Heaven alone can tell, with what vague thoughts of duty, and affection; with what strange promptings of nature, intelligible to him as to a man of radiant mind and most enlarged capacity; with what dim memories of children he had played with when a child himself, who had prattled of their fathers, and of loving them, and being loved; with how many half-remembered, dreamy associations of his mother's grief and tears and widowhood; he watched and tended this man. But that a vague and shadowy crowd of such ideas came slowly on him; that they taught him to be sorry when he looked upon his haggard face, that they overflowed his eyes when he stooped to kiss him on the cheek, that they kept him waking in a tearful gladness, shading him from the sun, fanning him with leaves, soothing him when he started in his sleep-ah! what a troubled sleep it was-and wondering when she would come to join them and be happy, is the truth. He sat beside him "You are hurt," said Barnaby-as indeed he was, all that day; listening for her footstep in every in the head, both by the blow he had received, and breath of air, looking for her shadow on the gently-by his horse's hoof. "Come away with me."

As he spoke, he took the horse's bridle in his hand, turned him, and dragged Hugh several paces. This brought them out of the crowd, which was pouring from the street into the vintner's cellars.

"Where's-where's Dennis ?" said Hugh, coming to a stop, and checking Barnaby with his strong arm. "Where has he been all day? What did he mean by leaving me as he did, in the jail, last night? Tell me, you-d'ye hear!"

With a flourish of his dangerous weapon, he fell down upon the ground like a log. After a minute, though already frantic with drinking and with the wound in his head, he crawled to a stream of burning spirit which was pouring down the kennel, and began to drink at it as if it were a brook of water.

and suffering, making for any thing that had the look of water, rolled, hissing, in this hideous lake, and splashed up liquid fire which lapped in all it met. with as it ran along the surface, and neither spared the living nor the dead. On this last night of the great riots-for the last night it was the wretched victims of a senseless outcry became themselves the dust and ashes of the flames they had kindled, and strewed the public streets of London.

With all he saw in this last glance fixed indelibly upon his mind, Barnaby hurried from the city which inclosed such horrors; and, holding down his head that he might not even see the glare of the fires upon the quiet landscape, was soon in the still country roads:

Barnaby drew him away, and forced him to rise. He stopped at about half-a-mile from the shed Though he could neither stand nor walk, he invo-where his father lay, and with some difficulty making luntarily staggered to his horse, climbed upon his back, and clung there. After vainly attempting to divest the animal of his clanking trappings, Barnaby sprang up behind him, snatched the bridle, turned nto Leather Lane, which was close at hand, and urged the frightened horse into a heavy gallop.

He looked back once before he left the street; and looked upon a sight not easily to be erased, even from his remembrance, so long as he had life.

The vintner's house, with half a dozen others near at hand, was one great, glowing blaze. All night, no one had essayed to quench the flames or stop their progress; but now a body of soldiers were actively engaged in pulling down two old wooden houses, which were every moment in danger of taking fire, and which could scarcely fail, if they were left to burn, to extend the conflagration immensely. The tumbling down of nodding walls and heavy blocks of wood, the hooting and the execrations of the crowd, the distant firing of other military detachments, the distracted looks and cries of those whose habitations were in danger, the hurrying to and fro of frightened people with their goods; the reflections in every quarter of the sky, of deep, red, soaring flames, as though the last day had come and the whole universe were burning; the dust, and smoke, and drift of fiery particles, scorching and kindling all it fell upon; the hot unwholesome vapour, the blight on every thing; the stars, and moon, and very sky, obliterated;— made up such a sum of dreariness and ruin, that it seemed as if the face of heaven were blotted out, and night, in its rest and quiet, and softened light, never could look upon the earth again.

But there was a worse spectacle than this-worse by far than fire and smoke, or even the rabble's unappeasable and maniac rage. The gutters of the street and every crack and fissure in the stones, ran with scorching spirit; which, being dammed up by busy hands, overflowed the road and pavement, and formed a great pool, in which the people dropped down dead by dozens. They lay in heaps all round this fearful pond, husbands and wives, fathers and sons, mothers and daughters, women with children in their arms and babies at their breasts, and drank until they died. While some stooped with their lips to the brink and never raised their heads again, others sprang up from their fiery draught, and danced, half in a mad triumph, and half in the agony of suffocation, until they fell, and steeped their corpses in the liquor that had killed them. Nor was even this the worst or most appalling kind of death that happened on this fatal night. From the burning cellars, where they drank out of hats, pails, buckets, tabs, and shoes, some men were drawn, alive, but all alight from head to foot; who, in their unendurable anguish

Hugh sensible that he must dismount, sunk the horse's furniture in a pool of stagnant water, and turned the animal loose. That done, he supported his companion as well as he could, and led him slowly forward.

It was the dead of night, and very dark, when Barnaby, with his stumbling companion, approached the place where he had left his father; but he could see him stealing away into the gloom, mistrustful even of him, and rapidly retreating. After calling to him twice or thrice that there was nothing to fear, but without effect, he suffered Hugh to sink upon the ground, and followed, to bring him back.

He continued to creep away, until Barnaby was close upon him; then turned, and said in a terrible, though suppressed voice :

"Let me go. Do not lay hands upon me. Stand back. You have told her; and you and she together, have betrayed me!"

Barnaby looked at him, in silence.
"You have seen your mother!"

"No," cried Barnaby, eagerly. “Not for a long time-longer than I can tell. A whole year, I think. Is she here?"

His father looked upon him steadfastly for a few moments, then said-drawing nearer to him as he spoke, for, seeing his face, and hearing his words, it was impossible to doubt his truth:

"What man is that?"

"Hugh-Hugh. Only Hugh. You know him. He will not harm you. Why, you're afraid of Hugh! Ha, ha, ha! Afraid of gruff, old, noisy Hugh!"

"What man is he, I ask you," he rejoined so fiercely, that Barnaby stopped in his laugh, and shrinking back, surveyed him with a look of terrified amazement.

"Why, how stern you are! You, make me fear you, though you are my father-I never feared her. Why do you speak to me so?"

"I want," he answered, putting away the hand which his son, with a timid desire to propitiate him, laid upon his sleeve," I want an answer, and you give me only jeers and questions. Who have you brought with you to this hiding-place, poor lad; and where is the blind man ?"

"I don't know where. His house was close shut. I waited, but no person came; that was no fault of mine. This is Hugh-brave Hugh, who broke into that ugly jail, and set us free. Aha! You like him now, do you? You like him, now!"

"Why does he lie upon the ground?" "He has had a fall, and has been drinking. The fields and trees go round, and round, and round, with him, and the ground heaves under his feet. You know him? You remember? See!"

They had by this time returned to where he lay, and both stooped over him to look into his face. "I recollect the man," his father murmured. "Why did you bring him here?"

"Because he would have been killed if I had left him over yonder. They were firing guns, and shedding blood. Does the sight of blood turn you sick, father? I see it does, by your face. That's like me-What are you looking at?"

"At nothing!" said the murderer, softly, as he started back a pace or two, and gazed with sunken jaw and staring eyes above his son's head. "At nothing!"

He remained in the same attitude and with the same expression on his face for a minute or more; then glanced slowly round as if he had lost something; and went shivering back, towards the shed. "Shall I bring him in, father?" asked Barnaby, who had looked on, wondering.

He only answered with a suppressed groan, and lying down upon the ground, wrapped his cloak about his head, and shrunk into the darkest corner.

Finding that nothing would rouse Hugh now, or make him sensible for a moment, Barnaby dragged him along the grass, and laid him on a little heap of refuse hay and straw, which had been his own bed; first having brought some water from a running stream hard by, and washed his wound, and laved his hands and face. Then he lay down himself, between the two, to pass the night; and looking at the stars, fell fast asleep.

"And so must I, for without seeing him, I don't know where to fly or what to do; and lingering here, is death. You must go to him again, and bring him here."

"Must I!" cried Barnaby, delighted; "that's brave, father. That's what I want to do."

"But you must bring only him, and none other. And though you wait at his door a whole day and night, still you must wait, and not come back without him." "He shall

"Don't you fear that," he cried gaily. come, he shall come."

“Trim off these gewgaws," said his father, plucking the scraps of ribbon and the feathers from his hat, "and over your own dress, wear my cloak. Take heed how you go, and they will be too busy in the streets to notice you. Of your coming back you need take no account, for he'll manage that, safely."

"To be sure!" said Barnaby. To be sure he will! A wise man, father, and one who can teach us to be rich! Oh! I know him, I know him."

He was speedily dressed; and, as well disguised as he could be, with a lighter heart he then set off upon his second journey; leaving Hugh, who was still in a drunken stupor, stretched upon the ground within the shed, and his father walking to and fro before it.

The murderer, full of anxious thoughts, looked after him, and paced up and down, disquieted by every breath of air that whispered among the boughs, and by every light shadow thrown by the passing clouds upon the daisied ground. He was anxious for his safe return, and yet, though his own life and safety hung upon it, felt a relief while he was gone. In the intense selfishness which the constant presence before him of his great crimes, and their consequences here and hereafter, engendered, every thought of Barnaby, as his son, was swallowed up and lost. Still, his presence was a torture and reproach; in his wild eyes, there were terrible images of that guilty night; with his unearthly aspect, and his half-formed mind, he seemed to the murderer a creature who had sprung into existence from his victim's blood. He could not bear his look, his voice, his touch; and yet was forced, by his own desperate condition and his only hope of cheating the jibbet, to have him by his side, and to know that he was inseparable from his single chance of escape.

He walked to and fro, with little rest, all day, revolving these things in his mind; and still Hugh lay, unconscious, in the shed. At length, when the sun was setting, Barnaby returned, leading the blind man, and talking earnestly to him as they came along together.

Awakened early in the morning, by the sunshine, and the songs of birds, and the hum of insects, he left them sleeping in the hut, and walked into the sweet and pleasant air. But he felt that on his jaded senses, oppressed and burdened with the dreadful scenes of last night, and many nights before, all the beauties of opening day, which he had so often tasted, and in which he had had such deep delight, fell heavily. He thought of the blithe mornings when he and the dogs went bounding on together through the woods and fields; and the recollection filled his eyes with tears. He had no consciousness, God help him, of having done wrong, nor had he any new perception of the merits of the cause in which he had been engaged, or those of the men who advocated it; but he was full of cares now, and regrets, and dismal recollections, and wishes (quite unknown to him before) that this or that event had never happened, and that the sorrow and suffering of so many people had The murderer advanced to meet them, and bidding been spared. And now he began to think how happy his son go on and speak to Hugh, who had just then they would be-his father, mother, he, and Hugh-staggered to his feet, took his place at the blind man's if they rambled away together, and lived in some elbow, and slowly followed towards the shed. lonely place, where there were none of these troubles; "Why did you send him?" said Stagg. and that perhaps the blind man, who had talked so you know it was the way to have him lost, as soon wisely about gold, and told him of the great secrets as found?" he knew, could teach them how to live without being pinched and griped by want. As this occurred to him, he was the more sorry that he had not seen him last night; and he was still brooding over this regret, when his father came, and touched him on the shoulder.

"Ah!" cried Barnaby, starting from his fit of thoughtfulness. "Is it only you?"

"Who should it be?"

"I almost thought," he answered, "it was the blind man. I must have some talk with him, father."

"Don't

"Would you have had me come myself?" returned the other.

"Humph! Perhaps not. I was before the jail on Tuesday night, but missed you in the crowd. I was out last night, too. There was good work last night -gay work-profitable work" he added, rattling the money in his pockets.

"Have you-"

-"Seen your good lady? Yes."

"Do you mean to tell me more, or not?"

"I'll tell you all," returned the blind man, with a

laugh. "Excuse me-but I love to see you so impatient. There's energy in it."

Does she consent to say the word that may save me?"

and raised it to his lips. He was in the act of drinking, when the front of the shed was suddenly darkened, and Dennis stood before them.

"No offence, no offence," said that personage in a conciliatory tone, as Hugh stopped in his draught, and eyed him, with no pleasant look, from head to "No offence, brother. Barnaby here too, eh? How are you, Barnaby? And two other gentlemen! Your humble servant, gentlemen. No offence to you either, I hope. Eh, brothers?"

"No," returned the blind man emphatically, as he turned his face toward him." No. Thus it is. She has been at death's door since she lost her darling-foot. has been insensible, and I know not what. I tracked her to a hospital, and presented myself (with your leave) at her bed-side. Our talk was not a long one, for she was weak, and there being people near, I was not quite easy. But I told her, all that you and I agreed upon; and pointed out the young gentleman's position, in strong terms. She tried to soften me, hat that, of course (as I told her,) was lost time. She cried and moaned, you may be sure; all women do. Then, of a sudden, she found her voice and strength, and said that Heaven would help her and her innocent son; and that to Heaven she appealed against us-which she did; in really very pretty language, I assure you. I advised her, as a friend, not to count too much upon assistance from any such distant quarter-recommended her to think of it-told her where I lived-said I knew she would send to me before noon, next day-and left her, either in a faint or shamming.'

Notwithstanding that he spoke in this very friendly and confident manner, he seemed to have considerable hesitation about entering, and remained outside the roof. He was rather better dressed than usual: wearing the same suit of thread-bare black, it is true, but having round his neck an unwholesome-looking, cravat of a yellowish white; and on his hands great leather gloves, such as a gardener might wear in following his trade. His shoes were newly greased, and ornamented with a pair of rusty iron buckles; the packthread at his knees had been renewed; and where he wanted buttons, he wore pins. Altogether, he had something the look of a tipstaff, or a bailiff's follower, desperately faded, but who had a notion of keeping up the appearance of a professional character, and making the best of the worst means. "You're very snug here," said Mr. Dennis, pulling

When he had concluded this narration, during which he had made several pauses, for the conve-out a mouldy pocket-handkerchief, which looked like nience of cracking and eating nuts, of which he a decomposed halter, and wiping his forehead in a seemed to have a pocketful, the blind man pulled a nervous manner. flask from his pocket, took a draught himself, and offered it to his companion.

"You won't, won't you?" he said, feeling that he pushed it from him. "Well! Then the gallant gentleman who's lodging with you, will. Hallo, bally!"

"Death!" said the other, holding him "Will you tell me what I am to do!"

back.

"Do! Nothing easier. Make a moonlight flitting in two hours' time with the young gentleman (he's quite ready to go; I have been giving him good advice as we came along,) and get as far from London as you can. Let me know where you are, and leave the rest to me. She must come round; she can't hold out long; and as to the chances of your being retaken in the meanwhile, why it wasn't one man who got out of Newgate, but three hundred. Think of that, for your comfort."

"We must support life.-How?"

"How!" repeated the blind man. "By eating and drinking. And how get meat and drink, but by paying for it! Money!" he cried, slapping his pocket. "Is money the word? Why, the streets have been running money. Devil send that the sport's not over yet, for these are jolly times; golden, rare, roaring, scrambling times. Hallo, bully. Hallo! Hallo! Drink, bully, drink. Where are ye there! Hallo?".

"Not snug enough to prevent your finding us, it seems," Hugh answered, sulkily.

66

Why, I'll tell you what, brother," said Dennis, with a friendly smile, "when you don't want me to know which way you're riding, you must wear another sort of bells on your horse. Ah! I know the sound o' them you wore last night, and have got quick ears for 'em, that's the truth. Well, but how are you, brother?"

He had by this time approached, and now ventured to sit down by him. "How am I?" answered Hugh. "Where were you yesterday? Where did you go when you left me in the jail? Why did you leave me? And what did you mean by rolling your eyes and shaking your fist at me, eh?”

"I shake my fist!-at you, brother!" said Dennis, gently checking Hugh's uplifted hand, which looked threatening.

"Your stick, then; it's all one."

You

"Lord love you, brother, I meant nothing. don't understand me by half. I shouldn't wonder now," he added, in the tone of a desponding and an injured man, "but you thought, because I wanted them chaps left in the prison, that I was agoing to desert the banners?"

Hugh told him, with an oath, that he did. "Well!" said Mr. Dennis mourfully, "if you an't With such vociferations, and with a boisterous enough to make a man mistrust his feller-creeturs, I manner which bespoke his perfect abandonment to don't know what is. Desert the banners, eh! Me! the general license and disorder, he groped his way | Ned Dennis, as was so christened by his own father! towards the shed, where Hugh and Barnaby wereIs this axe your'n, brother?" sitting on the ground, and entered.

"Put it about!" he cried, handing his flask to Hugh. "The kennels run with wine and gold. Guineas and strong water flow from the very pumps. About with it, don't spare it!"

Exhausted, unwashed, unshorn; begrimed with smoke and dust; his hair clotted with blood; his voice quite gone, so that he spoke in whispers; his skin parched up by fever; his whole body bruised, and cut, and beaten about; Hugh still took the flask, JANUARY, 1842,--MUSEUM.

16

"Yes, that's mine," said Hugh, in the same sullen manner as before; "it might have hurt you, if you had come in its way once or twice last night. Put it down."

"Might have hurt me!" said Mr. Dennis, still keeping it in his hand, and feeling the edge with an air of abstraction. 66 Might have hurt me! and me exerting myself all the time to the very best advantage. Here's a world! And you're not agoing to ask me to take a sup out of that 'ere bottle, eh ?" SP. OF MAG.

8

Hugh tossed it towards him. As he raised it to his lips, Barnaby jumped up, and motioning them to be silent, looked eagerly out.

"What's the matter, Barnaby ?" said Dennis, glancing at Hugh and dropping the flask, but still holding the axe in his hand.

"Hush!" he answered softly. "What do I see glittering behind the hedge ?"

What!" cried the hangman, raising his voice to its highest pitch, and laying hold of him and Hugh. Not-not SOLDIERS, surely!"

That moment the shed was filled with armed men; and a body of horse, galloping into the field, drew up before it.

clapping Dennis on the back, and pointing after the officer who was walking towards the shed.

To which Mr. Dennis only replied, "Don't talk to me!" and then repeated what he had said before, namely, "Here's a pretty sight!"

"It's not one that you care for much, I should think," observed the serjeant coolly.

"Why, who," said Mr. Dennis, rising, "should care for it, if I don't?"

"Oh! I didn't know you was so tender-hearted," said the serjeant. "That's all !" "Tender

"Tender-hearted!" echoed Dennis. hearted! Look at this man. Do you call this constitootional? Do you see him shot through and "There!" said Dennis, who remained untouched through, instead of being worked off like a Briton! among them when they had seized their prisoners; Damme, if I know which party to side with. You're "it's them two young ones, gentlemen, that the pro- as bad as the other. What's to become of the counclamation puts a price on. This other's an escaped try if the military power's to go a superseding the felon.-I'm sorry for it, brother," he added, in a tone civilians in this way? Where's this poor fellerof resignation, addressing himself to Hugh; "but creetur's rights as a citizen, that he did'nt have me you've brought it on yourself; you forced me to do in his last moments! I was here. I was willing. it; you would'nt respect the soundest constitootional I was ready. These are nice times, brother, to have principles, you know; you went and wiolated the wery the dead crying out against us in this way, and sleep frame-work of society. I had sooner have given comfortably in our beds arterwards; wery nice!" away a trifle in charity than done this, I would upon Whether he derived any material consolation from my soul.-If you'll keep fast hold on 'em, gentle-binding the prisoners, is uncertain; most probable he I think I can make a shift to tie 'em better than did. At all events his being summoned to that work, diverted him, for the time, from these painful reflections, and gave his thoughts a more congenial occupation.

men,
you can."

But this operation was postponed for a few moments by a new occurrence. The blind man, whose ears were quicker than most people's sight, had been alarmed before Barnaby, by a rustling in the bushes, under cover of which the soldiers had advanced. He retreated instantly-had hidden somewhere for a minute-and probably in his confusion mistaking the point at which he had emerged, was now seen running across the open meadow.

An officer cried directly that he had helped to plunder a house last night. He was loudly called on, to surrender. He ran the harder, and in a few seconds would have been out of gunshot. The word was given, and the men fired.

There was a breathless pause and a profound silence, during which all eyes were fixed upon him. He had been seen to start at the discharge, as if the report had frightened him. But he neither stopped nor slackened his pace in the least, and ran on full forty yards further. Then, without one reel or stagger, or sign of faintness, or quivering of any limb, he dropped.

Some of them hurried up to where he lay ;-the hangman with them. Every thing had passed so quickly, that the smoke was not yet scattered, but curled slowly off in a little cloud, which seemed like the dead man's spirit moving solemnly away. There were a few drops of blood upon the grass-more, when they turned him over-that was all.

"Look here! Look here!" said the hangman, stooping one knee beside the body, and gazing up with a disconsolate face at the officer and men. "Here's a pretty sight!"

"Stand out of the way," replied the officer. "Serjeant! see what he had about him."

The man turned his pockets out upon the grass, and counted, besides some foreign coins and two rings, five-and-forty guineas in gold. These were bundled up in a handkerchief and carried away; the body remained there for the present, but six men and the serjeant were left to take it to the nearest public house.

"Now then, if you're going," said the serjeant,

They were not all three carried off together, but in two parties; Barnaby and his father going by one road in the centre of a body of foot, and Hugh, fast bound upon a horse, and strongly guarded by a troop of calvary, being taken by another.

They had no opportunity for the least communication, in the short interval which preceded their departure; being kept strickly apart. Hugh only observed that Barnaby walked with a drooping head among his guard, and, without raising his eyes, that he tried to wave his fettered hand when he passed. For himself, he buoyed up his courage as he rode along, with the assurance that the mob would force his jail, wherever it might be, and set him at liberty. But when they got into London, and more especially into Fleet Market, lately the stronghold of the rioters, where the military were rooting out the last remnant of the crowd, he saw that this hope was gone, and felt that he was riding to his death.

CHAPTER THE SEVENTIETH.

MR. DENNIS having despatched this piece of business without any personal hurt or inconvenience, and having now retired into the tranquil respectability of private life, resolved to solace himself with half an hour or so of female society. With this amiable purpose in his mind, he bent his steps toward the house where Dolly and Miss Haredale also were still confined, and whither Miss Miggs had been removed by order of Mr. Simon Tappertit.

As he walked along the streets, with his leather gloves clasped behind him, and his face indicative of cheerful thought and pleasant calculation, Mr. Dennis might have been likened unto a farmer ruminating among his crops, and enjoying by anticipation the bountiful gifts of Providence. Look where he would, some heap of ruins afforded him rich promise of a working off; the whole town ap