active by the golden reward of his ability-a circumstance to be so often deplored in the case of great authors, great painters, and especially of great philosophers; wherefore, it is questionable, if the world would not really gain more by them if it never rewarded them at all.-St. Giles was by no means one of these. No: he still kept his eyes wide open at the doings of life; still hived in that odd, world-twisted little brain of his, all sorts of knowledge for the future day. He especially employed part of his time, dodging about the haunts of Tom Blast; but, strange to say, that interesting person never showed himself in any of his wonted places of ease and recreation. Again and again did St. Giles travel Long-Lane-again slink and spy into every haunt in the fond and foolish hope of once more meeting with the soft-spoken man who, at the ruinous price of one guinea one shilling, had purchased a pony of incomparable Arab blood. St. Giles, with all his friendship, all his gratitude for Tom, could not but feel that he had been tricked, bamboozled by his tutor and the nearer and nearer he approached to his last shilling, the more intense was his indignationthe more insatiable his thoughts of revenge. Yes, it was strange; but the poorer St. Giles became, the less tolerant was he of human frailty. And this uncharitableness is only another of the thousand evils to be shunned in poverty. Therefore, reader, if only to cultivate charity, cultivate wealth virtue blossoms on a golden bough.

what he had heard called the advancement of the age; he had heard of the nuisance, and now he beheld it. His standing in the world as a tradesman was fast crumbling from beneath his feet. St. Giles was hurrying up to his old and early friend, when, at a short distance, he beheld his former patron, Capstick the muffin-maker, and Bright Jem. They looked, as he thought, somewhat curiously at his friend Tom, and then seemed to take counsel of one another. Under these circumstances, St. Giles thought that to accost Tom, would be to call unnecessary attention to himself. He therefore remained, shrunk down among the mob that every moment became less and less. What, too, made it most discouraging to Mr Blast were the scoffs and loud laughter with which certain new-comers would listen to the description of the horror sought to be circulated, and then hurry off. "That cock won't fight now!" cried one "A little late in the day for that. Get something new," cried another. "Gammon !" shouted a third.

Nevertheless, be of good heart, Tom Blast: take consolation from this. You suffer in great society: you sink in most worshipful companionship. Very reverend, grave, authoritative persons

briefly, yet intensely-gammon. Has not history her catch-pennies, even as the archives of Seven Dials?

men of the bench, even of the pulpit-who for centuries sold to their exceeding profit, "Most True and Particular Accounts" of a horrid bear of some sort-whether of royal or feudal privilege -of witchcraft-of popery-of sham rebellionIt was the ninth day of St. Giles' absence from nay, fifty bears and bugbears, all of horrid, ghastly his maternal home, and the pilgrim of London nature-they, too, in their turns, have outlived the stood before a house of humble entertainment in profitable lie. And even in these latter days, Cow Cross. The time was noon; and St. Giles, when some Tom Blast in higher places-nay, in feeling the last threepence in his pocket-turning the highest-sounds his tin horn of bigotry, and them over, one by one-was endeavoring to arbi- would trade upon some bear apocryphal-he is trate between pudding and bed. If he bought a assured in the like sense, although in gentler cut of pudding—and through the very window- phrase, that such cock will by no means fight— pane he seemed to nose its odor-he had not that the day has passed for so foolish, vain a story wherewithal to buy a lodging. What of that?-that, finally, his bear is no bear at all, but London had many doorways-hospitable stonesteps-for nothing; and pudding must be paid for. Still he hesitated; when the cook-shop man removed the pudding from the window. This removal immediately decided St. Giles. He rushed into the shop, and laid down his last worldly stake upon the counter. "Threepenn'orth o' puddin', and a good threepenn'orth," said St. Giles. With a look of half-reproof and half-contempt the tradesman silently executed the order; and in a few moments, St. Giles stood upon the king's highway, devouring with great unction his last threepence. Whilst thus genially employed, he heard a far-off voice roaring through the muggy air: his heart beat, and he ate almost to choking, as he listened to these familiar words :-" A most True and Particular Account of the Horrible Circumstance of a Bear that has been Fed upon Five Young Children in a Cellar in Westminster!" It was the voice of Blast; and St. Giles swallowed his pudding, hurriedly used the back of his hand for a napkin, and following the sound of the crier, was in a trice in Peter-street, one of the mob that circled the marvel-monger of Hog-Lane. Nevertheless, though Tom roared with an energy that very strongly declared his own faith in the horror that he sought to vend for only one halfpenny, still his auditors lacked credulity or coppers, for the wellworn enormity. Nobody purchased. Not even a timorous, sympathizing servant-maid advanced through the crowd to make the mystery her own. Tom looked about him with evident disgust at

Mr. Blast was somewhat of a philosopher. He could have borne the laughter and scoffing of the crowd, if any of them had bought his ware; but his philosophy was not of that transcendental kind to endure outrage, unmitigated by any sort of coin, even the sinallest, current in the realm. He therefore, with a sotto voce expression of the deepest contempt for his hearers, broke from the crowd, passing on, and then-his legs evidently walking in a passion-turning, he strode still onwards until he entered Cow-Lane. Here, St. Giles, hanging at his skirts, came up with him.

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Well, if it isn't a sight for bad eyes to see you!" said the unabashed Tom. But don't let's talk in the street. And Tom made for an opposite public-house, one of his customary places of call, unknown to St. Giles. Stalking through the passage, followed by his young friend, he made his way into a small, dark, low room. "I thought there'd be nobody here," said Tom; and then in a tone of great tenderness and anxiety, looking straight in the eyes of St. Giles, he asked, "Well, and where have you been? They're mad about you in the Lane. Where have you been?" "Why, I've been looking for you," said St. Giles moodily, shaking his head. "You must have know'd that."

"And that's I suppose why we did n't happen to meet," replied Tom; possibly recollecting that

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"Why, I'm a looking at you-and not much to look at neither," shouted St. Giles, with answering vigor. "You 're not a goin' to frighten me, I can tell you. Why did 'nt you come as you promised you would? You're a good un, you

his chief care had been to keep out of the boy's the meditated punishment, and the next moment way. Why, what's the matter? you look saw him fastened on Tom: clasping him round plaguy sarcy! What are you looking so black the waist, and kicking with all his might and at, you young devil?" cried Tom, with sudden malice at his benefactor's shins. Tom, mad with ferocity; but St. Giles felt his injuries, and was pain and vexation, sought to fling the urchin off; not to be browbeaten. but he held to his prey like a stoat. For some moments the boy heroically suffered the worst punishment that his master in equity could inflict, returning it with unequal powers. At length, Blast unclasping the urchin's hold, seized him in his arms, and threw him violently off. The boy fell, stunned, against the wainscot. The infu"Now, what does ail the boy ?" said Tom coax-riate savage-his passion raging-was about to ingly; though evidently ill at ease: for his fingers deal a blow-it would have been the last-upon worked; and he bit his lip as he gazed on the boy, who with sullen, defying air, returned his look. "Why, this ails me. Did n't you tell me to take that pony to Long Lane-and then did n't you tell me to wait for you?"

are.

"I know it, Giles; I know it; but you see, as I went along, I thought agin over the matter. thought, you see, it might lead you into trouble, if I came; so I thought I'd stay away, and you'd bring the pony home agin, and then, mayhap, after a little breeze, there'd be an end of the matter. That's it, Giles," said cautious Mr. Blast.

"Then why did you send the man as gave me a guinea, and took the pony away? and, as said too, that he 'd made it all right with you, and that"

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the prostrate boy, when Capstick, Bright Jem, and a couple of officers burst into the room. Blast immediately divined their business, and with masterly coolness observed, pointing to St. Giles lying in the corner a senseless heap,-"There's your young oss-stealer for you; and a nice job II've had to nibble him. A varmint of a pole-cat as he is."

"The young un and the old un, too," said one of the officers. Why this is better luck than we bargained for." Jem lifted up the boy between his knees; he was still pale and senseless. "Mr. Capstick," said Jem, "for God's sake, some water!" Then turning an indignant look upon Blast, he added, Why, what a paving-stone you must have for a heart, to use a poor child like this."

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"A child!" cried Blast, " a young devil." "And if he is," said Jem, "who's made him one? Murder! why it's the worst of murders; to take and kill all the good in a child's soul, and then to fling him into the world to do his worst, and answer for it.”

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"There, there, never mind, Jem," cried Capstick, who was turning himself round, and shuffling about, visibly affected by the miserable condition of the child, yet struggling to maintain his outward misanthropy. All wretches; all alike, worthless animals!" And then he roared at the waiter as he entered-"Why don't you bring some water-some brandy-anything, everything for this poor creature-this miserable-helplessforlorn-unhappy little boy?" And then Capstick turned his face in a corner, and violently blew his nose, and coughed, and vowed he never had such

Here St. Giles was interrupted in his volubility by Mr. Blast; who performed-and an admirable performance it was-a look of immense astonishment, at the same time whistling very vehemently. At length, mastering his wonder, he cried Why, Giles! you 've never sold the pony?" "No. I never sold it—but you did; the gemman told me so. You sold it; and after that—” Mr. Blast could scarcely contain himself, so big, so swelling was his compassion for the injured boy. "Oh, Giles, he cried-" poor little fellow! You 're done, Giles; you 're done.' "And who's done me? Why, you have," screamed the youngster in a paroxysm of passion. All childhood vanished from his face, so suddenly was it convulsed with rage. He stood, for a moment, breathless with emotion; and forgetful in his fury of the bulk and strength of his former teacher, he clenched his little fist, and grinding his teeth, advanced towards Blast, who, for aa cold in all his life. moment, recoiled from the small assailant. Then "There, there," said one of the officers, as recovering himself, he laid his hands upon his Jem bathed the boy's face, "he'll come round knees, and with an effort to be calm, contemptuous, again, never fear." said-" And this, you little varmint, is your thanks to me; to me, you scorpin, as has been better than a father to you! To me, who's taught you balladchanting, and everything as is decent, you know; to me, as has laid awake in my bed thinkin' what I could do for you in the mornin'; to me, who's always looked on you as a rasher of my own flesh ! And you'll shake them little mawleys at me!""we 've nothing to do with that; nothing at all. The picture of ingratitude was almost too much for The ends of justice-the ends of justice, Mr. AniMr. Blast. He was nearly melted in his own seed"-and again the muffin-maker coughed; he tenderness. had such a cold.

Jem groaned, and shook his head. "Yes, he will come round," he said. "If it was n't that blood would be on somebody's head, it would be a good thing, if he didn't. Lord! Lord!" cried Jem, "to think this is the babby's face I once knew." said Capstick:

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• Pooh-pooh!-nonsense,'

"None o' that: that won't do for me, no how," However, whilst Jem-with his heart running cried St. Giles. "You made me steal the pony-at his eyes-is solacing young St. Giles, we will, you sold it, and now-" as briefly as we may, inform the reader of the cause that has brought the muffin-maker and the link-man to Smithfield.

The charge was too much for the indignant virtue of Mr. Blast. With an exclamation of disgust, he aimed a blow at his accuser, that but for his agility, would have laid him senseless on the floor. Bobbing his head and doubling himself up with wonderful elasticity, St. Giles escaped

Ever since the conclusion of our sixth chapterwhich the urbanity of the reader will consider to be no less than six years ago fortune smiled upon Capstick. True it is, she often smiles upon

We have now, we trust, sufficiently explained the course of accidents that brought the muffinmaker and Jem to Porter-street, and so made them hearers of the unprofitable oratory of Tom Blast. Fearful that they might be recognized by him, they employed a third party to watch him to his haunt, whilst they secured the attendance of officers. Hence, they saw not St. Giles, who, as we have before observed, kept himself close among the mob. They were the more astonished to find the ill-used boy in the same room with his schoolmaster.

into tears: there was no sham whimpering-no taught effort of sorrow-but the boy's heart seemed touched, melted, and he wept and writhed convulsively. A recollection of the goodnessthe disregarded kindness of the men before himthrilled through his soul, and though he knew it not, he felt the yearnings of a better nature. There was anguish-penitence-in the sobs that seemed to tear his vitals.

the strangest lumps of men-is oft a very Titania | Smithfield and its neighborhood; taking with him enamored with an ass's head-nevertheless, she Bright Jem, whom he had accustomed himself to showed good judgment in the favors she bestowed think an honest, worthy fellow, and his particular upon the muffin-maker. So fortune made interest friend; that is, so far as the misanthropy of the with her good sister fame to play a flourish on her muffin-maker would acknowledge the existence of trumpet in praise of Capstick's muffins; that in such a treasure. It was strange, however, that time rejoiced many hearths without the circle of Capstick, in his thoughts of revenge, had no St. Giles'. In a word, Capstick soon built an thought of young St. Giles. No; all the veheenduring reputation upon muffins; and therefore mence of his wrath was roused against the boy's had a better chance of his name going buttered tutor. down to posterity, than has the name of every monarch duly buttered in birth-day ode. Well, the calls upon Capstick's oven were so increasing, that his wife suggested he should forthwith start a horse and very genteel cart. She, good woman! had no eye to a Sunday drive-the vanity never entered her head: all she thought of was business she was a woman, and therefore had no wish to adulterate it with even a drop of pleasure. Mr. Capstick was somewhat twitted with himself that such proposal emanated from his wife: it was so good, so reasonable, it ought to have been his own. However, he would say, the woman had "There, now, he's all right," cried one of caught something like judgment by living with the officers, as St. Giles-restored by the efforts him. At once, then, Mr. Capstick consented to of Bright Jem-looked about him. However, no the vehicle; and that purchased a bargain, he sooner was he conscious of the presence of Captook his way-in pestilent hour for him-to Smith-stick and his fast friend Jem, than his face glowed field, to buy a horse. Now, Mr. Capstick knew like a coal. He hung down his head, and burst no more of the points of a horse than of a unicorn. As, however, he had little faith in human nature, and none whatever when mixed up with horseflesh, he said to himself that he might as well be cheated at first hand as at second; therefore, went he alone to buy a steed. Arrived in the market, full soon was he singled out by a benevolent, yet withal discerning dealer, who could see in a twinkling the very sort of thing that would suit him. "A nice little cretur that would eat nothing, and go fifty miles a day upon it." In brief, the worthy man sold it to the muffin-maker, sold it to him for an old song-to be sure, he Mr. Capstick felt an old queasiness in his throat, could afford to let it go thus cheap-the black and could say nothing. He therefore again threw pony which only two days before had been the himself upon his pocket-handkerchief. Then, valued possession of Lord St. James. For four-conscious that he had a great duty to perform for and-twenty hours alone did the muffin-man rejoice the ends of justice—a fact, that when otherwise in his purchase for on his very first attempt to puzzled he had more than once insisted upon-he degrade the high-blooded animal to a cart-it was turned to the officers, and pointing his thumb quite as fit to draw St. Paul's-the creature, al- towards Blast, observed with peculiar loftiness, though its flowing tail and mane had been ruth-" You will be good enough to handcuff that man." lessly docked and cropped-was identified by Cesar Gum, on his way, with a sisterly message, to Short's Gardens. Never before had Mr. Capstick known the full value of a good character. His story of the transaction was received as truth; and though he lost the ten pounds-the value of the old song-he had given for the animal, he maintained his untarnished reputation. Of course, St. Giles was soon known as the horsestealer. It also came out, that Mr. Thomas Blast had been seen in very earnest conversation with the boy, as he led the pony. Every search was made for Tom; and as, with a modesty not usual to him, he seemed wholly to have withdrawn himself from his native parish, curiosity to learn his We will not dwell upon the details of the exwhereabout was the more quickened. Mr. Cap-amination of the prisoners. It will be sufficient stick felt his judgment, his pocket, too, somewhat for the reader to know that, after certain preinvolved in the transaction. He felt that he stood liminaries, a sitting alderman committed_St. fair and upright in the eye of the world, neverthe- Giles and his tutor for horse-stealing. Both less it would be to him a peculiar satisfaction could scholar and master awaited their trial in Newhe detect Mr. Thomas Blast, or the benevolent, gate. simple-spoken tradesman who-for the price of an old song-had sold the pony. With this wish thumping at his heart, Capstick every day visited

"Thank God for that!" cried Jem; and the poor fellow wept, too. "I like to hear that, eh, Mr. Capstick?"

"Handcuff me!" cried Mr. Blast. "They'll do it at their peril."

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"Ha! my good man-I beg your pardon-you desperate scoundrel!" said Capstick, with withering urbanity; they're accustomed to do a great deal at their peril: thanks to such rascals as you. Handcuff him."

"They darn't do it-they darn't do it," shouted the struggling Blast; and in a moment afterwards his wrists were locked in iron. "I'll make you pay for this-never mind; it's no matter to mebut I'll make you pay for this," he said; and then, like a Tyburn philosopher, Tom became suddenly reconciled to his manacles.

It was not until after the culprit's first examination, that Capstick felt the full annoyance of his position. When Jem would shake his head, and

"You see," said Jem, "they're getting some money in the Lane so that they may have a lawyer for poor St. Giles. Well, they 're a bad lot, I daresay: but you should only know what some of the poor souls have done."

look dumpish on the matter, Capstick would talk | "
loud, and beg him to think of the ends of justice:
but when the boy was committed on the capital
charge, the muffin-maker's public spirit wholly
forsook him. Evidence had brought the accusa-
tion quite home to the boy; however legal proof
might fail to criminate his tempter. They 'll
never-never think of much hurting the boy-a
child, you know-a mere child," said Capstick to
Jem, as they left Guildhall together.

86

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Humph! I don't know what you call hurting, Mr. Capstick," said Jem, moodily. "But I should n't think hanging pleasant."

Capstick turned pale as flour, and he could scarcely articulate the words-" Impossible-ridiculous-they could n't do it."

"And what have they done?" asked Capstick, with what he meant for a sneer.

"Why, some as had two blankets have sold one on 'em; some with two gowns have pawned one o' them. It would make you bless yourself, Mr. Capstick, to see besides what things they 've made twopences and threepences of-kettles, sarcepans, anything. It's wonderful to see how they do stick by one another."

"Crime, Mr. Aniseed, crime is a brazen cordand certainly does hold rogues together," said Capstick.

"You may say what you like," said Jem, "but whenever I've looked up that horrid Lane, and seen men and women like devils, and childrenpoor creturs-like devils' little ones-I never could have thought that in that dismal place there was after all a sort of good, that the very best of us would n't be any worse for more of it."

"Ha!" cried Jem, "when hanging 's the thing, you don't know what they can do. Well, I'd rather ha' been in bed, with a broken limb, than had a finger in this matter. I shall have that poor child always about me; I know I shall. When he 's killed and gone, I shall never take my pipe without seeing his face in the fire. And then my poor old woman! She that still 's so fond of him-poor orphan thing! for his mother 's worse than lost to him-she 'll lead me a nice life-that is, though she won't say anything outright, she 'll always be a crying about him. We've done a nice thing, Mr. Capstick, to make our lives pleas- "That's it," replied Jem. "There's a Mr. ant as long as they last!" Tangle, somewhere in Clifford's Inn; he's a sharp "Pooh, pooh-folly, Jem; all folly. I sup-un they say he'd get a chap out o' Newgate; pose property must be protected. I suppose you won't deny that, eh?" asked Capstick.

"I deny nothing," answered Jem hopelessly; and then he groaned "God help us! Why did n't he die in the frost and snow? Why did I warm him, when a babby, at my own fire, only to help to hang him arterwards ?"

"Hang him! Nonsense! I tell you, Jem, you're a fool-an old, butter-hearted fool-and you know nothing here have you lived all your life with the worst of people about you-not but what folks at the very best are great rascals, every one of 'em-but here have you been up to your ears ir villany-and yet you look upon everybody about you as innocent as shepherds and shepherdesses in white china. I'm ashamed of you, Jem; be a man, and think of the world as its rascality deserves. For, Lord! what a lump of roguery it is! How that the blessed sun should ever condescend to smile upon such a lot of wretches as we are, I can't tell."

"No more can I," answered Jem; "but since the sun, as you say, does condescend to show a good face to us, I think it's as little as we can do to try to do the same to one another."

Capstick, taken somewhat aback, looked suddenly round upon Jem; and then, feeling himself wholly unable to controvert this opinion, he simply said, Jem, you 're a fool."

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Very like; very like," said Capstick. "And I am to understand, that the people want to fee a lawyer?"

get him out through a flaw no bigger than a keyhole. Well, I've been thinking-not that I can do much but I've been thinking that as we helped to get the boy into Newgate, if we was to give what money we could to help to get him out."

"And so defeat the ends of justice?" cried Capstick, and he frowned severely.

"Oh, I daresay it's wrong," said Jem; "nevertheless, if we could only get the boy safe off, he might be a good un after all. Did n't you hear how he cried? Oh, there's heart in him yet, I'm sure there is. Well, then, you see

I see perfectly," said Capstick, "you 've come to ask me to subscribe to the fund for the lawyer?"

"Well, that's just it," assented Jem.

"Forgetful of my serious responsibility as a witness-forgetful of the ends of justice-forgetful of what I owe to society-forgetful-"

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Forgetful," cried Jem with animation, "of everything except of saving a child from the gallows."

"Mr. Aniseed," said Capstick very decidedly, "I am sorry to refuse you anything, but you must not let your feelings blind you: you mean well, but you have yet to learn that the best meaning men are those who so often do the most mischief. In a word, sir, I can have nothing to say to this business."

A week passed on, and the trial of St. Giles approached. It was strange to Mr. Capstick that so many of his customers would ask him about his Bright Jem made no answer, but with a moody health. 66 Why, what can ail the people?" he nod, was about to leave the shop, when the muffinwould say. "I was never better-never in all maker called to him. "I think you said this attormy life. I eat like a pig, and sleep like a dor-ney's name was Wrangle?" mouse can any man do better than that?" But 'Tangle," said Jem, shortly. Mr. Capstick was not well. The biped pig made poor meals; the human dormouse had restless nights and when dreaming, dreamt horrid visions of death and Newgate.

It wanted some ten days of the trial, when Bright Jem presented himself at Capstick's house.

"Tangle, Lyon's Inn," said Capstick.

"Clifford's-Inn," cried Jem, a little sulkily, and then he darted from the shop.

It is most true that Mr. Tangle deserved the high reputation bestowed upon him by Jem. His office in Clifford's-Inn was looked upon as a pri