at this scene. You were not aware of the reminiscence you awoke in my mind by your remark? answered Walter, smiling. But where you acquainted with the particulars of that fearful night, you would readily excuse my weakness. You have excited Mr. Montague's curiosity, observed Stevens, and you have now nothing to do but gratify it. It is an adventure of a most romantic kind, an adventure which you will scarcely believe, and yet one which will make your hair stand on end. I am now most anxious to learn the details of this mysterious occurrence, said Montague, scarcely knowing whether these remarks were made in jest or in earnest. Walter Sydney appeared to reflect for a few moments, and then commenced the narrative in the following manner. It is now a little more than four years ago, very shortly after I first arrived at this house, that I rode into town, attended by the same groom who is in my service now. I knew little or nothing of the city, and felt my curiosity awakened to view the emporium of the world's commerce. I accordingly determined to indulge in a ramble by myself, amidst the streets and thoroughfares of a place of which such marvellous accounts reach those who pass their youth in the country. I left the groom with the horses at a livery stable in Bishopgate Street, with a promise to return in the course of two or three hours. I then roved about to my heart's content, and never gave the lapse of time a thought. Evening came, and the weather grew threatening. Then commenced my perplexities. I had forgotten the address of the stables where the groom awaited my return, and I discovered the pleasing fact that I had lost my way just at the moment when an awful storm seemed ready to break over the metropolis. When I solicited information concerning the right path which I should pursue, I was insulted by the low child to whom I applied. To be brief, I was overtaken by darkness and by the storm, in a place which I have since ascertained to be Smithfield Market. I could not have conceived that so filthy and horrible nuisance could have been allowed to exist in the midst of a city of so much wealth. But, oh! the revolting streets which branch all from that Smithfield! It seemed to me that I was wandering amongst all the haunts of crime and appalling penury of which I had read in romances, but which I never could have believed to exist in the very heart of the metropolis of the world. Civilisation appeared to me to have chosen particular places which it condescended to visit, and to have passed others by without even leaving a footprint to denote its presence. But this horrible adventure! said Montague. Oh! forgive my digression! Surrounded by darkness, exposed to the rage of the storm, and actually sinking with fatigue, I took refuge in an old house which I am sure I could never find again, but which was situated nearly at the end and on the right-hand side of the way of one of those vile narrow streets branching off from Smithfield. That house was the den of wild beasts in human shape. I was compelled to hear a conversation of a most appalling nature between two ruffians who made that place the depot for their plunder. They planned, amongst other atrocious topics, the robbery of a country seat, somewhere to the north of Islington, and inhabited by a family of the name of Markham. Indeed, what? How strange! ejaculated Montague. Then immediately afterwards he added, how singular that you should have overheard so vile a scheme. Oh! those villains, continued Walter, were capable of crimes of a far deeper dye. They discussed horror upon horror till I thought that I was going raving mad. I made a desperate attempt to escape and was perceived. What then immediately followed, I know not, for I became insensible. In a word, Mr. Montague, I fainted. A deep blush suffused her countenance as she made this avowal, for it seemed to have a direct relation to her sex, and she was well aware that the secret connected therewith had been revealed by her benefactor to George Montague. On his part he gazed upon her with mingled interest and admiration. I awoke to encounter a scene of horror, she continued, after a short pause, which you must fancy but the full extent of which I cannot depict. I can only feel it even now. Those wretches were conveying me to a room upon the ground floor, a room to which the cells of the Bastille or the Inquisition could have produced no equal. It had a trap door communicating with the fleet-ditch. I begged for mercy, I promised wealth, for I knew that my kind benefactor—she added, glancing towards Mr. Stevens—would have enabled me to fulfil my pledge to them, but all was in vain. The murderers hurled me down the dark and pestiferous hole. Massive all heavens! ejaculated Montague. It would appear that the house in question, proceeded Walter, stood upon the side of and not over the ditch. There can be, however, no doubt, that the trap door was contrived for the horrible purpose of disposing of those victims who fell into the merciless hands of the occupants of the dwelling, for when I had fallen some distance, instead of being immersed in black and filthy mud, I was caught upon a sloping plank which shelved towards a large aperture in the wall of the ditch. I instinctively clung to this plank, and lay stretched upon it for some moments, until I had partially recovered my presence of mind. The circumstance of having thus escaped a dreadful death gave me an amount of courage, of which I myself was astonished. At length I began to reason whether it would be better to remain there until morning, and then endeavour to reach the trap door above my head, or to devise some means of immediate escape. I decided upon the latter proceeding, for I reflected that the morning would not afford light to that subterranean hole to enable me to act with certainty, and I, moreover, dreaded the extreme vengeance of those ruffians who had already given me a sample of their brutality, should I happen to encounter them on emerging from the trap door. Lastly, I considered that it was also probable that I might not succeed in raising the trap door after all. What a fearful situation, observed Montague. Horrible even to think of, added Stevens, who listened with the deepest attention to this narrative, although he had heard it related on former occasions. With my hands and legs I groped about, continued Walter, and I speedily ascertained my exact position with regard to the locality. My feet were close to a large square aperture in the Perkvendicular Wall overhanging the ditch, and the floor of the cellar was only a couple of feet below the aperture. I accordingly got cautiously off the board, and stood upon the damp ground. After the lapse of several minutes, during which I nerved myself to adopt the idea that it struck me, I passed my head through the aperture, and looked out over the ditch. The stream appeared rapid, to judge by its gurgling sound, and the stench that exhaled from it was pestiferous in the extreme. Turning my head to the left, I saw hundreds of lights twinkling in the narrow windows of two lines of houses that overhung the ditch. The storm had now completely passed away, the rain had ceased, and the night was clear and beautiful. In a few minutes I was perfectly acquainted with the entire geography of the place. The means of escape were within my reach. About three feet above the aperture through which I was now looking, a plank crossed the ditch, and on the opposite side, for the ditch in that part was not above two yards wide from wall to wall, was a narrow ledge running along the side of the house facing the one in which I was, and evidently communicating with some lane or street close by. I can scarcely tell you how I contrived to creep through the aperture and reach the plank overhead. Nevertheless, I attempted the dangerous feat, and I accomplished it. I crossed the plank and reached the ledge of which I have spoken. It terminated in the very street where stood the terrible den from which I had just so miraculously escaped. Indeed, I emerged upon that street only at a distance of a few yards from the door of that detestable place. To hurry away in a contrary direction was my first and most natural impulse, but I had not proceeded far when the door of a house was suddenly thrown violently open, and outpoured a crowd of men and women, among whom I was, as it were, immediately hemmed in. What! Another adventure! exclaimed Montague. One calculated to inspire feelings of deep disgust, if not of alarm, answered Walter. It appeared that two women had been quarrelling and had turned out to fight. They fell upon each other like wildcats, or as you would fancy that tigers would fight. A clear and lovely moon lighted this revolting scene. A circle was formed around the termigants, and for ten minutes did they lacerate themselves with fists and nails in a fearful manner. Their clothes were torn into ribbons, their countenances were horribly disfigured with scratches, their blood poured from their noses, and their hair, hanging all dishevelled over their naked shoulders, gave them a wild ferocious and savage appearance, such as I could never have expected to encounter in the metropolis of the civilised world. And in the very heart of the city, added Mr. Montague. Suddenly a cry of the blue bottles was raised, and the crowd, belligerents and all, rushed pale-male back again into the house. In spite of all my endeavours to escape, I was hurried in with that hideous mob of ferocious-looking men and brazen-faced women. In a few moments I found myself in a large room, in which there were at least thirty wretched beds huddled close together, and so revoltingly dirty that the cold pavement or a hedge-side would have seemed a more preferable couch. And oh! how can I describe the inmates of that den, many of whom were crowding round a fire-cooking preventer, which filled the place with a sickening and most fetid odour? There were young girls almost naked, without shoes or stockings, and whose sunken cheeks, dimmed eyes, and miserable attire contrasted strangely with their boisterous mirth. Some of these unfortunate creatures, nevertheless, retained traces of original beauty, prematurely faded. The men were hatless and shoeless. Indeed, the entire assembly consisted of males and females, evidently of the most wretched description. Scarcely had I time to cast a glance around me, when I was questioned as to how I came there, what I wanted, and whether I meant to stand anything. I'll tell you what it is, said one to his companions. He's a swell who has come to have a look at these kinds of cribs, and he must pay his footing. I immediately comprehended the nature of the impression which my presence had created, and presented the individual who had spoken with a couple of half-crowns. The sight of the money produced an immense feeling in my favour. Heaven only knows how many gallons of beer were fetched from a neighbouring public-house, and when the inmates of that Lazar house, for I can scarcely call it anything else, had all partaken of the liquor, I was overwhelmed with offers of service. One declared that if I merely came to see the neighbourhood, he would take me round to every place in the street. Another assured me that if I had committed a forgery, or any other genteel crime, he would either help me till I secure until the matter had blown over, or to escape from the country, and so on. I suffered the wretches to retain the impression that curiosity alone had led me thither, and as soon as I had made this announcement the mistress of the house was summoned to do the honours of the establishment. A blear-eyed old chrome made her appearance, and insisted upon showing me over the house. These rooms, said she, meaning the two upon the ground floor, are for those who can afford to pay three pence for their bed, and who have suppered a cook. We then ascended to the first floor. These are the four penny beds, said the old woman, pointing with pride and satisfaction to some thirty or forty couches, a shade cleaner, and the least thing further off from each other than those downstairs. The rooms on the first floor were also filled with lodges, and another demand was made upon my purse. On the third floor, and in the attics, were the most horrible scenes of wretchedness which I had yet beheld. These dens were filled with straw-beds, separated from each other only by pieces of plank, about eight or ten inches in height. Men, women, and children were all crowded together, sleeping pal-mel. Oh, it was a horrible, horrible spectacle! To be brief, I escaped from that moral plague-house, and in a few moments was traversing Smithfield once more. Even the tainted air of that filthy enclosure was refreshing, after the foul atmosphere from which I had just emerged. Louisa entered the room at this moment, to announce that luncheon was prepared in another apartment. And you never took any steps to root out that nest of villains in the old house, once you escaped alive so miraculously, said Montague, sipping a glass of exquisite wine after his luncheon. I wrote two anonymous letters the very next morning, answered Walter. One to Mr. Markham, warning him of the contemplated burglary at his house, and another to the Lord Mayor of London. It did not altogether suit Mr. Stephen's plans. No, not to make a fuss about an affair which would have been sure to bring your name into notoriety, added this gentleman hastily. That adventure has no doubt given you a distaste for late rambles, said Montague. In the city, decidedly so, was the reply. I seldom go into London early or late. I have so few inducements, so few acquaintances. By the way, a few evenings go I treated myself to a visit to the opera, and there accident threw me into conversation with a gentleman and lady, who sat in the same box as myself. The result was an invitation to the abode of the lady, a Mrs. Arlington. Mrs. Arlington, ejaculated Montague, a slight flush animating his countenance. The same. She is the friend of Sir Rupert Habra. I am anxious to see something of the world now and then, and to avail myself of my present garb for that purpose. I accordingly called upon Mrs. Arlington last evening, and learnt a lesson of life. I saw an elegant woman, a baronet, a fashionable gentleman, and a very interesting young man, associating with a vulgar wretch of the name, I believe, of Talbot, whose manners would have disgraced a groom. I must, however, observe that the interesting young gentleman to whom I allude did not seem to be more pleased with the conversation and conduct of this vulgarian than myself. One coincidence, somewhat extraordinary, occurred. That same interesting young man was no other than Mr. Richard Markham, one of the sons of— Ah, indeed! House Singular! exclaimed George Montague, not waiting till Walter finished his sentence. Very Singular! he added then. Having tossed off a bumper of Madeira, he walked up to the window, where he affected to inhale with delight the exquisite fragrance of the flowers that adorned the casement. CHAPTER X. THE FRAILONE'S NARRATIVE. We must now return to Richard Markham. Sir Rupert Harborough and the Honourable Arthur Chichester apparently took a very great fancy to him, for they were constantly making appointments to meet him in town, and hastening to his own house to ferret him out when he did not appear at their usual place of rendezvous. He dined at least three times a week at Mrs. Arlington's, and, to confess the truth, his morning calls were repeated at intervals which gradually grew shorter and shorter. Richard thus frequently passed hours together alone with Diana. In spite of himself, he now and then suffered his eyes to rest tenderly upon her countenance, and by degrees her glances encountered his, and were not immediately withdrawn. Those glances were so languishing, and were also melancholy, that they inspired Richard with a passion amounting almost to a delirium, and he felt at times, as if he could have caught that beautyous creature in his arms, and clasped her rapturously to his bosom. One morning, as he took leave of her, he fancied that her hand gently pressed his own. The idea filled him with a joy till then unknown, and which he could not describe even to himself. On the following morning he called a little earlier than usual. Diana was in a delicious ce-s'habillé, which set off her voluptuous person to its greatest advantage. Richard was more tender than usual, the enchantress more enchanting. They were seated upon the sofa together, and a pause in their conversation ensued. Richard heaved a deep sigh, and suddenly exclaimed, I am always thinking of the period when I must bid adieu to your charming society. Bid adieu! cried Diana, and wherefore? It must happen, sooner or later, that our ways in the world will be different. Then you are not your own master? asked Diana, inquiringly. Certainly I am, but all friends must part some time or another. True, said Diana. Then, in a subdued tone, she added, there are certain persons who are attracted towards each other by kindred feelings and emotions, and it is painful, very painful for them to part. Heavens, Diana, ejaculated Richard. You feel as I do. She turned her face towards him, her cheeks were suffused in blushes, and her eyes were filled with tears. But through these tears, she cast upon him a glance which ravished his inmost soul. It seemed fraught with love and tenderness, and inspired him with emotions which he had never known before. The words, you feel as I do, contained the ingenuous and unsophisticated avowal of a new passion on the part of a mind that was, as yet, unskilled in the ways of this world, as the unfledged bird in the nest of its mother is ignorant of the green woods. But those tears which stood in the lady's eyes, and the blushes which dyed her cheeks, and the glance which, like a sunbeam in the midst of an April shower, she darted upon the youth at her side, inspired him with courage, awakened undefined hopes, and filled him with an ecstasy of joy. Why do you weep, Diana? Why do you weep? You love me, Richard, she replied, turning her melting blue eyes fully upon him, and retaining them for some moments fixed upon his countenance. You love me, and I feel, I know that I am not worthy of your affection. Richard started, as if he was suddenly aroused from a dream, as if he had abruptly awoke to a stern truth from a pleasing vision. He suffered her hand which he had taken in his to fall from his grasp, and for some moments he remained buried in a profound reverie. I knew that I should remind you of your duty towards yourself, said Diana, bitterly. No, I am not worthy of you. But that you may hereafter give me credit for frankness and candour, that you may be actually warned by myself against myself, that you may learn to esteem me as a friend, if you will. I shall, in a few words, relate to the incidents that made me what I am. Proceed, said Richard, proceed, believe me I shall listen with attention, with the greatest attention. My father was a retired tradesman, began Mrs. Arlington, and as I was his only child, and he enjoyed a competency, he gave me the best education that money could procure. Probably the good old man made up his mind that I should one day espouse a nobleman, and as my mother had died when I was very young, there was no one near me to correct the vanity with which my father's adulation and ambitious pretensions inspired me. About three years ago I met at the theatre, wither I went with some friends, a young gentleman, tall, handsome, and fascinating like yourself. He contrived to obtain a formal introduction to my father, and was invited to our house, at which he speedily became a constant visitor. He had a happy tact in suiting his humours or tastes to those with whom he came in contact, and he quite won my father's heart by playing chess with him, telling him the news of the city, and reading the evening paper to him. George Montague soon became an established favourite, and my father could do nothing without him. At length Montague proposed to him certain speculations in the funds. My father was allured by the prospect of quadrupling his capital, and consented. I must confess that the young man's handsome person had produced a certain effect upon me, a giddy young girl as I was at that time, and I rather encouraged my father in these schemes than otherwise. At first the speculations were eminently successful, but in a short time they took a turn. Day after day did Montague come to the house to announce fresh losses, and the necessity of further advances. He declared that he should now speculate for a grand stake which could not fail shortly to turn to his advantage. A species of infatuation seized upon my father, and I was not aware of the ruinous course he was pursuing until it was too late. At length my father was totally ruined, and George came to announce to us the failure of our last chance. My father now repented when it was too late. Eight short months had sufficed to dissipate his whole fortune. He had not even enough left to pay the few debts which he had contracted, and which he had neglected to liquidate, trusting each day to the arrival of the lucky moment when he should find himself the master of millions. Oh, the absurd hope! exclaimed Richard, deeply interested in this narrative. Alas! this event was a fatal blow to my father's health, at the same time that it wrecked his happiness, continued Diana. He implored Montague not to desert his darling child, for so he called me, in case anything should happen to himself. And that same day, the day on which he saw all his prospects and hopes in this life blasted, he put a period to his existence by means of poison. This was horrible! cried Markham. Oh, that villain Montague! My father's creditors came to seize the few effects which remained, said Diana, after a pause, and I was about to be turned houseless and unprotected into the streets when Montague arrived. He took gold from his pocket and satisfied the demands of the creditors. He, moreover, supplied me with money for my immediate wants. I was totally dependent upon him. I had no relations, no friends to whom I could apply for succor or comfort. He seemed to commiserate my position. Perhaps, observed Richard, he was not so very guilty, after all, relative to the loss of your father's property. Judge by the sequel, answered Diana, bitterly, he was as base as he was in reality unfeeling. The transition from that state of dependence upon a young man, to a more degraded one still, was to be expected. He no longer talked to me of marriage as he had once done, but he took advantage of my forlorn situation. I became his mistress. Ah! It was base! It was ungenerous! It was unmanly! ejaculated Richard. He seemed to be possessed of ample resources, but he accounted for this circumstance by assuring me that he had found another friend who was backing him in the same speculations in which my poor father had failed. We lived together for four months, and he then coolly informed me that we must part. I found that I had never really entertained any very sincere affection for him, and the little love which I experienced at first had been quenched in my bosom by his cold cruelty. He seemed unfeeling to a degree. Observations, calculated to wound most acutely, fell from his lips upon all occasions. The dastard, exclaimed Richard, profoundly touched by this recital. If I wept at this cruelty, he treated me with increased brutality. You may therefore suppose that I was not deeply distressed apart with him. He gave me twenty guineas and bade me a chilling farewell. From that moment I have neither seen nor heard of him. A few weeks after our separation my money was exhausted. I resolved to lead a virtuous and honourable life, and atone for my first fault. O God! I did not then know that society will not receive the penitent frail one, that society excludes poor, deceived women from all hopes of reparation, all chances of repentance. I endeavoured to obtain a situation as a governess. I might as well have attempted to make myself queen of England. Character, references, I had neither. Vanely did I implore one lady to whom I applied to give me a month's trial. She insulted me grossly. To another I candidly confessed my entire history. She patiently heard me to the end, and then ordered her lackey to turn me out of the house. Oh! society does more than punish. It pursues the unfortunate female who has made one false step with the most avenging and malignant cruelty. It hunts her to suicide or to new ways of crime. These are the dread alternatives. At that moment, had some friendly hand been stretched out to aid me, had I met with one kind heart that would have believed in the possibility of repentance, had I only been blessed with a chance of entering upon a career of virtue, I should have been saved. Yes, I should have redeemed my first fault, as far as redemption was possible. And to accomplish that aim, I would have worked my nails down to the very quick. I would have accepted any position, however menial. I would have made any sacrifice, enjoyed any lot. As long as I was assured of earning my bread in a manner which need not make me blush. But society treated me with contempt. Why, in this Christian country, do they preach the Christian maxim, that there is more joy over one sinner who repenteth than over ninety and nine just persons who need no repentance? Why is this maxim preached, when the entire conduct of society expresses in terms which cannot be misunderstood a bold denial of its truth? Merciful heavens, ejaculated Richard. Can this be true? Are you drawing a correct picture, Diana, or inventing a hideous fiction? God knows how true is all I say, returned Mrs Arlington, with profound sincerity of tone and manner. Wand soon stared me in the face, what could I do? Chance threw me in the way of Sir Rupert Harborough. Compelled by an imperious necessity, I became his mistress. This is my history. And the baronet treats you kindly, said Richard inquiringly. The terms upon which our connection is based do not permit him an opportunity of being either very kind or very cruel. I must now say farewell for the present, exclaimed Markham, afraid of trusting himself longer with the siren who had fascinated him with her misfortunes as well as by her charms. In a day or two I will see you again. Oh, I cannot blame you for what you have done. I commiserate. I pity you. Could any sacrifice that I am capable of making restore you to happiness and honour, you would say, exclaimed Diana, firmly. I would gladly make that sacrifice, added Richard. From this moment we will be friends, very sincere friends. I will be your brother, dearest Diana, and you shall be my sister. The young man rose from the sofa as he uttered these disjointed sentences in a singularly wild and rapid manner, and Diana, without making any reply, but apparently deeply touched, pressed his hand for some moments between both her own. Richard then hastily escaped from the presence of that charming and fascinating creature. CHAPTER 11 THE SERVANCE ARMS Upon the same day that this event took place, Mr. Whittingham, the butler of Richard Markham, had solicited and obtained permission to pass the evening with a certain Mr. Thomas Suggett, who occupied the distinguished post of Valle des Chambres about the person of the honourable Arthur Chichester. Whittingham was determined to enjoy himself. He seemed suddenly to have cast off twenty years from his back and to walk the more upright for having rid himself of the burden. His hat was slightly cocked on one side, and, as he walked along with Mr. Thomas Suggett tucked under his arm, he struck his silver-headed bamboo, which he always carried with him when he went abroad on Sundays and holidays, very forcibly upon the pavement. Mr. Suggett declared that for his part he was very well disposed for a spree, and he threw into his gate a most awful swagger, which certainly excited considerable attention, because all the small boys in the streets laughed at him as he wended on his way. I wonder what their merchants are garping at, so said Whittingham. It mystificates me a no inconsiderable degree. Rarely the lower orders of English is exceedingly impolite. I feel the most invigorated, disgust, and the most unboundless contempt for their manners. That's just like me, observed Suggett. I can't bear the lower orders. I hate everything vulgar. But by the by, Mr. Whittingham, do you smoke? I can't say but what I like are full-flavoured Havana. A threepenny mind, added the butler pompously. Just my taste, Mr. Whittingham, if I can't afford threepenny's, I won't smoke at all. Mr. Suggett entered a cigar shop, purchased half a dozen real Havana's—manufactured in St. John's Street, Clarkinwell—joked with the young lady who served him, and then presented the one which he considered the best to his companion. The two gentlemen's gentlemen accordingly lighted their cigars, and then continued their walk along the new road, in the vicinity of which Mr. Whittingham had met Mr. Suggett by appointment on this memorable afternoon. In a short time Mr. Suggett stopped suddenly at the door of a large white public house, not a hundred miles distant from the new church St. Pancras. This is a nice crib, said he. Excellent company, and to-night there is a supper at eleven. The very identified thing, acquiesced Mr. Whittingham, and into the public house they walked. Nothing could be more neat and cleanly than the bar of the servant's arms, no one more obliging nor bustling than the young lady behind the bar. The servant's arms was reported to draw the best liquor in all the neighbourhood, and its landlord prided himself upon the superiority of his establishment over those which sold beer at threepence a pot in your own jugs. And then what a rapid draft the landlord had for all his good things, and how crowded was the space before the bar with customers. Glass of ale, mild miss, if you please, said one. A quarton of gin and three outs, Caroline, cried another, who was more familiar. Pint of half and half here, exclaimed a third. Six a brandy warm miss, four of gin, cold, and a pint of ale with a chill-off parlor, ejaculated the waiter, who now made his appearance at the bar. Pot of porter and master's compliments, and can you lend him yesterday's advertiser for half an hour or so? Said a pretty little servant girl, placing a large yellow jug on the bright-lead surface of the bar. Pot of ale and a screw-miss. Pint of gin for mixing, please, but locate wine at eighteen, landlord, for penny-worth of rum, cold without. Half pint porter and a pipe, Caroline. Such were the orders, issued from all quarters at the same moment, and to which Caroline responded with incredible alacrity, finding time to crack a joke with the known frequenters of the house, and to make a pleasant observation upon the weather to those whose faces were strange to her, while the landlord contented himself with looking on, or every now and then drawing a pot of beer, apparently as a great favour, and in a lazy, independent manner. Nevertheless, he was a good, civil kind of man, only somewhat independent because he was growing rich. He was never afraid at the end of the month to see Truman and Hanbury's collector, and Nicholson's man, a light from their gigs at his door. They were always sure to find the money ready for them, when they sat down to write their receipts in the narrow little slip of a parlour behind the bar. In fact, the landlord of the servant's arms was reported to be doing a very snug business, and so he was. Mrs. Whittingam and Suggit sauntered leisurely into the parlour of the servant's arms, and took their seats at the only table which remained unoccupied. "'Good evening, sir,' said the waiter, addressing Mr. Suggit with a sort of semi-familiarity, which showed that the latter gentleman was in the habit of using the house. "'How are you, William?' cried Mr. Suggit, in a patronising manner. George been here lately. "'Not very. I think he's down in the country.' "'Oh! Well, what shall we have, Mr. Whittingam? Brandium water?' "'That's my invariable beverage, Mr. Suggit.' "'Two sixes, gentlemen,' said the waiter. "'No,' answered Mr. Whittingam solemnly. "'Two shillings worth to begin with.' The liquor was supplied, and when the two gentlemen had tasted it, and found it to their liking, they glanced around the room to survey the company. It soon appeared that Mr. Suggit was well known to many of the gentlemen present. For, upon making his survey, he acknowledged, with a nod or a short phrase, the boughs or salutations of those with whom he was acquainted. "'Ah! Mr. Guffins, always up in the same corner, eh?' said he, addressing a middle-aged man in seedy black. "'Got a new work in the press, suppose. You literary men can try to enjoy yourselves, I know. How do you do, Mr. McChisel?' Looking towards a short, pock-marked man, with a quick grey eye and black hair combed upright off his forehead. How get on the clients? Plenty of business, eh? Ah! you lawyers always contrive to do well. Mr. Drummer, your servant, sir. Got good congregation still, sir? The chapel thrived well, I thank you, as well as can be expected in these times of heathen abominations.' Answered at a mure-looking middle-aged man, who was clad in deep black and wore a white neck-cloth, which seemed, together with the condition of his shirt and stockings, to denote that, although he had gained the confidence of his flock, he had certainly lost that of his washer-woman. After having taken a long draft of a pint of half-and-half which stood before him, he added, "'There is many a savoury vessels in my congregation, reputable and pious, and prayerful people, which praise regular for their sittings and fears the Lord.' "'Well, I am glad of that,' ejaculated Mr. Suggit. But ah,' he cried, observing a thin, white-haired old gentleman, with huge silver spectacles hanging half-way down his nose. "'I am glad to see Mr. Cobbington here. How gets on the circulating library, eh, sir?' "'Pretty well, pretty well, thank ye,' returned the bookseller, pretty well considering.' A great many people qualify their observations and answers by the addition of the word, considering, but they seldom vouchsafe an explanation of what is to be considered. Sometimes they use the phrase, considering all things, and then the mind has so much to consider that it cannot consider any one thing definitively. It would be much more straightforward and satisfactory if persons would relieve their friends of all suspense and say boldly at once, as the case may be, considering the execution I have got in my house, or considering the writ that's out against me, or even considering the trifling annoyance of not having a shelling in my pocket and not knowing where to look for one. But, somehow or another, people never will be candid nowadays, and Tally Rand was right when he said that language was given to man to enable him to conceal his thoughts. But to continue. Mr. Suggit glanced a little further round the room, and recognized another old acquaintance. Ah, Snuggles, how are you? Very well, Vanky. How be you? Blooming. But how come you here? I dropped in quite promiscuously, answered Snuggles, and finding good company stayed. But it is upwards of three years since I see you, Mr. Suggit. About? What grade do you now feel in the profession? Any promotion? I'm sorry to say not, replied Mr. Snuggles, shaking his head mournfully. I've tumbled off the box down to a level with the Osses. Which, being interpreted, means that Mr. Snuggles had fallen from the higher state of Coachman to the less elevated rank of Osla. But what rank do you now hold? I left off the uniform of Tiger last month, answered Mr. Suggit, and received the brave Ovali de Shombra. That gentleman, one of the profession, demanded Snuggles, alluding to Mr. Whittingham. Mr. Markham's butler, sir, at your service, said Whittingham, bowing with awe-inspiring stiffness. And may I say, without exaggerating, sir, and in no wise compromising my indefatigable character ferocity, that I am also Mr. Markham's confidential friend, and what's more, gentlemen, added the butler, glancing proudly around the room. Mr. Richard Markham is a finest young man about the stupendous city of the whole universe, and that's as true as this is a hand. As Mr. Whittingham concluded this sentence, he extended his arm to display the hand relative to which he expressed such confidence, and while he flourished the arm to give weight to his language, the aforesaid hand encountered the right eye of the dissenting parson. A case of assault and battery, Instantly exclaimed Mr. McChisel, the lawyer, and here are upwards of a dozen witnesses for the plaintiff. I really beg the gentleman's pardon, said Whittingham. Special jewellery, sittings after term, damages five hundred pounds, exclaimed McChisel. No harm was intended, observed Suggit. Not a bit, added Snuggles. Verdict for plaintiff, enter up judgment, issue execution, cast that in no time, said McChisel doggedly. I'm used of flagellations and persecutions at the hands of the ungodly, said the Reverend Mr. Drummer, rubbing his eye with his fist, and thereby succeeding in inflaming it. Perhaps the Reverend Gentleman wouldn't take it amiss if I was to offer him my apologies in an extra-powerful glass of brandy and water, exclaimed Whittingham. Bribery, murmured McChisel. No, let us have a bowl of punch at once, exclaimed Suggit. And corruption, added the lawyer. The bowl of punch was ordered, and the company was invited to partake of it. Even Mr. McChisel did not hesitate, and the dissenting minister, in order to convince Mr. Whittingham that he entirely forgave him, consented to partake of the punch so often, that he, at length, began slapping Mr. Whittingham upon the back, and declaring that he was the best fellow in the world. The conversation became general, and some of it is worth recording. I hoped to have your patronage, sir, for my circulating library, said Mr. Cobbington, to the butler. Depends, sir, upon the specified nature of the books it contains, was the reply. I have nothing but moral romances in which vice is always punished and virtue rewarded. That conduct of yours is highly credulous to you. All books is trash except one, observed Mr. Drummer, winking his eyes in an extraordinary manner. They teach his naught but swearing, lewd conversation, ungodliness, and that worst of all vice's, intemperance. I beg you to understand, sir, exclaimed Mr. Guffins, who had hitherto remained a silent spectator of the proceedings, although a persevering partaker of the punch. I beg you to understand, Mr. Drummer, my work, sir, and not the trash you seem to allude to. I won't understand nothing, nor nobody, answered the reverent gentleman, swaying backwards and forwards in his chair. Leave me to commune with myself upon the vanities of this wicked world, and drink my punch in quiet. Humbug, exclaimed the literary man, swallowing his resentment and the remainder of his punch simultaneously. Ah! said the bookseller after a pause. Nothing now succeeds unless it's in the comic line. We have comic Latin grammars, and comic Greek grammars. Indeed, I don't know, but what English grammar is, too, is a comedy altogether. All our tragedies are made into comedies by the way they are performed, and no work sells without comic illustrations to it. I have brought out several new comic works, which have been very successful. For instance, The Comic Wealth of Nations, The Comic Parliamentary Speeches, The Comic Report of the Poor Law Commissioners, with an appendix containing the comic dietary scale, and the comic distresses of the industry as population. I even propose to bring out a comic whole duty of man. All these books sell well. They do admirably for the nurseries of the children of the aristocracy. In fact, they are as good as manuals and textbooks. This rage for the comic is most unexpressibly remarkable. Observed the butler. It is indeed, ejaculated snuggles. And in order to illustrate the truth of the statement, he jerked a piece of lemon-peel very cleverly into the dissenting person's left eye. That's right, stone me to death, murmured the reverent gentleman. My name is Stephen, and it is all for righteousness's sake. I know I'm a chosen vessel, and may become a martyr. My name is Stephen, I tell you, Stephen drum-ma-ma-ma. He then began a eulogium upon meekness and resignation under injuries, and reiterated his conviction that he was a chosen vessel, but, becoming suddenly excited by a horse-laugh which fell upon his ear, he forgot all about the chosen vessel, and lifted another very savagely from the table. In a word, he seized a pewter pot in his hand, and would have hurled it at Mr. Snuggle's head, had not Mr. Whittingham stopped the dangerous missile in time, and pacified the reverent gentleman by calling for more punch. We must certainly have these two men bound over to keep the peace, said McChizzle, too sure it is in fifteen themselves and a hundred each. I should rest the whole scene up for one of the monthlies, observed Mr. Guffins. If you do, you'll be indictable for libel, said McChizzle, the greater the truth, the greater the libel. In the meanwhile, Suggit and his friend Snuggle's drew close to each other, and entered into conversation. It must be about three years since I saw you last, said the latter. Three years come January, observed Suggit. Ah, I've seen some strange vicissitudes in the interval, continued Snuggle's. I went abroad as a coachman, with the dashing young chap of the name of Winchester. The devil you did, how singular, why my present governor's name is Chichester. Well, I dares say their cousins, then, said the Osler. But I hope your own won't cheat you as mine did me. He seemed to have no end of tin for some months, and lived, my eye how he lived. King's Benchton is ain't nothing to what his'n, and yet I heard say that the prisoners lived there better than their creditors outside. How some ever, things didn't always go on swimmingly. We went to Baden, called so because of the baths, and there my governor got involved in some gambling transactions, as forced him to make his name Walker. Well, he bolted, leaving all his traps behind, and me amongst them, and not a scurrick to pay the per hotel bill and find my way back again to England. The landlord, he sees the traps, and I was forced to walk all the way to— I'll forget the name of the place. Constantinople perhaps, said Suggit, kindly endeavouring to assist his friend in his little geographical embarrassments. No, that ain't it, return snuggles. How some ever, I had every kind of difficulty to fight up against, and I never seen my governor from that day to this. He owed me £8.19 in sixpence for wages, and he was bound by contract to bring me back to England. Disgraceful rascal that he was, ejaculated Mr. Suggit. I rarely think that we gentlemen ought to establish a society for our protection. The licensed Whittlers have their association, why shouldn't we have the gentleman's gentleman association organised into a society? Why not? said snuggles. The waiter now acquainted the company that supper was ready in an upstairs room for those who liked to partake of it. All the gentlemen whose names have been introduced to the reader, in connection with the parlor of the servants' arms, removed the banqueting-salon, where the table was, spread with white cloth and black-handled knives and forks. At intervals stood salt-sellers and pepper-boxes, the latter resembling in shape the three little domes upon the present national gallery in Trafalgar Square. A huge round of boiled beef-tripe, both boiled and fried, and rump steaks, formed the supper. The Methodist parson insisted upon being allowed to say grace, or, as he expressed it, ask a blessing, for which the same neighbours who had kindly helped him up the stairs now sustained him upon his legs. Dredd was the havoc then made upon the various stainties on the table, Mr. Guffins being especially characterised by a good appetite upon this occasion. The Reverend Mr. Drummer was also far from being behind in this onslaught upon the luxuries supplied by the servants' arms, and while he bolted huge mouthfuls of boiled beef, he favoured the company with an excellent moral dissertation, upon obstemiousness and self-mortification. Mr. Drummer was, however, one of those who content themselves with inculcating morality, and do not consider it necessary to set an example in their own persons. For, after having clearly demonstrated that gluttony and drunkenness lead to blasphemy, ungodliness, and profane swearing, he abruptly turned to the landlord, who presided at the supper-table, and holding his plate to be filled for the fourth time, exclaimed, damn your eyes, don't cut it so infernally thick. After supper, glass's round of hot brandy and water were introduced, and the conversation was carried on with considerable spirit. It was midnight before the party thought of breaking up, although several of the gentlemen present had already begun to see three or four Dutch clocks staring them in the face, besides the one which graced the wall. As for the Reverend Mr. Drummer, he declared that he was so affected by the ungodly proceedings of those present that he should forthwith endeavour to wash away their guilt with his tears, and it is distressing to be compelled to observe that all the reward this truly pious and deserving man experienced at the hands of the ungrateful company was the cruel accusation that he was crying drunk. This disgraceful behaviour produced such an effect upon his naturally nervous temperament that he fell flat upon the floor and was compelled to be taken in a wheel-barrow to his own house close by. We may also add here that on the following day this proceeding was rumoured abroad, so that the much-injured minister was necessitated to justify his conduct from the pulpit on the ensuing Sabbath. This he did so effectually that two old ladies, who carried small flasks of brandy in their pockets, were conveyed out of the chapel in a peculiar state, no doubt overpowered by the minister's eloquence. They, however, recovered at the expiration of some hours, and immediately opened a subscription to present a piece of plate to the reverend Stephen Drummer, together with a vote of thanks and confidence on a part of the congregation. The vote was respectfully but gratefully declined by this holy man. But, after some little entreaty, he was prevailed upon to accept the plate. From that time to the present day his congregation has been rapidly increasing, and although envy and jealousy have declared that he himself helped to augment its numbers in a shape of three innocent little children by different servant-girls, he very properly disdained to contradict the report, and is considered by his flock to be a chosen and savoury vessel of the Lord. When Richard left the presence of Diana, after the full confession of her frailty, he hurried home on horseback at a rate which kept pace with his thoughts. Upon reaching his dwelling, he retired to his apartment, and sat himself down seriously to consider all that had taken place. His eyes were now open to two facts. In the first instance, he saw that he had been giving way to a passion which was dishonourable, in respect to the relations existing between its object and another individual, the baronet. And secondly, he perceived that, even if that barrier were removed, Diana was not the being whom he ought to make the partner of his fortunes. He was endowed with feelings and notions of the most scrupulous honour, and he deeply regretted that he should ever have been induced to utter a word or manifest a sentiment towards Diana, which he would have been ashamed for the baronet to become acquainted with. To such an extent did he carry his notions of honour, that if, for instance, he had pledged himself to keep a secret, he would sooner have suffered himself to be put to death than have forfeited his word. Even were a crime communicated to him in confidence, he would not have benefited society by handing the perpetrator over to justice. He thus fell into an extreme, almost as dangerous and fatal as the total absence of moral rectitude. If the reader should marvel how a young man, possessing such punctilious sentiments, could have so far forgotten himself as to declare his affection to one who stood in the light of a friend's wife, let it be remembered that he was surprised into a partial avowal of that passion, and that a certain impulse, favoured by a rapid succession of visits, parties, and tit-a-tit interviews, in which the object thereof was always present, had hurried him forward up to that point when a word was to decide his fate. Love is a stream so rapid that he who embarks upon it does not observe that his rude boat crushes the beauteous flowers upon the banks between which it passes. It is a river whose waters are those of oblivion, in which all other passions, sentiments, and ideas are swallowed up. O woman, what power hast thou over the heart of man? Thou wast born a creature of grace and fascination, to whatever climb thou dost belong, neither habit nor costume can deface in thee that natural charm of witchery and love, which characterises thee in all the relations of life. Richard had not been long alone, when a knock at his door aroused him from the reverie in which he had been plunged, and Mr. Chitchester entered the room. My dear Markham, said he, you must excuse the liberty which I take in thus intruding upon your privacy, but what is the meaning of this? You were to lunch with Harborough to-day, and we were all to dine together in the evening. You called at Diana's, and from what you said upon leaving, she fancied you were coming straight home. So I have galloped all this way after you. You shut yourself up from your friends, as if you had a design upon your life. I am not well. I am anxious to be alone. But I shall not allow you to remain alone, said Chitchester. If you should feel melancholy, what guarantee have I that you will not commit suicide, or do what is nearly as bad, sit down and write sentimental poetry? I am not very likely to do either. You must come and join us, the baronet. I would rather. I can take no excuse, order round your chestnut, and let us be off. Well, at all events I must go straight into the city first, said Markham. I have occasion to call at my guardian's banker. Will you join me at seven precisely this evening, at Harborough's own lodgings in Conjuit Street? We shall expect you. You may rely upon me, answered Markham, who now suddenly experienced an anxiety for society and bustle. But who will be there? Only the baronet, you, I, and Talbot, a party carry. Talbot is really a good fellow at heart, and has taken a great liking to you. Besides, he is the most liberal and generous fellow in existence. He sent a hundred pounds to every hospital in London yesterday morning, his annual donations, and he thinks that nobody knows anything about it. He always puts himself down as X, Y, Z in the lists of charitable subscriptions. He is so unostentatious. Those are admirable traits in his character. They are indeed. Just now, for instance, he heard of a horrid case of distress, only conceive a poor man with nine small children and wife just ready to present him with a tenth, dragged to White Cross Street Prison for a paltry hundred pounds. Talbot instantly called me aside and said, Chichester, my dear fellow, I have not time to attend to any business to-day. There is a five hundred pound note. Have the kindness to get it changed for me, and devote a hundred pounds to save the unhappy family. Those were Talbot's own words, added Mr. Chichester, surveying Richard in a peculiar manner from under his eyebrows. How liberal! How grand! How noble! exclaimed Richard, forgetting all Mr. Talbot's vulgarity and coarseness, as he listened to these admirable traits of philanthropy. To be candid with you, I am myself going to the bankers to draw some money, and when I see you this evening I shall be happy to place twenty pounds in your hands for the use of that poor family. No, my dear fellow, keep your money, the baronet and I shall take care of those poor people. Nay, I insist. Well, I am sorry now that I told you of the circumstance, and I am very glad. There, you shall have your own way then, but by the by, added Chichester, a sudden thought appearing to strike him, you were going into the city and to your bankers? Yes, and you? I am anxious to get back to the west end as hastily as possible, answered Chichester. You could do me a service if you would. Name it, said Richard. Get this note changed for me in the city, returned Chichester, and as he spoke, he drew a Bank of England note for five hundred pounds from his pocket. Oh, certainly! cried Markham, and he took charge of the note accordingly. He and Mr. Chichester then separated. Richard mounted his horse and rode towards the city, while his friend proceeded to the west end. At seven o'clock Richard was ushered into Sir Rupert Harbour's drawing-room in Conjuit Street, Hanover Square. There, exclaimed Chichester, who was lounging upon the sofa, I knew that my melancholy young gentleman would be punctual. Delighted to see you, Markham, said the baronet, pressing his hand with more than usual fervour. How are you, my tulip? shouted Talbot. Why, Chichester said you had the blue devils. I really felt unequal to society to-day, returned Richard, and I fancied that a little rest. A little humbug! ejaculated Mr. Talbot. That's all my eye and my elbow, Markham. A damned good bottle of champagne will soon put you to rights. But when I am ill, what do you think I always take? I really can't guess. Why, going to bed I always take a pint of dog's nose. There's nothing like dog's nose for getting into the system. You must have it in a pewter, you know, and nice and hot. You will then sweat a bucketful in the course of the night, and get up in the morning as right as a trivet. I can assure you there's nothing like dog's nose. And pray, what is dog's nose? inquired Richard. Well, may I be hanged? You are jolly green not to know what dog's nose is. You take half a pint of the best half and half, or you may have ale all alone, if you like, a quarton of blue ruin. It is a mixture of gin, beer, and sugar, said Mr. Chichester impatiently. Well, and why couldn't you let me tell the gentleman how to make dog's nose in my own manner? asked Talbot, somewhat sulkily. However, there's nothing better than dog's nose for the gripes, or wind on the stomach, or the romantics, for my part. Damn your part! cried the honourable Arthur Chichester, now absolutely losing all patience. Fortunately for all parties, the door was at that moment thrown open, and a valet announced that dinner was served up. Richard took advantage of the haste with which Mr. Talbot rushed downstairs to the dining-room to slip a bundle of Bank of England notes and a quantity of gold into Chichester's hand, whispering at the same time, There is your change, together with my twenty pounds for the poor family. Thank you, my boy, said Chichester, and over Markham's shoulder he exchanged with the baronet a significant glance of satisfaction, amounting almost to joy. Meantime Mr. Talbot had rushed to his place at the dinner-table, declaring that he was uncommonly peckish, and began sharpening his two knives one against the other. The baronet took his seat at the top of the table, Mr. Chichester at the bottom, and Markham sat opposite to Talbot. This soup is unexceptionable, observed Chichester. I never tasted better safe once, and that was at the King of Prussia's table. Ah! I once had damned good pea-soup, I remember, at the Duke of Lambeth's table, ejaculated Mr. Talbot. But I say, who the devil's that kicking my unfortunate soft corn? A glass of wine, Markham, said Chichester. I suppose we'd all better join in, suggested Talbot. I shall be happy to drink wine with you, Mr. Talbot, said the baronet, with a reproving emphasis upon the pronouns. Just as you please, returned the man of charity, who certainly required some virtue or another to cover such a multitude of sins of vulgarity. I wonder what's coming next. I say, Harbour, you haven't ordered any tripe, have you? I'm so fond of tripe. There's nothing like tripe and onions for supper. The dinner passed away, and the bottle was circulated pretty freely. Richard regained his good spirits, and offered no objection when Chichester proposed a stroll up Regent Street with a cigar. The baronet and Talbot went together first, and Markham was about to follow when Chichester drew him back into the dining room and said, Excuse me, but you went to your bankers today, if you have much money about you it is not safe to carry it about the streets of London at night-time. I have fifty-five pounds in gold and fifty pounds in notes, answered Markham. Notes are safe enough, returned Chichester, but gold is dangerous. Someone would be sure to frisk your purse. Here, I tell you how we can manage it. Give me fifty sovereigns, and I will give you a fifty-pound note in exchange. I can then lock up the gold in the baronet's writing desk, the key of which I see he has fortunately left in the lock. Chichester glanced as he spoke to the writing desk, which stood upon a little table between the windows. I much obliged to you for the thought, said Richard. It is very considerate of you. He accordingly handed over his purse of gold to his kind friend, and received in exchange a fifty-pound note, which Mr. Chichester selected from a huge roll that he took from his pocket. The two gentlemen then hastened to rejoin the baronet and Talbot, whom they overtook in Regent Street. They all walked leisurely along towards the quadrant, and while Talbot engaged Markham in conversation upon some trivial topic or other, Chichester related in a few words to the baronet, the particulars of the little pecuniary arrangement which had just taken place. End of Chapter 12 Chapter 13 of The Mysteries of London This Libra-Rox recording is in the public domain. The Mysteries of London by George W. M. Reynolds Chapter 13 The Hell After having taken a few turns in Regent Street, the baronet observed that it was devilish slow work. Mr. Talbot suggested the propriety of a spree, and Mr. Chichester declared that, as his friend Markham was anxious to see life, the best thing they could all do was to drop in for an hour at number—Quadrant. What place is that? demanded Markham. Oh! only an establishment for cards and dice and other innocent diversions, carelessly answered Chichester. The quadrant of an evening is crowded with loungers of both sexes. Beneath those arcades walk the daughters of crime, by ones and twos, dressed in a flaunting garb that tells so forcibly the tale of broken hearts, and blighted promise, and crushed affections, to lose an hour amidst the haunts of pleasure and of vice, and to court the crime by which alone they live. The young men that saunter arm in arm up and down, and the whorey old sinners, whose licentious glares seem to plunge down into the depths of the bodices of those frail but beautiful girls, little think of the amount of mental suffering which is contained beneath those gay satins and rustling silks. They mark the heaving of the voluptuous bosom, but dream not of the worm that gnaws eternally within. They behold smiles upon the red lips, and are far from suspecting that the hearts of those who laugh so joyfully are all but broken. Thus is it that in the evening the quadrant has a characteristic set of loungers of its own, or at least it is frequented after dark, by a population whose characters are easily to be defined. A bright lamp burnt in the fanlight over the door of number. Mr. Chichester gave a loud and commanding knock, and a policeman standing by, who doubtless had several golden reasons for not noticing anything connected with that establishment, instantly ran across the road after a small boy whom he suspected to be a thief, because the poor wretch wore an uncommonly shabby hat. The summons given by Mr. Chichester was not immediately answered. Five minutes elapsed ere any attention was paid to it, and then the door was only opened to the small extent, allowed by a chain inside. A somewhat repulsive-looking countenance was at the same time protruded from behind the door. Well, said the man, to whom the countenance belonged. All right! returned Chichester. The chain was withdrawn, and the door was opened to its full extent. The party was thereupon admitted, with some manifestations of impatience on the part of the porter, who no doubt thought that the door was kept open too long, into a passage, at the end of which was a staircase covered with a handsome carpet. Chichester led the way, and his companions followed up to a suite of rooms on the first floor. These were well furnished and brilliantly lighted, and red marine curtains, with heavy and rich fringes, were carefully drawn over the windows. Splendid mirrors stood above the mantles, which were also adorned with French timepieces in ormolu, and candelabra of the same material. On one side of the room stood a buffet, covered with wines and liqueurs of various descriptions. In the middle of that same front apartment was the Rouge Noir table. On each side sat Crupier, with a long rake in his hand and a green shade over his eyes. Before one of them was placed a tin case, this was the bank. And on each side of that sinosha of all attention stood little piles of markers or counters. Two or three men, well but flashily dressed, and exhibiting a monstrous profusion of Birmingham jewellery about their persons, sat at the table. These were the bonnets, individuals in reality in the pay of the proprietor of the establishment, and whose duties consist in enticing strangers and visitors to play, or in maintaining an appearance of playing deeply when such strangers and visitors first enter the room. The countenances of the Crupiers were cold, passionless, and totally devoid of any animation. They called the game, raked up the winnings or paid the losings, without changing a muscle of their features. For all that regarded animation or excitement, they might have been easily passed off as automatons. Not so was it with the bonnets. These gentlemen were compelled to affect exuberant joy when they won, and profound grief or rage when they lost. From time to time they paid a visit to the sideboard, and helped themselves to whine or spirits, or regaled themselves with cigars. These refreshments were supplied gratuitously to all comers by the proprietor. This apparent liberality was upon the principal of throwing out a sprat to catch a wail. When none save the Crupiers and bonnets are present, they throw aside their assumed characters, and laugh, and joke, and chatter, and smoke, and drink. But the moment steps are heard upon the staircase, they all relapse with mechanical exactitude into their business aspect. The Crupiers put on their imperturbable countenances as easily as if they were masks, and the bonnets appear to be as intent upon the game as if its results were to them perspective life or death. The Crupiers are usually trustworthy persons well known to the proprietor, or else shareholders themselves in the establishment. The bonnets are young men of education and manners, who have probably lost the ample fortunes wherewith they commenced life, in the very whirlpool to which, for a weekly stipend, they are employed to entice others. In one of the inner rooms there was a roulette table, but this was seldom used. A young lad held the almost sinecure office of attending upon it. The front room was tolerably crowded on the evening when Chichester, Markham, the Baronet, and Talbot honoured the establishment with a visit. The moment they entered the apartment, Richard instinctively drew back, and, catching hold of Chichester's arm, whispered to him in a hurried and anxious manner. Tell me, is this a gambling-house? Is this what I have heard called a hell? It is a gambling-house, if you will, my dear fellow," was the reply, but a most respectful one, besides, you must see life, you know. With these words he took Markham's arm and conducted him up to the Rougé Noir table. A young officer, whose age could not have exceeded twenty, was seated at the further end of the Green Bay's covered table. A huge pile of notes and gold lay before him, but at rapid intervals one of the croupiers raked away the stakes which he deposited, and thus his heap of money was gradually growing smaller. Well, this is extraordinary, ejaculated the young officer. I never saw the luck set so completely in against me. However, I can afford to lose a little, for I broke your bank for you last night, my boys. What does that mean? demanded Richard in a whisper. He won all the money which the proprietor deposited in that tin case, he means, replied Chichester. And about how much do you suppose that might be? About fifteen hundred, two thousand pounds. Here, waiter! exclaimed the young officer, who had just lost another stake, a glass of claret. The waiter handed him a glass of the wine so demanded. The young officer did not notice him for a moment, but waited to see the result of the next chance. He lost again. He turned round to seize the glass of wine, but when his eyes caught sight of it his countenance became almost livid with rage. Fool! Idiot! he ejaculated, starting from his seat. Bring me a tumbler, a large tumbler of claret. My mouth is as parched as hell, and my stomach is like a lime kiln. The waiter hastened to comply with the wishes of the young gambler. The tumbler of claret was supplied, and the game continued. Still the officer lost. A cigar! he shouted, in a fearful state of excitement. Bring me a cigar! The waiter handed him a box of choice of annas that he might make his selection. Why the devil don't you bring a light at the same time, you damned infernal rascal! cried the game-ster. And while the domestic hastened to supply this demand also, he poured a volley of most horrible oaths at the bewildered wretch's head. Again the play proceeded. And again the young officer lost. His pile of gold was gone. The croupier, who kept the bank, changed one of his remaining notes. That makes three thousandths I've lost already by God! ejaculated the young officer. Including the amount you won last night, I believe, said one of the bonnets. Well, sir, and suppose it is, for the deuce is that to you? demanded the officer fiercely. Have I not been here night after night for those six weeks, and have I not lost thousands, thousands? When did I ever get a vein of good luck until last night? But never mind. I'll play on. I'll play till the end. I will either win all back or lose everything together. And then, in the latter case— he stopped. He had just lost again. His countenance grew ghastly pale, and he bit his lips convulsively. Claret! More Claret! he exclaimed, throwing away the Havana. That cigar only makes me the more thirsty. And again the play proceeded. I am really afraid to contemplate that young man's countenance, whispered Markham to Chichester. Who so? I have an idea that if he should prove unsuccessful, he will commit suicide. I have a great mind just to mention my fears to those men in the green shades who seem to be winning all his money. Pray be quiet, they will only laugh at you. But the life of a fellow creature—what do they care? Do you mean to say that they are such riches? I mean that they do not care one fig what may happen, as long as they get the money. Markham was struck speechless with horror as he heard this cold-blooded announcement. Chichester had, however, stated nothing but the truth. The proceedings were now fearfully interesting. The young officer was worked up to a most horrible state of excitement. His losses continued to be unvaried by a single gleam of good fortune. Still he persisted in his ruinous career. Note after note was changed. At length his last was melted into gold. He now became absolutely desperate. His countenance was appalling, the frenzy of gambling, and the inflammatory effects of the liquors he had been drinking rendered his really handsome features positively hideous. Markham had never beheld such a scene before and felt afraid. His companions surveyed it with remarkable coolness. The play proceeded, and in a few moments the officer's last stake was swept away. Then the croupiers paused, as it were, by common consent, and all eyes were directed towards the object of universal interest. Well, I said I would play until I won all or lost all, he said, and I have done so. Waiter, give me another tumbler of claret. It will compose me. He laughed bitterly as he uttered those words. The claret was brought. He drained the tumbler and threw it upon the table, where it broke into a dozen pieces. Clear this away, Thomas, said one of the croupiers, completely unmoved. Yes, sir. And the fragments of the tumbler disappeared forthwith. The bonnets, perceiving the presence of other strangers, were now compelled to withdraw their attention from the ruined gambler and commence playing. And so the play again proceeded. Where is my hat, Waiter? demanded the young officer, after a pause, during which he had gazed vacantly upon the game. In the passage, sir, I believe. No, I remember it is in the inner room, but do not trouble yourself, I will fetch it myself. Very good, sir. And the Waiter did not move. The young officer sauntered, in a seeming leisurely manner, into the innermost room of the suite. What a shocking scene! whispered Malcolm to Chichester. I am glad I came hither this once. It will be a lesson for me which I can never forget. At this instant the report of a pistol echoed sharply through the rooms. There was a simultaneous rush to the inner apartment. Malcolm's presentiments were fulfilled, the young officer had committed suicide. His brains were literally blown out, and he lay upon the carpet weltering in his blood. A cry of horror burst from the strangers present, and then, with one accord, they hastened to the door. The baronet, Chichester and Talbot, were amongst the foremost who made this movement, and were thereby enabled to affect their escape. Malcolm stood riveted to the spot, unaware that his companions had left him, and contemplating with feelings of supreme horror the appalling spectacle before him. Suddenly the cry of— The police! fell upon his ears, and heavy steps were heard, hurrying up the staircase. The bank! ejaculated one of the croupiers. All right! cried the other, and in a moment the lights were extinguished, as if by magic, throughout the entire suite of rooms. Abaying a natural impulse, Malcolm hastened towards the door, but his progress was stopped by a powerful hand, and in an instant the bulls-eye of a lantern glared upon his countenance. He was in the grasp of a police officer. End of Chapter 13